We bought a worm farm around Christmas. It's very simple. The worms live in this box in the dark. You pile rotting plant life on top them (no chillies, onions or citrus - too acidic) and they take your refuse and turn it into nutrition for plants. "Worm wee" the woman in the shop called it.
You got a whole lot of love
Jason Pierce is a white boy with a gospel kink. Gospel is an exchange. Pain in this world, joy in the next. Rot for life. The promise of gospel should gird the vocalist, their song a living statement of their redemption. Jason doesn't believe (one Spiritualized song is called "No God, Only Religion"). He has no rock, no foundation. His voice is thin and reedy. Not a gospel voice at all.
Won't you give some to me
And yet on a mangled live tape I got with a magazine in the early 90s, Jason's fragile voice is off-set against a wall of sound from his band. It's very un-gospel-ness embodies everything. The music floods up under his voice. It might be a tidal wave of the blind chance of existence - a sonic equation for unfairness. It might be the seesmic tremours of emotion that my rationality cannot contain. It doesn't matter. It just is. The music collapses but his voice does not break.
If you send some to me
Whether Jason likes it or not, he has made art. Two flips of the same coin, art and religion offer opportunities to make sense of life. The joy and pain. The missing bits of the puzzle that may not have been in the box anyway. The only way you will remove art or religion from the world is to forge a cure for pain.
I will take good care of it
We feast on our pain and joy in vermicast galleries and cathedrals. We are in the dark.
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