Get all 46 fiffdimension releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Poems & Lyrics (in the Scotch dialect) (1856), Quietism (2024), Electric (yang) / Acoustic (yin) - 2CD compilation 1998-2023, electric (yang), acoustic (yin), Live 2023, Gamelan Dimensi Kelima (Indonesia, 2014), Elevate (2023), and 38 more.
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1. |
Cafes in Conversation
01:19
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Well the coconut tree it fall to perfection leaving all of us awake into this splendid castle with a grove metal share. Bury the fortune tellers, hello to the trees. Take out the garbage & add salt.
Cafes in conversation, ambience folly. The coat-tails tied in coffee beans & the bellows in fireplace water & shoes hung out to dry. A crackling a smoke to slow-mounting fortune, the ice to the new is a sprinkling of seeds. The beginning is gone & the going beginning.
Wait collapse in small-mounting fire-tongue, the nothing not new of the past not an echo, moving back wide to refocus identity, a shame & a clank for the down in the dungeon, coffee beans there too, & hitherto canyon that shuffles in back, leaving in focus, consensual guilt.
Hard to tell what illusion defines all her contours when sadness of metal is lost in the canyon to beat tunnel down & refocus the lack of a camera to gleam & escape early warning, oh woe woe I miss all my forests.
Hard to take announcers & put him to bed with sadness a pillow to smother his head. Harder still for saltshaker monuments to praise all the fountains for Spanish guitar-players effusive in company when here sits a wall that evades all questions & company follows or not not at all then.
Too close getting harder, now aware false impressions are blocked off constantly, & marred prostitution a phone call away. Truth-telling harder now this is the end; back again someday. Mumbling back into focus, the light is like glass & the world is its liquid. Solidity wallows & senses are drowning in glass crystal fountains, scotch on the rocks.
A song for his head & this is contemptible with orange marshmallow covers lie down from the ceiling, & roses of chocolate to bury the gloom not the room a full moon; how did you guess?
Forced mysticism & fuzzy perceptions, a mounting of distance, an awareness of warning, speak not at all - & then temperament follows an incense of sky & plant pigmentation, a wariness fall; seasons in households lie late in their bloom. Wakefulness follows a dream dying high.
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2. |
Seafriends
03:09
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The ocean a shadow, time slow by the seashore
& the seashore that score the time we know
Watching clouds go by, making them artwork
The still were at war
The lights on the city, the barrenness glowed
& behind me the sea as it ebbed & flowed
Leave the loner alone to go face what he knows
Chained to the flow
Flee little seedlings, hide on the ceiling
Flee little seedlings, the rhythm makes meaning
This is not leap, the tunnel of tilt
The aged miniscule tension sits on a shelf
They drink to his health, they lay down red carpets
They stone all the sinners, his mind has gone numb
The body falls down & it will not obey
The cross on the crown, the hill is a weakness
60 days buried in a heap before vengeance
A waterfall vision, along for the ride
A grey broken quickness, a knock at the door
We come alone, exit that way
If desire is a kingdom then who sits on the throne?
All I have proven is that no-one is home
Something crawls out of the mouth of a high tree
Luminous pictures are gathered within
Here I am at the sea & I still can't breathe
Nobly fractured I forget how to be
Watching clouds of nothing refrain
Chained to the flow
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3. |
Summer Skin
05:08
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Moaning cried goodbye for the room of false flowers in sickness
The light from the window a silver on red mass of tears
Just like a factory when you are a tree
Images bent, broken-backed men walking at a crawl
I'm not at all sad
I just cried through the fire
& my eye was once and forever trapped in patterns
Geometry freezing life into tapestry
The rope is cut, and down something falls
This is what the world needs, some nice place to while away the days
Dive into desktops & snorkel away
You're a bullfighting matador, the perfect weapon
James Bond had you over for breakfast & I remember what you said to him:
'this will not last, this will not last, there'll always be room for them & suffering'
('take in poor children to feed' say the 19th century boarding schools, but they secretly eat them)
Paris finds her mocking grace, anger shoulder to the nylon
Time finds her still alone in the car's iron dance
Open ruptured sweetness, and the content was better than this dragon cloud clothing firm minded hand with wives & paper kings all better in crayon
Climbing ivy for the band, translucent stare, the body better than shiny
Shiny hair, faithful pet out in the sun borderline wine
Golden sweet beauty laying promises here in worth of our lives
Upon your feathers laughing, cold running hands sick with summer skin, the river is blushing
Almost a smile could freeze hello fondlings relate to so much light
No-one ever knows of the desert cold, a face that won't accept me
Time will change except me, no room for suppositions when time is fine and lives in Paris
The second viola king in midnight orchestra symphonic form
Unbound persuasion lend us guilty of all that was said & all that was done in unending summer where none can be zero
& this is a word insufficient to capture the season
Ask for it all & it is soon to fall, a season pathetic once then & for all
The summer is captured, but not in these words
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4. |
Eastern
03:00
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5. |
아리랑 (Arirang)
01:11
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6. |
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THE cauld blast of winter Is howling o’er the moor; The groves which smiled in summer days, Seem cheerless, lone, and bare. The mellow Warblers of the wood Nae langer chant their lay ; For, oh! it’s a bitter, biting blast, The blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair the wee wild flowers are seen adown the woody vale, Nae mair we feel their balmy breath, Come floating on the gale; Nor on the mossy mountain sides, Nae mair the lambkins play; For they cower beneath the biting blast, The blast of a Wintry day.
