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from Dave Amis

Occasionally, I like to have a look through our archived blogs. Sometimes, it turns out to be an exercise in seeing just how far our position on an issue has evolved and altered. At other times, it’s finding that there are some aspects of what we do and how we see situations that have always remained pretty constant. One thing we have always been absolutely consistent about is the need to build/re-build a sense of solidarity at the grassroots in our communities. This goes right back to our days in the Independent Working Class Association. When I was looking through the long ago archived archived South Essex Heckler, I found the piece below which although it was written seven years ago, still holds true in my opinion. I’m reproducing the piece from the Heckler below exactly as it was first published so, all of the references will concern projects we were supporting when we were living back in Essex:
Where we are
We’ve had over ten years of austerity and it’s leaving our class in an increasingly precarious state. A brutal benefits regime is pushing more people into desperate poverty, homelessness, a greater likelihood of premature death and towards suicide. Even at the surface level, it’s impossible to escape the neglect and physical decay that’s blighting more and more of our neighbourhoods. As housing tenure becomes ever more precarious, the sense of community solidarity that could play a role in pulling people back from the brink is fracturing and dying.
So long as the authorities can keep the lid on the situation in the neighbourhoods where austerity has hit the hardest, they’ve no problem with the fracturing of community solidarity. The truth is, they actively pursue the project of undermining our solidarity by dividing us into the ‘hard-working and deserving’ and the ‘work shy, feckless and undeserving’. When you challenge this by showing the number of in work households who are in receipt of benefits, they’ll imply that the working poor need to be striving harder. All of this is exacerbated by the other games of divide and rule as the so called ‘indigenous’ working class is pitted against allegedly ‘job stealing’ migrants. Further exacerbation comes with the denigration of anyone who steps out of the bounds of an increasingly resurgent traditional ‘conventionality’ and tries to live some kind of alternative lifestyle.
It only takes a loss of employment and income to propel someone from being ‘hard-working’ to being ‘idle’, ‘a burden’ and on benefits. Also, unless someone is in the top quarter of the social pecking order, not only are they at risk of immiseration in an increasingly precarious world, regardless of who they, crumbling public services and infrastructure will be impacting on their lives. In terms of what we have to put up with, there’s more that should be uniting us than dividing us. Despite what the powers that be who want us divided and at each others throats may wish for, the blunt truth is that a lot of us are in this together.
Start at the grassroots
So, how can we start to re-build the sense of solidarity we need to fight back against this and eventually, build the better world that we deserve? Start small and start right at the grassroots where you live. A simple act of solidarity is looking out for the neighbours on either side of you and for them to do the same. Even if it’s a house of multiple occupation, quite often, it’s possible to strike up a rapport. We’ve seen this happen with a member of the Vange Hill Community Group reaching out to and forming a working relationship with EU migrants in a house of multiple occupation in their close.
In order to get people to know each other a bit better, canvass opinion and organise a practical activity such as a community clean up. Not only will you see a physical difference after a few hours graft, for a lot of people, doing something collectively with their neighbours will be an empowering experience. Even if it’s just a close or a small street, it’s a start and if people on other parts of the estate see what’s been achieved, hopefully they’ll be inspired to do the same.
One step up from a clean up is starting a community garden if you can find a suitable location. That can be anything from putting in a few flower beds to brighten up an otherwise dreary close to starting to grow your own vegetables and fruit – or doing both if you feel ambitious enough and can get enough people involved. As to whether you want to ask the council for permission first, it’s entirely down to you. If your council has a record of being uncooperative when dealing with tenants and residents on your estate, just go ahead and do it anyway. Given how stretched councils are, providing you’re sensible, they’ll most likely leave you alone. If they do decide to get stroppy, mounting a campaign to save your garden will bring people together and should you win, will give morale in your part of the estate a significant boost.
Organising regular cleaning, doing whatever maintenance you feel you can take on and running a community garden will bring people together. Also, picking up the skills needed to this this acts as a boost to people’s confidence and self esteem. Not everyone will be able to make an equal contribution because of time pressure or disability – accept that any contribution is valid and ensure support from those who can’t take part is valued. Once a level of cohesion has been built up, work out ways of making sure that vulnerable people in your community are being checked up and their needs are being met.
On isolated estates, food poverty can be an issue due to the lack of shops selling decent quality, affordable food and poor public transport to shopping areas where a wider range of food is available. As well as running a community vegetable and fruit garden, you could start to think about an estate run food bank or food buying group. Obviously, this takes more effort and there’s a learning curve involved but if you put the effort in, you’ve achieved a vital objective – getting more control over your food supply.
Use what’s there to help boost community solidarity and morale and also to ensure the needs of the more vulnerable people in your neighbourhood are being met. As anarchists, we’re supposed to reject the church. Well, when a church such as Trinity Methodist Church in Vange has a community cafe for use by the whole neighbourhood, contribute to food banks, offer support to disabled people, run toddler groups, offer youth activities to all young people in the community to name just a few, it would be churlish in the extreme to not accept the help and support they can offer. Essentially, a lot of what they do is not dissimilar to what some more grounded, neighbourhood anarchist groups abroad who’ve got their act together undertake!
We are where we are so the priority has to be re-building community solidarity in whatever ways that work. On top of this, empowering people who want to make life in their neighbourhoods better is an essential task. As we’ve seen from what’s happened with the community run Hardie Park in Stanford-le-Hope, the transformation in the lives of those involved plus the boost to morale in the town proves the worth of sticking at this. Small victories can steadily lead to a growing sense of confidence and collective strength that will give people a growing degree of independence from local and national governance that’s increasingly failing them.
None of this is going to be plain sailing and one of the more difficult parts will be dealing with the anti-social element in a neighbourhood. In an ideal world, those chaotic households where there’s a risk of members falling into anti-social behaviour or crime would be getting helped by the surrounding community. We want to get to the point where that can happen and there’s less need for outside intervention. In the interim, once a degree of community solidarity starts to emerge, the people best placed to decide how to deal with anti-social behaviour are those living in the neighbourhood. They’ll have the knowledge of the perpetrators and a shrewd idea of the risks involved – that will go a long way to enable them to devise a strategy to deal with the situation.
Conclusion
We keep returning to this theme in various forms. We make no apology for this because if we can’t build and nurture a sense of community and solidarity, any other change is pretty much off the agenda. A lot of what has been written above comes from our days in the Independent Working Class Association and then our more recent experiences working with Basildon & Southend Housing Action, Brooke House Residents, Vange Hill Community Group and Friends of Hardie Park.
We don’t pretend to know it all because we don’t and are honest enough to admit that what we do is a constant learning curve. We recognise that some of the more purist anarchists may find that our approach has too many ‘compromises’. The point is not to just theorise and understand the world but to change it. We’re doing what we can with limited resources working with our class at the grassroots, getting our hands dirty (literally sometimes!) to try and make a difference. We hope people can respect that and offer solidarity when we need it…
from Seeing Red
I think, after all those gods and stuff, the core of Mahikari is attaching spirits, or spirit disturbance. They account for nearly everything you experience in your life. Heaven forbid that there are regular, you know, sciencey or logical reasons for anything.

Let’s start with what Mahikari says about attaching spirits in Primary Kenshu:
This phenomenon of a spirit attaching [to your body] is called the phenomena of attaching spirits. The person who is attached by a spirit will come to develop similar conditions as the spirit.
For instance, if a person is attached by a spirit who died of tuberculosis … the person will develop tuberculosis, and if a spirit died of asthma attaches to a person, within about a week or so the person will develop asthma. [pg 18]
From the various actual examples I have just given, no doubt you understand by now that whether it is sickness, crime or other unhappy phenomena, we can quite clearly state that 80% is caused by spirit disturbance.
No doubt you will experience this from now on. If there are a 100 people, even at a conservative estimate 80 will be receiving some sort of spirit disturbance.
In modern medicine, however, there is no spiritual research done. Without solving problems to do with attaching spiritis, such as people dying due to warnings from their ancestors, no matter how people look for happiness, it is impossible.
Here lies a basic mistake in today’s modern medicine. If mankind is really to look for happiness, it is first necessary to become awakened to spirituality and discover the way to solve spirit disturbance. So Sukuinushisama [the founder dude, Okada] often appealed to us that it is essential to awaken to the world of spirit, starting with those who have the attitude to do so, and strive to awaken all humankind to this. [pp 29–30]
So here’s how it goes down. Someone dies – happens to the best of us. Maybe they have a grudge against you (you know, from that time when you …). Maybe they have resentment against your grandfather (it’s OK, we all know he was a bit of a dick). Maybe they are in love with you (naaaaw). Maybe they’re lonely. Maybe they’re out for revenge. Maybe they’re a sneaky fox, raccoon or snake (like, the animals, for reals). Whatever, it typically comes down to your karma, or your family’s sins and impurities.
But – instead of toddling off to the astral world to do their training after death, as they should, they decide to hang around. And they do that by attaching to your spiritual body. Like a remora. Only with more spirit stuff, and less fish.
Photo by The New York Public Library on UnsplashAnd when a spirit attaches to you, you get whatever ailment or psychological problem they have. So if they died from heart disease, you’ll get heart disease too.
So Mahikari logic says that if you solve the spirit disturbance, you’ll be healed too. Heal and counsel the spirit so it’s no longer angry or out to get you, or in love with you, or whatevs, then it will release you and go back to the astral world, where it belongs. And all the problems it was causing for you will stop. Simples.
How do you solve spirit disturbance, you ask? Good question!
Well.
What do you know. It mainly involves doing a lot of divine service (unpaid labour!) for the group. ‘Saving others’. This raises your spiritual level, and improves the situation for the attaching spirit.
And sometimes you can have spirit investigations if things are really getting out of hand. This is when one of the doshis (priests) or kanbu (senior staff) gives you Light to the soul spirit (forehead) and talks directly to the attaching spirit during the session. So you have your eyes closed, and they are chatting away to the spirit. They ask it questions like what is it, where did it come from, does it have resentment or love or anger etc towards you, and which part of the body is it attached to.
Sometimes the spirit will make you move, like rocking back and forth, or shaking your head. And they can speak. People report they can suddenly speak another language like Japanese (a popular option) even though they don’t know Japanese! Because the attaching spirit is Japanese (again, a popular option), and is speaking in its own language. I call fucking bullshit. I experienced this, many times, and one time had a Japanese warrior ‘attached to me’. Yes, I spoke Japanese to my inquisitor (who it must be said was speaking English) and all I said was the basic Japanese words I already knew like ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.
At least they are trying to understand and counsel the spirit, to help it give up emotional and physical attachment to you. They aren’t about banishing it. So that’s nice.
In Primary Kenshu they go through a list of all the different types of diseases, and what causes them. Yes! It’s mostly attaching spirits! Surprise! And the rest is caused by toxins. They love toxins. Just a reminder, all medicine is toxins.
The following is typical advice about whatever ailment you care to name:
Women’s Problems:
As for Okiyome, give Okiyome thoroughly on the back and front of the uterus. Also, such things as anteflexion of the uterus, miscarriage, stillbirth, uterine cancer and so on are mostly caused by an attaching spirit with resentment concerning a man-woman relationship. Such resentment from a man-woman relationship may, for example, be if grandfather had had a mistress but left her to die in misery. If things like that happened such spirits become resentful and attach to people. There are many cases where it is due to something that happened with the ancestors about 3-5 generations or so ago. Or it may have something to do with the husband or the wife at the present time.
In such cases, it's necessary to reflect on one's life, and if there's anything that indicates such mistakes, it’s first necessary to apologise saying, 'I won't do anything like that anymore, please forgive me', and receive Okiyome. Otherwise it won't do any good.
Whether it's something to do with the ancestors or oneself, it's important actively to save people to erase such sins. As you save others, your own impurities will be erased and you'll be saved. – Primary Kenshu, pg 117
You might notice the big focus on saving others. Big focus. That means hunting for new members. Constantly. So, to solve the problems that the cult ascribes to attaching spirits, you need to do masses of divine service, and try to get others to join. Convenient (for them).
Also. Attaching spirits can also cause traffic accidents, and interfere with your divine service! No, it’s not your bad driving or your gut telling you you’re in a cult. It’s spirits. The subject for further blog posts. Stay tuned, and til then, be kind to your attaching spirits!
