1. |
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enter: Captain Howdy and his Demonic Possessions
live for their twenty-seventh John Peel radio session
the lead guitarist plays a Fender Jagstang sprayed with something Jacques Derrida said on television
they’ve relaunched the Factory to release a new EP:
four staunch classics on one record, played at 33!
enter: Captain Howdy and the Demonic Possessions
live on the rooftop of Westminster’s “Reckless Records”
the bassist has a Rickenbacker that was once owned by the slide projectionist for Cabaret Voltaire (oh yeah…)
they play covers of the songs made famous by the Stress Cows
they play shows without encores
“yeah, our sound’s kind of like Linoleum meets Scott Walker meets Honeycrack but with, like, that Karlheinz Stockhausen sensibility thrown in…? Like, I don’t know; imagine Frank Zappa playing ‘30s music-hall in the style of ABBA, backed by Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft…”
next: a cover version of David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs”,
in a reggae style and sung in Cantonese…
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2. |
Dear Miss Chamberlain,
03:45
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it has always seemed harder than perhaps it should be
(not least as we will give out everything we do for free)
why the deafening silence, then? why the thunderous shrugs?
why the passive-aggressive indifference? why the sighs they slug?
it has always seemed harder than I know that it is
(even once I’ve factored in the fact that people are sieves)
why the deafening silence, then? why the thunderous shrugs?
why the passive-aggressive indifference? why the sighs they slug?
Dear Miss Chamberlain, barely anybody knew our name
from the bottom of our unrewarded hearts…
it has always seemed harder than perhaps it should be
(not least as we will give out everything we do for free)
why the deafening silence, then; why the thunderous shrugs?
why the passive-aggressive indifference? why the sighs they slug?
Dear Miss Chamberlain, barely anybody knew our name
from the bottom of our unrewarded hearts…
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3. |
Metallocenes
03:47
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today, the lecture’s on metallocenes
and once again, she sits right next to me
pushes her knee into mine; asks ‘could [I] take [her] out sometime?’
I say; “won’t your boyfriend mind?”
and she says: “no;
it’s just not going to work out for him and me”
today, our lecture’s on metallocenes
but she is opening up to me:
“I’m sick of my caring, sharing lover and his endless foreplay
”he’s just far too nice to me, you see…”
but, this is just going to make me ill (proabably)
so, I refuse to play Rutherford to your model of the atom; don’t ask me, for
I refuse to play Rutherford to your model of the atom, anyway…
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4. |
Alex the Girl
03:29
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I’ve got a friend in love with a girl
(I won’t say her name, but she’s out of this world)
won’t someone make it happen?
Saturday night, she trips over the line
and as her tone-bender flies, the howling feedback cries…
all the beat-up night-club hear her Telecaster twirl
that pretty semblance of a girl
she’s got audience blood on her canvas shoes
and it’s all over now, Siouxsie Soux…
I’ve got a friend in love with a girl
(I won’t say his name, but he’s out of this world)
won’t someone please make it happen?
Saturday night, he vaults over the line
and not one syllable lies, as howling feedback cries…
all the beat-up night-club hear her Telecaster twirl
that pretty semblance of a girl
she’s got audience blood on her canvas shoes
and it’s all over now, Siouxsie Soux…
love is a dance executed on air
light to the touch, free of all cares
they look so strange up there
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5. |
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why do all the sweet girls go and fall in love with boys like you?
well, I guess you’re quite the catch: fornicating through the football match
why don’t all the sirens fall in troths before my poet’s eyes?
they’re underneath-the-linen liars; paltry flesh and underwire
why does every pretty thing decide that it should fall beside the slippery, sordid sexualised sentimental wayside?
why does every pretty thing decide that it should fall beside the slippery, sordid sexualised sentimental wayside?
why do all those darling damsels latch on to their wasted lives
with little much to gain from descending through the food chain?
why do all the sweet girls go and fall in love with boys like you?
oh, there’s nothing I can say to repair their nasty résumés…
in the age of endless truth, Christopher still chases Ruth
protagonist of acned sagas; she with whom he’d share his agar
in the age of endless truth, Christopher still chases Ruth
she won’t return his gorgeous song (a fact she loves to not let on)
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6. |
Going Nowhere
05:18
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had an existential crisis: now I think I know I exist
had a sip of something - then the bottle - then I studied my wrists
you say it’s worth my while to try to stay alive and kicking
clearly you overestimate the depth of most people’s thinking
ever since I got here, I’ve tried my very best to leave
but I’m going nowhere
ever since I got here, I’ve tried my very best to leave
but I’m going nowhere
had an existential crisis: don’t you think I know I’m in bits?
