Astralwerks is proud to announce that we will be releasing the third in the series of Brian Eno reissues – ‘Soundtracks’, on March 22, 2005. All track listings are as the original vinyl release, except for More Music For Films which is a new compilation combining all the tracks from the Music For Films The Director’s Edition promo (1975) which didn’t subsequently appear on Music For Films, plus everything from Music for Films Volume 2 (1983).

The transfer from the Original Masters has been undertaken with great care by Simon Heyworth. All four albums have been mastered using 'Class A' Analogue Electronics combined with the best Analogue to Digital conversion.

The CDs will be packaged in luxury digipack format.

Click album titles below for tracklist and info:

Music For Films
Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks
Thursday Afternoon
More Music For Films

“Filming Eno” - Notes By Paul Morley - click here to read

NOTE - For the attention of all United States purchasers of Brian Eno's MORE Music For Films:

It appears that when the newly transferred tracks for the master of MORE Music For Films were being compiled, tracks #18 and #20 were mistakenly repeated (the song "Approaching Taidu" was duplicated while the song "Climate Study" was omitted). A new master is being prepared and corrected stocks of MORE Music For Films should be in US shops hopefully by the third week of April.

We are making three options available to US consumers.
1.) You may return your copy immediately to the store where you purchased it for a refund and then wait until the third week of April to repurchase MORE Music For Films by which time new stocks should be in stores.

2.) You can hold onto your copy until the third week of April and then check with your retailer to see if they are participating in a replacement disc program. We will be making replacement discs available to retailers whereby your defective disc can be exchanged for a corrected disc.

3.) If your retailer is not participating in this replacement plan, or if for any other reason you are unable to use these first two options, you may e-mail astralwerks@astralwerks.net (making "More Music For Films" the subject line of your e-mail) to receive instructions regarding getting a replacement disc.

We regret that this error has occurred and in the interest of Brian Eno's fans we want to correct this situation as quickly as possible.

Astralwerks is proud to announce the release on October 5 of the second in the series of Brian Eno reissues – The Ambient Works. The transfer from the Original Masters has been undertaken with great care by Simon Heyworth. All four albums have been Mastered using 'Class A' Analogue Electronics combined with the best Analogue to Digital conversion.

The CDs will be packaged in luxury digipack format.


Click album titles below for tracklist and info:

Discreet Music
Ambient 1: Music For Airports
Ambient 2: The Plateaux Of Mirror (with Harold Budd)
Ambient 4: On Land

"Ambient Works" - notes by Paul Morley - click here to read

The transfer from the Original Masters has been undertaken with great care by Simon Heyworth. All four albums have been Mastered using 'Class A' Analogue Electronics combined with the best Analogue to Digital conversion. No attempt has been made to re-equalize, remix or in any way tamper with or alter the original EQ’ed analogue production masters. These are the Original Masters as Brian Eno intended them to be heard.

Click album titles below for tracklist and info:

Here Come The Warm Jets
Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)
Another Green World
Before & After Science

…in answer to certain questions about the following four albums, with little or no reference to their covers or how many copies they have sold. - Paul Morley

“AMBIENT WORKS”

Notes by Paul Morley:
On: Eno being the only figure from the world of pop to make it into Prospect’s top 100 list of British public intellectuals
On: the white in the surface in which everything is noted

Black space, not filled, no words, no thoughts, out of sight, nothing here, empty space, for one moment

could be one way of announcing the new release of four records by Eno that in this particular schedule of events represent in spacious total the Ambient Eno. They are not so much the Ambient years as the Ambient seconds, the Ambient minutes, the Ambient hours, the Ambient days, the Ambient eternity.
Brian Eno having the ambient time of his life.
Brian Eno run down by a cab.
Injured.
In hospital.
Semi-conscious.
Harp music (18th Century)
Volume too low.
Speaker broken.
Rain drops against the window.
Harp rain.
Harp rain present.
Harp rain present distant.
Harp rain present distant room
Harp rain present distant room light
As long as we exist
Brian Eno calling a music - that might have existed in some form before - Ambient, Brian Eno as the inventor, as the spokesman, as the architect, as the mapmaker.
As long as it takes

On: at four in the morning the city belongs to no one

And then in 1975, Eno, roaming through the limitless landscape of his thoughts, drifting back and forwards between foreground and background, between musicianship and non-musicianship, between listening and non-listening, between purpose and no purpose, minding his own business, happened to be putting on tape some atmospheric backdrops for film maker Malcolm LeGrice to work against as he created images for a Fripp and Eno live show.

He slowed down the sound he was creating to half speed, just to see what it sounded like.

This is the moment, perhaps, a playful, almost perverse commitment to doing something that is so simple but no one else really thought of it.
This is the moment, perhaps, the quiet moment that led to a revolution in living and listening.

This is the moment, perhaps, the simple fact that sound was halved, or doubled, or wrapped around time, or separated from itself, or sucked dry of all voice, beat and direction, of all topic and topicality, of all expectation, this is the moment, based on a whim and a prayer, when something new happened, when music not only filled space but was filled with space.
This is the moment where Eno sent into perpetual motion a languid and contemplative state where a listener could take refuge from a rapidly moving world and recharge.

He played something that was meant to be at one speed at a different speed altogether. Just to see what it sounded like.
He liked it, he liked what was left of the sound, there seemed more and yet less, he left it at it was, he liked the way the music faded in and faded out, as if the listener had chanced upon an endless process, as if the listener had found a small part of something that was going on anyway, all the time, somewhere, somehow, and the listener was hearing a small part of the small part, and other sounds were just out of earshot, but you felt that there was something else going on, so far away, so close, and in between the so far away and the so close was

Discreet Music
Tracklist:

Discreet Music 1 & 2
Fullness Of Wind
French Catalogues
Brutal Ardour

Look what he found on the beach. Not so much a piece of driftwood as a piece of drift.

A piece of the sentence “art is precisely what one cannot do – it is tireless seeking.”

A piece of material, a piece of materialisation.

A piece of a soundtrack to the thought “what one state of consciousness regards as real could in truth be the dream images of another state of consciousness.”

(A piece of his face.)