#kenshu #spirits #karma #illness #medicine #health
from An Open Letter
I found out that G was organizing another girls trip. J told me, And even offered to ask her directly about inviting me. G said that this was just going to be a girls trip. It hurts because there was a trip earlier and G said that next time she would absolutely invite me, and it kind of feels like I’m getting my hopes crushed after getting them raised. I know that there may be valid reasons for it, but it very much hurts in the same way that my childhood did when I would get excluded from things with friends because they were girls and I was not. And it feels like it’s the same thing happening again.
S: G is planning another trip, and explicitly did not invite me because it is going to be a girls trip.
T: it sucks because I don’t see why I couldn’t be invited, and additionally G said that next time she would invite me.
F: I feel like I’m being excluded, and it’s because of my gender. I feel like the friends I consider close are not actually that close to me.
B: I feel like shit, and I pull away from my friendships.
T: This might just be a girls trip in the sense of an existing friend group, and G does enjoy interacting with me and would want to go on a trip, but they already have their established friend group.
F: honestly it still hurts a lot. But I think it hurts a little bit less so. I can talk with my therapist and try to figure out how to not have this bitterness.
B: I talked with my therapist and I don’t punish friendships for this.
from What Inspired Me
The first time I really listened to Nils Petter Molvær, what came to mind was a highway cutting through a city at midnight. The feeling of a trumpet tearing through an endless urban skyline built by programmed beats. Not jazz, not electronica — something that is both at once.
His debut Khmer (1997) was undeniably revolutionary. But the album I keep returning to is Solid Ether (2000).
Khmer is full of the excitement of a first encounter between jazz and electronica. But Solid Ether takes that fusion deeper, completing it with a denser, more distinctly urban weight.
The decisive difference is the proportion of programmed beats. The opening track “Dead Indeed” was made by essentially two people: Molvær himself and his longtime collaborator, guitarist Eivind Aarset. Aarset's noise-laden guitar saturation weaves through the track, while Molvær handled the majority of the synthesizers, samplers, loops, and effects processing alone. Looking at the credits, he played trumpet, piccolo trumpet, synthesizer, bass, loops, electronics, sampler, percussion, piano, and vocoder trumpet — all by himself.
The texture built up by one person layering this much is cold and solid, like a city's highway flanked by concrete towers standing wall to wall with no gap between them. That's why the title Solid Ether is precise — ether was once the hypothetical substance thought to fill the universe and carry light, and this album solidifies air itself through electronic sound. Like a car's headlights blazing down a midnight highway, stretched into a single line of light by long exposure. A fog with density. A solidified trail of light.
Through that dense wall of beats, a single trumpet cuts its way.
His trumpet playing has a distinctive acoustic logic behind it.
The most characteristic element is the deliberate erasure of the attack — the moment a note begins. Using a volume pedal and deep reverb, he shapes the sound so it seems to materialize after the fact, arriving already in motion. Rather than landing as a fixed point in space, each note reaches the ear already moving in a direction.
Long delay adds a trailing “tail” to the sound. Like a long-exposure photograph of a highway at night, where taillights become a single unbroken line stretching into the dark — that visual effect is reproduced acoustically.
And then there is the breathy, husky tone. With the microphone placed as close to the bell as possible, the recording captures the moment the lips vibrate, the sound of breath grazing the inside of the tube. However much electronic space Molvær constructs around it, at the core is an irreducible fact: right now, here, a single human being is exhaling.
That bare solitude is what Solid Ether carries. The presence of someone standing alone on a riverbank in the dark, playing trumpet toward the water — urban velocity and loneliness coexisting in the same sound.
ER (2001) pushes that direction further still. The concept of playing melody becomes increasingly thin; the trumpet functions as raw material for building ambient texture. Darker, more spatial than Solid Ether's rush. These two albums, listened to together, document how far Molvær's dialogue with electronica could go.
On July 10, 2026, Molvær releases a new album: Be Quiet.
The concept: nine tracks, nine cities, each a duo with a different artist. Imogen Heap (voice/electronics), John Paul Jones (piano — yes, the Led Zeppelin bassist), Marilyn Mazur (percussion), Chinese guzheng player Chang Jing, Iranian kamancheh player Soheil Shayesteh, cellist Anja Lechner. And “Berlin-orbit 4” (9:07) with Alva Noto (Carsten Nicolai).
Alva Noto is a Leipzig-born electronic musician, known for his long collaboration with Ryuichi Sakamoto and as co-founder of the raster-noton (now raster-media) label. Where the electronic sound of Solid Ether was a solid wall of urban architecture, Alva Noto's electronics are something harder and more reduced — crystalline.
Listening to “Berlin-orbit 4” makes that contrast vivid. Alva Noto fills an ambient space, and through it Molvær's trumpet and voice drift. Rhythmic electronic sounds like rain hitting a tin can appear, then dissolve into the fog. Molvær's voice recalls Arve Henriksen — something between instrument and breath, spreading through the space and fading as it goes.
If Solid Ether was an album that builds sound up, “Berlin-orbit 4” is nine minutes of sound dissolving. The title Be Quiet states that posture directly: stop talking first, and listen.
Where Solid Ether had Molvær assembling every layer alone, Be Quiet has him stepping into the sonic world of each collaborator across nine cities and responding in real time. From solitary construction to dialogue with place and person. Twenty-five years on, the turn from speed to drift.
Many jazz musicians have incorporated programmed beats since. Combining electronica and improvisation is no longer a rare approach.
What makes Molvær exceptional is his ability to present these different elements as a single landscape. Beats and trumpet, electronic sound and acoustic sound, city and solitude, speed and drift — in his music, none of these oppose each other. They coexist within one continuous field of vision.
The simultaneous rush and loneliness of driving a city's highway alone at midnight. The silence of sound dissolving into fog. Both arise from the breath of the same one human being. That is the irreplaceable talent of Nils Petter Molvær.
from What Inspired Me
Nils Petter Molvær(ニルス・ペッター・モルヴェル)の音楽を初めてちゃんと聴いたとき、私が思い浮かべたのは深夜の首都高だった。打ち込みが生み出すどこまでも続くビルの風景を、トランペットが変幻自在に突き抜けていくような感覚。ジャズでもエレクトロニカでもなく、そのどちらでもある何か。
彼のデビュー作「Khmer」(1997年)は確かに革新的だった。しかし私が繰り返し手に取るのは「Solid Ether」(2000年)の方だ。
「Khmer」は、ジャズとエレクトロニカの出会いとしての驚きに満ちている。しかし「Solid Ether」では、その融合がさらに深く、より都会的な密度を持って完成されている。
決定的な違いは打ち込みの比重だ。「Solid Ether」のオープニングトラック「Dead Indeed」は、盟友ギタリストEivind Aarsetと、Molvær自身のほぼ二人だけで作られている。Aarsetのノイズをはらんだギターサチュレーションを交えながら、シンセサイザー、サンプラー、ループ、エフェクト処理の大部分をMolværが一人で担当した。クレジットを見ると、彼はこのアルバムでトランペット、ピッコロトランペット、シンセサイザー、ベース、ループ、エレクトロニクス、サンプラー、パーカッション、ピアノ、ボコーダートランペットを一人で操っている。
一人の人間がこれだけの層を積み重ねて作り上げたテクスチャは、まるでコンクリートのビルが隙間なく連なるように、冷たくソリッドで、隙間がない。だからこそ「Solid Ether」という題名は正確だ——エーテルとはかつて宇宙に満ちると仮定された光の媒介物質だが、そのアルバムは光ではなく電子音によって空気を固体化してみせた。深夜の高速道路を疾走する車のヘッドライトが、長時間露光で一本の光の線になって伸びるように。密度を持った霧、あるいは固体化した光の軌跡。
その濃密なビートの壁を切り裂くように、一本のトランペットが飛んでいく。
彼のトランペット奏法には独特の音響的仕掛けがある。
最も特徴的なのは、音の立ち上がり(アタック)を意図的に消すことだ。ボリュームペダルや深いリバーブを使い、音が事後的にフワッと現れるように吹く。これにより、音が出た瞬間に「点」として固定されず、最初からある方向へ向かって「進んでいる状態」で鼓膜に届く。
加えてロングディレイが音の「尾」を作る。夜の高速道路を長時間露光で撮影したときに車のテールランプが一本の光の線になって伸びる——あの視覚的な効果が、音響的に再現されているのだ。
そしてハスキーな気音(ブレス)。マイクをベルの極限まで近づけることで、唇が震える瞬間、息が管を擦る音が直接収録される。どんなにエフェクターで空間を構築しても、核心にあるのは「いま、ここで、一人の人間が息を吐き出している」という事実だ。
この生身の孤高感が「Solid Ether」にはある。多摩川の土手で一人、暗い水面に向かってトランペットを鳴らしている人の気配——都会の疾走感と孤独が、同じ音の中に共存している。
「ER」(2001年)はその方向性をさらに推し進めたアルバムだ。メロディを吹くという概念が希薄になり、トランペット自体がアンビエントの質感を作り出す素材として機能する。「Solid Ether」の疾走感よりも、より暗く、より空間的な世界だ。この二枚は、Molværのエレクトロニカとの対話がどこまで深く行けるかを示した記録として、並べて聴く価値がある。
そのMolværが2026年7月10日、新アルバム「Be Quiet」をリリースする。
構成は9曲9都市、それぞれ異なるアーティストとのデュオという形式だ。Imogen Heap(ボイス/エレクトロニクス)、John Paul Jones(ピアノ——レッド・ツェッペリンのベーシストである)、Marilyn Mazur(パーカッション)、中国の古箏奏者Chang Jing、イランのカマンチェ奏者Soheil Shayesteh、チェリストAnja Lechner。そしてAlva Noto(カールステン・ニコライ)との「Berlin-orbit 4」(9分7秒)。
Alva Notoはライプツィヒ出身の電子音楽家で、坂本龍一との長年のコラボレーションや、raster-noton(現raster-media)レーベルの共同設立者として知られる。Solid Etherの電子音が「都市を構成する固体の壁」だったとすれば、Alva Notoの鳴らす電子音は「硬質に削ぎ落とされた結晶」だ。
実際に「Berlin-orbit 4」を聴くと、その対比が鮮明になる。Alva Notoがアンビエントな空間を満たし、そこをMolværのトランペットと声が浮遊する。空き缶に跳ねる雨のようなリズム的な電子音が鳴るかと思えば、それはやがて霧に溶け込んでいく。Molværの声はArve Henriksenを思わせる、楽器とも声ともつかない、空間に広がりながら消えていくような音だ。
「Solid Ether」が「音を積み上げる」アルバムだったとすれば、「Berlin-orbit 4」は「音が溶けていく」9分間だ。「Be Quiet(静かにしろ)」というタイトルは、その姿勢をそのまま表している——まず黙って、聴け。
「Solid Ether」でMolværが一人で全ての層を積み上げたとすれば、「Be Quiet」では世界各地の異なる音楽的文脈を持つアーティストの空間へ入り込み、そこでリアルタイムに応答する。孤高の構築から、場所と人との対話へ。25年かけて辿り着いた、疾走から浮遊への転換点だ。
打ち込みを取り入れたジャズミュージシャンはその後多く登場した。エレクトロニカとインプロビゼーションを組み合わせることは、今やそれほど珍しいアプローチではない。
しかしMolværが特筆すべきなのは、それらの異なる要素を「ひとつの景色」として見せる能力だ。ビートとトランペット、電子音と生音、都市と孤独、疾走と浮遊——彼の音楽の中でこれらは対立せず、ひとつの連続した視野の中に共存している。
深夜の首都高を独りで駆け抜けていく全能感と孤独感。霧の中に音が溶けていく静寂。どちらも同じ一人の人間の息から生まれている。それがNils Petter Molværという音楽家の、他に代えがたい才能だ。
from
Hiroaki Satou's Music Blog
スマートフォンでブログが正常に表示されない問題を解決するため、すべての記事に埋め込まれたYouTubeのiframeタグをサムネイル形式に変換しました。それに伴い新しいブログへ移転し、変換済みの記事をインポートしました。もう一つの理由として、旧ブログではメタタグの設定ができなかったこと、そして独自ドメインでの検索エンジン向けカスタム設定を行いたかったことも挙げられます。今後の新規投稿はこの新ブログに追加していきます。 This is new blog link.
from
Hiroaki Satou's Music Blog
The blog is now at a new address, and smartphone display issues have been resolved. The old blog had two problems: YouTube embeds were breaking the scroll behavior on mobile, and there was no way to set custom meta tags. To fix this, I converted all YouTube iframes to thumbnail links, migrated everything to a new domain where I have full control over meta tags and search engine settings, and re-imported all posts in their updated form. New posts will be published here going forward.
from
Hiroaki Satou's Music Blog
Natalie Merchant was born in 1963 in Jamestown, New York. Her parents divorced when she was seven, and after her mother remarried, the family moved to a commune in upstate New York. The women she met there became the foundation of who she would become.
