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A Conversation With No Words
Jackson leads me back through some buildings, and I wonder if he is taking me to his car or something when it strikes me that I don’t have a clue where Jackson lives. “Here we are.” We are standing in front of a crazy-looking building made up of brightly coloured shipping containers stacked up on one another. Well, this is unexpected. “What, here?” I respond with a giggle. “You live in a container?” “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Jackson says with a laugh. “I got in here when the band was just starting out. It’s a whole community of artists and creative types, so it seemed a perfect place to fit out a studio. We couldn’t afford to rent a house as well, so we got one of the units that you could live in too. It’s not huge, but we made it work for a couple of years until the band
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