The door slammed shut. 'Play this' the model demanded before falling on to her leathered seat. The driver was hardly taken aback. He slid Massive Attack's new CD into the machine and accelerated. 'Blast from the past' he muttered upon deaf ears. It'd been on a constant cycle of repeat at the shoot. When leaving the hotel she'd got one of the assistants to burn her a copy.
Pray For Rain began. It was highly familiar. Graven piano patterns warned of incoming dread, live drums met cold electronic flourishes. The tone was resolutely downbeat, Tunde Adebimpe conjuring an urban abyss. An aged woman overtook them on a slow wattage scooter, tracksuit, baseball cap but her red shoes were sure shiny. The driver wondered if his wife had gone shopping after work, and if his daughter had done her homework. Observing his client in the dashboard's mirror, he thought this is a far cry from when I was a bus driver.
Martina Topley-Bird curdled Billie's blues to a Can-like groove touched by fidgety beats. A glowing 6 AM, clubbed out anemia pervaded the synthetic womb. She put on her shades. 'I was the oldest girl today' she said to no one. The Piccadilly lights shone bright, neon paintings reflected in a drizzled out stupor. Another line was waiting for her at home. Girl I love You had been her favorite. Horace Andy's spooky, quivering voice stretching out over amped bass throb and resoundingly grim brass. A company of drunken office workers aimed at the car with water pistols.
Until this point, Heligoland and London held gloved hands in shadowed alliance. Then a second crew of conspirers took up reportage. Flat of the Blade featured the sleepy, Manchester burr of Guy Garvey, surveying the warped underworld like a wounded boxer denying the final blow. Hope Sandoval's intimate gush stirred the electric cauldron. Damon Albarn's weedy boyishness gasped for air. Signs of redemption on the horizon. As the driver relented into sweet, musical spasms of humility, the model grimaced and felt cheated by compromise. The flashlight of photographers greeted her on the doorstep. Without an exchange or gesture, it was the end of the ride.