And then in 1978, Village People had a hit with YMCA, and Brian Eno made an album that was somewhere between documentary and dream, between rigid and random, between his heart and his mind. Fans of YMCA who heard the record might have complained that it had no rhythm, no melody, that it was austere and unemotional, cold and boring, stupid and no fun to stay at. They would not be able to choose a favourite track from 1/1,2/1,1/2, 2/2.
Music For Airports was Ambient 1 – Discreet must have been less than zero – and to some extent it was conceived as an aid for those with a fear of flying, or certainly a fear of crashing, or perhaps just a feeling of anxiety about whether they will ever see their luggage again, something to be piped over the intercoms at airports. It was a simple, sophisticated opposition to the traditional commercial idea of muzak that seemed to ignore or deflate the senses, a form of background music that not only created a kind of aural cushion, a hint of bliss in the day to day distance, but that also subtly lifted the spirits.

Here are some sentences scratched into the sand on the beach where the tide has gone out : it is considered by many to be the ultimate ambient album, it is a landmark recording in the history of electronic music, some of the best background music for writing, music designed to induce calm and space to think, designed to be as listenable as it is ignorable, it was a redefinition of how we relate to music in our daily lives, I’m still waiting for 1/1 to resolve the 3 Blind Mice Theme, combating the noise in a post-industrial, post-revolution world, some people are still looking for where the music ends and where it begins, multiple sounds of differing durations running over each other, modern mood music, sonic incense.
Eno said that he was interested in the Borgesian idea that you could invent a world in reverse, by inventing the artefacts that ought to be in it first. You think what kind of music would be in that world, then you make the music and the world forms itself around the music.
Eventually Music For Airports would actually be piped through the intercom in various airports, and a few fans of YMCA might have found themselves tapping a toe or thinking something fresh and amazing as they wandered through a terminal at La Gaurdia NY aware but not aware that in the daydreaming distance 2/2 is bringing the gift of music to holidaymakers .

Often when I am alone in airports I forget where I am going.

The New York music ensemble Bang on a Can said of Music For Airports:
“But the unique factor about Eno's work was that although it could and can exist in the background of everyday life it is music that carries a potency and integrity that goes far beyond the incidental. It's music that is carefully, beautifully, brilliantly constructed and its compositional techniques rival the most intricate of symphonies.”
They produced a live instrument version of the four pieces, and Eno has humbly said that their interpretation moved him to tears. Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson heard it performed live and they said it was heartbreaking. Without thinking, or rather, with thinking, Eno had composed a piece of music that is all at once flat and multi-dimensional, barren and detailed, near and far, music and sound, feeling and unfeeling, spiritual and vacant, real and unreal, practical and magical.

As with the other albums in the Ambient series, the music can evoke deeply personal reactions in different listeners: a sense of alienation, an expression of pure energy, a feeling of panic, of being wrapped in warm blankets, of flying through heaven or a melancholy made even more touching by it’s restraint and control.

(A piece of his face)

- notes by Paul Morley

And then in 1980, Brian Eno formed another one of his merry, mental double acts – this one with Harold Budd, whose way of composing was to write a piece of music and then take out all the notes you didn’t like. His stated intention had been to make what he called “eternally pretty music.” It is never easy when considering the double acts that Eno had been a part of to work out when he is funny man, when he is straight man. Ferry and Eno both just kept poking each other in the eye, which accounted for a lot of the darkness in the group if not the humour. With Fripp, he kept quite a straight face, but then so did Robert. Maybe they were both the funny man. With Bowie it seemed clearer that he had the funny lines, with David Byrne they were both cracking the gags and yet playing it straight. On Plateaux of Mirrors, Ambient 2, Eno would create an atmospheric sound world, and Budd would improvise to it – so perhaps Budd gets more of the punchlines, all of them to do with the relationship between nature and beauty, mysterious themes Eno sets up with super subtle timing.
The music seems to have been around forever, and yet to be appearing for the first time as you hear it – Eno’s ambient music consistently creates this illusion that he has simply plucked sound out of the air, fully formed, fully shaped, like he has just captured a piece of nature and transformed it into sound. This is, say, a snowflake, that is a raindrop, a leaf, a feeling, a memory before there’s anything to remember.
Somehow, for music that seems to static, so trapped in time, so framed, it seems different every time you hear it. It’s as if when the music is resting, stored away, it is still changing shape, changing texture. It is always on the move, before you hear it, as you hear it, after you hear it.

Impersonal methods again seem to produce something dramatically lovely and monumentally personal.

The fades here do not come at the beginning and end of the music but all the time. The music is continually fading into existence, and fading out of existence, and it is never clear at what point a sound is coming into life, or decaying into silence.

I wonder if it is important that at the exact moment Budd and Eno produced these dream sounds, they were thinking strange, wonderful, ghostly thoughts that imprinted permanently onto the music, like sonic fingerprints. Or were they just lost in thought so vague the music had to fill in their thoughts, generate it’s own meaning, and create it’s own personality, which then accounts for the music sounding like it’s not necessarily been thought up by humans. Or at least, not humans that live on planet earth.

Some people see stars when they hear the music, but this doesn’t mean they have been hit on the head by noise. Rather, they’ve been helped into space.

(A piece of his face)

- notes by Paul Morley

And then in 1982, Eno completed what is for the sake of this release schedule the Ambient Library. On Land is Ambient 4, and it’s music that is about something. It’s about Eno being down to earth and ridiculously exotic, extremely charming and rather strange. It’s about the places you’ve been, the places you think you’ve been, the places you’ll never get to go to. It’s about time before time and time after time. Its classical music liberated by the pop idea that sound doesn’t have to be so deliberately cut off from the noises of the world. A music that had been devised as lacking narrative structure now had a kind of narrative structure – or not, depending how the listener felt at the time.
You are on your own. That’s something you often feel with Eno’s ambient work. Only you have ever heard this music, it was meant for you, it is up to you what you make of it, and there is no one around to help.
You are instantly transported into a vast landscape made up of sound and space.
There are an infinite number of directions you can travel.
At some point you have to take the first step.
It’s up to you to move towards the end.
It won’t come if you don’t find it.
Eno’s ambient music for all that it is so calm and pure and clean and tidy is also cryptic and deceptive.
You can let it wash all over you, or you can head off in search of clues.
You can let it sweep you away, or you can keep just ahead of it.
You can let it invade your dreams, or you can invade its dreams.

In a dream I had about this Ambient music, Eno resolved to draw the world in sound. In the course of the years, he populated a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountain ranges, bays, ships, cathedrals, metal keys, swimming pools, invisible cars, trees, valleys, islands, fish, rooms, instruments, heavenly bodies, horses and people. Eventually, he starts to notice that this patient labyrinth of lines reproduces the image of his own face.

