George III; Bad Medicine; A Hybrid Creature Of Greed, Ignorance And Powers Of Comprehension Plays A Vaulted Drum Kit. The Playing Corresponds Completely To The Event. There Are Entrances And Exits. And There Is Gravitation, Where It Is needed – Tears For Example.; There There Betty Betty; The Greed Of A Clarinet That Is Puffy From Crying Gets Tossed In Butter And Spread By Notes. This Process Depresses The Entire Orchestra So Much That It Only Plays Behind A Golden Partition. The Partition Is Decorated With Semi – Precious Attractive Diamonds.; Vile Vile Grass; A Sow With An Abbess’s Bonnet Is Sitting On Four Rock – Objects And Singing Along With Them. The Song Sounds Like A Cheater, And Is Imprisoned In A Striped Toy Box Because Its Aims Are Not Recognizable. On Top Of The Box Is A Head That Could Be Elvis’s, If He Had Survived This.; Mother; Out Of A Trombone That Is Divided Lengthways By A Partition Of God Sound Seven Violins OF Dynamite That Are Cut Sideways Into Thin Slices. They Are Played By The Thrown Out Ex-Members Of A Very Bad Band And Blown Up.; In My Baby’s Ruth, Sandy’s Drums With David & Shadwell, Filthy Lucre.
Ó 1999 Music Language (BMI) Ó & è 1999 Drag City Inc.
I want urgently that the music come, like a carpet spread on a roll, urged into the room that is, not least the room of musical and lyrical consciousness, also for Other people. Then we can look further. Text and tones must appear, and I say that only once, in and absolute inattentiveness’, like two eggs treated equally still ,and Leave the spectator pausing on the facts of a never-though very pleasant-allowed or suspected basis of noise. Here we begin. Here we start playing, what we taught ourselves. Our guitars cause vertigo. Our drums I can control still. Africa. Jazz in Norway. Underground. Free improvised will. Fertile frequency, tables turn bodies. Music is the feeling horse of the planet. It’s riding anything else everybody ever said about it until feeling music. Spin across, void, to that space where next to nothing shows through its feeling. Tiding, events mash and tumble in your wake. The clarion fall burns away. Nothing prevents it. You are alone with it. Who said “I Never met a man I didn’t like” did not live in the present. I wish I knew the nature of all the songs and people. One hears one listens and one hears. Three ears for music the feeling horse, the unversed savage beast, the spirit sore. To know Fingerpainting (fingerbanging too) is to love love. Dig the dignity.