Five go mad on mescaline......

Ladies and gentlemen, we have extended our ranks. Mr Ben Doherty has joined us on bass playing duties, giving me a free role to do some singin' and a-dancin' on stage.
Everyone knows all the best boy bands have five members. 5ive members.

 

 

 

We have also been powering on with the recording of our second album over the last couple of months. So far we have eleven tracks recorded, and will probably record another eight or nine songs over the next couple of months. We will then pick the best ones to go on the album. It is going to be a short blast of ape-shit pop music.

So many of my favourite current bands have been "growing up" recently and releasing very good, but very mid-tempo albums. Bands like The Maccabees, Foals, The Horrors and Bombay Bicycle Club have been making massive far reaching soundscape albums, I have loved them all, but I find myself longing for something more immediate. I want the songs on our album to be like short sharp rabbit-punches to the heads of all the horrible shit that climbs on top of us and pins us down in our modern lives. I want a two and a half minute burst of catchy mayhem to boot the testicles of our low paid jobs, I want a three chord rant to spit in the eye of council tax and unaffordable rent, credit cards and Twitter trends. Every track needs to be a fightback. The album needs to be a call to arms. Good old spunky youth and imagination is getting lost in these dark days, there at least needs to be an alternative to run to for solace, to get the fires burning. If we can provide that on a half hour album, or at a sticky gig in some shit club then my life will be complete. If we fail, then fuck it, at least we had a go.

Stay Young.

 

X X X

 

 



 

No Going Back.......

I've been watching a whole load of music documentaries recently.
The glorious histories of classic bands. BBC4 and Sky Arts are goldmines for these sorts of things.  The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, Nirvana, Prince, The Sex Pistols, The Beatles, Depeche Mode to name a few. They all leave me with the same kind of momentary after-thought. "FUCK YEAH, I'M GONNA BE A ROCK N ROLL STAR"

But thinking back on all these sort of shows the only solid fact I can take away from them is that nothing will ever be like that again. Never ever. The old rock n' roll fairytale is dead. Maybe there is a new version being formed today, a new dream for the children of the future. But as it stands, it is pretty safe to say that we are in the transitional period, we can only look forward, as everything that has happened before is irrelevant. Obviously the music still stands up, people will quite rightly look at The Beatles or Joy Division or Dylan for musical inspiration. But inspiration is all it can be, there is no point trying to map out a musical path in the style of any band that came before the turn of the century. This is maybe why so many bands get frustrated and fail. Trying to follow the old route in a completely new world. The internet has been the most influential thing on music since ol' Robert Jonson sold his soul at the crossroads.

Many of the great rock n' roll stories tended to involve sending demo tapes to labels, getting some sort of gun-toting maverick manager, playing a few auditions in record company offices, maybe having a few false starts, then after a few years and a couple of dull albums they would hit the big time with some massive hit single and never look back. Five hundred date tours around America and a whole host of celebrity divorces would follow. Before rehab, comeback albums and the ill-advised techno period. I certainly think we need to keep hold of some of the wild parts of this tale, we still need rock n' roll stars. Just because the means of getting music out has become rather dull and plastic doesn't mean that the people making it need to be. But hell, it's hard to imagine how a young Bowie would have got on with Twitter. Or how an Ian Curtis blog would take off. Perhaps this level of openness would have killed the mystery a little. But that is the world in which we now live and try to succeed in. We have sent out countless CDs and emails to record companies, managers etc, and one of the only responses we have ever had was that we needed to improve our "online presence". A very modern short-coming. We've recently been told by another influencial industry voice that we had great songs and were amazing live, but that seemingly wasn't enough to gain any sort of investment. I don't think anyone really knows how the music industry is going play out in the coming years, as much as it seems a little bit shit, the fact that it is new and uncharted territory rather excites me.

 

 

The idea of living in uncharted times also applies in many factors of our lives. There are a generation being born right now that are having their first picture uploaded to Facebook whilst they are still in the womb. Scan pictures are followed by the blinking, moist, one day old pictures, then on to the first steps and beyond. What sort of social and psychological effect will this have on these people by the time they reach their 21st birthday? At what age will they themselves get a social network profile? Growing up in a world where "likes" and  a"releationship status" are common things. I have no idea how it will all play out. I have the minor joy of being old as fuck. I left school when I was 16, just before Myspace and Bebo erupted into world. I only really knew the people at my school. This will seem almost unfathomable to people that are only a couple years younger than me. It is nice to have known the two worlds, pre and post socail network. Where it goes next I really do not know. As long as we remember we are human and continue to share the amazing pleasures of community and keep on touching each other then I'm sure we'll be alright.

