The second edition of Jon Brooks '52' is available now.
500 hand numbered copies, on beautiful reverse mat board with a download code inside the sleeve.
This is exactly the same as the previous sold out edition except for the cover artwork.
This is exactly the same as the previous sold out edition except for the cover artwork.
SOLD OUT
However there are still a few copies available at: Experimedia (USA)
You can also download it directly from Jon's bandcamp page:
HERE
You can also download it directly from Jon's bandcamp page:
HERE
Jon
Brooks returns to Clay Pipe after 2012's sell out 'Shapwick'. '52' sees
Jon taking a gentle side step away from his Advisory Circle work for
Ghost Box, into more personal and reflective territory. Inspired by his Grandmothers' house, synth-laden and atmospheric '52' contains 14 aural memories of the house and garden.
“...
will you stop tearing up that newspaper? It’s making a mess down here”.
I sat quietly
and watched the pieces float from the mezzanine, through
the railings, down to the floor
below. I was reminded of late autumn, when dried seed helicopters from the trees were
abundant - their free-flowing nature always a reminder of our life cycles. It was an early
meditation; something to help focus the restless mind.
Silence broke eventually. “They all come from Leafield. They head from there with the
purpose of making our lives difficult!”. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I let it go. I thought of
their colonies, their families, the way they moved and went about their business - it was a
fascinating other world, where everyone looked out for each other. Always a lucky escape
for them, through the hum of a summer evening.
“Doctor of Philosophy. That’s what it means, it’s an abbreviation”. I wondered, as I pulled
another thick rubber band around the arm of the sofa. The structures I made seemed to
serve no purpose at all; they didn’t need to.
“... I’m resting up for the weekend”. I always noticed that. The pencil sharpener, the cuckoo
clock, everything in its’ place. The way the dust fell in the late afternoon sun. I wouldn’t
leave.
On the way back up the hill, we passed the three monkeys. “Do you think you’ll go to
college?”. “I think so”, I answered, not really knowing why I’d chosen that reply. The words
flutter-echoed through the stone and brick, in the heat of the day; all the way past Mr
Mulberry’s, Mrs Viner’s, Mrs Mouser’s.
below. I was reminded of late autumn, when dried seed helicopters from the trees were
abundant - their free-flowing nature always a reminder of our life cycles. It was an early
meditation; something to help focus the restless mind.
Silence broke eventually. “They all come from Leafield. They head from there with the
purpose of making our lives difficult!”. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I let it go. I thought of
their colonies, their families, the way they moved and went about their business - it was a
fascinating other world, where everyone looked out for each other. Always a lucky escape
for them, through the hum of a summer evening.
“Doctor of Philosophy. That’s what it means, it’s an abbreviation”. I wondered, as I pulled
another thick rubber band around the arm of the sofa. The structures I made seemed to
serve no purpose at all; they didn’t need to.
“... I’m resting up for the weekend”. I always noticed that. The pencil sharpener, the cuckoo
clock, everything in its’ place. The way the dust fell in the late afternoon sun. I wouldn’t
leave.
On the way back up the hill, we passed the three monkeys. “Do you think you’ll go to
college?”. “I think so”, I answered, not really knowing why I’d chosen that reply. The words
flutter-echoed through the stone and brick, in the heat of the day; all the way past Mr
Mulberry’s, Mrs Viner’s, Mrs Mouser’s.
SIDE 1
Morning Window
The Mezzanine
Fibre Optics
Pond i
Hothouse
All The Way From Leafield
December Trees
SIDE 2
The Back Room
Lichen
Walk In Store
Pond ii
Wax Lemons
Whispering Glass
End Of The Corridor