On: so on

As the tide comes in, the following words are washed away: over the years Ambient has splintered off into a multiplicity of sub genres and categories, ambient dub, ambient house, ambient techno, ambient jungle, chill out . . .

On : a space to think

(A piece of his face)

- notes by Paul Morley

The transfer from the Original Masters has been undertaken with great care by Simon Heyworth. All four albums have been Mastered using 'Class A' Analogue Electronics combined with the best Analogue to Digital conversion. No attempt has been made to re-equalize, remix or in any way tamper with or alter the original EQ’ed analogue production masters. These are the Original Masters as Brian Eno intended them to be heard.

Click album titles below for tracklist and info:

Here Come The Warm Jets
Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)
Another Green World
Before & After Science

…in answer to certain questions about the following four albums, with little or no reference to their covers or how many copies they have sold.

by Paul Morley

It is a fact that the very best of the first four Brian Eno solo albums - the ones that took him from the hyped up art-weird world of Roxy Music to his later sensitive soundtracks to thinking, feeling and wondering - is Here Come The Warm Jets.

It features all the members of the hit seeking missiles Roxy Music that Eno had just left, except Bryan Ferry. (Eno quit Roxy because, he said, Ferry wanted to experiment with the quality of what the music said, and he wanted to experiment with the way you make music.) So Here Come The Warm Jets is a version of what the 3rd Roxy Music album might have sounded if Eno had been in charge and not Ferry.

In Roxy Music, Bryan Ferry was not likely to ask a headless chicken how much kicking its teeth could stand, as Eno did on this album. Ferry's discussion topics were a little less random. He would never, ever wonder if his girl prefers him or the guy who can set things on fire by breathing on them, as Eno did. Eno sang on this album, not in the way that Ferry would sing. Eno sang as if it never occurred to him that anyone would ever hear him. He sort of sang to himself, for the sheer hobgoblin hell of it, and to someone he once met in a bar in Madrid who couldn't hear very well.

Here Come The Warm Jets is the only Eno record of it's kind, and the only record of it's kind. It contains ten songs with titles that tell interesting stories, songs which emerge from the same imagination and the same part of the century but which don't necessarily sound like each other.

Pumped up with hammy Roxy feeling, Eno as half man, half theorist, or half genius, half pervert, was still keen on experimenting with the structure of a pop song. He replaced the conventional rock line up of instruments with a completely new line up, invented a conventional way of mixing, treating and layering this unusual combination of instruments, and asked sophisticated and brilliant musicians to interpret his simple, charming musical ideas.

He used soloists and instrumentalists the way a jazz musician might, allowing them to improvise within a certain framework, or within no framework at all, which is a sort of framework, and he organised them in the way that an avant-garde composer might, issuing them clear or cryptic instructions that were as much to do with how to behave as what to play.

He wrote lyrics that referred to the idea of a pop lyric but where meaning was accidental, incidental or coincidental, or just plain nowhere to be heard. The record contained echoes of rock that might have gone before, and of rock that might yet come. It was full of sounds that were as absurd as life itself, and as serious as life itself. No one had ever made sounds like these before, and very few people have ever made them since. They ache in beautiful isolation, and occasionally they freak out at the thought of themselves.

There are noisy guitar solos on this album, because it is, at the edge of itself, a rock and roll album. Robert Fripp plays a guitar solo on “Baby's On Fire” as if it never occurred to him that anyone would ever hear it. He sort of played it to himself, for the sheer fretted thrill of it, and to someone he once met in Leeds who couldn't see very well.

Here Come The Warm Jets is a little bit Roxy, a twisted bit music, and it contains so much detailed fantasy and calm, warped daydreaming that it ends up a celebration of reality. It's the ultimate example of what you must do if you have just left a strange pop group because they weren't strange enough for you, and if you have a thousand ideas about how a pop song can sound, because you are influenced by Velvet Underground, Steve Reich, Marcel Duchamp, Can, Gavin Bryars, the Beach Boys, John Cage and The Who, and you want to stick all those ideas in one place at the same time, along with the idea that as soon as you have thought of something, you must think of something else.

It is the album of someone who did not know how to play an instrument. But he knew how to attack one. It is the album of an avant-gardist fascinated by the pop single.

Brian Eno was 25 when he made it.

It is a fact that the very best of the first four Brian Eno solo albums - the ones that took him from the gang bang glamour of Roxy Music to a world in space where he was all on his own - is Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy).

It sounds like Here Come The Warm Jets, it emerges from the same imagination, but it is nothing like it, as Eno was thinking of something else when he made it. He'd had more ideas about how to make and unmake a pop song whilst borrowing techniques from painters, poets, avant-garde musicians and philosophers. Most musicians could make an entire career out of the amount of melodies, riffs, rhythms, twists, turns, signals, puns, tricks, textures, juxtapositions and asides collected on his first solo album, but now he started again from scratch, as if the first record was just provisional thoughts, and only now had he perfected his dream of a new kind of music that wasn't scary, wasn't dissonant, was in fact extremely attractive. The kind of music Schoenberg might have made if he'd been influenced by Brian Wilson and Lou Reed.

It's Roxy Music on the dark side of Saturn where they are known as Scoury Mix.

Their lead singer was No Ribena.

Normal, if we know what is meant by normal, songs tend to move forward, with everything inside the song happening at the same time, at the same pace, or at least with everything, timing, direction and speed, closely connected. Eno's songs moved in different directions at the same time, forward, backward, sideways, across, up, down, whilst clinging onto coherence. They were cubist songs with hard centres and soft shells. He would take a fragment of music and look at it from a number of different directions, and then put all that together in the same place, or at the opposite end of some kind of sonic spectrum.

Eno was still playing with structure in a non-structural way, and, god help us, vice versa, allowing the songs to sink into themselves, into a world in space where they are all on their own, where they could dissolve into pure mood and presence.

Musicians of great sophistication turned his basic thoughts into great music, and he manipulated their great music so that it became great music on the edge of itself. He was instrumental in leading a process whereby a varied team of musicians culled from various areas of rock and jazz improvise upon some vague themes so that he ends up with bits of music that start to resemble songs. He then thinks of some words that tell some kind of story about the time of day, and about all the things that can happen next in life because something has to happen next, as long as we're alive.