 

 

XXX



VISIBLEHAND

THE VISIBLE HAND EP.

Future Lionheart
Keep them drunk and keep them dumb
an old solution for the young
Its hard to fight with your hands by your side.

Does this city ever sleep
the walking dead can have no dreams
We're marching single file towards the grave.

WE'RE THE GENERATION WITH NOTHING TO DIE FOR

Keep one picture locked away
A portrait of a devils face
Dorian would blush if he saw it

Welcome to the hangover
the smell of sulphur fills the air
We're marching single file towards the grave.

WE'RE THE GENERATION WITH NOTHING TO DIE FOR

Angels sounding out their horns
will fly into the thunderstorm
if this is not a judgement I'll be damned
DAMNED DAMNED DAMNED.


The Only Way is Out
We're draining off our glasses
we'll drink our cares away
and in our party dresses
reaction time delays

All I ever wanted was something to believe
Negative emotion sells you everything

I learned to hate my body
these twisted magazines
will tell me I'm not worthy
as long as I still eat.

All I ever wanted was something to believe
Negative emotion sells you everything

Lover of a ballad
my eyes begin to glaze
stripped and medicated
and handy on my dirty knees

All I ever wanted was something to believe
Negative emotion sells you everything

You told them you were the best lay in the land,
now they've tied both your feet and told you to work with your hands
You told them you were the best lay in the land,
now they've tied both your feet and told you to work with your hands

What are we doing here at this time in this part of town.
Somebodies son, somebodies daughter, some little lamb sent to the slaughter.


Real Men Shoot First
Twenty four years, six months and five days
scared by the light I'll go back to the cave
Man up they say, man up they say
There's a place here for everyone as long as everyone knows their place.
So I'll wait.

I'm dreaming of the stars, but I wont leave here
I'm dreaming of the stars, but I wont leave here

A modern poet yet to master his art
He'll tear out your lungs just to get to your heart
Man up they say, man up they say
There's a place here for everyone as long as everyone knows their place.
So I'll wait.

I'm dreaming of the stars, but I wont leave here
I'm dreaming of the stars, but I wont leave here


She Talks
Praying for snow on the hills this year
I've got carrier bags for my feet.
Making up games as I wait by the phone
for a call from the secret girl.
I'm happily catching a cold this year
cos my nurse has got oranges, I'm fine.

I wont be alone again,
and I'll never talk about the things she says when she talks to me.

Every time that my head kills
I just dream of the secret girl.
And every time that all hope fails
I just dream of the secret girl.

I wont be alone again,
and I'll never talk about the things she says when she talks to me.

She is learning, she is learning to drive.
She is learning, she is learning to drive.

Merry October…….

I work in a shop. This darn music lark is sadly a long way away from being able to feed and shelter me just now, so I live each day in a warm and fuzzy retail hell. Last week we were informed of our Christmas opening hours, and those of the other shops around the high street. It was some pretty bleak information all round.

I’m afraid I don’t believe in Santa Claus, or immaculately conceived babies born in barns. But I very much enjoy Xmas day. Outwith the gifts, food and merriment it is just nice to have a day when everything stops, when the over-powering static of everyday life quietens down a little. The roads are empty, the shops are closed. I’m pretty sure it used to last more than one day though, I remember Boxing day was once a fairly non-existent day as well, and a few days around new year. And away from the festive season, I’m pretty sure I recall a time when most things were closed, or at least open fleetingly on Sundays. Granted, a lot of this is was due to peoples mad religious beliefs, but it is surely good to have a little time away. It was only a few years ago that I remember the shops opening at about 12 o’clock on Boxing day, then closing again at 5. Now it seems that everywhere is open at about 8am to launch their sales. One shop started it. Made some serious money, so everyone else wanted to get a bit of the action. Now its commonplace. But where will it end? Some bright spark decides to open his chain of over-priced shite-shops for a few hours on Christmas day, makes a killing, then a few years later it’s just another 9-5 day for everyone. A lot of cities have late night shopping once a week, so the school kids, students and office workers can pop in for a few evening purchases. I’m sure they make a fair bit of money. Perhaps some places will then stay open late for two or three nights a week, fuck it, why not all seven?

