22:30, leaving a fun work dinner, on a Monday. Yes a Monday, and the Monday after a snowy, testosterone weekend has left you acnefied and aching. Out into the cold, and walking home through Brussels.
Newly repaired headphones are in the outer part of my backpack, so I can get that in my gloves. The Olympus that doubles as podcast player is buried in the main part – so why not go for the pocket radio. It's good to walk the streets in the cold flicking between the north African stations, the noise and reflections as an FM radio moves in the city, the Walter Benjamin thoughts as the Wildean prison appears to the left.
And back round it goes to the bottom of the band, and 89.5, and… sound art. Now that catches me off guard! It was good, the real deal, and the presenter speaks suddenly and in Dutch. It's good. I recognise a piece – is it Gregory Whitehead? The only familiar name in the next stream (of Dutch) was John Cage. What a show, could it really be five nights a week? Cos it's so good I bet it's just one night a week. Up into the dark terrazzo apartment, switching to the big headphones, the bigger radio.
Top of the hour… "jazz"…? Ah they've segued into the next show. Happily to sleep, and today, in the office, the facts.
It's called Mixtuur, and yes, it is five nights a week. Huzzah!
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