Brian Eno: The Big Chill

GLEAMING METAL DOORS slide open noiselessly at the touch of a button, and I step into the secret subterranean studio of Brian Eno. The atmosphere is frigid, the light fluorescent and subdued. Professor Eno himself sits at a mixing console, his impassive cyborg face bowed down to the controls as his eerie synthesiser sounds float around the room. He does not acknowledge my arrival. I decide to wait until there's a suitable break in the music before disturbing his concentration. But the ambient meisterwerk goes on and on, and after 30 or 40 minutes I venture a discreet cough.