A young man fell in love with an older woman. That woman was a teacher adept in the ways of Thelema and magick. To ensure their love remained everlasting, they committed their souls into a painting.
That is the abbreviated subject of the article I read that inspired Touloun.
It is called Touloun (pronounced in my mind as TOO-LON) because my subconscious, (or the essence of these lovers,) told me that was the name. I didn’t question it. But I do know that Touloun is a location in France. Perhaps a clue? A message? I wonder…sort of.
Musically, it’s one of two favourite songs from the No Souls in Manchester misadventure. This song embodied the aspirations of that “band.” The song least shackled by the traditional metal idioms I attempted to follow.
I remember a feeling of driving through an Arizona desert at night in the song’s verses. An immense appreciation and infatuation with bass guitar began while playing that bass line.
The words of Touloun reflect the feelings of the young man and the vows he made; indifferent to the static environment. Indifferent to possibly being a mere decoration for an insufferable socialite’s vegan dinner charity.
24 Hours was written by Tom Jones. THE Tom Jones. Sir Tom Jones. The alpha voice.
The alpha chest.
I knew I wanted to be on stage when I saw Tom Jones on television. I was 4-5 years old. While I was too young to understand the over-sexed aura and swagger he has, I connected to that pristine boisterous baritone. Tom Jones’ voice resided somewhere between a barking of orders and lilting sweetness. Compared to the Rock singers of the era and the Michael Jackson mania, he was unique to my infantile world view.
I recall his attire consisting of a brown jacket with an open shirt exposing his chest. Any other man who tries that look appears creepy and salacious. At least in North America. But this is Tom Jones. He sold me on that look. He looked as cool as Kiss or Mad Max. He exuded absolute power just being himself. I did not actively listen or watch Tom Jones in the future, but the mark of the beast was already imprinted upon me.
A few years ago, my little village of the damned had a Food Share benefit. The Food Share benefit was to raise money and food for less fortunate locals. The vehicle of this benefit was a compilation CD of regional acts. I contributed this song to the CD.
The organizers at the Food Share put on a benefit show at a local establishment. They contacted me, the sole performer of NSiM, to perform a few songs at the event. I agreed to do the show and was confounded on how any of these songs would be performed live. I resolved that it would have to be an acoustic set, and my neighbor graciously helped out on second guitar. Thankfully, “The White Motif” was the easiest to arrange for two guitars and voice.
We arrived at the venue early to do sound check and do a run through. I was startled by a 5-foot tall barren wooden cross dangling from stage right on a rope. Continue reading →