“I fell in love with those people,” she has said. “They were artists. They were ladies that didn't shave their legs. They lived alone and fed the wood stove in the winter, and they were strong.”
She grew up in a house without television. At sixteen, she dropped out of high school and enrolled in community college. Outside the classroom, she read books and discovered folk music — picking up a copy of Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music from the library was the door that led her to singing. It wasn't hours of guitar practice that shaped her; words and reading came first. Her eye for people pushed to the margins of society was already forming in those years.
In 1981, seventeen-year-old Natalie joined a Jamestown band called Still Life. The band soon renamed themselves 10,000 Maniacs, and Natalie took on the roles of lead vocalist and primary lyricist.
From her teenage years, her songwriting stood apart. Forgotten figures from history, the guilt of a bystander watching a child be abused (“What's the Matter Here”), an unwanted pregnancy (“Eat for Two”) — the practice of using pop songs as a vehicle for social and historical subjects was there from the very start of her career, and it never left.
The band hit their peak between 1987 and 1993, with In My Tribe, Blind Man's Zoo, and Our Time in Eden all charting in the top tier of the US charts. At their 1993 MTV Unplugged session, they covered “Because the Night,” the song co-written by Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith. Natalie's intimately conversational delivery made the cover the band's biggest hit, reaching No. 11 on the Billboard Hot 100, and brought her name to a much wider audience.
That same year, she announced she was leaving. Her stated reason: a lack of creative control over the music she wrote. She chose to break free from the machinery of a band that had grown large around her and to stand entirely on her own as a singer-songwriter.
Patti Smith's original (written by Bruce Springsteen)

Her 1995 solo debut Tigerlily was the first album Natalie made with total creative freedom.
The result was stunning. “Carnival,” “Wonder,” and “Jealousy” charted on the Billboard Hot 100 in succession, and the album went on to sell over five million copies. But the commercial success gave Natalie something beyond fame — it gave her the financial and psychological independence to spend the rest of her career ignoring label pressure and pursuing social activism and artistic experimentation entirely on her own terms.
“Wonder,” in particular, was written as a tribute to twin girls Natalie had come to know personally, both born with epidermolysis bullosa (EB), a rare and painful genetic condition that causes the skin to blister at the slightest contact. Natalie has said she didn't know who the song was about when she wrote it — she discovered the twins afterward, formed a deep friendship with them, and stayed close until they died in their twenties. The song's universal message later inspired R.J. Palacio's YA novel Wonder, and was played over the end credits of the 2017 film adaptation.
The success of “Wonder” was no accident. The same gaze she had learned from the strong women of the commune — a way of seeing people the world had pushed aside — was what moved audiences. As a rare example of an artist who achieved both artistic integrity and commercial success simultaneously, Tigerlily remains the defining album of Natalie Merchant's career.
“Wonder” (1995, from Tigerlily). Written as a tribute to twin girls born with epidermolysis bullosa (EB). Its universal message inspired R.J. Palacio's novel Wonder and was used in the end credits of the 2017 film of the same name.
After going solo, Natalie moved steadily away from chart positions and toward the music she actually wanted to make.
Motherland (2001) brought her political and social consciousness to the foreground, and Leave Your Sleep (2010) saw her set the poems of various poets to music — an unconventional project by any measure. The freedom that Tigerlily's success had created made these uncommercial artistic experiments possible. She drifted from the mainstream, but her influence can be heard clearly in the generation of thoughtful singer-songwriters that followed — Colin Meloy of The Decemberists, Weyes Blood, and others who share her instinct for literary, socially conscious songwriting.
The album's title track, “Motherland,” is a desperate prayer to be held and sheltered from the encroaching concrete of modern life. Its repeated refrain — a plea to be cradled, lulled to sleep, kept safe — reads not as simple nostalgia but as a direct confrontation with the alienation of contemporary society. The song was completed just days before September 11, 2001. Merchant later said: “I was far more cynical when I wrote it. But now the song has become the death of nostalgia and dreams.” An act of violence rewrote the meaning of a song she had already finished — and that fact alone speaks to how wide a net her writing casts.
🔗 Read the full lyrics to “Motherland” on Genius
On “Big Girls” from Keep Your Courage (2023), a duet with Black vocalist Abena Koomson-Davis, she sings of women holding each other up through the storm. Her eye for those pushed to the margins has not dimmed past sixty.
In 2019, Natalie was visiting the V&A Museum in London when her arm suddenly went numb. Back home, tests revealed she had OPLL (ossification of the posterior longitudinal ligament) — a degenerative spinal condition in which the ligaments of the spine calcify and compress the spinal cord, potentially leading to paralysis in severe cases. Emergency surgery was unavoidable.
The operation lasted six hours. Surgeons made an incision in her throat, moved her vocal cords aside, and removed three bones from her spine. When she came around, she couldn't sing.
“It took me to a place of panic,” she has said. “It made me wish I had made more records.”
For ten months, her voice didn't return. While that silence stretched on, the pandemic closed over the world. Natalie found a collection of poetry by Robin Robertson, and words began to move through her throat again. She started writing songs. The result was Keep Your Courage (2023).
Peter Asher, who had produced her work years earlier, said: “I've been a fan for decades, but this might be her greatest album.” The chart numbers don't match the heights of Tigerlily's commercial peak. But in an album made after losing her voice, getting it back, and turning sixty, there is something that no chart position could measure.
“Keep Your Courage” (2023). Her first collection of original songs in nine years, born from the silence of spinal surgery and the solitude of a pandemic.
Her voice has aged. But the core of how she sings has not.
The style of speaking directly to the listener, the eye for those the world has pushed aside, the ability to fold feminism and social consciousness into music people actually wanted to hear — all of it has been there since the day a seventeen-year-old walked into a Jamestown band rehearsal, and none of it has left.
A girl who dropped out of high school, was shaped by the strong women of a commune, and found her way into music through a library record collection has been speaking to the world for over forty years. Is there a voice like that in your own life — one that has never quite changed?
from
Hiroaki Satou's Music Blog
Natalie Merchant(ナタリー・マーチャント)は1963年、ニューヨーク州ジェームズタウンに生まれた。7歳で両親が離婚し、母親が再婚してニューヨーク州北部のコミューンへ引っ越す。そこで出会った女性たちが、彼女の原点になった。
「私はあの人たちに恋をした」と彼女は語っている。「アーティストたちで、脚を剃らないでいる女性たちで、ひとりで暮らして冬には薪ストーブをたいて、強かった」
テレビのない家で育ち、16歳で高校を辞めてコミュニティカレッジへ進んだ。教室の外で本を読み、フォーク音楽を聴いた——図書館でハリー・スミスの「Anthology of American Folk Music」を手に取ったことが、歌への入口になった。ギターの猛練習ではなく、言葉と読書が先にあった。辺縁に追いやられた人々への眼差しは、このころすでに育ちつつあった。
1981年、17歳のNatalieはジェームズタウンのバンドStill Lifeに加入する。やがてそのバンドは10,000 Maniacsと名を変え、Natalieはボーカルと作詞を担った。
10代からすでに、彼女の歌詞は群を抜いていた。歴史の中で忘れられた人々、児童虐待を目撃した傍観者の罪悪感(「What's the Matter Here」)、望まない妊娠(「Eat for Two」)——ポップソングを社会的・歴史的な問題を語る手段として使うスタイルは、キャリアの最初から一貫している。
バンドは1987年から1993年にかけて全盛期を迎え、「In My Tribe」「Blind Man's Zoo」「Our Time in Eden」が全米チャート上位に入った。1993年のMTV Unplugged収録時、彼女たちはBruce SpringsteenとPatti Smithの共作「Because the Night」をカバーした。Natalieの語りかけるような歌声が際立ったこのカバーは、バンド最大のヒット(Billboard Hot 100・11位)となり、Natalieの名を広く知らしめることになる。
しかし同年、Natalieは脱退を発表する。理由は「自分が書いた曲への創作上のコントロールが足りない」こと——巨大化したバンドという組織から抜け出し、シンガーソングライターとして完全に自立することを選んだのだ。
Patti Smithのオリジナル(作曲はブルース・スプリングスティーン)
10,000 Maniacsのカバー
1995年のソロデビュー作「Tigerlily」は、Natalieが初めて完全な創作の自由を得て書いたアルバムだ。
結果は衝撃的だった。「Carnival」「Wonder」「Jealousy」の3曲が立て続けにBillboard Hot 100のトップ40入りを果たし、アルバムは500万枚以上を売り上げた。この商業的成功はNatalieに単なる名声以上のものをもたらした——レーベルの商業的プレッシャーから自由になり、その後のキャリアで社会活動や芸術的実験に没頭できる財政的・精神的な自立の土台を手に入れたのだ。
なかでも「Wonder」は、表皮水疱症(EB)という難病を持って生まれた双子の女の子たちへの讃歌として書かれた曲だ。Natalieは「曲を書いたとき、誰のことを書いているか自分でもわかっていなかった」と語っており、後にこの双子と深く友人となり、彼女たちが二十代で亡くなるまで寄り添い続けた。その普遍的なメッセージはのちにR.J. PalacioのYA小説「Wonder」の着想源となり、2017年の同名映画エンドクレジットにも使われた。
「Wonder」のヒットは偶然ではない。社会の辺縁に置かれた存在へのまなざし——コミューンの強い女性たちから受け取ったそれが、聴衆の心を打った。メッセージ性と商業的成功を両立させた稀な例として、「Tigerlily」は今もNatalie Merchantのキャリアを象徴するアルバムであり続けている。
「Wonder」(1995年、Tigerlily収録)。表皮水疱症(EB)を持って生まれた双子の女の子たちへの讃歌として書かれた。その普遍的なメッセージはR.J. Palacioの小説「Wonder」の着想源となり、2017年の同名映画にも使われた。
ソロ以降のNatalieは、チャートの数字よりも自分の作りたいものへと向かっていく。
2001年の「Motherland」では政治・社会意識が前面に出て、2010年の「Leave Your Sleep」では詩人たちの詩に自ら曲をつけるという異色作に挑んだ。「Tigerlily」の成功が生み出した自由があればこそ、こうした利益度外視の芸術的実験が可能になった。メインストリームからは外れていくが、コリン・メロイ(The Decemberists)やWeyes Bloodといった後の世代の知的なシンガーソングライターたちに、彼女の影響は確かに聴こえる。
Keep Your Courage(2023年)の「Big Girls」では、ブラックのシンガーAbena Koomson-Davisとのデュエットで、嵐の中でも互いを支え合う女性の連帯を歌い上げた。社会の辺縁に置かれた存在への眼差しは、60歳を越えた今も変わっていない。
2001年の「Motherland」では政治・社会意識が前面に出て、2010年の「Leave Your Sleep」では詩人たちの詩に自ら曲をつけるという異色作に挑んだ。「Tigerlily」の成功が生み出した自由があればこそ、こうした利益度外視の芸術的実験が可能になった。メインストリームからは外れていくが、コリン・メロイ(The Decemberists)やWeyes Bloodといった後の世代の知的なシンガーソングライターたちに、彼女の影響は確かに聴こえる。
アルバムのタイトル曲「Motherland」は、コンクリートが侵食する都市の風景から逃れ、大地に抱かれたいという切実な祈りを歌っている。「祖国よ、私を揺り籠に抱いて、眠らせて、守って」という繰り返しのフレーズは、単なる望郷の歌ではなく、現代社会の疎外感そのものへの問いかけとして響く。この曲は2001年9月11日の直前に完成していた。Natalieは後に「書いたときはずっと皮肉な気持ちで書いていた。でも今は、この曲はノスタルジアと夢の死になった」と語っている。時代の暴力が、曲の意味を書き換えてしまった——それ自体が、彼女の歌詞の持つ射程の広さを物語っている。
2019年、NatalieはロンドンのV&Aミュージアムで突然腕にしびれを感じた。帰国後の検査で、日本では指定難病(第69号)に認定されている脊椎の疾患「後縦靭帯骨化症(OPLL)」と診断される。靭帯が骨化して脊髄を圧迫し、最悪の場合は四肢麻痺にいたるこの病気に対して、緊急手術が必要だった。
手術は6時間に及んだ——喉を切開し、声帯を脇へ寄せながら脊椎の骨3本を除去するものだった。目覚めたとき、彼女は歌えなくなっていた。
「パニックに陥った」と彼女は語っている。「もっとたくさんレコードを作っておけばよかったと思った」
10ヶ月間、歌声は戻らなかった。その沈黙の中でパンデミックが世界を覆い、Natalieは詩人Robin Robertsonの詩集と出会い、言葉が再び彼女の喉を震わせた。曲を書き始め、それが「Keep Your Courage」(2023年)として結実する。
かつて彼女をプロデュースしたPeter Asherは「何十年もファンだったが、これが彼女の最高傑作かもしれない」と評した。チャートの順位は「Tigerlily」の全盛期には及ばない。しかし声を失い、取り戻し、60歳で作り上げたこのアルバムには、チャートの数字では測れないものが刻まれている。
「Keep Your Courage」(2023年)。脊椎手術で声を失った経験とパンデミックの孤独を経て生まれた、9年ぶりの新曲集。
声は年輪を重ねた。でも歌い方の核心は変わっていない。
語りかけるように歌うスタイル、辺縁に置かれた人々への眼差し、フェミニズムと社会意識を大衆的な音楽に溶かし込む技——それは17歳でジェームズタウンのバンドに加入した日からずっと、彼女の中にあったものだ。
高校を辞め、コミューンの強い女性たちに育てられ、図書館でフォーク音楽と出会った少女が、その後40年以上にわたって世界に語りかけ続けている。あなたにも、そういう「変わらない声」がありますか。
from
Hiroaki Satou's Music Blog
One day, a piece of music drifting out of BBC Radio 3's Late Junction made me stop what I was doing. Strings and guitar dancing around each other in an interplay unlike anything I'd heard before. I jotted down the song title and the band name, and started working my way through their albums. Then, somewhere deep into that listening, a melody came on that I recognized — the one I'd been hearing in HP commercials for years.