Nae mair upon the grassy bank The shepherd tunes his reed, but shuddering stands behind the bush, Wrapt in his rough-spun plaid. While round him winter wildly howls In terrible array ; And he shrinks to brave the biting blast, The blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair we hear the cushet’s coo The waving woods amang, nae mair we hear the linnet’s lay, nor the milkmaid’s simple sang. Nae mair we hear the humming bee come laden down the brae, for it’s a bitter biting blast, the blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair the loving pair are seen adown the hawthorn shade; the hawthorn now hath lost its charms and the loving pair have fled. For a howling wind from the angry north has filled them with dismay; and the hawthorn shakes its naked boughs to the blast of a wintry day.
Oh give me back the summer days, the gaudy days of yore; that I might sing with joysome glee ‘mongst nature’s harmless choir; and let me muse adown the vale and o’er the mountains stray – for it’s a pure refreshing breeze, the breeze of a summer’s day.
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7. |
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I SING of the land where in youth I have rambled, I sing of her heroes who long, long have gone; And I sing of her steep crags where oft I have scrambled, When dull pining cares to me were unknown,
How oft I have roamed o’er her blue misty mountains, And cull’d her wild cowslips and heather bells fair; And lightly I’ve stroll’d by her clear winding fountains, Inhaling with rapture the sweet summer air.
How oft I have gazed on the sky lark ascending, To pour forth her praise at the dawn of the day ; While dewy and lovely the pine boughs were bending, attired in the greenest of nature’s array
How oft in the evening I’ve seen with emotion The mountain kids sporting when Phoebus retires; To glad other regions concealed by the ocean; But away, what can rival the land of my sires?
Green spot of my heart, the brightest the fairest, Thrice sacred the memory for ever of you; Sweet haunts of my childhood, to me ever dearest, Though now with a tear I must bid you adieu.
Thus, like to the miser who clings to his riches, I cling to the land of the thistle and pine; Her snow-cover’d hills my soul so bewitches, Oh! would but the past with its pleasures were mine.
But, alas! those loved scenes I must leave now to others, For fate has decreed that I shall not remain ; So adieu to the land of my youth and my fathers, To seek for a home o’er the wild foaming main.
But, still I will think on a mother’s caresses, When far o’er the blue sea I waft with the gale; I And still I will cherish a father’s advices, Who pledged me his blessing adown the green vale.
But away, ye dull thoughts, for I cannot endure you, go war with another and leave me alone; For the fathomless ocean I’m destined to brave now, so blow fair ye breezes and let me be gone!
Then adieu to the land of my youth, Farewell to her crags, steep and hoary ; Farewell to the scenes of my birth, And adieu to the land of my glory.
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8. |
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HERE’S a health to my cronies where’er they reside, Whether this side or that o’ yon big rowin’ tide ; I care na what country or kingdom they claim, Be they English or Irish to me it’s the same, Gif their hearts to a glass o’ gude whisky incline, I instantly class them as “Cronies o’ mine.”
Awa wi’ yon nabob purse-proud o’ his gear, Neither he nor his wealth hae charms for us here; Awa wi’ yon fop wi’ his clear headed cane, A bit trip through the warld, it’s use may explain; But welcome my cronies wherever ye be, To join in this gude reekin’ bumper wi’ me.
