Square Peg in a Black Hole

I remember Richard would make these tapes Solo recordings of really minimal droney keyboard work with primitive drum machines And we would take a drive in his car His wife never allowed him to play his music at home And we would drive aimlessly for hours Sometimes as far as Gourock Where we would pull up at secret viewpoints and he would play me his latest tapes Right Listen to this he would say It's the sound of the ocean Or it's a tornado on the surface of Mars And at the time, I wouldn't pay that much attention It sounded to me like a guy who had taped down a few keys on a keyboard And then walked away and done something else for forty-five minutes But now my memory of it is more like weather systems on distant planets Or storms come crackling out of the past