On this album, Eno's voice became his voice - at least, the one we associate most with Eno the vocalist, not so much the glee and heat of Here Come The Warm Jets, but this surreal sort of mix between beautiful talking and half hearted singing, something intimate and awkward yet impersonal and graceful. It's sweet, and sinister. No one else has ever sung like it, although David Byrne gave it a shot, and Eno himself soon stopped singing like it, mainly because he pretty much stopped singing altogether.

Tiger Mountain contains ten songs with titles that tell you something is afoot. It is a concept album in the sense that it is a mysterious musical based on a dream of intrigue set in communist China - it is the soundtrack to a James Bond movie based on an Ian Fleming novel rewrote by William Burroughs.

No one can predict the outcome. It is music based on Mao's Little Red Book as translated by Phillip K Dick. Dadaism meets Buddhism. Involvement meets indifference. Paranoia meets patience. Memory meets itself.

Every song is a raging conspiracy, an incessant quest for logic, a journey into danger, a race against time, a chase through space, an escape from danger, a turn up for the books.

Phil Manzanera's guitar solo's are made up with menace - and remade with furtive cheek by Brian Eno, the reptilian villain of the piece, the ultimate collaborator, who has a gun in his pocket or is just pleased to see us - as someone approaches with a secret message that says:

Once the search is in progress, something will be found. *

*(Eno produced the album using a set of cards named Oblique Strategies - which contained 'over one hundred worthwhile dilemmas.' At a time of difficulty, when a decision needed to be made about a song or a sound, when he was stuck, when he wasn't stuck, he would refer to a card, and act upon it's advice. This last line comes from one of the Oblique Strategy Cards. It was chosen at random. The next card I have selected suggest I look at the order which I do things.)

I take this as meaning I must move on to:

It is a fact that the very best of the first four Brian Eno solo albums - the ones that took him from the make up, glitter and platforms of the wound up Roxy Music to the sigh, float and composure of his wounded later work - is Another Green World.

On Taking Tiger Mountain, Eno had found his voice, and so naturally, being a bit of a bugger when it comes to confounding expectations, he now more or less got rid of it.

He started to lose his voice.

His songs were beginning to become something else, a something else that didn't require a voice, not in any ordinary sense.

After a detour through the world of pop, where he deformed and reformed the song with experimental delight, he seemed to get bored with all the shiny toys. No one in the world gets as bored as easily as Brian Eno. He turned a corner. He walked a back street. He took a stroll in the park. He sat on a beach. He took a swim. He submerged himself under the water.

He held his breath.

He looked back at Cage and Satie, in order to look ahead, and he forgot more than most people ever get to know about making abstract pop at the edge of itself, and he played around with his own version of the history of music. He found a few moments to wonder what rock music would be like if it was influenced by the suggestive minimalism of Morton Feldman and the infinite longing of LaMonte Young rather than Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley.

What if Satie made a pop album.
What if Miles Davis produced it.
What if music sounded so inside itself and so outside itself it could have come from ten thousand years ago or ten thousand years from the future.
What if music sounded so on the edge of itself it seemed to hesitate on the edge of eternity.
What if a machine that had a soul made music.

It contained four songs with titles that gave little away and ten instrumentals with titles that sometimes get given to abstract paintings, to lead you on, or mislead you, to mark them in time, to give them a sort of home.

Roxy Music had faded away . . . a shadow of a shadow . . . Eno had got out of paradise. It was too hot in there.

There are guitar solos on this album, because it is, at the edge of itself, on the edge of itself, and Robert Fripp plays a guitar solo on “St.Elmos Fire” as if he's convinced the whole world is going to hear it, and Eno treats it as if someone is approaching with a secret message that says;

You are an engineer.

If Eno was losing his voice he was finding his instrument. The recording studio, which he used to find a sensual place where the sound and imagination can meet. The recording studio was a large version of his original instrument, which was the tape recorder. With the recording studio, he found a way to tape time, and then turn it into sound, and then turn it into a collage.

The pieces are quite short. They are the beginnings of something, or the ends of something, or the middles of something, or some section that isn't really at the beginning, the middle or the end of anything. They are all complete in their incompleteness.

Stupidity and beauty together are very profound. Repetition is never exactly repetition. With Here Come The Warm Jets, Eno had woken up. What a stupid, beautiful world!

With Taking Tiger Mountains, he had gone to work. Revolutionary ideas were combined with sheer practicality.

With Another Green World he had come home and was relaxing. He decided to stare at the sun until it turned square.

He was putting into his music only those things that were essential. Now that things were so simple, there was so much to do.

Some say he was losing his sense of humor.

"Words are losing their meaning," he sang, as if to say, words are losing their meaning, which is one way of saying he wasn't losing his sense of humor, it was just very cleverly disguised.

No one had ever made sounds like these and very few people have made them since. They ache in beautiful isolation and they are very comfortable with the thought of themselves.

A tenderness briefly interrupted by violence. His thoughts were speeding up. His music was slowing down. On Another Green World he had found new ways to design the space where the listener was listening to his music. He breathed out. He must have been dreaming.

It is a fact that the very best of the first four Brian Eno solo albums - the ones that took him from the fast lane of Roxy Music to the inner space of his later work, from the singing and dancing of Roxy Music to the man who could talk about anything given the chance, from the performer to the producer, from Television to U2, from Virginia Plain to Music for Airports - is Before and After Science.

Once more, ten songs. With titles that do their job. The music, as displayed elsewhere, with the spooky songs that told possible stories, and the spatial non-songs that thought for themselves, did not change. It just continued.

This was Brian Eno influenced by himself, everything he had learnt as a writer, producer and strategic analyst. He had invented his own clichés, and he just wanted to point out that he wasn't afraid of them. This was Eno influenced by the arcane benefits of his creed.

This was Brian Eno having picked up the Oblique Strategy card, Retrace your steps. Or writing one especially for the occasion that said, Consolidate. This was Brian Eno having worked with David Bowie, and getting that glam gleam in his eye again, as well as demonstrating how his technique for producing lovely, emotional music using electronic instruments is without equal.

Consider this record in the context of his late 1970s work in Berlin with Bowie on Low, Heroes and Lodger, and his work with the German Cluster and the New York Talking Heads. He was travelling through the interior of an imaginary city where there is noise, but you can find quiet if you want, and then he was circling the city, not sure whether to go inside, or move outside. He sort of did both at once.

