#atozchallenge #wis E is for Eggs and Their Shells

I'd heard of Cocteau Twins via the Trouser Press Record Guide during that initial research foray in 1986, and heard much about their dreamlike music, but didn't really know any of their songs until 1988 when I first heard Blue Bell Knoll on WMDK. I was immediately hooked, and did what I could to pick up their earlier stuff as soon as possible. I soon found a vinyl copy of The Pink Opaque US compilation, and later in 1989 found a few people who had copies of their albums. By that summer I had most of their 1984-86 output (Treasure, The Moon and the Melodies, and the surrounding EPs) dubbed on cassette. I played the hell out of those tapes for a good long time, right up until I was finally able to buy the cds or download the albums.

I learned a lot from this band. Specifically, I learned a lot from Simon Raymonde, the band's best-known bassist. His technique of using the bass to carry additional melody instead of merely providing the low end was a revelation to me in the late 80s, and I taught myself that technique by playing along with Blue Bell Knoll repeatedly until I had it down and could improvise on my own. But I also found myself analyzing how they got their signature dreamlike sound. It was partly their use of heavy reverb, giving everything an echoey, cavelike ambience (I always pictured them recording their songs in a darkened studio with perhaps a candle or two as their only illumination). But it was also their pastoral melodies, where everything seemed to have a zen-like, take-your-time relaxed flow. Nothing was rushed; everything in its own time, even the mysterious lyrics. This unique approach to music influenced my poetry and songwriting, and to some extent my prose as well.

Listening to Cocteau Twins often reminds me of those end-of-summer parties we had at the cabin out on Packard Pond. They were held in late August, just before everyone headed back to school or to college, when the New England summer was coming to a close, the days were cooling off and getting shorter. The first one was probably one of the last gatherings of everyone we knew and hung out with in high school, before we all dispersed to various parts of the country. We'd meet up again in smaller groups (and reconnect online later on), but this was a short and fun time to cherish. We played all kinds of board and card games, listened to music, watched movies and videos, and joked around all afternoon and evening. At night, we'd all grab the cots, beds and foldout couches in the separate parts of the cabin (I somehow always grabbed that rickety, squeaky iron bed near the stairs in the attic) and listen to the sounds of the evening as we drifted off to sleep...the frogs on the pond, the wind in the trees, or the summer storm rolling past. I'd put on my headphones and listen to my Cocteau Twins tapes and scribble some poetry in my comp book or a story idea in one of my notebooks. At the end of the party I'd always be the next-to-last one to leave, helping clean up and put away things, and of course to hold onto that feeling of close friendship as long as I could. A few weeks later, we'd all be heading our separate ways.

The later Cocteau Twins albums, particularly Heaven or Las Vegas and Four Calendar Café, were released while I was in Boston, and though they bring up memories of my time in that city, the feelings were still the same...getting used to the distance between friends in 1990, and going it completely alone in 1993. The Zen-like quality of their music remained an island of relief and respite, a place to rest my head stop thinking so damn much, even if for a short time.