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Psychological Studies - Melancholia

by Richard Crow & Paul Harrison

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1.
1.Untitled (In melancholia the complexion is very pale or sallow, tongue white, breath offensive, skin cold and clammy, circulation feeble and bowels torpid) 30:21
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2.
2. Untitled - (He was extremely emaciated, having taken very little food for several months; his diet some days consisted of a single biscuit. His countenance was haggard, he refused to speak to anyone or answer questions, and would sit motionless for hours and days together…) 15:44
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3.
3.Untitled - (Manustupration is most frequently assigned as the cause of the disorder…) 19:32
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4.
4. Untitled - (Prefatory inaction for Alexander Scriabin) 25:26
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5.
Untitled - (A small dose of Calomel - First Aid Kit for HH, Bless him) 56:29
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6.
Untitled- (Waste liquids, residue from earth -closets, the guts of decaying carcasses, old bones..) 20:23
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about

I've known it since childhood. The drudgery of school weighed heavy on my playful spirit (a prison sentence) - rising to the clock (I knew it was unnatural even then) - the dullards I had to endure every day (pupils and teachers) - moping at the back of a football pitch - way behind the action - waiting for it to end. Watching the clock in class - waiting for it to end. The miserable mining town, all grey - peasoupers, winter cold. Falling asleep at night to the sound of the seemingly endless coal trains click-clacking by at the bottom of the estate - my imagination drifting away with the sound to distant exotic places. The narrow map of my world - confined by certain roads, certain fields - I would look across and wonder what was beyond? Some day I might find out - but, for now - trapped. I knew it worse when my world fell apart - the screaming arguments, the separation, the divorce - the lies - the violence - all trust gone. End of childhood at 11. Betrayed, I became the one who didn't care. I was just waiting - not trying anymore - just biding my time until I could get out. Sat in the sandpit smoking tab ends gathered off the streets. Sat in the heavy silence of the day. Reading in bed by 7.30 on a summers evening - an escape from the kids playing outside - the kids I'd stopped pretending I had anything in common with. Watching BBC 2, Channel 4 - learning something about the world beyond. Making my films - Llandudno with M...grainy, silent - a gull landing on a lamppost with waves crashing beyond - no sound...just the hum of the projector. Left alone for a week - not knowing what to do. Nowhere to go - no ability to go anywhere - do anything. Staying up until dawn - watch the sun rise through the smog. Alone at night. Hear screams to stop from the 12 year old girl next door. Blank, empty - does not register. With child at 13. Boyfriend nowhere to be seen. Memory block for 35 years. Impact on confidence and ability to relate undoubtable. End of childhood at 17. The ghost girl at college - floating by - trapped in my silent scream - unable to reach. The Goths - stunned by the beauty of EJ - the pain of not being able to touch - the ache - physical - in the stomach - the Cocteau Twins 7" spins over and over my foetal form on the floor. Waiting. The Phono, The Chocolate Factory - some hope, a change from the wasted time in ugly, violent 1980s nightclubs. Shiftwork at the petrol station - home at midnight - back on at 5am - the grim dawn - the empty roads. The bleak night shift - held up at gunpoint - pissed my pants - fired the next day. Police phone weeks later to ask if I need counselling. No need - I have them sussed. Scammers. A set up. End of childhood at...? Hyde Park - small lonely room - long lonely summer. Harehills - on my way to buy bread and milk, Rastas outside the Fforde Grene shout across the road asking me what I need...I don't need the next job that lands in my lap or the burglary...they took my VCR that was set to record Twin Peaks. Luckily I sold my guitars to pay back J the week before. Still waiting. Lots of waiting. One-on-one therapist changed one day into someone I've never seen before - just as I was opening up - that's the end of that. Group therapist sits in silence and I wind up conducting the session - that's the end of that. Bombing speed wrapped in rizlas...finally the crash come down when I know that all is pointless - there is no doubt - it isn't a theory - it is truth. That's the end of that. No more speed. Later with vodka - don't know what happened the night before...that's the end of that. Psychedelics drag me out of the funk and slap me about a bit - now I'm starting to move on - the joke might be on me but at least I know it is a joke...end of childhood at...? Back to the shithole. Can hear people in other flats just speaking at normal volume. Not fit for habitation. Acid in my headphones. Extreme noise and no social activity for months...and months...broken the need...feeling better than ever...finally life happens, but the scam that it is shows through more and more - I've seen the tormenting mechanisms underneath it all...and the waiting doesn't end. All reminiscences bittersweet. Efforts to be in the now thwarted by heartache and mind chasing the elusive future that can never be found. The friends and the years come and go. Probably nearly all gone now. Nearly all gone now. All gone now. Gone now. Now! Waiting...still waiting...


Richard Crow and Paul Harrison - tools of the melancholics

Voice by Lucy de Karoli on Untitled - (Manustupration is most frequently assigned as the cause of the disorder…)

Extract from Mental Hygiene tape (1984) by Andy Kelly on Untitled - (A small dose of Calomel - First Aid Kit for HH, Bless him)

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released June 18, 2023

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Richard Crow London, UK

Launched in 2015 by Richard Crow (Institution of Rot) as an archive for new solo and collaborative work, as well as re-mastered work from his back catalog on limited edition cassettes, obscure cd-r releases and as full resolution digital editions.

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