He was half man, half studio, half on earth, half in space, half the man he was, half the man he was to become.

The first side of the vinyl record contained the fast songs; the second side was where the slow songs went. Sex, followed by a dream of sex. Or, god help us, vice versa.

Side One, now known as the first five songs, hard rocking at the edge of noise, is Eno having perfected a new kind of popular music that no one else could ever repeat. He's laughing out loud. He's braining at full pelt. He's tripping over his own excitement. He's running out of breath. He's breaking down sense and breaking up with reason. He's getting all this absurd action out of the way. He has replaced the conventional instruments of the song with unconventional instruments, and he is then mixing them and layering them unconventionally, and he's having the time of his life. There are also elements that could be called ambient, or at least contemplative, so it's not all clear cut. He was in control of being out of control. He sang as if you were in the room with him.

Side Two, now known as the second five songs, music slipping through itself at the edge of silence, is Eno using sound to suggest that space and time is the same thing. He achieves sensational serenity as he turns all of his analytical thoughts about music into pure moving sound. Texture relieves tension. He sang as if you would be in the room with him in a few seconds.

Repetition is never exactly repetition.
The listener is involved.
The appearance of development had stopped.
With Before and After Science he was summing up the day. It had been a long day.
He was ready for a good night's sleep.
Deep sleep, where a lot of work can be done.

After Before and After Science, Eno wouldn't sing much ever again. Perhaps he picked the card that said, go outside and shut the door behind you. Perhaps he picked up a card that said, do not sing until the end of the 1980s, when you will sing with John Cale.

Tomorrow, he would calm down a bit, record something random, do some work for others, rethink everything, get bored, pick a card, change the face of popular music, invent a whole new genre, and have a cup of tea. Tomorrow, he would think about tomorrow.

“SOUNDTRACKS” REISSUES
Release Date: March 22, 2005

Music For Films (1976)

1. Aragon
2. From The Same Hill
3. Inland Sea
4. Two Rapid Formations
5. Slow Water
6. Sparrowfall (1)
7. Sparrowfall (2)
8. Sparrowfall (3)
9. Alternative 3
10. Quartz
11. Events In A Dense Fog
12. There Is Nobody
13. Patrolling Wire Borders
14. A Measured Room
15. Task Force
16. M386
17. Strange Light
18. Final Sunset

More Music For Films (2005)

1. Untitled
2. The Last Door
3. Chemin De Fer
4. Dark Waters
5. Fuseli
6. Melancholy Waltz
7. Northern Lights
8. From The Coast
9. Shell
10. Empty Landscape
11. Reactor
12. The Secret
13. Don't Look Back
14. Marseilles
15. The Dove
16. Roman Twilight
17. Dawn, Marshland
18. Climate Study
19. Drift Study
20. Approaching Taidu
21. Always Returning (II)

“Filming Eno” - Notes By Paul Morley

Some scenes from certain films featuring music selected from Brian Eno’s series of soundtrack albums. The dialogue in these scenes refers, directly or indirectly, to those albums, and all the music used in these scenes comes from Music For Films, Thursday Afternoon, Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks and More Music For Films.

1: Atmosphere

A MAN WALKS DOWN A STREET. HE IS WALKING QUITE SLOWLY. AS HE WALKS HE STARTS TO TALK TO HIMSELF:

We should imagine we’re making hypothetical film soundtracks, not making songs. This is always a very liberating idea, because a film soundtrack doesn’t have to have a centre – the film itself is the centre. It allows you to make music that is pure atmosphere.

2. Film

A MAN ENTERS A CINEMA, BUYS A TICKET, AND TAKES A SEAT. HE WATCHES A FILM BEING SHOWN. A MAN IN THE FILM IS TALKING TO SOMEONE AND HE IS SAYING:

If I go to a cinema and I look at a film, what I do is take part in a kind of role-playing. I first of all watch a world being constructed, and if the film is any good I understand what the conditions and rules of that world are, and then I watch a few people who represent certain sets and bundles of characteristics, and I see what they do and how they relate to the world. Essentially what I’m watching is a kind of experiment that’s been set up. I’m watching what would it be like if the world was like this, and what would it be like if this kind of person met that kind of person in that kind of context.

3. Fiction

A MAN FINDS A SCRAP OF PAPER IN THE STREET. HE PICKS IT UP. ON IT IS WRITTEN THE WORDS:

Let’s see what would happen if the world was like this.

4. Time

A MAN IS IN A ROOM FILLED WITH PEOPLE. IT MIGHT BE A PARTY, IT MIGHT BE SOME STRANGE FORM OF TORTURE. AFTER A WHILE THE MAN CANNOT STOP HIMSELF FROM SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF HIS VOICE:

The intellectual Arab world at its height – somewhere between, say, the beginning of the 11the Century and the middle of the 13th – would have been absolutely amazing to experience.

5. A Year In Africa

A MAN ALONE IN A ROOM WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO TALK TO. EVENTUALLY HE GIVES UP WAITING AND DECIDES TO SAY SOMETHING ANYWAY:

The problem with computers is that there is not enough Africa in them.

6. A Second

A MAN IS EXPLAINING TO THREE PEOPLE INSIDE AN ELEVATOR WHAT HE JUST THOUGHT:

I realised that what the studio was really good for was making pictures, creating new landscapes and time and space contexts. And because it was the only tool I had, I naturally started to move more in that direction. Music For Films, like Discreet Music, was an important record for me.

7. Thirty Seconds

A MAN IS SITTING IN A CHAIR. ARRANGED AROUND HIM ARE FOUR OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE LISTENING TO HIM SAY:

Music For Films was a limited edition at first, which I pressed up in 1976 just to send to filmmakers, but my secret hope was that people would listen to it and say, “Hey, this is a nice record.” Which is what happened. I knew that to release that record like that in the contemporary critical climate of English rock journalism (at the time), you’d just be shot to bits, because it was so contrary to what was going on – these little lost snippets of something or other, very unaggressive and unattacking. One of the pieces has been used about 25 times in different programmes. – it’s about thirty seconds long and it took me thirty seconds to make.

