This is about a cat on the moon. Or is it..?

Single-track album; blundering through genres on a killing spree in five parts:

i) Peir
ii) Cat Traffic
iii) It's Only Skin Creep
iv) Ineffective Mass
v) Fussy Pussy

The first full length solo release by Alastair Popple. Myself, Marc Gillen and David Thompson all provided Al with bits of recordings, noises and unfinished songs.

"A REPORT TO THE ACADEMY (STARDATE 8000.75.4312.9 - EARTH SPECIFIC 31.12.11)
THIS REPORT IS RELAYED IN 3 DATA STREAMS, DESIGNATED FOR SPECIFIED PERSONNEL AND CLASSIFIED FUNCTIONS:

1 FACTUAL: Stone Tape Theory is Alastair Popple. Though he has been an integral part of the Treehouse Orchestra from the very beginning – his fingerprints are all over every one of our releases to date - "Volume 1: Fussy Pussy" is Alastair’s first solo release and what a strange and wonderful thing it is. What it exactly is, however, is less easy to express. It isn’t an album in the conventional sense, that’s for sure though, at nearly 35 minutes, it is of album length. It is perhaps best to simply consider it as a single extended piece of music in parts, or movements. The titles of said parts are helpfully provided on the record’s sleeve, as follows:

[i)Peir ii) Cat Traffic iii) It’s Only Skin Creep iv) Ineffective Mass v) Fussy Pussy]

Guessing where one section segues into another is part of the fun. There is much fun to be had. And much beauty. And bewilderment. And cosmic wonder.
Why don’t you just listen?

2 SENSUAL: The sleeping machine awakes with throbs, hums and bleeps (BBC Radiophonic atmospherics), a steady pulse warming all circuits until the engine finally kicks in (trance-like drumbeat and relative static/drone/flow). The conscience of the vessel is fully powered now (a psychedelic organ, promising a saucerful of secrets) – a hybrid of Terran and Alien technology (50s sci-fi theremin, Earth vs Flying Saucers). The ship is ready to leave Earth’s orbit.

It heads off steadily (early Beta band acoustic guitar chug, sometimes lost in a cosmic fug) and the beat of the great machine – a choir at its heart - as it heads out deeper into space.

Music of the spheres accompanied by the spirit of adventure & the burning lamp of human curiosity (blissed-out country slide, fuzz bass and crashing guitar). Dark matter and uncertain destinations (guitar wig-out) leaving us at the edge of the known universe (spaced electronica and ethereal violin, fading to pure energy/soul/consciousness).

However, no matter how far we venture out into the vastness of space and whatever we might find and face there, we must always take our human element with us – the achievements, fears, concerns (petty and profound), insecurities, paranoia, passions and peculiarities amassed over centuries and not easily left behind (12 inch extended mix of previously unreleased "Great Escape" period Blur track). Maybe we were never meant to leave them behind. To be continued...

3 METAPHYSICAL: This is how it feels, if I try to walk,
sometimes when I breathe, always when I talk. Better not to talk. This is how it reads, down in black and white. Written in the paper, on tv tonight - the future’s not too bright. And the cat goes to sleep (but she never has the same dream). And the cat goes to sleep. Again.

Horizontally - grounded as can be - vertically challenged, making little sense (in the present tense).
Spinning little ball - hello one and all! - read it in the paper, every rise and fall (the writing’s on the wall). And the cat goes to sleep, though she not getting any younger. Yes, the cat goes to sleep again.
[I turn the light on once more - and off again, just be sure the world doesn’t end (that I won’t lose a friend). Men did/did not land the moon. Aliens do/don’t walk among us. The noise it makes is reassuring and sound and true. It’ll until the next time the universe shakes.]

Mass communication. Hands across the sea. Nation speaks to nation, but no-one talks to me. No-one talks to me. Fortunes ebb and flow, good times come and go. Watch it on the telly, if you want to know (though you know you don’t know). And the cat goes to sleep, though I’m not sure who she belongs to. And the cat goes to sleep. Again." - David Thompson.