A fig for the wealth that this warld can gie, We naething brought here, sae we’ve naething to lea; The farmer wi’ ousen an’ acres galore, Has his crosses just now, an’ may sune count on more; Then come here, my cronies, let’s kick awa care, As lang’s we’ve a groat or a shilling to spare.
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9. |
The Marion Flow
03:33
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I sit in this tower of tongues & bells & move move move to the groove, or so that I'm reckoned & then I am beckoned back back to these shoes nigh marion blues & so to the seashore our body now go & tale shall flow & power ye know.
So under the tower my face nigh on water & shoes that are dough to the marion flow, & need to correct a sudden deflect & fine to the seashore can bring thee self-knowledge, but laugh shall I laugh & make my ears go to the marion flow. Distance contracted, stars that explode.
Our body now sober lie down at the seashore & seashore that score the time that we know. Our body now sore that to lie on the floor to be seen to that go to the marion flow.
A passion of treasure to my body lies pleasure to be watched on the Earth of patterns we go, & the comfort southwest is to be seen to be blessed. Longer that than you think to be seen to be pink in hard self-regard into cotton of night, & cotton this gift that to is be kissed & to cotton this Earth that to be at the first, that to be at the first is to be at the cursed; distance contracted, stars that explode.
A thing is regained that is nowly defamed & be seen to that go, to the marion flow, a thing that does cometh to pierce the sea summit. Nervousness knows that to be on ye toes & voices that might all mutter that high fall, or to leave & not serve or lie in the Earth & the stars are now plain, & voices that come onto him all that come. Yea take in that wake that to be self that take or abandon the wake into silence it take & him that is spying be him that is crying & hence shall it west into heaven that blessed for to lie without knowledge & be proud & flee north.
See not that I deformed & hear that I be forth into copious power that shall grumble an hour. Hallowed it be to hear the self reckoned, to see will be beckoned, upon paragraph & tower & weave in a bower, & to see all that spite now to be in the light. See not that I deformed all that came before & that pry in that chance who to aid not that branch. Hunger & knowledge of all that came before to fill up my head with emptiness dread & the loneliness crowd, so insufferably loud are the loneliness crowd.
Locked without march. The rhythm that yawns not to be of the dawn, I write for that reason, to buckle the season, my storehouse a treasure of pirates at leisure with shoes that lie drying on priest without buying, and to be but a yawn in the streets that are born(e) & that sprung from the sea to with all that I be, but to fight for no groan in the top without loan, asleep on the throne that is slow in denial of friendships to smile of all that we know, in the carrion flow.
To go forth alone into million at home and design in presignment, cold windy assignment, sings all that we know to the marion flow & hope be denial of all that we smile, I give all that I know to the marion flow.
Danger & leisure are to be what we treasure, & to see the comfort southwest be amazingly guessed, to hope without trial of all is denial, the pen it grows dry to the self underly, the hope that I treasure the ribbons of leisure that lie without worth in the dustiness Earth.
I will finish this page to dirty my age & to lie without spite is to see out the night. The truth it is worth more than loneliness birth where to be in a fright is to be in the night. I will always ignore the one I adore & am always at war with myself to be poor.
The end, round the bend, come today another friend. Nothing shall be there to tell what I said or die in a bed & the loneliness crowd grows very loud. Back to the sea, it waits for me, a negative on water like any other matter. All is said & all is done, the flow continues, the song is sung. Myself I ignore.
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10. |
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fiffdimension Featherston, New Zealand
Outsider music from Aotearoa NZ and beyond, by Dave Edwards and collaborators (from 1856 to 2024).
Spans acoustic & electric noise, rock, folk, spoken word, postpunk, free jazz, gamelan, lo fi, electronica, & ethnomusicology.
fiffdimension recommends:
Waiting for the Drummer
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The mutant cousin of 'The Marion Flow' - also produced by Paul Winstanley - http://fiffdimension.com/tag/paul-winstanley - at the same sessions but with very different results.
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hill road in winter
by the troubled times
First new release of 2023, psych-rock trio from Masterton, NZ, with Antony Milton and David Heath
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Nat da Hatt collaborated on https://fiffdimension.bandcamp.com/album/neon-train-landscapes and brought a funky psychedelic guitar groove to our sound - here's his solo masterpiece.
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A Hound's Heart
by William Ryan Fritch
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