8. Imaginary Confusion

FOUR PEOPLE SIT AROUND A TABLE TALKING ABOUT BRIAN ENO’S MUSIC FOR FILMS AND MORE MUSIC FOR FILMS:

Person one: Brian Eno's Music for Films series are made up of short instrumental compositions for the possible use as the soundtracks of films. I don't know how many of them were actually used in films. They are really soundtracks for imaginary films. Eventually, perhaps, all of those films will be made. The series differ from other instrumental works of Brian Eno such as ambient or installation works. First of all, Music for Films works are short, many being less than two minutes long, with synthesizers at the forefront, and additional instrumentation from rock musicians such as Robert Fripp, John Cale, Fred Frith and Phil Collins. Second, they usually have clear melody or rhythm or an interesting application of varied musical instruments. There’s more conventional musical depth to them, in that there might be a bass, or some sense of pulse. (Other Eno instrumental works sometimes don't have these things. They are more focused on the ambience and sound effect.) Third, they tend to have a melancholic mood. Some kind of melancholy is often a feature of Eno’s music, but it is the most striking element of the film music. It is not clear if this melancholy is a hint of a reality Eno was striving for, as if somehow because this was music for film, it should represent something real, or at least represent a version of something real. Perhaps the difference between the albums designated as ambient and the albums considered to be soundtracks is that the ambient music gives up on reality in order to create new reality, and the soundtrack albums refer to reality, in order to undermine it, or rearrange it.

Person two: I think the music for films stuff works on both an ambient and a listening level. The point is, the music, in a cinema, a room, it changes the mood completely . . . it might be ignorable, or there is this idea that you can ignore it, if you choose, but in the end, I find the music Eno has produced either as background music for living or background music to the action, or non-action, of a film the most attractive and stimulating kind of music. It’s actually music that will last longer than music that was meant to last a long time, or at least music that was meant to be in the foreground of life. Perhaps Eno places music just to the side of your life, just out of reach, just at the edge of your imagination, and then slowly, if you desire, you can pull it towards you. Other music you eventually discard. All that action and attack just drains away.

Person three: It’s been funny over the years seeing movies that take music from Music For Films, so that eventually the music has actually become music for films even though it was originally ‘what if this was music for films’. There was a Hong Kong movie called I think A Better Tomorrow, and of course there was Trainspotting, which made a little piece of instrumental music made some time in time seem like some kind of greatest hit.

Person four: Eno. Dark pitches, sonic beeping, foreboding like a dark submarine thriller. Lots of short haunting pieces of cinematic new age music created by fancy expensive synthesizers and plain jane cheapass pianos. The funky cocaine beats, echoey martial drums, science fiction nerdiness, African tribal pop, violin scrapes, Residentsy nothingness. Put it all together and the facts are clear - these songs were never intended to be in any REAL films at all! Eno just recorded them on a whim one day between the years of 1975 and 1978 and then set about trying to sneak them into motion pictures he showed at his own home.
Person one: Perhaps we should try and explain about the original limited edition Music for Films cd in 1976, the official release that came a couple of years later, and then the volume two and volume three editions, in the early 80s, and how some of the pieces have appeared over the years on various compilations.
Person two: You mean we should try and organise which pieces have appeared in which format in a previous life? Detect some order?
Person three: Is it possible to work that out, and even if it is, does it as such matter?
Person one: It might be our job to work it all out. It might be why we are here.
Person two: I thought we were here to pretend.
Person three: I think in the end we should keep some of the mystery open, and assume that elsewhere other organised pretenders have worked out some sense of order and harmony in terms of what appeared when, and where, and how. Let’s stay uncentred. Let’s stay wondering where on earth we are and who the heck we are.
Person four: As the Monkees once sang so harmoniously, "Words that never were true/Just spoken to help nobody but you/Words with lies inside/But small enough to hide til your playing was through."

9. Land, sea, air

A MAN IS EXPLAINING TO A CROWD OF PEOPLE SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT THE MUSIC OF BRIAN ENO. HE IS WRITING SOME WORDS ON A BLACKBOARD. IT IS A BIG BLACKBOARD.AT THE END OF THE LECTURE THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT ARE LEFT ON THE BLACKBOARD. THE NEXT PEOPLE IN THE ROOM LOOK AT THESE WORDS LEFT ON THE BOARD AND WONDER WHAT THEY MIGHT MEAN:

Eno/Ouvre
Light/Atmosphere
Installation/darkened gallery
Bell like chimes/prolonged rallentando
Slackening tempo
Simple classical composition/never quite finishing/always finishing
Never repeats/always repeats/there is no such thing as repetition
Electronic instrumentation/any noise at will
Innovation in musical texture above composition
Pop music/sound/noise with drama
Recorded music/altering our relationship to music
Reducing workload
Made/played/heard differently/Brahms
Low volume/loudest moments
Single notes/flurries of notes
Rain/background
Sounds/carefully calibrated
Long before we heard it/long after we hear it
Distant horizon/elements out of earshot
Never gets anywhere/never runs down
Any fragmented part of the music reveals an image of the whole
Landscape imagery
Limbo/blow/stranded
Chance favours the prepared observer
Loud, witty music/alternatively, body music in space
Designed locations/instruments/moods/imagination
Reverb/echo
Drift of the fusion
Treatments/depth suggested by reverberation
Foreground/background
Living rooms/airports
Loud/louder
Words/no words
Shifting things/different places
Beauty/mistrust/marvelousness/cathederals
Interior design/frozen music
King of the county/lord of the manor
Social function/cultural landscape
What a lovely feeling
Portable experiences
Other sounds/what sound should I invent
Nothing happens/nothing happens in paintings
A little today/more the next day
Place to sit/think/feel
Change?/All the time?
Import/export
Temporal mobilisation of structure
Material, ontological and phenomenological
Soothing/eerie
Video art/TV/decorated differently
Music starts/goes/ends/in an order/new order/other order/later/sooner/throughout
Exotic context
Fell out of sync
Breakdown/logical musical order/complete absence of musical logic
Wavering/ hovering/floating / driving/effective/ineffective /soundtrack/unsoundtrack
Echoes/shadows/sound/listener left in the spaces they leave behind
Total effects/multiple flows/compound languages/meshed experiences
Conscious minds/unconscious bodies
Listening/non listening
Set in motion/process
Chaos/stasis
Serious/non-serious
Music never changes/hear different things as it doesn’t change
Somebody/something
Sound/decay
Porn/love
Serene hallucination/Deep Blue Day
Shadow Morton/Jimi Hendrix
Chekhov/Rambo
Little Richard/Mondrian
Control/no control
Composing becomes the act of constructing
Rational/intuitive
Guesswork
Rehearsal for enduring uncertainty
Safe situation/life threatening
Passage of time itself
Illuminated by the light of distant suns
Cinema: 100% sound/100% image
Machine versus personality
The world in your head versus the possible world in your head
Old systems dying/new ones painfully being born
Been there/done that

10. Parade

A MAN IN A PLUM COLOURED VELVET SUIT IS REPLYING TO A QUESTION ABOUT THE MUSIC HE HAD WRITTEN FOR A BALLET THAT DID NOT AS SUCH SEEM TO CONNECT DIRECTLY WITH THE CHOREOGRAPHIC NARRATIVE:

When the villain enters the stage does the scenery grimace?

