Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Crickets

 

A while ago I wrote the poem Newsfeed. 

This was a comment on the fact that my Newsfeed was full of horrors at the time, with seeming apathy from all observers. 

It has passed through the magical work of the WZRDGunlach and become flesh. With this new incarnation, it has become a song about the price of silence. 

It's out on SoundCloud now; 

https://on.soundcloud.com/LjuHpGZ8fL9kBOyUb2

But it will be on all streaming services on the 6th of October. I'd be super jazzed if you would pre-save it. Please do open your ears. 

https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/wzrdgundlach/crickets-feat-empire-of

Lyrics; 

Monsters mauraud causing pressurised pauses and coursing these hares of attrition to force us

 to face what we bought with the souls of the daughters 

whose freedoms are phantoms resigned to a fortress.


Without remorse the hawks proudly purport 

to distort the discourse, to control and contort storylines and reports til the truth's lined in chalk 

and the demons extolled for their will to extort.


 Hideous hordes haul their horrible orifice-

s through the streets and then off to their offices -

coffee and cowardice; cancelling policies

killing off folk for the cents in their sofa seats.


So we know who they are.

And we know what they did

And the response from the law

Was crickets.


Feign fascination from false adulation 

Or face cancellation by fickle crustaceans

Their claws and their carapace wilful conflation

Of facts and emotions with false accusations


Sufferings strata hierarchical hate

ID parade to provoke not placate

Spotlight division, distract from the state's

poisonous policy serves to stagnate.


Sophistry’s slavers paint rivals as raving,

ordering us to ignore what they're saying

scripted unwill into games they’re playing.

Injustice tsunami; we're drowning not waving.


We know who they are.

We know what they did

And the response from us all

Was crickets.

Deeper

 I've been waiting so long.

I said, I've been waiting so long.

But like every man or woman that ever has been, you're running late.

You never call, never phone or write. 

You just don't show up for our date.

No, no.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted 

Was One Good Man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love

That's deeper.

So I met a poet at the Chelsea, he said

"I'll be your Bobby, you can be my Brigitte"

So I lent him my head and he gave me a hand, baby

Get It While You Can. He

Promised me poems. I said, "Catch Me Daddy!

Go read to old ladies instead!" 

Yeah yeah. 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

One good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

A love

That's deeper.

I'm just A Woman Left Lonely

Singing in this empty room.

I've gotta Try (Just A Little Bit Harder) to wait

My cigarettes burned out too soon.

So I'm out here walking in the rain

Little Girl Blue with her Ball and Chain.

What Good Can Drinking Do? Oh.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, a love a love, a love

That's deeper, yeah. 

So I found myself a new man.

He's tall and he's thin.

Not much of a looker.

His countenance is grim.

He's only got one outfit, his smile is wide.

No Mercedes Benz, just a horse to ride.

Under this Half Moon it's finally time

To stop my Misery'n. Oh! 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, that's deeper. Yeah.

So this Summertime

I've found my love

I've got one good man!

And he's the Reaper. 




New poem, new song. 

Find it online:  Empire of - Deeper. 

Listen here: https://on.soundcloud.com/pjvTD

Download/stream everywhere now.

A New Direction

 

https://on.soundcloud.com/LR83k

Some of you may have been wondering why I have been quiet recently. 

I have been busily working on a new project, which is starting to come to fruition. 

Above is a link to the first track of my forthcoming album. Check it out and let me know what you think. 


Love always. Xx

Lyrical Living

So I’ve been to all these gigs
and listened to the bands
and heard how nobody understands
the loss they feel,
the heartbreak, the pain.
It’s the same old story Sam,
sing it again.

I’ve heard all the fills, like
“Oh, baby, yeah”
Did you run out of words to fill that space there?
Am I getting old?
Or just getting pickier?
Or perhaps, with experience, cynical and bitterer?
It’s just that all this monotonous crap
as about as profound as clickbait video soundtrack.
Calculatedly sentimental,
as irrelevant as Blockbuster video rental
to the age we are living in and the way I experience
emotional ambush and unspoken inference.
Blandy McBlanderson.
Selected generic
when we lives in such interesting times.
LED screens on with lightshows mesmeric
to distract from the mundane straight rhyme.

That’s not to say I don’t love it.
Dancing is pure bliss.
Eyes-closed-bass-pounding-through-my-chest-my-arms-a-twist.
Exchange of energies intense,
connection of rhythm and chord and cadence.
Dance for sorrow.
Dance for rage.
Dance for anxiety.
Dance for tomorrow
belongs to those that can see it coming.
Dance because knowing what’s going to happen isn’t always a blessing.
Dance when you feel powerless. In
some small way you’ll feel better.
And whether you know it or not
the shot of joy I feel,
knees buckling after a night on the tiles
is the same depth of smile
I get
from poetry.
And so, although I seem
ungrateful
I’m really not.
I’ve had a summer of music never to be forgot.
And from my depths, thank you
for you’ve all heartily moved me.
It’s just that if I’m honest


I’d rather be at poetry.

                                                                                                                    

This was one of my entries for the Manx Lit Fest Poetry Slam this year. One young man mistook my friend for me. He asked her at the interval what her problem with modern music was. To him, I say two things: 1) Wrong tall dark-haired girl. and 2) You've totally missed the point of the poem. 
Much love. X

Roundhouse, London, 12/07/2013

I steamed and spun one London night,
As trains did long ago.
Euphoria; experimental;
Honesty and woe.
My facial vines of eyeliner
mystified the wasted
and a one-off song from Palmer's tongue
set straight the rag-most-hated.
Unexpected overwhelm
and floodgates rattled open.
Lost and then the Bed Song
un-numbed my heart so broken.
The gift she gave - an awesome show.
An unguarded performance.
The gift I took - the strength to glow
and keep on moving forwards.