Penguin Cafe Orchestra. I had been living with their music for years before I ever learned their name.
“You know it, but you don't know whose it is.” That's what Penguin Cafe Orchestra has always been.
To talk about Penguin Cafe Orchestra, you have to start in the south of France in 1972. British guitarist Simon Jeffes ate some bad fish and fell ill. Laid up in bed, burning with fever, he kept seeing the same strange vision.
Arthur Jeffes — Simon's son — later described it this way: “My father had a nightmare about the near future. People lived in enormous concrete buildings, staring at screens. In the corner of each room sat a large camera, watching them constantly. In one room, a couple was having loveless sex. In another, a musician sat surrounded by mountains of equipment — but wearing headphones, so no actual music filled the room.”
At the opposite pole of that inhuman world, Simon saw in his dream a place called the Penguin Cafe. Walking down a dark street, you'd come upon an old building spilling out light and noise. Inside, a long table where strangers sat shoulder to shoulder. And at the far end, a small ensemble playing — music that felt somehow familiar, yet impossible to place.
When the fever broke, Simon made a decision: he would write the music that dream ensemble was playing. And so, in 1972, Penguin Cafe Orchestra was born.
The word Orchestra conjures images of a large symphonic ensemble. The actual Penguin Cafe Orchestra was something far removed from that — a small, intimate group.
Guitar, cello, violin, ukulele, trombone, percussion. The lineup shifted from piece to piece, and Simon brought in harmonium, penny whistle, rubber bands, and even telephone dial tones as instruments. This was chamber music — or something even freer than that, something that refused any category.
The name Orchestra was Simon's joke, and also his musical manifesto. He borrowed a word with authoritative weight and quietly dismantled what it implied. Not music to fill a concert hall, but music to be played in the back of a café — intimate, warm, bodily. That was what Simon was after.
“Perpetuum Mobile” (1987). Written in the irregular meter of 15/8, this piece carries the sensation of a perpetual motion machine that seems always about to end but never does. It became widely known as the theme for the TV adaptation of The Handmaid's Tale and the film Mary and Max.
When Penguin Cafe Orchestra released their debut album in 1976, they were emerging from — and in conversation with — a rich landscape of contemporary music.
In America, Steve Reich and Philip Glass were developing Minimalism: repeating patterns, layered voices, quiet transformation. PCO's music shares structural affinities with all of that. But it keeps a clear distance from Minimalism's abstraction and cool detachment.
Where contemporary Minimalism pursued intellectual structural beauty and rigorous systems, PCO's music is shot through with an irrepressible sense of play. Rubber bands as instruments. Telephone dial tones looped into a piece literally called “Telephone and Rubber Band.” Odd time signatures and intricate counterpoint that, in Simon's hands, read not as complexity but as humor. He borrowed Minimalism's language and then let the air out of its tension — that was Simon Jeffes's particular genius.
Part of the source of that playfulness, I think, lies in British and Irish traditional music. Trad has long been built around the repetition of short phrases for dancing — reels and jigs, melodies cycling with small variations. The repetition that Minimalism pursued intellectually was already embedded there, in the body, in the feet. PCO brought both kinds of repetition together not as an academic proposition but as physical joy.
The origin story of “Music for a Found Harmonium” is emblematic. On a Japanese tour, Simon happened upon an old foot-pedal organ abandoned by the roadside. The simple melody that emerged from that imperfect instrument slipped so naturally into the grammar of Irish reels that traditional players — Patrick Street, De Dannan, Kevin Burke, Sharon Shannon — began covering it as if it had always belonged to them. Not classical music, not contemporary art music, but the music people have danced and laughed and made noise to across generations — that was what supported PCO's humor and lightness.
The debut album was released on Obscure Records, the label run by Brian Eno. Eno's ambient music proposed a static kind of space — music that could be listened to or ignored equally. Simon's vision was different: it contained the warmth and noise of people actually gathered together. PCO's music has that particular friendliness because, against Eno's depopulated atmosphere, it always carries the body heat of other people in the room. Meanwhile, Kraftwerk was inventing an entirely new musical language called techno. PCO shared in the same contemporary questions, and turned toward something more human, somewhere warmer.
The rhythmic vitality of folk, the structure of Minimalism, the atmosphere of ambient, the intimacy of chamber music — all of it dissolved into a distinctly British lyricism. None of Philip Glass's chill, none of Eno's self-erasure, none of Kraftwerk's mechanization. Something more human, more frayed at the edges, and funnier.
“Music for a Found Harmonium” (1984). Inspired by a foot-pedal organ Simon discovered abandoned on a street. The melody was adopted by Irish traditional musicians as their own, and was later featured in the film Napoleon Dynamite.
Penguin Cafe Orchestra were never obscure. The 1987 album Signs of Life charted in the UK, and they toured internationally. They found an audience in Japan. The Royal Ballet incorporated their music into productions. They appeared on The South Bank Show and on Terry Wogan's television programme.
But their debut came out in 1976 — the year I was born — and that music is now “old.” Streaming algorithms favor new releases. And Simon Jeffes died in 1997, of a brain tumor, at forty-eight. There would be no new music, no new tours.
Still, the music kept living. As film scores, as television soundtracks, as background music in commercials. HP was only the most prominent of countless advertisements. The Handmaid's Tale, Mary and Max, Napoleon Dynamite, Capitalism: A Love Story — the list of screen works drawing on PCO is long.
This is how the “you know it but you don't know whose it is” phenomenon works. The music continued to reach people's ears through different circuits even after the name faded from common knowledge. Only the name was left behind as time moved on.
Ten years after Simon's death, in 2007, former members gathered at Union Chapel in London for a memorial concert. On that stage, Simon's son Arthur Jeffes played percussion and keyboards. All three nights sold out.
Encouraged by that response, Arthur formed a new band in 2009 called simply Penguin Cafe — a completely new ensemble, with none of the original PCO members.
Arthur studied archaeology and anthropology at Cambridge — an intellectual by formation — while also nurturing a passion for experimental music. There's a story from his childhood of him striking piano keys with a hammer, which Simon apparently read not as destruction but as the first stirrings of an experimental spirit.
Penguin Cafe has now released five albums, every one of them on Erased Tapes — the post-classical label that has been home to Nils Frahm, Ólafur Arnalds, and Jóhann Jóhannsson. That fact alone signals that Arthur is not simply preserving Simon's legacy, but actively situating Penguin Cafe within the contemporary conversations of post-classical and neo-classical music.
In the repeating structures and unique sense of play that animate Penguin Cafe, the weight of his father's influence is not hard to find.
The latest album, Rain Before Seven… (2023), represents the current horizon of Arthur's Penguin Cafe. Its title draws from an old British weather saying — “Rain before seven, fine before eleven” — and the music carries Simon's spirit forward while speaking in Arthur's own voice.
Violin, cello, double bass, percussion alongside balafon, ukulele, melodica. Just as Simon made rubber bands and telephone tones into instruments, Arthur brings “unexpected sounds” into the chamber music frame. The approach is faithful throughout to his father's philosophy: “Take an interesting, slightly weird idea and do something weird with it. But make it beautiful, and emotionally accessible.”
The dream café is still open. The ensemble in the back is still playing. And you have almost certainly already heard them. You just didn't know their name.
from
SmarterArticles

There is a particular kind of powerlessness that belongs only to the acute psychiatric ward. You may have arrived in the back of a police car. You may not be entirely sure where you are, or why, or for how long. The door is locked from a side that is not yours. The people who decide whether you eat, sleep, leave, or are held down and injected are strangers in lanyards, and the version of events that ends up in your file is theirs, not yours. Now imagine that somewhere in that file, beneath the clinical notes and the medication chart, a statistical model has quietly run the numbers on you and produced a score. The score says you are likely to become violent. You will never see it. You will probably never be told it exists. But it may shape, in ways no one will ever fully reconstruct, whether the next few days of your life involve a conversation or a set of restraints.
This is no longer a thought experiment. In March 2026, a team led by researchers at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) in Toronto published a study in the journal npj Mental Health Research that did something the field had largely avoided doing: it took a machine learning model of the kind increasingly proposed for psychiatric wards, trained it on real hospital data, and then asked not whether it worked, but who it worked against. The answer, reported in April 2026 by outlets including News-Medical and MSN, was uncomfortable in a way that should travel far beyond Toronto. The model systematically overestimated the risk of aggression for Black, Middle Eastern, and Indigenous patients relative to white patients with comparable clinical pictures. It was, in the most literal sense, more suspicious of some people than of others, and its suspicion fell along the oldest fault lines in medicine.
To understand why this matters, you first have to understand what these systems are and what they are being asked to do. Predicting aggression in acute psychiatric care is one of the oldest and most fraught tasks in the speciality. Clinicians have always had to make a guess, often within minutes of meeting someone, about whether a patient poses a danger to themselves or others. Get it wrong in one direction and someone is hurt. Get it wrong in the other and you have subjected a frightened, unwell person to force they did not need. For decades that guess relied on structured checklists and clinical instinct. The promise of machine learning is that a model trained on tens of thousands of past cases might do better, spotting patterns a human under pressure would miss.
The CAMH study made the mechanics concrete. The researchers, with Yifan Wang as lead author alongside senior scientists including Laura Sikstrom and Marta Maslej, trained a model on structured electronic health records from 17,703 unique patients across ten inpatient units at the hospital, covering 42,719 observation days between January 2016 and May 2022. The model itself was a random forest, an ensemble of decision trees, and on conventional measures it performed respectably, returning an area under the receiver operating characteristic curve of around 0.81. By the usual yardstick of predictive accuracy, in other words, it was the sort of result that gets a tool greenlit for a pilot.