This will undoubtedly sound like the sentimental waffling of a confused young man. But I just get the fear that in a time not far from now we will be living in a world of twenty four hour super-malls, open three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Where nothing ever stops, or slows down, people will become zombies, deprived of time to feel human. Who knows, maybe global warming will step up a gear and the seasons will blur into one, then we will live in one long continuous day, decaying pink robots, never quiet sure what or where we are. That new Westfield mall in London scares me. Opened up in a prime are so that the only way to get to the 2012 Olympics is through a monster retail world. I cut out a picture from the newspaper the day after it opened. It was a picture of the thousands of people that crammed into the mall on the day it opened. Every single person looking unimaginably miserable. Weighed down with bright shopping bags.

I think it will soon be time to go feral. Form a society in the trees, living off of wild berries and insects, hunting obese children and shitting in a hole. Or perhaps not. Just a little more time to feel alive and experience humanity would be nice.

xx

Glue Up My Tear Ducts

We are on the road to ruin. We are going to drown in our own tears. Quivering wrecks perched on the end of our sofas, afraid to move, unsure of what a real emotion feels like, but knowing that we are so very emotional.

Advertisers, TV producers, politicians, anyone out for a quick buck, the holy grain has been found, throw away your original ideas, emotional torture is all you need. Every advert is like a small movie trailer, with some sob story at its centre. LOOK AT HOW OUR WHITE SHINEY PRODUCT HAS DEEP RELEVANCE TO YOUR LIFE!!!! DOESN’T IT MAKE YOU FEEL SAFE, AND WARM, AND BRING BACK MEMORIES OF A HAPPIER TIME. I marvel at the advert for Google with the father putting down a timeline of his daughters life in emails and documents, all set to warm comforting music. Few things in the history of earth are as offensive as that advert. Every TV show now seems to have an emotional slant as well. There is always a back-story, something that the audience can relate to. Something to have them reaching for the tissues. Some mildly attractive seventeen year old future prostitute sitting in an Ikea chair telling her hard luck story, the whole thing sound tracked by Adele.

Best-selling books about abused children. Films about the doomed romance of two plastic faced morons. The Pride of Britain Awards. EVERYTHING SOUNDTRACKED BY ADELE! There is no place to turn without some sort of canned emotion being unleashed on us. And we are lapping it up. Until the day when one tear too many is cried and we all snap. We will dehydrate. Millions will die. The survivors will be weepy vegetables, unable to leave their shit stained beds in fear of hardship and disappointment.

We shall start a breakaway sect. Go feral, like in all good post-apocalyptic films, live in the caves, away from TV screens and billboards, in small groups, fuelled by actual human feelings, experiencing beauty and sadness first hand. Then one day it will all be over, we will be the last ones left, having to start again from scratch. I shall emerge into the light with my eyes glued shut, waving a malnourished fist in the air, wearing the skin of Adele as a cloak.

MELO-D.

LAVENDER HANDS
The smell of cinnamon hung heavy in the air,
as the candle on the desk flickered in the breeze
from the badly fitter window.
His lavender hands have intentions
Stay close to keep warm.
Outside the people are marching in the snow
Flaming torches for the capital city
Heavy shoulders hung low
Swollen hands fill empty pockets.
Three stories up the buzz of the street camera drowns out our words
I’ve got so much to say but I hate talking loud
Outside the spiral winds down
We’re running out of time
But tonight darling
You’re mine.

MY ALABAMA
Is this the happiness you’ve always talked about?
I’m never happy when my guard is down.
I’m a detective now, I’m always looking back
I’m green with envy now, this heart attacks
Woo Haa!
Fingers and tongues and thighs, twist in the heavy light
I’m going to take his eyes, because you’re mine
You’re Alabama and Ill be your Clarence,
I’m going to kill everyone that’s come before
Woo Haa!
Baby put your hands around my throat
And tell me that you’ll never let me go

STATUES
Famed for your, restraint in times
Of great desire, when fear has no place
Self control has left you cold
Just relight the fire and blaze like the sun
I am nailed to the floor
Fear of desire keeping me here
Can I put my hand in yours
I wont look at you if you don’t want.
Under your spell, always
Day dreams take me over
Day dreams, take me, I could have been something
If I could wake
Day dreams take me, I could have been something
If I could wake
Feeling like a smoking gun that no body had fired
Sure but no quite sure enough to say that I’m alive
Ill be king on other worlds, before I’ve conquered mine
Just sit beside me darling, there will be no sleep tonight
Day dreams take me, I could have been something
If I could wake
Day dreams take me, I could have been something
If I could wake

