A weekend away at Manchester. Two highlights in succession: An Evening with King Crimson at the Lyric Theatre, Lowry, Salford, on 11 and 12 September. The first evening, I took my elder son, the second, my younger son. Responsible parenting in action:

King Crimson are the only progressive rock band who can still lay claim to the title in any meaningful sense. The two shows explored a compositional repertoire that spanned the period from 1969 to the present. The earliest pieces sounded as though they could have been composed yesterday. The band is about disciplined professionalism, rather than flashy showmanship, and corporate interaction and respect for each member, rather than individualism and assertive egos. It has the composure of a small orchestra rather than a rock band. Indeed, the epithet ‘rock band’ describes King Crimson only in part:

The members’ musicianship (instrumental craft, performance readiness, and the synchronisation of head, heart, and hands) was second to none.

8.30 am. I began the week by finalising the ‘Erased Messiah Recording’ sound work. It has qualities that recommend it for inclusion on the new album. Certainly, my experience with 78 rpm has been sufficiently productive to justify further exploration and exercises. 11.00 am. On with writing the track descriptor, in readiness for its public release this afternoon. (I’m purging my way of unfinished projects, before the the new academic year begins.)

1.40 pm. Upload:

2.15 pm. A second assault on the fifth Abstraction lecture. Theosophy exposed! Emails disposed. Letters composed. Some advice to an intending PhD Fine Art applicant:

You can’t force the issue with PhDs in Fine Art, anymore than you can sit down and just come up with a good idea. The best ideas seek you out; they come to you. Your responsibility, at this stage, is to be receptive and ready when they arrive. To do so, you must be in books habitually: read widely and voraciously — like your life depended on it. Allow one idea to lead you to another. Follow Hansel’s breadcrumbs into the dark forest.

Crumbs! Why is Damien Hirst now following me on Twitter? Answers on a postcard:

5.15 pm. An announcement that dinner would be later than usual. One cannot rush a haggis. So, onward into the early evening … tummy-a-rumbling.

7.00 pm. How does one distil Theosophy into a half-dozen bullet points? So much of it sounds either utterly bonkers or else obfuscated by portentous concepts and compound terminologies that ring hollow.