don’t exist. We all know it, yet we all would sometimes like to not remember. This post was going to be about ‘Stoney Street’. There is one, that I’m fond of, in the town I now live. It’s a nice ‘character’ street. But the real stony street is inside.
I grew up in what some of you would call ‘coal country’. Dead in the centre of a city made of concrete and contradictions. Exploited for centuries by Germans, Polish and the local population alike. Where whole districts welcome you with slogans such as “Witamy w krainie, gdzie obcy ginie” (loose translation – I beg forgiveness) “Welcome to the land where the outsider dies”. And at the same time home to the largest park inside a city in Europe and more than 900 years of history.
Covered with red brick, concrete and asphalt, there’s a lot of ‘stoney’ places about. They glisten when the heavens open. And there’s a special kind of crouching alertness to it late at night. Like… Well, if you grew up in the city, you know what I mean.
Below song, was with me when I trotted the empty streets, risked life going through old military training grounds and gawked at the sky in futile attempt to see the stars. Whenever I hear it, a piece of my, call it soul for lack of better terminology, opens and I’m back home, dangling feet from the 4th storey window of my room, listening to the hum of civilisation and soaking in a panorama of dirty rooftops bathed in the light of sodium-vapor lamps.
Made by Amon Tobin, whilst titled ‘Easy muffin’, to me will always remain Stoney Street. Why? Well that’s another story.