That is precisely the problem. A model can hit its accuracy target overall while distributing its errors with grotesque unevenness. The CAMH team did not stop at the headline number. They broke the model's mistakes down by race and ethnicity, by gender, by housing status, by whether the patient had been brought in by police, and by the intersections between those categories. What they were measuring, in the language of algorithmic fairness, was the false positive rate: the proportion of people who were flagged as likely to become aggressive but who did not. A false positive is not an abstraction here. It is a person marked as a threat who was never going to be one.
The disparities were stark and they were patterned. The model's false positive rate sat at roughly 0.040 for white patients and 0.032 for Asian patients. For Indigenous patients it rose to 0.055, for Black patients to 0.069, and for Middle Eastern patients to 0.080, the highest of any group. Read those numbers slowly. A Middle Eastern patient was being wrongly flagged as a future aggressor at roughly twice the rate of a white patient with no greater propensity for violence. Layer gender on top and it sharpened further: Middle Eastern men carried a false positive rate of around 0.093. The single largest driver the researchers found was not skin colour in isolation but admission mode. Patients brought to hospital by police had a false positive rate of about 0.094, far above any other group, and unstable or absent housing pushed the figure to roughly 0.083. The model had, in effect, learned to treat contact with the criminal justice system and poverty as proxies for danger, and those proxies map onto race because the society that generated the data made them map that way.
The instinct of the technically minded is to reach for a fix. If the model is biased, debias the model. Reweight the data, add fairness constraints, strip out the offending variables. But the CAMH findings, and a companion paper published months earlier, point at something the engineering instinct struggles to grasp: the bias is not a bug in the algorithm. It is a faithful transcription of the world.
Consider where the training data comes from. An aggression label in a psychiatric record is not a measurement in the way a blood pressure reading is. It is a human judgement, recorded by a clinician, about whether a patient was threatening, agitated, or violent. That judgement is made by people working in a system with a long and documented history of perceiving danger differently depending on who is in front of them. When the model learns to predict aggression, it is not learning to predict an objective event in the world. It is learning to predict who a hospital's staff, over six years, decided to write up as aggressive. If those decisions were skewed, the model inherits the skew and launders it through the authority of mathematics.
That history is not subtle, and it is not ancient. In 1851 the American physician Samuel Cartwright coined the term drapetomania, a supposed mental illness whose symptom was the desire of enslaved people to escape captivity. It was pseudoscience in service of subjugation, and it established a template that has proven remarkably durable: the pathologising of Black resistance as madness. A century later, during the civil rights era, the diagnosis of schizophrenia in American psychiatry shifted in its public face from an affliction associated with white middle class women to a condition projected onto angry, protesting Black men, a phenomenon the psychiatrist Jonathan Metzl traced in his book The Protest Psychosis. The legacy persists in the present tense. Black patients in the United States are diagnosed with schizophrenia at well over twice the rate of white patients, a gap that studies have repeatedly failed to explain by any difference in actual illness.
If clinicians have historically been quicker to see Black and Indigenous patients as dangerous, disordered, or threatening, then the records they generate encode that quickness. A model trained on those records does not see the centuries of context. It sees a correlation, and it optimises for it. This is the deeper meaning of the companion research. In a paper published in Scientific Reports on 1 December 2025, a team including several of the same CAMH researchers, with lead author work by Vejandla and colleagues including Sikstrom, Ratto, Zaheer, and Maslej, examined how biased AI recommendations actually influenced human decision making during simulated mental health emergencies. They found that systems trained on health records overestimated violence risk for marginalised groups, with the AI in their biased conditions recommending police intervention for between 50 and 90 per cent of vignettes depicting at-risk groups, including Black patients, men, unhoused patients, and those with severe mental illness, compared with about 20 per cent of vignettes depicting no-risk groups, and with secondary analyses finding the disparity statistically significant only for vignettes depicting Black as opposed to white individuals. The disparity, in other words, was not a quirk of one model at one hospital. It was a property of what happens when you train statistical systems on data produced by an unequal system and then put their outputs in front of human beings.
The most troubling finding of the December 2025 study was not the existence of the bias but the failure of the obvious remedies. The researchers tested cognitive forcing interventions, techniques designed to slow clinicians down and make them think independently before deferring to the machine. They tried delaying the AI's recommendation, asking participants to commit to an initial judgement first, and making the AI optional rather than automatic. In other domains, such nudges have helped people resist automated advice. Here, they largely did not. People exposed to a biased recommendation tended to absorb the bias regardless of the procedural speed bump in their way.
One variable did seem to offer some protection, and it is a quietly damning one. Participants who scored high on a psychological measure called need for cognition, essentially a disposition to enjoy and engage in effortful thinking, were more resistant to the discriminatory pull of the AI. The implication is that the safeguard against an unjust algorithm was not the system design at all but the individual intellectual temperament of whoever happened to be reading the screen. That is not a safeguard a hospital can rely on at three in the morning on an understaffed ward.
This is where the abstraction of false positive rates collides with the body. An algorithmic flag does not stay on a dashboard. In an acute setting, a prediction of imminent violence is an invitation to act pre-emptively, and the tools of pre-emption are physical. A patient deemed high risk is more likely to be watched more closely, escalated more quickly, and ultimately subjected to the interventions the ward keeps for danger: physical restraint, seclusion, and chemical sedation. These are not neutral acts of caution. They are among the most harmful things a hospital can lawfully do to a person.
It is worth being unsparing about what these interventions involve, because the language of clinical guidelines tends to sand off their reality. Physical restraint means several staff members holding a person down, often face down, sometimes binding their limbs to a bed. Seclusion means locking a distressed person alone in a bare room. Chemical restraint, sometimes euphemised as rapid tranquillisation, means the forced injection of sedating drugs into someone who has not consented and may be physically resisting. None of these are rare or marginal practices. They are the standard repertoire of the acute ward, applied many thousands of times a year across the world's psychiatric systems, and they are precisely the actions that an algorithmic risk flag is designed to make more probable.
The harms are documented and they are severe. A systematic review of physical harm and death in the context of coercive psychiatric measures found that death was the single most frequently reported adverse outcome, with mechanisms including cardiac arrest from chest compression during prone restraint, asphyxiation, and pulmonary embolism. The wider literature catalogues aspiration, rhabdomyolysis, blood clots, musculoskeletal injury, falls, and post-traumatic stress. Research on high dose sedation for acute behavioural disturbance has found that loading patients with more medication does not produce faster or better sedation but does produce more adverse effects, including cardiac problems and dangerous drops in blood oxygen. Beyond the physical, forced medication is associated with worse mental health outcomes and a lasting erosion of trust in treatment, with patients reporting stronger disapproval of their care months later. In 2023 the World Health Organization and the United Nations human rights office issued joint guidance calling for an end to coercive practices in mental health services altogether, language that frames restraint and seclusion not as regrettable necessities but as human rights violations.
Now lay the algorithm's bias over this landscape, and the stakes become clear. The interventions that an over-predicting model makes more likely are interventions that already fall unequally. A 2022 study in Psychiatric Services by Colin Smith and colleagues, examining 12,977 emergency psychiatric encounters, found that Black patients had significantly higher odds of being restrained even after adjusting for clinical factors: an adjusted odds ratio of 1.35 for physical restraint and 1.33 for chemical restraint, meaning roughly a third more likely in each case. The research on restraint-related deaths repeatedly notes the disproportionate presence of Black patients among the dead. An algorithm that overestimates the dangerousness of Black, Indigenous, and Middle Eastern patients does not introduce a new disparity into a fair system. It pours accelerant on a fire that has been burning for a very long time, and it does so while wearing the lab coat of objectivity.
What makes the psychiatric context distinct from almost every other arena where algorithmic bias has been studied is the near-total collapse of the patient's capacity to push back. When a biased model denies someone a loan or filters them out of a job applicant pool, the harm is real and the recourse is limited, but the person typically remains a free agent in the world, able in principle to ask questions, seek another lender, or hire a lawyer. The acutely unwell psychiatric inpatient has none of that. They may be detained involuntarily. They may be experiencing psychosis, which the surrounding system will treat as a reason to discount their account of events. They are frequently without an advocate, a family member, or anyone whose word carries weight against the clinical consensus. And the clinical authority arrayed against them is as close to absolute as exists anywhere in modern healthcare.
In that environment, the ordinary mechanisms of algorithmic accountability simply do not function. The idea that a patient might request an explanation of the model's logic, or contest its score, presumes a patient who knows the model exists, has the legal standing to challenge it, and possesses the cognitive and practical wherewithal to do so. Strip away those assumptions, as acute admission does, and you are left with a system that exercises power over people precisely in proportion to their inability to resist it. The patients most likely to be wrongly flagged, those brought in by police, those without stable housing, those who are Black or Indigenous or Middle Eastern, are very often the same patients least equipped to contest the flag. The bias and the powerlessness are not two separate problems. They compound.
So what is actually owed, and by whom? Start with the hospitals, because they are where the abstraction becomes a person on a bed. A hospital that deploys a predictive model is making a clinical decision on behalf of every patient who passes through it, and the ordinary duties of medicine do not evaporate because a computer is involved. The first obligation is the most basic and the most frequently dodged: do not deploy a tool you have not tested for disparate harm. The striking thing about the CAMH work is how rare it remains. The researchers themselves framed their study as first-of-its-kind, which is an indictment of a field that has spent years celebrating predictive accuracy without routinely asking whose errors it is built on. A hospital that cannot say, in numbers, how its model's false positive rate varies by race has not done the work, and deploying anyway is not innovation but negligence.
The second obligation is to keep a human meaningfully in the loop, and to mean it. The December 2025 findings are a warning here, because they show that simply having a clinician read the output is not enough; the clinician absorbs the bias. Meaningful human oversight cannot be a rubber stamp on a screen. It has to be structured so that the model's suggestion can be genuinely overridden, so that staff are trained to interrogate rather than defer, and so that the institution treats an algorithmic flag as one contestable input rather than a verdict. The third obligation concerns the interventions themselves. If restraint, seclusion, and forced sedation are the downstream consequences of a flag, then any hospital using such a model owes its patients rigorous, race-disaggregated monitoring of those very interventions, with the explicit question of whether the algorithm is widening existing gaps. A model that quietly increases the coercion of already over-coerced groups is not a clinical aid. It is a liability dressed as one.
The developers who build these systems carry obligations of their own, and they cannot offload them onto the hospital that buys the product. The most fundamental is honesty about what the model actually predicts. A system marketed as predicting violence does not predict violence. It predicts recorded labels of aggression, which is a different and far more contaminated quantity. Developers know this, or should, and the gap between the marketing claim and the statistical reality is where much of the harm hides. A tool sold as objective when it is in fact a mirror of historical bias is mis-sold, and the consequences of that mis-selling are measured in restraints applied to the wrong people.
Beyond honesty comes the duty to test. Fairness auditing of the kind the CAMH team performed should be a precondition of release, not an academic afterthought published years into deployment. That means measuring false positive and true positive rates across racial, gender, housing, and admission-mode subgroups, and across their intersections, because the CAMH data showed that the worst disparities lived at the intersections. It means being transparent about those results to the institutions that buy the tool and, ideally, to the public. And it means accepting that some models should not ship. A system whose errors fall predictably on the most vulnerable patients in the building is not improved by a disclaimer. The CAMH researchers have since secured funding to develop a fairness-aware successor tool, which is the constructive response, but the existence of a better future tool does not retroactively justify deploying a biased one today.
There is also a harder, more philosophical duty here, one the field has been slow to confront. A growing body of work, including the CAMH team's own framing, suggests that the most honest use of these models may not be to predict individual patients at all, but to detect systemic bias in the institutions that generate the data. Turn the lens around. Instead of asking the algorithm to tell you which patient is dangerous, ask it to tell you where your hospital's own judgements are skewed. That reframing, from individual risk prediction to institutional self-examination, is one of the few genuinely promising paths out of the trap, because it uses the model's pattern-finding power against the bias rather than in service of it.
