33 1/3 Revolutions Per Minute

So here, I suppose, is some kind of end point, a marker. The cutting of Freedom Street, the transfer of all that sweat and love, all those years, all those ears, all the tweaking, the agonising, the bouncing, the disappointment, near despair. This is resolution. Where it all comes together as the complete work of art. Where it transfers finally from digital bits to physicality. The spinning disc, the cutting needle, the lacquer, boxed up, taped up and off to the factory, ready for it’s limited edition mass production.

Laurie’s being nice. He says the music reminds him of Grace Jones at the peak of her powers, as he changes the needle on the great VMS70 Neumann lathe, a hulking piece of ancient technology, like celluloid and analogue synths, now a choice, a luxury rather than a necessity.

But god, it’s so exciting. Now I’m trying to stay calm, the box fresh lacquer is being cut, the sweet, familiar but forgotten smell fills the room, the lathe twists at precisely thirty three and a third revolutions per minute and, soon after venus finishes her transit of the sun, the strains of Word, side one, track one, fill the room.

And, gosh, well, it sounds bloody good and I am happy.