Edgeland.

The margins between the city and the country. Some just end up here; for others it is a destination filled with serious intent and ambition.

Karl Hyde embraces these margins on his debut album: “edgelands where city meets scrub, where ragged ponies grazed annexed fields and the air smells chemical.”

This edgeland is not a “Ballardian” zone. It is the “green wedge”. The lungs of the city. Being here necessitates a daily psycho-geographic trip back to the inner sanctum. Back to the old world.

This is the start of one such trip.