…failed to remember any of the knots I learned as a kid
you cannot convince me that it’s actually worth hanging around
clearly you have not had the pleasure of what people our age spout
ever since I got here, I’ve tried my very best to leave
but I’m going nowhere
ever since I got here, I’ve tried my very best to leave
but I’m going nowhere
black dogs in waves; I’ve tried losing them,
like lighting cigarettes in rain…
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7. |
Lemonade
03:11
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so, you think that I’m offensive? let me tell you about ‘reclamation’:
it is a politic of parallels; how can it hope to break ground
when all it entails is the reuse of harsh words in new contexts?
why re-appropriate when you can innovate?
and yet, you’d shoot me down…
well, I’m sorry - we can’t all be so lacking in periphery
I think you’re just scared you don’t understand; tame your ‘panic hands’!
all you entail is a recycling of ‘political correctness gone mad’
it’s quite sad, Agnéth - have one thought of your own…
well, I’m sorry - we can’t all be so lacking in periphery
I think you’re just scared you don’t understand - no! - tame your ‘panic hands’!
well, I’m sorry - we can’t all be so lacking in periphery
I think you’re just sad you don’t understand; tame your ‘panic hands’!
would you like some lemonade…?
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8. |
Velma Dinkley
01:52
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she said that “Meshes of the Afternoon”
is ‘a Jungian search inside the sceptic mind of a headstrong bride’
she said: ‘“A Zed and Two Noughts” must be
‘the best realisation of baroque aesthetics on the screen!’
‘People forget: the brain’s the biggest erogenous zone!’
‘People forget: the brain’s the biggest erogenous zone!’
is this heaven? for seems tonight
everything is fine
‘People forget: the brain’s the biggest erogenous zone!’
‘People forget: the brain’s the biggest erogenous zone!’
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9. |
"Age's Concessionaire"
01:59
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a flying bottle struck my bass player today
(a torrent of disdain rains down whene’er we play)
a brick then hits my lead guitarist in the face;
he hurls his Tele like a medieval mace…
I wrote this quite pretentious thing full of twelve-syllable adjectives
it bored the crowd to tears
…said it was ‘my sad soul laid bare’;
called it “Age’s Concessionaire”
our drummer says: ‘[he] really [hates] that fucking song’,
just as a pint glass crashes into his floor tom
my really quite pretentious thing full of twelve-syllable adjectives -
it bored the crowd to tears
…said it was ‘my raison d'être’;
‘my joie de vivre,’ et cetera…
and then our flautist took a most surprising hit:
a plastic bag of actual flaming human shit
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10. |
Fascist Love-song
03:12
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let’s stage a coup in knee-high leather boots
with marching bands and trumpets
and conservative architecture
let’s take all the people who ever did us wrong
let’s have them executed in their throngs
let’s do all the things that we ever wanted to do
but that our miniscularity made it virtually impossible to
when you’re on the bottom, and you’re not afforded privilege or love;
that is not forgotten when we all transcend ‘the underdog’
their distress at being so lilliputian is met by my apathy -
well, won’t you look at our perfect persecution?
let’s stage a coup -
I’ll leave the vengeful specifics up to you
I love you - so, why don’t you choose?
because after all, it’s our belated ball,
and we only want supremacy, that is all -
that is all
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11. |
The Stars
05:34
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roller-skating on summer nights
children selling secrets from each other’s lives
it only ends when names ignite the silent air
dusk is forever and no one cares
no point pretending it won’t happen - either way
we’re just contenders for the sky; our sky of yesterday
so let it happen as it has to anyway;
you must disintegrate some day
it only ends with amber-dewdrop-laden shards
normalcy is fable; life’s a house of cards
no point pretending it won’t happen - either way
we’re just contenders for the sky; our sky of yesterday
so let it happen as it has to anyway;
you must disintegrate some day
to you, I’m sorry; it must be so hard -
‘chosen by beauty to be handmaiden of the stars’
roller-skating on summer nights
with youthful vigour in your eyes
it ends forever when you command it so
you never even know
I was pretending it could only go one way
just a contender for reviling yesterday
and I’d hate to think it has to feel like this - like waste -
when you disintegrate some day
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12. |
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presided over by an angel (the most beautiful angel in the universe):
helmets full of fluid; melting sacks of muscle decay falling away
don’t wait up for me - I’ll be gone a while, but I’ll be back in time
no, don’t wait up for me - I’ll be gone a while, but I’ll be back in time
presided over by an angel - the most beautiful angel in the universe -
silent, foaming screams and crying out in the abyss - nothing more than this
don’t wait up for me - I’ll be gone a while, but I’ll be back in time
no, don’t wait up for me - I’ll be gone a while, but I’ll be back in time
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The Araby Bazaar England, UK
A cute cute, in a stupid-ass way.
'weird as helllll... kind of driving hard rock with really
intellectual poncy talk-singing. [Likeable] but... deeply odd.' @thesweetsnob, Twitter
Cover versions on Bandlab: www.bandlab.com/the_araby_bazaar/albums
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