Those of us with a penchant for musical and spiritual psychogeography - 'believers in the laws and specific effects of the geographical environment' - will locate the exact root of this anthem of high abandon in the building which stands on the corner of White Street and Cortland Alley in the Manhattan borough of New York. The neighbourhood: Tribeca. This is where the vibes will be felt the strongest.
Times were tough then, the late 1970’s / early 1980’s. The squares were being taken seriously again. Menacing horror-show bigotry was rife. Sound familiar? And this was the place, home to the Mudd Club, that the post-punk art head freaks went to escape the crap and express themselves - create timelessness - flick the finger - look sharp - show off - have a bit of a laugh.
And dance their lives away.
Back to the present: It was inevitable that Andrew Weatherall would collaborate with audiobooks. They come from the same place. Trace their lineage and you’re back in Tribeca. Anya Phillips is on the door. James Chance is on the stage. Lizzy Mercier-Descloux is on the dance floor. and Karen Finlay is looking pretty fucking dangerous. Again.
Weirdly, depressingly, the current political landscape is a mirror image of those times and the freaks are having to look out for themselves once again. This song is one for the freaks. For the outsiders. Its message is one of liberation.
And that message is: Lose your shit. Stay free. Dance your life away.