ST.PETERSBURG
Slow this down, frame by frame
Show me what’s wrong with it
Show me pain, show me there’s a victim
Chocked on guilt, I can see
Another teen tragedy, it ties me down
Binds my hands together
Every head turns on masse
Screaming out “scandalous”
She’s so young, he’s so very awkward
You want this
You’ve got it
We’ll take off with the foreign dreams
St Petersburg is calling me
We’ll live like fugitives and martyrs
I’ll consult with the greats
Spit or swallow my mistakes
Everyone has to learn the hard way
Now as we take our last breath
There’s no burden, no regret
We can say, we are free to die now
You want this
You’ve got it.

BROKEN CROWN
There’s a tidal wave moving through my blood, it shakes me to the ground then picks me up
Born the single heir to a fathers curse, going to kill him or he’ll me first
Heavy black steel weighs my jacket down, warming my side with its smoking guilt
I could play the part of the fugitive, taking five shots, I’ll save one for me
Wont you ride with me, to a safer place
I just want to start again
Suddenly I’m free, former destinies
Never catching up with me
Turn the lights off turn the music down, death is at the door and he’s come for us
Knocking four times with his skinny fist, come to take back what’s rightly his
Trying to decide if my future’s worth, starting a war with the underworld
If you tell me that you’ve hade enough, I’ll take my last shot, give myself up
Wont you ride with me, to a safer place
I just want to start again
Suddenly I’m free, former destinies
Never catching up with me
Devils come, I’ll be waiting
I’ve been damned from the start.

BULLETS IN THE WALL
What’s left to die for, love is all we have
I want a cause that is keeping me alive
What’s left of freedom, show me the fight
Put me to the wall and I’ll show you what I’m thinking of
Put me to the wall and just take your aim
Keep your blindfold I want you to see the making of
Every nightmare as you take your aim
Come all you faithful, come all you damned
Plastic messiahs breathing down my neck
Come all you faithful, come all you damned
Lets get together and start again.
Put me to the wall and I’ll show you what I’m thinking of
Put me to the wall and just take your aim
Keep your blindfold I want you to see the making of
Every nightmare as you take your aim


WHITE RABBITS
I’m giving up my life to someone else’s dreams
I’ll take you by the hand, to places I don’t know
This guilt in ecstasy, it doesn’t sit with me
I’m serious too much, I look but do not touch
How can the cause of this still be the medicine
I’ve got blood on my teeth, I spit but keep the taste
I push my chest out, I am a man now
I push my chest I figure I am the last survivor
These nights are killing me, forgetting how to sleep
Drink for the sake of it, drink to feel whole again
And when my doorbell rings, I know its fate calling
And what he’s offering I know I wont resist
I’m screaming innocence, I’m screaming it’s your fault
I’m screaming leave me here so I can fade away
I push my chest out, I am a man now
I push my chest I figure I am the last survivor
Fill our glasses with temptation top me up then let me go…


PULSE
I won’t be your enemy until you say you’re mine
I wont treat you like a dog unless that’s what you like
I’m always here
I’ll be around
Every look you fire at me is saying back away
Just get your hand off of my thigh and maybe I’ll obey
I’m always here
On the ground
Stop and breath
Stop and breath
Saying things that I don’t mean to try and get a spark
What’s the use in showing up if you don’t leave your mark
I’m always here
I’ll be around
The warm pulse of regret is creeping underneath my skin
Keeping out the cold but keeping the frustration in
I’m always here
On the ground
Stop and breath
Stop and breath

VAMPIRES
Don’t leave my side, until the sun is gone
We can spend our lives, chasing dawn
In this warm twilight I’ll be king
You can be my queen, we will reign
As I run my hand down your back
You just smile at me, there’s no words
I’m facing up to the fact that this cant go on
When day comes
I’ll walk back home, this bridge my own
The peaceful waves whisper my name
I’m no Werther, I’m weak you see
I’m just one more romantic waste
I want you more than you could know
I need you more than could know
(your twisting the knife in some more)
I will wait here, existing like a car crash with no victims
Tragic but no worth your concern
And I will wait for temptation  to pick me up put me down
And set my soul on fire
On fire
On fire
On fire……..

