All text copyright Stephen Coates 2006 - 2015


Now mad Al Budovsky and I have recently been doing our bit for the welfare of the world by working with Lillipip - a Seattle based educational company producing animated teaching aids for small beings. Here is an example. Very sweet I think you'll agree. The rest of the original text of this post has been CENSORED..

Hope all is going swimmingly for you...


I went to the Tate Modern last night. They asked me to contribute music for a 'Tate Track' - a piece written to accompany an artwork in the collection. (The Chemical Brothers have done Epstein's 'Rock Drill' and the Klaxons are doing Cy Twombly's 'Quattro Staggione' and there are various other peculiar combinations).

Whilst there we watched the Christian Marclay videopiece which is absolutely extraordinary. If you haven't seen it and get the chance, try to check it out - they are about to remove it I think. It's very, very clever and beautiful if you love music.

Whilst wondering home, I remembered the little house which used to stand at the edge of the western entrance forecourt and the time a few years ago when I lived there briefly. When I first came to London, I lost my innocence for a while in substances and I started to go rather down hill. One morning I got a bit bored of it all and signed up for some classes at the CIty Lit Institute in Holborn. There I met Martyn from the Tiger Lillies and Sophie his muse and manager and we became firm friends. They lived in a flat in Berwick Street in Soho but one Sunday evening on returning from a trip we all took to the country, they discovered that their landlord had burnt the whole building down. (We found out later that he did it to force them out and to get the insurance). They lost all they had - clothes, instruments, years of recordings, photos and letters. Everything. Anyway, a friend who was squatting in this little house in Bankside let them go to stay and they ended up being there for a few years.

It was a peculiar place which contained six little flats for workers from the time when the Tate was still a power station. It was very curious with a central iron staircase and one bathroom for every two flats. There was just Martyn and Sophie and a little old man who lived down below. It was spooky and felt rather out of time. I believe I once saw a ghost on the stair - although maybe that was just the wine. I can't remember how many times I walked down to the river from St Pauls and over Blackfriar's Bridge to see them. I do remember there were rats by the river then.

And I don't know why they knocked it down - there is nothing there now but an unused area of ground.