I'm going to stand and point at the output of two people.
Sara
Chiv
I don't know if they're mortified by their own output. But if they didn't want it being looked at, they shouldn't've put it on the internet. They also shouldn't've, after that, told me where to find it. I might've had to do some mild wheedling. But I didn't cajole.
I look at their output and think two things. One is: I wish I could do that. The other is: output isn't a very nice word for what might've been decades of isolated creative anguish only broken up by the odd brief cloud of confused satisfaction that dissipated as soon it settled, leaving behind a damp-smelling emptiness larger than the space it filled and the vague but persistent thought that things aren't quite as they should be... But it's also the name of a colossal DJ Suv tune from 1997. And colossal tunes from 1997 don't get played much these days. Whenever they do, people who've heard them before but not for ages immediately begin screaming like derailed trains. Check out the other Saturday when this happened at Metalheadz History Sessions. At one point MC Moose has a sip of champagne and almost instantly does an impression of Alan Partridge. A bit later Goldie gets so boisterous that Moose gives him a red card, which makes you picture Moose, against your will, for the entire rest of the set, dressed as a football referee with knee-high socks and Adidas Predators and a tiny whistle-shaped microphone. What I'm saying is output is one of the best things there is.
