Bird On The Wire

“Tim, do I like that dog?” A strange question, a queer query, an odd ask.

The answer surely already known unless one mind knows the other. Which would appear to be the case with Cate and Tim. With Tim and Cate. Cate, born in West Wales, raised under the shadow of a woolen mill, dressed by the field and by the rain. Tim, from San Francisco, grew under and over the bridges and streets, combed by corners and by concrete. A more different musical upbringing you couldn’t dream up. One a black thread strung through the eye of American hardcore, she a shard of glass tapped through a solid wall. Loop the thread around the shard and you have pendular device for predicting the sex.

“Will it be a boy or a girl?”

They both like to drink, coffee mostly and sometimes each other. And once the drinks are drunk out it comes. The mud slicks and the plates click. Drinks is a solo project, not a collaboration. It has one mouth, one set of lungs, one mind and four legs. Drinks are the sound of hermits on holiday, having the time of each others lives.
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