du Rhone: It’s a pleasure to sit and chat - is this your first time in the British Isles?

bloke: No, I’ve been a fair few times. My great aunt owns property between Whitstable and Canterbury.

du Rhone: Lovely area. Are you doing any shows around there, or just here in London?

bloke: No shows here or there - I’ve only come out this time to redesign Auntie’s manor gardens.

du Rhone: Really?! Do you mean to say you’re not performing at all?

bloke: No, it’s all I can handle, this project. I’ll go days without speaking to anything non-flora or feline. Great writing space, though. She keeps an old 12-string there she claims was left by Donovan.

du Rhone: As in P. Leitch?!

bloke: Is that how it’s pronounced? I always thought it more harsh and guttural somehow,

du Rhone: Have you ever perceived any particular vibrations from said guitar? Latent Donovanian energy transfer, perhaps?

bloke: Sure. I always have to fight my way out of that Season of the Witch groove. I always thought that song was about some quintessential English hamlet, and that Pye misspelled “wich” on the label. As in Ipswich, Sandwich, and the like.

du Rhone: Hmm, indeed.

bloke: It’s more ghostly than witchy, anyway.

du Rhone: Witchy Woman, it is not.

bloke: Thankfully. Did you know he raised one of Brian Jones’ sons? Wouldn’t mind recording with that guy.

du Rhone: I do remember hearing that. Does he play?

bloke: No idea. Does it really matter, though?

du Rhone: I’ll make a few inquiries for you. Who else would you like to work with on this side of the pond?

bloke: Lee Mavers.

du Rhone: Of the La’s? Quite! Although I don’t believe he’s been seen or heard from in nearly two decades, and was infamously difficult.

bloke: My kind of guy.

du Rhone: Now how have you managed to remain so obscure after nearly 15 years in Music City, U.S.A.?

bloke: Fear of effort.

du Rhone: Ha - lovely. And have you sought treatment for this phobia?

bloke: Nah. Had an appointment, but I couldn’t make it.

du Rhone: So how then did you end up signing with Alrights Reserved to put out your new stuff?

bloke: I haven’t the faintest recollection of what transpired. Must not’ve been too eventful.

du Rhone: Come now, lad.

bloke: Someone around the shop must’ve vouched for them. I don’t really give that stuff much thought. Those folks are alright, though. I don’t think they have any idea what they’re doing, but they don’t seem to mind much - and I respect that.

du Rhone: Semisolid State - your new 7-inch single is, I must say, a very fine listen indeed. Something secretive, yet sweet abounds.

bloke: Yeah, I see what you’re doing with the alliteration there. Glad you dig it, Bazz. (raises teacup)

du Rhone: No, really! I foresee it being big with the bookish set.

bloke: Well then.

du Rhone: How on earth did you think to back it with such a delightful oddity in the oeuvre of Sir Paul McCartney?

bloke: He came to me in a dream. He did that little head-shake thing with puckered lips, as if to say “well, well, well.” As clear a sign as I needed.

du Rhone: And I see you worked with the label’s poster-children, The Upper Middle on this.

bloke: Yeah - real oddballs. They have good ears, and good instincts, but they’re real drama queens, if I’m honest. They like to feign all kinds of animosity, mostly amongst themselves.

du Rhone: Fascinating! Any “Chuck and Keith” moments where you needed to deliver a jab to get ‘em in line?

bloke: Nah, nothing that cool. It was more of a Beck/Flaming Lips sort of passive-aggressive working relationship I imagine. Minus the restraining order at the end. We’re good.

du Rhone: Cooler heads, and all. Any chance the collaboration resumes at some juncture?

bloke: Can’t rule it out. There may or may not be some other tracks from the sessions to mold into something.

du Rhone: Ah, some loose threads to crochet?

bloke: If you like… are we playing the analogy game now?

du Rhone: Some concealed grapes to harvest yet?

bloke: You win.

Part 2 of their conversation was withheld from publication due to increasing inanity.