Then there are the regulators, who are, at present, mostly absent from the bedside. The regulatory architecture for clinical AI is being built in real time, and it is being built largely around the wrong questions. Under the European Union's AI Act, AI systems used in healthcare are designated high-risk, a classification that brings obligations around transparency, documentation, and human oversight, with major requirements scheduled to phase in across 2026 and beyond (though in May 2026 the Council of the EU and the European Parliament reached a provisional agreement, under the Digital Omnibus initiative, to postpone the high-risk obligations, deferring the requirements for standalone high-risk systems under Annex III until 2 December 2027 and those for high-risk AI embedded in regulated products such as medical devices under Annex I until 2 August 2028). High-risk status is the right instinct, but a designation is only as good as its enforcement, and the Act's transparency requirements run into the same wall that defeats the patient: meaningful explanation of an opaque model remains, by the regulators' own admission, largely undefined in practice.
The data protection regime offers a sharper, if narrower, tool. Article 22 of the General Data Protection Regulation gives people the right not to be subject to decisions based solely on automated processing where those decisions have significant effects, along with rights to obtain human intervention, to express their view, and to contest the outcome. On paper, a violence prediction that channels someone towards restraint is exactly the kind of significant automated decision the provision was written for. In the psychiatric ward, however, the law's assumptions break down. Article 22 protects decisions made solely by automation, and a hospital can defeat the protection simply by keeping a clinician nominally in the loop, even one who, as the December 2025 study showed, may be doing little more than ratifying the machine's bias. The right to contest presupposes a person able to exercise it, which the acute patient frequently is not. The regulation was built for the credit application and the recruitment filter, not for the locked ward, and it shows.
What patients actually need from regulators is more specific than anything currently on the books. They need a right to know, in plain terms, that an algorithm has assessed them and what it concluded, with that disclosure made not in the moment of acute crisis but as a matter of standard record that they or their advocate can later examine. They need a presumption that algorithmic risk scores are disclosable in any review of restraint or seclusion, so that a coercive intervention can be challenged on the basis of the evidence that helped trigger it. They need mandated, published fairness audits as a condition of clinical deployment, with the false positive disparities the CAMH team measured treated as the floor of what must be reported, not a research novelty. And they need the human oversight requirement to have teeth, defined not by the presence of a clinician but by demonstrable, structured independence of judgement from the model's output.
Underneath all the specific obligations sits a single principle that the law has not yet caught up to, and it is the one a person on the ward would care about most. If a system has assessed you as a threat, you have a right to know it did. That right does not depend on whether you can understand the mathematics, or whether the model was accurate, or whether you were ultimately restrained. It is prior to all of that. It is the difference between being a patient and being a suspect, between care and surveillance, between a person whose treatment is being negotiated and an object whose behaviour is being managed.
The reason this right is so easily denied is the same reason it matters so much. The whole logic of pre-emptive risk prediction is that it works on you before you have done anything, which means it works best when you do not know it is working. A flag that the patient could see and contest is a flag with friction, and friction is precisely what the efficiency case for these tools is designed to remove. So the systems are built to be invisible, and the invisibility is not incidental. It is the point. The acutely unwell patient is the ideal subject for an opaque algorithm precisely because they are in no position to demand the lights be turned on.
There is a version of the future where this technology helps. Used to audit institutions rather than to judge individuals, tested relentlessly for disparate harm, kept subordinate to genuinely independent human judgement, and made visible to the people it assesses, a model could in principle expose the very biases it currently encodes. The CAMH team's pivot towards building a fairness-aware tool and towards using these methods to surface systemic inequity rather than to predict patients is a glimpse of that future, and it deserves to be taken seriously rather than dismissed as naive.
But the present is the present. Right now, in wards on more than one continent, the default trajectory is the opposite one: quiet deployment, accuracy figures that flatter the tool while hiding who it fails, oversight that defers rather than challenges, and patients who will never learn that a number was attached to their name. The people most exposed to that trajectory are the ones who have always been most exposed to the wrong end of psychiatric power: the Black patient brought in by police, the Indigenous patient without stable housing, the Middle Eastern man already statistically twice as likely to be wrongly marked as dangerous. The machine did not invent their predicament. It learned it, from us, and it is now prepared to repeat it with a confidence no human clinician could ever quite muster. The question the CAMH study leaves hanging is not whether the algorithm is biased. We know that it is. The question is whether the people it judges will ever be allowed to know it too.
Wang, Y., Sikstrom, L., Xiao, R., Findlay, Z., Zaheer, J., Hill, S. L., & Maslej, M. M. (2026). Fairness analysis of machine learning predictions of aggression in acute psychiatric care. npj Mental Health Research, 5, Article 16. https://www.nature.com/articles/s44184-026-00194-6
Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. (2026, April 7). First-of-its-Kind Study Shows AI Risk Prediction Tools in Psychiatry Can Reinforce Systemic Bias. CAMH News and Stories. https://www.camh.ca/en/camh-news-and-stories/rsch-study-shows-ai-risk-prediction-tools-in-psychiatry-can-reinforce-systemic-bias
News-Medical. (2026, April 7). AI models may amplify bias in psychiatric aggression predictions. https://www.news-medical.net/news/20260407/AI-models-may-amplify-bias-in-psychiatric-aggression-predictions.aspx
MSN / Medical Xpress. (2026, April). AI risk prediction tools in psychiatry can reinforce systemic bias. https://www.msn.com/en-us/health/other/ai-risk-prediction-tools-in-psychiatry-can-reinforce-systemic-bias/ar-AA20n69Y
Vejandla, S., Ray, A., Sikstrom, L., Ratto, M., Zaheer, J., & Maslej, M. M. (2025, December 1). Impacts of cognitive forcing and need for cognition on biased AI-assisted decision making about mental health emergencies. Scientific Reports. https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-025-30506-3
Smith, C. M., Turner, N. A., Thielman, N. M., Tweedy, D. S., Egger, J., & Gagliardi, J. P. (2022). Association of Black Race With Physical and Chemical Restraint Use Among Patients Undergoing Emergency Psychiatric Evaluation. Psychiatric Services. https://psychiatryonline.org/doi/10.1176/appi.ps.202100474
Kersting, X. A. K., et al. (2019). Physical Harm and Death in the Context of Coercive Measures in Psychiatric Patients: A Systematic Review. Frontiers in Psychiatry. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6580992/
Calver, L. A., et al. (2013). A prospective study of high dose sedation for rapid tranquilisation of acute behavioural disturbance in an acute mental health unit. BMC Psychiatry. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3848824/
World Health Organization & Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights. (2023). Mental Health, Human Rights and Legislation: Guidance and Practice. https://www.who.int/publications/i/item/9789240080737
Metzl, J. M. (2009). The Protest Psychosis: How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease. Beacon Press. See also: Schwartz, R. C., & Blankenship, D. M. discussion in American Journal of Psychiatry. https://psychiatryonline.org/doi/full/10.1176/appi.ajp.2009.09101398
American Psychological Association reporting on schizophrenia overdiagnosis, summarised in: Amsterdam News. (2025, September 4). Racial bias in medicine is driving the overdiagnosis of schizophrenia in Black patients. https://amsterdamnews.com/news/2025/09/04/racial-bias-driving-overdiagnosis-of-schizophrenia-in-black-patients/
European Union. Artificial Intelligence Act, Annex III: High-Risk AI Systems. https://artificialintelligenceact.eu/annex/3/
Tandem Health. EU AI Act explained: what healthcare organisations need to know. https://tandemhealth.ai/resources/knowledge/eu-ai-act-explained-what-healthcare-organisations-need-to-know
Goldsteen, A., et al. A health-conformant reading of the GDPR's right not to be subject to automated decision-making. Medical Law Review, 32(3), 373. https://academic.oup.com/medlaw/article/32/3/373/7732100
GDPR Article 22: Automated Decision-Making, Profiling, and Your Rights. https://gdprinfo.eu/gdpr-article-22-explained-automated-decision-making-profiling-and-your-rights

Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer
Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.
His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.
ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk
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from
The happy place
I have been drinking so much coffee today that my urine looks a little bit like coffee too.
That’s why it’s half past two, but I’m still awake at my friend’s place at the loft, near the ceiling.
It used to be a bright and warm day with a big sun followed by a big almost full moon and a pleasant summer evening, but now I hear the sound of rain.
He got married today, technically it was yesterday. And it was a merry and touching event, now existing only as a memory with I will take with me to my grave. I think.
The day before the day before that one, in the evening, upon my arrival, we sat on his veranda drinking beers until it got dark, sharing a bottle of Jägermeister. It made me very drunk. I didn’t expect we’d drink the whole bottle, but we did.
Talking of this and that, smoking a pipe like two sailors.
Drinking Jägermeister.
And that night I slept like a stone
I have been feeling many emotions these days
But right now, I don’t feel anything in particular.
from
Hunter Dansin

Why call it New England Stoicism, When underneath the rocky soil, there lie Bottomless terrors and paroxysms, Bursting through the soul like a newborn's cries? Vicissitude is life's only constant. So why pretend that change does not exist? Why deny natural decay's portents? Why ignore the existence of death's list? As if your old house were Buckingham Palace? And its unused china something precious? Preserving only what you miss, will miss Those moments in life that are most precious, For which we will be judged at heaven's gate. Change must be allowed to change; too late!
This sonnet was inspired by living in New England and Ethan Frome.
Thank you for reading! I greatly regret that I will most likely never be able to meet you in person and shake your hand, but perhaps we can virtually shake hands via my newsletter, social media, or a cup of coffee sent over the wire. They are poor substitutes, but they can be a real grace in this intractable world.
Send me a kind word or a cup of coffee:
Buy Me a Coffee | Listen to My Music | Listen to My Podcast | Follow Me on Mastodon | Read With Me on Bookwyrm | Connect With Me on Substack
from Suranyami
A confession before the recipe, because I'd rather be honest than look clever: I am not an AT Protocol expert, and I'm no great sysadmin either. What follows is a recipe I stitched together from trial, error, docs read sideways, and a lot of pairing with an LLM that knew the bits I didn't. It works — I'm running it right now — but if any of it reads as authoritative, that's hard-won, not pre-loaded.
Right. What are we actually building?
The lazy way to get that identity is to sign up for Bluesky. I'm in Australia, where that now means handing over a face scan, a credit card, or a photo of my ID for “age verification”. Hard no. So I run my own PDS instead, and the identity never touches Bluesky.
See this post for the painful experience that was to set up.
At the end of this you'll have a working git host on your own domain, registered on the tangled network, owned by an identity you fully control.
Two moving parts:
I run both on eon, a Raspberry-Pi-class box, behind my cluster's reverse proxy (Caddy) via uncloud. The uc deploy / x-ports lines below are uncloud's way of saying “publish this service”; if you're on plain Docker Compose, swap them for however you do reverse-proxy ingress. Everything else carries over.
*.suranyami.com at my cluster edge, so pds.suranyami.com and knot.suranyami.com both resolve and get auto-issued certs with no per-host records.openssl, curl, and jq on whatever machine you run the setup commands from.The PDS needs three secret values. These are the commands the upstream installer uses; I didn't invent them, I lifted them:
# JWT signing secret
openssl rand --hex 16
# admin password (HTTP basic-auth for the admin API)
openssl rand --hex 16
# PLC rotation key — a secp256k1 private key, in hex. THIS IS YOUR IDENTITY.
openssl ecparam --name secp256k1 --genkey --noout --outform DER \
| tail --bytes=+8 | head --bytes=32 | xxd --plain --cols 32
⚠️ Back up that rotation key like your identity depends on it, because it does. It's the cryptographic key that controls your DID. Lose it and the identity is gone for good — and your git server's ownership goes with it. Drop all three into a gitignored .env, and put the rotation key in your password manager on top of that:
# .env (gitignored)
PDS_JWT_SECRET=...
PDS_ADMIN_PASSWORD=...
PDS_PLC_ROTATION_KEY_K256_PRIVATE_KEY_HEX=...
