There's something coming from the cloud above,
The cloud around, the cloud below.
This big picture paralyses,
Numbs, and then, it apathises,
So much to overcome.
Feed, feed, feed that GDP,
A shakedown by captains of industry
Alone who profit from
The winds of war and trade unfair,
Choose the smoking chimney,
Or the smoking gun.
Brutalism, petro-chem, an ocean drowns in plastic,
Mega-corp says, "spend, spend, spend"
They've gone soft in the head,
Get rich, and die in the attempt,
And they'll take us out as well.
Put that shoulder to the wheel,
Mouths to feed,
Acquiescence,
Need,
Squeeze,
Put a hurtin of efficiency on all those you consider near and dear.
Don't rock the boat,
Right now, it barely floats.
There's a demon on my shoulder, preaching comfort and fear,
Though it's said it's better to die on your feet than live on your knees,
It's just too much of a leap.
In Pearse Street station, I heard two strangers, on opposite platforms, exchange a song for a tune on the double bass.
Everyone in the station fell silent as the man in tweed sang ‘Fly me to the moon’.
So I took to the music. It’s bad luck to ignore signs....more
The debut LP from the Chicago multidisciplinary artist strikes a bold balance between meticulous structure and improvisation. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 10, 2022