11. Wax

A FEMALE JOURNALIST WHO LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE A YOUNG CHRISSIE HYNDE IS INTERVIEWING A MALE ARTIST WHO LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE A YOUNG BRIAN ENO. SHE IS WEARING LEATHER TROUSERS. HE IS WEARING BROWN LACE UP SHOES:

MALE: Can I show you my pubic area?

HE EXPOSES HIS STOMACH DOWN TO ABOUT SIX INCHES BELOW HIS NAVEL.

MALE: Absolutely bare. Now I’ve got this beautiful bare belly! Do you know what Burning Shame is by the way? It’s a pornographic term for a deviation involving candles.

FEMALE :Ouch.

11. Steal

A MAN ENTERS A BANK. HE APPROACHES A SECURITY GUARD AND QUIETLY ANNOUNCES:

I’ve made any secret of the fact that I steal ideas wherever I can. But at the same time people steal ideas from me as well.

11. Time of Day

A MAN AND A WOMAN TALK TO EACH OTHER ABOUT ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THINGS. THE WOMAN IS COMMENTING ON THE WEATHER. THE MAN IS SAYING:

Thursday Afternoon is the purest expression of what I thought ambient music should be: endless, relatively unchanging moods. Thursday Afternoon is as long as I could fit onto a cd, basically. It was the first cd only release, because I wanted it to be that long. Also, the quality of reproduction you get with Compact Disc eliminates all extraneous noise. My music is very quiet, - silence is very important in my music. Having no silence in music is like having no black and white in painting. It’s called Thursday Afternoon because it was written to go with a video called Thursday afternoon.

12. Tokyo

FOUR PEOPLE SIT AROUND A TABLE TALKING ABOUT THURSDAY AFTERNOON. IT IS A THURSDAY AFTERNOON:

Person one: Thursday Afternoon is a beautifully spare, airy piece composed to accompany a video installation at Sony Tokyo.

Person two: In a lot of ways it’s reminiscent of Discreet Music – meandering, endless variations on the same simple theme. It stretches the concept of ambient music nearly to the breaking point--the piece consists almost entirely of single notes and simple chords held seemingly without end, with the occasional wash of piano notes wafting through. Or, to put it another way, nothing happens. Frequently.

Person three: It’s over sixty minutes long, and the final few minutes consist of a single, high, sustained tone. Really, it’s a sixty-minute piano piece with plenty of space and a lot of time. It’s sort of piano notes that are not so much played as strung together.

Person four: It makes me want to say – play something else, Liberace.

Person two: To watch the video that goes with the music, and the video goes with the music like the music goes with the video, you turn your TV onto it’s side. It would be great perhaps to turn the music on it’s side somehow.

Person one: Oh, I think there are times when you can sort of do that, in your imagination. I mean, I’m not sure I have much sympathy with those people who complain that nothing much happens – the whole piece is really an unfolding display of unique sonic clusters.

Person three: I think after a while you can start to hear little birdies and froggies and that kind of thing. I also think, as well as playing the music on its side, you should play the music on a Wednesday morning rather than a Thursday afternoon. I don’t think the recording is negatively affected if you do that.

Person four: For the first few minutes, the five or so alternating notes are striking, unforgettable, superb, saintly, placid, relaxing, just as they were intended to be. And then you can sorta let it zone out as you go about your business, throwing wine at your wife or whatever, but around the 20 minute mark, there is NO WAY that you can sit still and not think to yourself, "Say! He's still playing the same notes!" Around 35 minutes, anger sets in and things start getting thrown. Not by you necessarily, and perhaps only on the TV by men in football uniforms, but the throwing is nevertheless taking place SOMEWHERE in the world, so just as a butterfly's wings cause a hurricane on the other side of the globe, Brian Eno is affecting the outcome of sports events by recording boring go-nowhere half-assed shit music for old people. By minute 50, you can concentrate on NOTHING IN THE WORLD outside of that motherfucking cocksucking repetitive asshole electric piano playing its mindless, ball-numbing five-note melody over and over and over and over and over and over as if people don't have feelings and should be expected to sit still and let drops of water slowly drip, drip, drip on their foreheads for 61 minutes at a time. If you actually make it through all 61 minutes, the telephone rings and a voice tells you that you're going to die in 7 days.

Person one: Well, you might indeed say that the experience being evoked is the tedium of a nondescript, unexciting day. So you could say that it is entirely a success.

Person two: No one fills an hour like Brian Eno. He can make it seem like one second, or like one hundred years. He’s moving incredibly fast and incredibly slow at the same time.

Person four: So if I listen to Thursday Afternoon it means that I’m going to die in a few seconds, or a few hundred years. What happens if I have sex at the same time? And play it on a Monday morning? Maybe I’ll end up sitting inside a bubble of backward moving time.

12. Space

A MAN HAS JUST MADE A PHONE CALL TO SOMEONE WHO WE CANNOT SEE TO TELL HIM THAT HE IS GOING TO DIE IN 7 DAYS. HE THEN MAKES A PHONE CALL TO SOMEONE ELSE WE CANNOT SEE AND SAYS:

Apollo was done in relation to a film that was made entirely of real footage from the Apollo missions. When I was asked to do the music for the film, I discovered that the astronauts were each allowed to take a cassette with them on these missions, and they nearly all took country and western songs. I thought it was a fabulous idea that people were out in space playing this music which really belongs to another frontier – in a way, they were seeing themselves as cowboys. So the idea was to try and make a frontier space music of some kind.