This is the upstream compose file with everything I didn't want stripped out — no bundled reverse proxy, no host networking, no auto-updater — because my cluster already does TLS and proxies it through to port 3000:
# services/pds.yml
services:
pds:
image: ghcr.io/bluesky-social/pds:0.4
environment:
PDS_HOSTNAME: pds.suranyami.com
PDS_PORT: "3000"
PDS_JWT_SECRET: ${PDS_JWT_SECRET}
PDS_ADMIN_PASSWORD: ${PDS_ADMIN_PASSWORD}
PDS_PLC_ROTATION_KEY_K256_PRIVATE_KEY_HEX: ${PDS_PLC_ROTATION_KEY_K256_PRIVATE_KEY_HEX}
PDS_DATA_DIRECTORY: /pds
PDS_BLOBSTORE_DISK_LOCATION: /pds/blocks
PDS_DID_PLC_URL: https://plc.directory
PDS_BSKY_APP_VIEW_URL: https://api.bsky.app
PDS_BSKY_APP_VIEW_DID: did:web:api.bsky.app
PDS_CRAWLERS: https://bsky.network
PDS_SERVICE_HANDLE_DOMAINS: .suranyami.com # allows handles like forge.suranyami.com
PDS_INVITE_REQUIRED: "true" # no open signups; admin creates accounts
volumes:
- /bricks/eon-1/pds:/pds # SQLite + blobstore (local disk)
x-ports:
- pds.suranyami.com:3000/https # web/API via cluster Caddy (TLS auto)
x-machines:
- eon
restart: always
Make the data dir on the host first (mkdir -p /bricks/eon-1/pds), then deploy. With uncloud the secrets get pulled from .env at deploy time:
set -a; . ./.env; set +a
uc deploy -y -f services/pds.yml
Check it's alive:
curl -s https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/_health
# {"version":"0.4.x"}
Heads up: this particular PDS image ships without the pdsadmin helper that the docs assume you have. Took me a minute to work out you can just talk to the admin API directly instead. Signups are invite-only (that's the PDS_INVITE_REQUIRED line above), so mint yourself an invite first — the -u admin:... is the admin password doing HTTP basic auth:
set -a; . ./.env; set +a
curl -s -X POST https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.server.createInviteCode \
-u "admin:${PDS_ADMIN_PASSWORD}" \
-H "Content-Type: application/json" \
-d '{"useCount": 1}'
# → {"code":"pds.suranyami.com-xxxxx-xxxxx"}
Then create the account with that code:
curl -s -X POST https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.server.createAccount \
-H "Content-Type: application/json" \
-d '{
"email": "admin@suranyami.com",
"handle": "forge.suranyami.com",
"password": "<a-strong-account-password>",
"inviteCode": "<code-from-above>"
}'
# → { "did": "did:plc:...", "handle": "forge.suranyami.com", ... }
Run that exactly once. Run it twice and the PDS throws Handle already taken back at you — which isn't a new failure, it's the first run having succeeded. To redo an account you delete it through the admin API first; you don't re-create over the top of it.
Save the returned DID and the account password into .env (PDS_ACCOUNT_DID, PDS_ACCOUNT_HANDLE, PDS_ACCOUNT_PASSWORD). The DID is the thing your git server gets owned by, so keep it handy.
A handle gotcha that caught me out: the PDS quietly reserves a pile of role-ish handles.
admin,git,code,repo,devandsourceare all taken before you even start, andcreateAccountjust rejects you.forge,ops,vcs,scm,tangled,knotandhubwere free — I went withforge.suranyami.combecause it names the job (a git host), not me. If your handle gets bounced, this is why.
The wildcard DNS gets the web address resolving, but the handle itself needs a separate proof so tangled (and the login flow) will trust that forge.suranyami.com really is you. That proof is a DNS TXT record — a little text note attached to a DNS name:
host: _atproto.forge.suranyami.com
value: did=did:plc:tg42msv45ief3qphccenrogh
The explicit _atproto record wins over the wildcard for that one name. Check it resolved, and that the PDS agrees the handle maps to your DID:
dig +short TXT _atproto.forge.suranyami.com
# "did=did:plc:tg42msv45ief3qphccenrogh"
curl -s "https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.repo.describeRepo?repo=forge.suranyami.com" \
| jq '{handle, did: .didDoc.id, handleIsCorrect}'
# handleIsCorrect: true
handleIsCorrect: true is the bit you're after.
tangled's server image lives in tangled's own registry, atcr.io, which is private and checks AT Protocol identities at the door. So you log in to it with your self-hosted handle and an app-password — a throwaway password scoped to one tool, so you're not handing your real account password to the docker CLI.
Mint one from your PDS:
set -a; . ./.env; set +a
ACCESS=$(curl -s -X POST https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.server.createSession \
-H "Content-Type: application/json" \
-d "{\"identifier\":\"${PDS_ACCOUNT_DID}\",\"password\":\"${PDS_ACCOUNT_PASSWORD}\"}" \
| jq -r .accessJwt)
curl -s -X POST https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.server.createAppPassword \
-H "Authorization: Bearer ${ACCESS}" \
-H "Content-Type: application/json" \
-d '{"name": "atcr"}'
# → {"password":"xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx", ...} ← store as KNOT_ATCR_APPPW in .env
Log the host that'll run the server into the registry (run this on that machine):
docker login atcr.io -u forge.suranyami.com # paste the app-password
Now the service itself. The one line that ties this whole thing to you is KNOT_SERVER_OWNER — your DID from Step 2. (Yes, the env vars insist on calling it a knot. I've made my peace with the YAML if not the branding.)
# services/knot.yml
services:
knot:
image: atcr.io/tangled.org/knot:latest
environment:
KNOT_SERVER_HOSTNAME: knot.suranyami.com
KNOT_SERVER_OWNER: did:plc:tg42msv45ief3qphccenrogh # your self-hosted DID
KNOT_SERVER_DB_PATH: /app/knotserver.db
KNOT_REPO_SCAN_PATH: /home/git/repositories
KNOT_SERVER_INTERNAL_LISTEN_ADDR: localhost:5444
volumes:
- /bricks/eon-1/knot/keys:/etc/ssh/keys # stable SSH host keys
- /bricks/eon-1/knot/repositories:/home/git/repositories
- /bricks/eon-1/knot/server:/app # SQLite db + app state
x-ports:
- knot.suranyami.com:5555/https # web UI via cluster Caddy (TLS auto)
- 2222:22@host # git-over-SSH, raw TCP on the host
x-machines:
- eon
restart: always
Deploy, and confirm the web UI answers on a valid cert:
uc deploy -y -f services/knot.yml
curl -s -o /dev/null -w '%{http_code}\n' https://knot.suranyami.com
# 200
Don't reach for curl -I here — the knot only allows GET on /, so a HEAD comes back 405 and you'll convince yourself the server's broken when it isn't. (What you'll actually get at / is an ASCII banner saying “this is a knot server”. The real surface is /xrpc/; the human UI lives on tangled.org, rendered on top of your knot's data.)
The web UI and registration work over 443 alone. Cloning and pushing over SSH from outside your own network needs one more thing: a port-forward on your router (public TCP 22 → eon:2222) and a fixed local IP for the host. That's optional and entirely separate from getting registered — skip it for now if you just want the thing live.
Sign in at tangled.org as forge.suranyami.com, using your account password (not the app-password, not the admin password). What happens next is the nice part of running your own identity: tangled bounces you to your own PDS to approve the login, because your PDS — not Bluesky, not tangled — is the thing that vouches for you. Approve it, then:
Settings → Knots → add knot.suranyami.com.
tangled fetches your server over HTTPS, checks it's owned by your DID, and links them. That's it. Push a repo.
If you want to watch the wire actually close, ask your PDS what records your DID is now carrying:
curl -s "https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.repo.describeRepo?repo=did:plc:tg42msv45ief3qphccenrogh" \
| jq '.collections'
# ["io.atcr.sailor.profile", "sh.tangled.actor.profile", "sh.tangled.knot"]
sh.tangled.knot is the registration record, and its key is your knot's hostname. Not sh.tangled.publicKey — that one turns up later, the first time the knot signs a git push, so its absence right after registering is normal. (I spent a confused few minutes waiting for it. Don't.)
1. The login fails and the error is a lie. When I first tried to register, the login died with invalid_client_metadata and I lost hours chasing a permissions theory that turned out to be completely wrong. The real cause was that my PDS couldn't make one outbound network request — a broken IPv6 path it should never have had. If your registration login throws that error, don't trust where it's pointing you; the whole saga (and the actual fix) is its own post: the bug was IPv6. The quick tourniquet, if you hit it before sorting IPv6 properly, is one line on the PDS:
NODE_OPTIONS: "--dns-result-order=ipv4first --no-network-family-autoselection"
2. “Wrong identifier or password” when the password is right. A 32-character password with no word breaks is trivially easy to truncate when you copy it, and then you'll swear blind it's correct. If a createSession call from the command line works but the browser login keeps rejecting you, the value reaching the form has drifted — your account is fine. Reset the password without recreating the account (recreating mints a brand-new DID and orphans your git server — don't):
curl -s -X POST https://pds.suranyami.com/xrpc/com.atproto.admin.updateAccountPassword \
-u "admin:${PDS_ADMIN_PASSWORD}" \
-H "Content-Type: application/json" \
-d "{\"did\":\"${PDS_ACCOUNT_DID}\",\"password\":\"<new-password>\"}"
Then confirm it with createSession and paste the new value straight off your clipboard, not retyped.
Once the knot's up, two ERROR lines will scroll past and both are nothing. I lost ten minutes on each before I trusted the rest of the stack, so:
1. failed to resolve did/handle handle=.well-known — random bots hammer /.well-known/acme-challenge/<anything> on any public hostname, looking for exposed ACME endpoints. Caddy only intercepts the challenge tokens it issued; everything else falls through to the knot, and the knot's router treats the first path segment as a handle to resolve. .well-known fails the handle regex, so it 500s and logs ERROR. Your cert is fine — Caddy already issued it. Ignore it, or add a Caddy rule to 404 /.well-known/acme-challenge/* before it reaches the proxy.
2. database is locked on a backfill-collaborators migration — two code paths touch the SQLite file at the same instant during startup and the loser hits the busy timeout. On a fresh knot there's nothing to backfill (count=0), so losing the race costs nothing; it just never marks the migration done, so it re-runs every boot. Ugly, harmless. A clean restart once the container's settled clears it. I didn't bother.
.env) you absolutely must back up — the rotation key inside it is your identity.None of this needs you to be a protocol wizard. I'm certainly not one. It needs an afternoon, a domain, and a stubborn refusal to hand your ID to a website just to host your own code.
from
M.A.G. blog, signed by Lydia
Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.
The Corporate Kimono Era. The Accra corporate girl is no longer dressing like she’s attending a board meeting from 2007. We’re layering, flowing, and serving elegance with movement. And honestly? The kimono understood the assignment.
Whether it’s silky, structured, printed, or neutral-toned, the kimono gives your outfit personality while still keeping it office appropriate.
Think of it as your blazer’s cooler, artsier cousin.
The Power Styling Formula:
The “CEO but Fashionable” Look
Pair a long neutral kimono with:
Tailored trousers
A fitted camisole or bodysuit
Pointed heels
Minimal gold jewelry
Result? You look like you own shares in three companies and still make it to brunch on time.
African Print Kimono = Boardroom Royalty: Ankara kimonos over monochrome outfits? Elite behavior.
A black dress or all-white set instantly comes alive with a bold print kimono. It’s corporate chic with cultural confidence — exactly the energy Accra girls are bringing to the office lately.
Makola meets management.
Corporate fashion in Accra is evolving, and the kimono is leading the soft-power revolution. It’s stylish, breathable in this Ghana heat, versatile, and effortlessly elegant.
Prada has bought rival fashion brand Versace for $1.36bn, but this is more than just business as usual. Gianni Versace, born in 1946, started Versace fashion house in 1978, together with his sister Donatella.
Donatella Versace
In 1990 Gianni met Andrew Phillip Cunanan, though the family has always denied this. Cunanan was a notorious person with many ID’s, and amongst others dealing in and using drugs, and mostly living off elderly wealthy men. In 1997 when Gianni was 50, Cunanan shot Versace twice and fatally. And he murdered a total of 5 people before then shooting himself.
Versace’s sister, Donatella then became creative director but could not keep this $500-million turnover company, with its flamboyant reputation for clothes in unconventional materials and offbeat designs going, and eventually Versace amassed a very high pile of debt. Donatella, now 69 has since stepped down as creative director but will remain an ambassador for Versace. She will be replaced by Dario Vitale, who is a former design director for Miu Miu.