ONCE A KING
I was once a king, but now I cannot see
The million little things that flash in front of me
Where are the heroes I used to know
My mind is bending, as my body breaks
I don’t want to fear another little waste
The sun must rise, just to set
Write down everything that goes through my head
So I don’t forget how sensation felt
Where are the heroes I used to know
My mind is bending as my body breaks
I don’t want to fear another little waste
The sun must rise, just to set
Shot out of focus, lost in the noise
The street is a forest drowning in light
The dirt on my fingers show where I’ve been
But where I am going is unknown to me
This map of bruises is no bodies guide
All that I wanted, I’m going to find

THE WINDOW
Dawn never comes, we can sleep forever
With my arm draped round your shoulder
Ill never move, I wont breath
I’d tear my eyes out just to save this moment
Oh my love, the stars stay out for us, under the window
Oh my love, we’ll never be alone, under the window
I’m torturing myself with ideas
as you smile but keep your eyes closed
We built these walls to keep the world out
but the world keeps getting closer
Oh my love, the stars stay out for us, under the window
Oh my love, we’ll never be alone, under the window

Murder on the 96A. Part 3.

Three separate voices, each having their own conversation, each of a similar volume, but at three varying tones. Two females, one slightly higher in pitch than that other, and one young adult male. All sitting behind me. I am reminded of the telephone switch board operators that you see in old movies, where a whole bunch of people would be sitting in a room together, speaking loudly but not to each other. I sometimes fear that my ability to describe things has been ruined by cinema, it is very easy to refer straight back to a scene from a film to get your point across, something which has increased with the development of CGI and computer wizardry. The further that technology develops the less we need to use our imaginations, as well as our natural human strength and problem solving skills. Perhaps we are a few generations away from being fleshy blobs that live for 200 years, convenience getting to a point where we no longer need muscle or brain. What evolution built up, technology will break down. Hell, perhaps humanity is in a constant loop where we evolve up to a point of saturation, master technology then begin to decline, ready to start again. Maybe not.

I digress. Three voices, from behind me. They are the only ones I can hear on the bus, which make them stand out. All the seats are full, but being home time for most 9 to 5’ers no one is really saying much, eyes to the floor, the familiar whiff of defeat in the air. I try to ignore them, and rest my head against the window. After a while the gentle rocking of the bus, coupled with the steady blast of the heater against my leg make me drift towards sleep. I find it hard to properly fall asleep on busses and trains, no matter how tired I am. So I drift around a sort of semi-conscious twilight, warm and numb. Suddenly my three voices loose there singularity and become one sound, a sort of rhythmic beat, like Morse code tapped out under water. They are in my head, sitting right in the centre of my mind, not coming in through my ears, put pulsing from within, I can easily forget all of the other things around me, the cool window against my head, the fact that the warm heater is slowly burning my leg and my forward motion. Sometimes it feels easier to concentrate in such a state. Perhaps it is in a similar vain to meditation, all the static of everyday life lifts like a clearing fog and one true thought remains. In this instance it is a sound more than a thought, but similar rules apply. I am reminded of The Doors of Perception, by Aldous Huxley, a book I enjoyed, but only in parts. He wrote of the effects of drugs on our perception of the world, how perhaps it is only when we rid ourselves of all the unnecessary noise that we can truly see what is really there. It has been a while since I read it, but I’m sure he also mentioned the fasting and sleep depravation in certain cultures and religions, where people would have “visions” after giving up on natural urges of the body. Do we ignore so many obvious and glorious things while we fire on through our everyday lives? Do these religious visions and the drug induced beauty of usually mundane things point to a world sitting on the edge of our usual perception, things that we should try hard to involve ourselves in? Or is this just the mind playing tricks on us, and just drug induced stupidity? I can’t really decide.

Ten minutes into my journey one of the voices stops. Then one of the others, until eventually all three have ceased. I have shaken back into reality, and force myself to stay awake, not through any war on reality, but merely to stop myself from dribbling on my black jacket. The silence on this busy bus feels almost unnatural. As we approach my stop I run through the usual checks, wallet, phone, keys etc, I have everything I got on the bus with, so I shuffle to the end of my seat, press the buzzer and stand up. The people sitting around me all face forwards. Motionless. As I step into the aisle I notice an iPhone laying on the floor to my left, so I look back a little to see where it had come from, there is blood on the floor. Three bodies lay sprawled up the walkway of the bus. Each with their throats cut. The people in the seats sit still, faces as unimpressed as they were when they got on, no one is shocked by the sight, no one looks guilty or appalled. I try to catch their eyes but they stay looking down at their feet. I get off the bus, thanking the driver as I pass him.