Dusk falls on Murray Hill, cloudy skies bathed in moonlight and the city lights below. In this secluded enclave hemmed in by hills on all sides, geology has its way with the streets, the buildings and the power lines, all arranged carefully around its ever-changing moods. There's a beautiful car parked in the shoulder of the road, snaking its way up through the pass... look closer, indeed it's a Camry in Catalina Blue (like the one parked miles away). Fingerprints in sound like One Way's Lady and shades of She's Strange in a Cameo accessed on the radio dial. Trees cut deep, dark shapes against the horizon, the city laid out in the grove below. New grass forms makeshift meadows in the the empty spaces between the places, sprung up swiftly like the city all around, memories of green a gift of rare California rain.
Four corners sprawl at the summit, paths branch out the compass rose. Cars hiss by my window en roundabout route to Lemon Grove and beyond, speakers bumping out into the night shades of The Gap Band into N-Tyce records and All City, the circle squared long before the change of the guard. Up in the mansions, streets run wide and lawns stretch out toward the horizon against the cool breeze in the night. Lost in the synth bass afterglow, Lowrell's Mellow Mellow Right On and its motorik pulse loping out toward infinity, years and years on warped through the sampler into Lately and Massive's spectral r&b.
Searching for a break in the buildings, a clear shot of the cityscape spread out below and a clear shot of the sky. What we already got is as good as it gets, it seems our world's to big for your mansion. The pristine walls and windows, driveways like the shoreline and manicured plants and fences, I'd trade them all for another spin of Mahogany Brown, Moodymann down Mohawk way, dwelling in the Gardens with Night Moves up on the display. Thoughts of cruising Eastward down the boulevard and Zapp's Computer Love — or Kraftwerk's or The Egyptian Lover's Sweet Dreams — threading vectors through every surface, illuminating the night in an iridescent neon glow.
Heading back down the hillside, traversing landscapes in descent, and strange synchronicities begin to swirl about. There's a house covered in palms and lights in motion, throwing wild vector shapes in technicolor neon, echoes of a memory, echoes of times soon come pass. A vision in the twilight, and apparition and the double-take... perhaps it all runs in one great parallel in the end? Lush pads seep into the moonlight, errant strains of Cheryl Lynn's In The Night and all the things Do'shonne would have played, SA-RA and The Isleys and J Dilla and Faze-O.
Sonics creep into every corner and occupy the space, inertia builds and synths take flight. Kleeer's Tonight, I Still Love You Call My Name and Next Time It's For Real rise up through cracks in the pavement, drifting up and up into the glare of the floodlights where they hang like ghosts in the night. Vectors off the grid in parallax motion, memories of Tron and Neuromancer come flooding back into view, overwhelming the senses as a distant voice declares, Face it, even your memory banks have forgotten this funk!
Shadows of street lamp rhythms tapped out in the night, echoes of Freaky Chakra's Blacklight Fantasy and Meat Beat's Original Fire in the half-light on Zion and Clara Lee, dubbed to bits and pieces of the future and scattered like a rocksteady path into the light. Origin story to present day and the smell of fresh cut grass on the field, sprawling right there just out of reach, the crisp scent still hanging in the air. Someday even the machines on Murray Hill will be a distant memory too. Street corner crossing, the bustle of traffic, and it's still a long way home...