The Ban on Drumming. (May 4-June 4 2026) left those who like life music in the dry. +233 Jazz and Grill Bar (Dr. Isert Street, North Ridge, opposite GBC, Accra) was open throughout the period, but without the music, and without the customers. So I went there on the 4th of June, Chris and the Zoom Band were doing their evergreens again, and I ordered my usual kebab. Dry. Maybe it had been there all that time. And the lettuce leaves in the Greek salad were dry as well, for the same reason? But the second kebab was juicy again, back on track. And I wondered how +233 were paying their staff throughout the period, with hardly any income. And how did the artistes survive? 2 Zoom members had called me during the ban for a loan, one claiming the mother in Cape Coast was not well, the other one claiming same for the wife, in Accra. Traditions……

Your Blood Group. As much as you want to know your sickle status before you get married (friend of mine didn’t, first baby was ok, then they had twins, both are sicklers, good morning) you also want to know your blood group. Why? You’re not planning to donate blood? No, but you may need blood. For example before or after an operation, and that may well be an unscheduled operation like an appendix or a car accident. Hospitals don’t have blood? Well, not always. For the most common blood groups like A+ (55%) B+ (22%) and A+ (20%) often they have, but the not so common ones like AB, O-, A-, B- (all between 2 and 4 % of the population only) don’t assume that they have. So if you’re in one of those uncommon groups it is good to know people who have the same group as you. I’d prefer to have blood from someone I know rather than from an unknown donor who may have had unprotected sex the day before he donated and hence might have creeped through the screening process the hospitals are supposed to apply. HIV infected blood is only detected from 10 days onwards after the infection occurred.

Restaurants. There's a lot of restaurants in Accra, or shall I call them eateries, and majority have impressive rankings if you look at them through one of the search engines. The reality is drastically different. Poor service such as QR code menus only (and outdated), waiters not knowing what is available, lack of attention from waiters, long waiting times, no change, no proper napkins (tissues only), poor quality food, clogged salt dispensers, grossly overpriced junk food (the cost of a beef burger is not more than 40 GHC) and so forth. There’s also the more upscale restaurants with beautiful interiors and menus and with waiters in uniforms and booking registers at the entrance where classics like pepper steak and sole meuniere are served, and unfortunately most of them are not worth even half the money they are charging. Real cooks hardly take things from packages or cans or use the microwave and they make their own sauces and use fresh ingredients. And cook. Internationally professional cooks study at least 2-3 years and then do a few years of attachments in the better restaurants before anyone would hire them. There are indeed 6 month courses where you can obtain “certified cook”, but don't think much of it. And some really never learn.
At the end of the day it is best to ask friends, but there again one still has to be careful, some are happy with any rubbish as long as they can say they were there.

from Suranyami
I wanted to self-host a tangled server. I refuse to call it a “knot”, because that's just fucking stupid.
FYI, it's supposed to be a small, federated, GitHub-like git server built on the AT Protocol. The catch: tangled identities are AT Protocol identities, and the obvious way to get one is a Bluesky account.
I'm in Australia, where Bluesky now gates sign-up behind age verification (facial recognition, a credit card, or an ID scan).
I object to this on principle, so I said “fuck that”, and besides I do NOT need another social media account, so a bsky.social account was off the table.
The good news is that the AT Protocol doesn't require Bluesky at all. Your identity is just a DID anchored to a PDS (Personal Data Server) — and you can run your own. So I did: the official Bluesky reference PDS, in a container on eon (a Raspberry-Pi-class DietPi box), behind my cluster's Caddy, on my own domain. I created an account, verified the handle, pointed the knot at it. Everything came up green.
Then I tried to log in to tangled with my shiny self-hosted identity, and got:
Failed to start auth flow: auth request failed: PAR request failed (HTTP 400): invalid_client_metadata
This is the story of how that error sent me down a completely wrong path for hours — and how a single differential test dragged me back to a mundane, and much more interesting, root cause.
Thirty-second primer, because OAuth is a swamp of acronyms and I won't pretend otherwise. “Log in with Google” is OAuth: one service vouches for you to another. Here, tangled is the app asking for access (in the jargon, the client), and my PDS — my little self-hosted identity server — is the bouncer deciding whether to let it in (the authorization server).
The handshake starts before my browser is even involved: tangled shoves a request straight at my PDS, server to server. That shove has a name — a Pushed Authorization Request, or PAR. And invalid_client_metadata is the bouncer sniffing the request and going: I don't like the look of this club's paperwork.
So I read the paperwork:
tangled's client metadata asks for a long list of scopestangled asks for fine-grained ones: repo:sh.tangled.repo, rpc:sh.tangled.repo.create, blob:*/*, identity:handleThen I checked what my PDS said it understood:
scopes_supported: ['atproto', 'transition:email', 'transition:generic', 'transition:chat.bsky']
The old, coarse set. None of the granular ones. Case closed, right?
My PDS (@atproto/pds version 0.5.9) was too old to grasp the permissions tangled was asking for, so it spat the request out. Bluesky's own docs even say granular permissions are “rolling out to the self-hosted PDS distribution” — translation: not in a shipping self-hosted PDS yet.
I went a long way down this road.
That is a colossal amount of effort and risk to dodge a problem I had not actually confirmed was the problem. Mercifully, it was not the problem.
The thing that saved me was one stupid question: if my PDS can't do this, how is tangled doing it for everyone else right now?
People log in to tangled every day with handles on .bsky.social or .tngl.sh. That second one — .tngl.sh — is tangled's own PDS hosting. Whatever software it runs, it demonstrably works with the exact login I was failing. So instead of theorising, I could just go poke it.
I had a .tngl.sh handle lying around from earlier, so I worked out which PDS hosts it and interrogated it directly. Two things fell out immediately, and both upended the original theory:
tngl.sh runs the Bluesky reference PDS — the same @atproto/pds software I installed, version 0.4.208. Not Tranquil. So migrating to Tranquil would have been “solving” a problem the working system doesn't have.scopes_supported was the exact same legacy set as mine. And tangled login works there fine.If the box that works advertises the same scopes as the box that doesn't, then the scopes were never it. The theory was built on a coincidence I'd mistaken for a clue.
So I fired the identical PAR request at both PDSes and put the answers side by side:
# my PDS:
{"error":"invalid_client_metadata",
"error_description":"Unable to obtain client metadata for \"https://tangled.org/oauth/client-metadata.json\""}
# tngl.sh:
{"error":"invalid_request",
"error_description":"client authentication method \"private_key_jwt\" required a \"client_assertion\""}
There it is, in the error text. tngl.sh fetched and read tangled's paperwork and moved on to the next step — it was only complaining that my bare test didn't include a signature it expected. Mine never got that far. “Unable to obtain client metadata.” My PDS couldn't even download the document.
This was never about permissions. It was a failed HTTP request. My server tried to fetch one URL and couldn't.
From inside the PDS container, using the same mechanism the PDS itself uses (Node's built-in fetch):
https://tangled.org/oauth/client-metadata.json -> ETIMEDOUT
https://plc.directory -> 200
https://example.com -> 200
The internet at large was fine. Only tangled.org hung until it gave up (ETIMEDOUT is the network politely telling you nothing ever answered). One host timing out while everything else sails through has a particular smell to it.
I ruled out the boring stuff first. MTU — the largest chunk a network link will carry in one go — was a normal 1500 on both the container and the host, so I wasn't looking at the classic “big packets silently vanish” trap. To be sure, I forced a full encrypted handshake to tangled.org over IPv4 with the right hostname attached, big packets and all. It completed. Not an MTU black hole.
The tell was in DNS. tangled.org publishes two addresses: an A record (its IPv4 address) and an AAAA record (its IPv6 one). And my container was listening on :::3000 — that's IPv6 notation, so IPv6 was very much in the game. So I told Node to stop being clever about which one it picked:
node --no-network-family-autoselection -e 'fetch("https://tangled.org/oauth/client-metadata.json").then(r=>console.log(r.status))'
# -> 200
Instant 200. The bug was IPv6.
Here's the clever-that-backfired bit. Modern Node (I'm on 24) uses a trick called Happy Eyeballs: when a host has both an IPv4 and an IPv6 address, it races connections to both and uses whichever replies first. The whole point is resilience — if one path is dead, the other wins and you never notice.
Except my IPv6 path wasn't dead. It was black-holed — packets marched out and nothing ever came back, no rejection, no error, just silence. So Node's connection sat there waiting for a reply that would never come, instead of failing fast and letting IPv4 win the race. plc.directory and example.com happened not to provoke it; tangled.org's particular setup did. A dead path is fine. A path that eats packets and says nothing is poison.
The quick fix was one environment variable on the PDS container — tell Node to prefer IPv4 and stop racing:
NODE_OPTIONS: "--dns-result-order=ipv4first --no-network-family-autoselection"
Redeploy, replay the PAR, and now my PDS gives the identical answer tngl.sh did. Login unblocked. No Tranquil, no migration, no waiting for a release that was never the issue.
But slapping “never use IPv6” on a machine that's supposed to have IPv6 isn't a fix, it's a tourniquet. The real question was still standing there: why was IPv6 black-holing in the first place?
This is the part that was worth the whole detour.
First, whose fault — the network, the router, or the box? Easy to settle by comparison. My Mac, sitting on the same LAN, has a proper public IPv6 address handed down from the ISP and pings the IPv6 internet in about 22ms. So the router and the ISP do IPv6 perfectly well. But eon had no public IPv6 address and no IPv6 route to the outside world at all — just a link-local address (the IPv6 equivalent of “I can talk to the room I'm in”) and Tailscale's private range. It had never picked up the router's IPv6 at all.
I'd assumed IPv6 just worked everywhere because it works on my Mac. It works on my Mac because macOS does SLAAC out of the box.
SLAAC — Stateless Address Autoconfiguration — is the no-paperwork way devices get IPv6: the router periodically shouts its network details onto the LAN (these shouts are called Router Advertisements), and any device that hears one configures its own address from it. No DHCP server, no central list, just “here's the network, help yourself.”
My Mac does that natively. So do my Ubuntu boxes — their network managers handle the router's shouts themselves, in normal software. But my DietPi nodes use a barebones networking setup where listening for those shouts is the Linux kernel's job. And the kernel was sitting there with its thumb up its arse.
The relevant kernel switches (sysctl is just the knob-panel for kernel settings) were identical on every DietPi node:
net.ipv6.conf.eth0.accept_ra = 1
net.ipv6.conf.eth0.forwarding = 1
And that pair together is the trap. forwarding = 1 means the host is willing to act as a router, shuffling packets between interfaces on behalf of others. accept_ra is whether it listens to the router's shouts. The catch the kernel enforces: a box that's acting as a router will not listen to other routers' shouts — because routers are supposed to be authoritative, not take their config secondhand. So with accept_ra = 1 and forwarding = 1, the kernel silently bins every Router Advertisement. No shouts heard, no SLAAC, no address, no route. Silently. There's the magic word again.
So who switched on forwarding? Docker. The moment Docker starts, it flips IPv6 forwarding on so it can route packets to your containers. Every Docker-running DietPi node I had was therefore sitting at forwarding=1 + accept_ra=1 — meaning every one of them quietly lost outbound IPv6 the instant Docker came up. And I never noticed, because nothing I ran needed outbound IPv6 until a Node app went looking for an IPv6-published host and hung itself on the silence.
My Ubuntu nodes dodged it purely by luck: their network managers do the listening in software, sidestepping the kernel switch entirely, so the forwarding clash never touched them.
The actual fix is one knob, set to stick across reboots:
net.ipv6.conf.<iface>.accept_ra = 2
accept_ra = 2 means “listen to the router's shouts even while forwarding.” Flip that, and the kernel starts hearing Router Advertisements again, SLAAC kicks in, and the node grabs a real public IPv6 address and a route to the world like every other device on the network. I'm rolling it out across the whole fleet with Ansible, so every machine is a proper IPv6 citizen — not just the ones whose networking happened to paper over the gap by accident.
SLAAC. If you run containers on a Debian-ish host with barebones networking and your IPv6 has “mysteriously” vanished, go look at accept_ra versus forwarding. You almost certainly want accept_ra=2.So, now, to continue my yak-shaving I have managed to:
And all this is so I can host my own code repos instead of dealing with Microsoft's continued enshittification of Github, and the ongoing collapse of the USA up its own arsehole of late-stage capitalism as it goose-steps into oligarchic cronyism.
Hoo-fucking-ray!