Sleevenotes for March show: It seems every time we cycle up the path by the River Lea a new block of flats has been erected. Just the other chilly Saturday afternoon, myself and Thurston, my son, hoped to get a cup of tea in a café along by where the boat people live, near Walthamstow Marshes. Unfortunately it was closed ‘having run out of food’ and so we sat on a bench and watched the river go by. A rare bit of winter sunshine, a couple of swans and a duck, and a young woman sat on the tow-path, sketching the barges moored on the far bank. Within minutes a hipster rolled up on his racing bike and started talking loudly into a mobile phone about ‘how corporate’ the Green Man festival had become. He stood, just blocking the final rays of sun, putting the pencil sketcher into the shade and shattering a brief moment of London tranquillity . . . I guess I’m no better, contributing more noise here, but I hope at least the next hour or so of music proves edifying in some of kind of small way (we all know corporate music festivals suck), and the music of Harold Budd, in particular, is worthy of re-investigation. There’s currently a huge amount of his stuff being reissued, including a 2cd retrospective, The Wind in Lonely Fences, and a lovely double-vinyl solo piano set, Perhaps. He comes across with much dignity in this Guardian interview; I can even imagine him puttering about on a canal boat on the River Lea Navigation . . .