Aurealis #181
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- From the Cloud — Stephen Higgins
- A Playlist for the End of Humankind — JB Draper
- The Muse Murders — Michael Pryor
- Good Fences — Sarah Morgan
From the Cloud
Stephen Higgins
I’m very into music. Obviously, I am also very interested in science fiction, so it should come as no surprise that I love what is known as ‘space rock’. I didn’t even know it was a thing until a few years ago. I knew I liked bands that used science fiction tropes in a musical way—sonic tropes, if you will. I should also mention that I record and release my own music, much of which could be termed space rock or at least ‘space music’.
So, what makes space rock sound ‘spacey’? I don’t exactly know. Like science fiction, it’s hard to pin down. The English band Hawkwind is credited with popularising the genre. Their sound palette includes whooshes, blips and beeps reminiscent of 1950s science fiction films. Realising they were onto something, Hawkwind began titling their songs appropriately: their first single, ‘Silver Machine’, was essentially a rock song with space-themed lyrics. Their second album, In Search of Space, and their live album, Space Ritual, cemented their prominence. They struck gold with Quark, Strangeness and Charm—a great album, though the title track was a bit weird. Hawkwind are still around and just released a new album titled There Is No Space for Us.
Many associate ‘space music’ with ambient, and the connection is strong. Hawkwind does include ambient-style pieces, but they also rely on chugging guitars and bass to drive songs deep into the listener’s psyche. Play their heavier tracks during meditation and your ears might bleed. I describe some of my music as ‘ambient with a beat’, so their influence is there, I guess.
Earlier pioneers of space music came from Germany. A wave of bands with similar sounds were labelled ‘Kosmische Musik’ (cosmic music as you might’ve guessed). It was atmospheric, often instrumental, and dreamily spacey. Some bands, like Tangerine Dream, still perform today (they’ll tour Australia this year), though none of the original members remain. Still, their music holds up. And, of course, there are the old stand-bys like Pink Floyd… I mean… Dark Side of the Moon? How spacey do you want it?
So, here’s my advice: Settle back with your favourite drink, fire up your music system, and play space rock or ambient while reading this issue of Aurealis. I guarantee it’ll enhance the experience.
All the best from the cloud!
Stephen Higgins
From A Playlist for the End of Humankind by JB Draper:
It’s been months since I’ve seen anyone. Contact is rarer still, even in the cities. I spend most days just looking for something to eat. Most days are hungry days.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when the cities were full of people, signs and sirens and smiles. I miss those days. I miss people; all I have is music to keep me company. The streets still clog with litter when the winds pick up and rusted cars are always dozing across the lanes. And the graffiti. I’ve never liked it. At least with everyone gone I can catch up with the endless tidying.
There’s one bit of graffiti I’ll never erase though. It’s scrawled on the front of City Hall and it says, ‘Where were you in ’32?’. That was the year people started disappearing, the year the world went quiet. I leave it there as a footnote to the great landmarks of humanity. But if it’s erased, even if the building is destroyed, I’ll never forget 2032.
From The Muse Murders by Michael Pryor:
When I arrived, the Scene of Crime team was there with their hazmat suits. The crew from the local station had fronted up too, uniformed and not, doing their best to look professional. None of the usual chat, though, no bleak jokes. A hush was there that night, in a room that smelled of bleach, chrome and disappointment.
I caught the eye of my police liaison, Georgiadis. She came over. ‘Peleus. I was wondering when you’d turn up.’
‘Given time, everyone turns up,’ I said half-heartedly as I studied the victim. Tall, of course, slender, hair to her waist. She was wearing something that was part robe, part gown, silver-white where it wasn’t soaked through with golden blood. Bare feet. ‘Three in the last month. One of the new ones?’
‘Zenais, Muse of Skywriting.’
I didn’t scoff. Muses are spawned by art forms. New art forms, new Muses, and some of them get outdated fast. The Muse of Skywriting sounds ridiculous? Then don’t even think about the Muse of Kaleidoscopes, the Muse of Paper Folding or the Muse of Puppetry. And then there was the Muse of Cave Painting. She doesn’t have much to do these days.
From Good Fences by Sarah Morgan:
The woman with the head of a crow arrived just before dinner. This presented a terribly tricky hostessing problem. Cook had been working for hours on an elaborate meal designed specifically to impress the Arch-Mage and his wife. The centrepiece was a massive three-tiered pie stuffed with—the truth could not be avoided—birds: four-and-twenty blackbirds in the bottom tier, songbirds in the middle and pheasant on top.
‘I suppose we’ll have to scrap the pie,’ Clarabelle said, wringing her hands.
‘Folks as don’t want nasty surprises oughtn’t spring them on others,’ Cook said with grim satisfaction.
‘But she’s a terribly important guest,’ Clarabelle said. She knew she sounded weak, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
‘A guest who’s not invited is no guest at all,’ said Cook. A bag of beaks and feathers slumped in the far corner, mute testament to the carnage that could not be undone.