13. Moon Living

FOUR PEOPLE SIT AROUND A TABLE TALKING ABOUT APOLLO, ATMOSPHERES AND SOUNDTRACKS:

Person one: The film was directed by Al Reinert. Sometimes I think that the music came first, that the space pictures were placed in the order they were because of the music.

Person two: The disc's dozen gorgeous, evocative miniatures see Eno's first collaborative work with producer/guitarist Daniel Lanois--a collaborator who would prove central to many of Eno's subsequent projects--and with his own brother, pianist Roger Eno. The music is an intoxicating mixture of acoustic and electronic, and somehow Eno, Eno and Lanois have managed to produce magical, sumptuous music to frame and re-frame scenes of cold, implacable reality.

Person one: Apollo contains some of Eno's most carefully crafted melodies, wrought impressionistically in limpid, quicksilver synth and gilded with Lanois's liquid guitar lines. "Matta" and "Under Stars II" imagine the wonders of weightlessness and zero-gravity drift. Lanois's "Silver Morning" views the dawn's smouldering glow from above, while the golden rays of "Deep Blue Day" strain to break at the planet's horizon. "An Ending (Ascent)" watches tearfully from the heavens as a tiny blue Earth falls away into the cradling arms of space; "Always Returning" welcomes the sight of terra firma's green expanses; and the twinkling "Stars" casts its eyes heavenward with a new sense of respect and homesick longing. An ambient masterpiece. In fact, as you often end up saying with many of Eno’s works – No Pussyfooting, Discreet Music, Music For Airports, Neroli – ambient music in a soft, softening, softly softly nutshell of illusion.

Person three: It is extremely relaxing to play this, and although I have not seen the film it is easy to imagine flying past the moon, above a dead silent world containing nothing but dust and nothing.

Person four: I think of this one as an Ian Boner album

Person one: Pardon

Person four: You know what I’m saying. Without warning, Eno does a spectacular job of emulating the cold, dense, empty, unfeeling vacuum of space on this album (especially the first two tracks and final epic), establishing a low one-note rumbling drone that he then augments with space shuttle beeps, frightening whale-like Martian noises, the occasional peaceful hum and..... bugger me.... a steel guitar, the pineapple on this particular pizza. And this is where the concept falls apart a little bit. After five or six tracks of pure drone (or near-drone), suddenly Eno hops out of his spaceship to join a boring house band in a hotel at the edge of the solar system. What in the world slow country ballads and romantic pop compositions have to do with space is never explained, leaving the listener wondering if Eno perhaps just slammed two EPs together so he could release something.

Person three: Well, if what you’re saying is that this sounds sort of like an imaginary project by an imaginary Grateful Dead, I might just about agree with you. Eno is just responding to the astronaut who says he would look out of the porthole at the space all around him and listen to country and western music.

Person two: There are tunes there, sure – An Ending (Ascent) takes you on a journey that is not just physical but emotional, and it’s one of the most impossibly beautiful of all Eno’s discreet or indiscreet melodies – but I think overall it’s the best way of creating space music without falling for the clichés of space music, and I haven’t seen the film but I imagine that it’s the best space documentary ever made.

Person four: This side of 2001:A Space Odyssey.

Person one: In space, no one can hear you scream, but they might hear you whisper – Eno manages to imagine sound to fit the place, truly the space, where there is no sound, and after he has done it you cannot imagine sound in space being anything other than this sound. Every electronic musician worth his wires has a go at sonically interpreting space, but Eno does it best, by never doing the obvious, while somehow doing the obvious, by pursuing the alien, and defining the human – it goes back to that thing he said about making something strange that seems familiar, or something familiar that seems strange – it doesn’t immediately assault you as being completely weird, you feel seduced by it, but at the same time you cannot put your finger on what it is that you recognise. Kubrick used existing music to piece together his majestic 2001 soundtrack, and yet somehow Eno goes one further by starting from scratch and creating sound that stretches for millions of starry miles and yet never leaves your side. He outdoes the 2001 soundtrack! And the fact that Deep Blue Day can be so perfect in this galactically spaced out context, and also in the context of the utterly earthbound spaced out Trainspotting, gives a real insight into how Eno’s music can reach for the stars but somehow still seem gutsy and direct. His music can press home the directness of a situation, dwell exquisitely on the moment, or help open up a universe of irony, by playing against the obvious, by spiralling around and around the moment.

Person one: He writes a finite soundtrack to infinity by letting his music suggest thousands of ways that it might go – you’re never sure which way the music will head, and there’s a sense he explores inner space to capture outer space. In a way it’s the ultimate Eno experience – he lulls you into visiting a beautiful place for the very first time, even though you realise that there is no way back. You are prepared to go there, to lose yourself, in the hope that the journey into the unknown will explain something about the unknown even though you will be so stranded the knowledge might be of no use to you. It’s like discovering the secrets of the universe in the moments before you die. It’s haunting.

Person two: Beautiful.

Person three: Mysterious.

Person four: Wouldn’t it be crazy to float through space and hear your heartbeat stop?

14. Slow

AN ICE CUBE MELTS IN REAL TIME. A MAN FEELS HIS FINGERPRINTS GROWING. A DREAM GOES ON FOREVER.

15. Conclusion

A MAN IS EXPLAINING SOMETHING TO WHOEVER IS LISTENING:

I pick a note on a piano. I play it, or get someone else to play it, for several minutes. Sometimes it’s more like several hours, piddling around with sound until I make it sound like a drop of water falling into a pool, for example. Having done that, I then record myself, or an accomplice, playing that note every . . . 23 seconds or thereabouts. Then I do the same for another note, repeat the process, only this time playing it every 21 and a half seconds, perhaps. Then I’ll get another note played every 17 seconds, until I begin to build up a tracery of notes, which cluster together in interesting ways. So that’s a typical mechanical process – quite unexciting really. Nothing much happens for the first eight or ten hours, doing something like that. You have to suspend your need for gratification for a while and just trust that it’s going to work out.

16. Closing Credits

A MAN IS STANDING ALONE IN AN ELEVATOR. THE ELEVATOR STOPS BETWEEN FLOORS.

(Fade to black. The music keeps on playing.)

Some scenes from certain films featuring music selected from Brian Eno’s series of soundtrack albums. The dialogue in these scenes refers, directly or indirectly, to those albums, and all the music used in these scenes comes from Music For Films, Thursday Afternoon, Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks and More Music For Films.


Paul Morley, December 2004.