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. |
Summer Skin
06:19
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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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2. |
Mouth of the Caveman
03:26
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"That's a nice chord innit? A very nice chord."
"I liked it a lot; it was the worst chord I've ever seen."
Leave aside the poet-strangled engineer ear-sprain
nothing get paid for until it gets dark
over the ocean shine down the sun, into the kingdom
where I plan to vent forth unreason, & here I lay guilt
A black claw of diamond cloud perfume dissolves me into background noise; high above the street I sail, dusty mountains, ravens wail; the face crawls, full of seashells & vermin; bring in beauty, it's your duty - I'm too shy to even say hi; we need to enact a paradigm shift, so we get really stoned & we get really pissed; visionaries exchange pleasantaries, cartoon characters sing the blues; the city's blinkered blinking enclose our loud albino progress; out all night for an all-out night, wasted in the wings with baby-food music, I am dirty & mocking & I stumble at chance, I am sly superficial with a sideways glance, grey haired with freedom & information blindness.
The wild running hunger was begged & profound to a hunger of stone-envious wood running progress, mental gnome church gotten home re-gotten captured, re-growing sideburns, a tunnel vision fits, glances that waver; camera pointed at the sun, crappy turntable blasting out beats - & we have questions to ask regarding its value - ahead smiling face prostrated in shower, another drunken figure kneeling abased before toilet & 15-year-old girl passed out on the floor; we took to the t.v with a baseball bat, & went into town with a shopping trolley & liquor... but we never met Elvis, not even that night.
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3. |
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(As the great poet Woody Guthrie said, 'this machine kills fascists' - this song has nothing to do with Lord of the Rings; it is entitled 'the Hurricane Wrangle (a butcher review)'... they'd been up one night watching too many Lilian Gish movies, and realised that this was the queen of the silent broad screen)
Neon mumble turnaround making you go in naked
as your brain, strangely profound, is coping not to fake it;
the unthinkable happened, with perfect precision,
chains swinging down through the door
The ladies in waiting ungratefully unveiled,
and to for the perfect place of a nun;
loose in the country Antarctic I take,
in no way beating on the same drum
Still not ready for the wedding circus ring -
you're a communist & I'm transcribing your conspiracy;
a barrel-house king was keeping the phrase,
& the man wants her to give him her days
A knowing retort could be praise for our chatter,
& seekingly for the sickly cold old sun;
barren regained into punishment antiques -
you're a blackguard, & I'm a poltroon
Your eyes in fire & are knowingly obscene
& your head winds up sitting in a mausoleum
you were alone in outdated brimstone & fire
& your sins are not seven,
but are knowingly beginned all night
Lying deadly with no comment, the hero bursts upon the scene -
but he tries to leave unnoticed when the opponent takes the queen;
quit in yoke to the power of a runaway car;
equate here & now with desire gets you not very far
You were taken wanderer, there among clouds,
your hand branded names, & it wakes up & smiles;
seek silent groan when you're hollering loud,
& your feet have not walked a thousand miles
A level where beginners with their mutilated faces
can speak & be alone, wherein they're constantly invaders,
& I speak of time & training & of climbing up the levels,
cancel proceedings, waking up in smiles
Each evening I sit at home & complain;
each evening a punishment adored;
each evening & watch the autumn wane;
the best of evenings, growing more & more bored
Your eyes in fire & are knowlingly obscene
& your head winds up sitting in a mausoleum
you were alone in outdated brimstone & fire
& your sins were not seven,
but knowingly begin sometimes
Truth parades its pantheon, & is constantly outdated,
& a man walks the pavement, not thinking he will make it;
the judgement of justice thinking suspicious;
if he thinks he ties me up he will never admit it
Soon the list of time outdates the reason why it's born,
awkwardly chained to reason & malice,
a time for the teasing makes a banned awful season
who eats up unthinkable words retaining matches
Jeffrey fucked up, but he keeps on going strong;
inwardly creeping in, gleefully unknown;
I think of sarcasm, & it seemed so profound
to be stylishly & gracefully bound
Soon the list of time outdates the reason why it's born,
awkwardly chained to reason & malice;
you await the reason, & for a while retain
the memory of the crown of thorns
Your eyes in panic & in pleasure are obscene
while your head winds up sitting in the movie screen;
you were alone in back-dated billowing doubt,
& your sins are not seven
but are knowingly outstretched once more
Stop it! Enough already! This is a jazz-poetry show, man! So a little less of the jazz, & more of the poetry...
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4. |
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1 2 3, 1 2 3
I dissolve into background noise, frequenting carnival bars
smog buried distance, & it made me forgetful,
& my own pen makes me start telling lies
I'm hangin' out with the guys, welcoming rhythmic asides
I'd say 'take home my hand, let us be tragic friends'
but I'd once again forgotten to talk
The house requires a chairman, kind mannered lady; silk wolverine cry
& as to the meeting, the method, the requisite corner, the killing of swarm in its own metal canvas, laugh conserve leisure, open wound & still breathing - from hungover night & then drunken morning under the covers, back into working, swallowed the houses with internet access, sheet metal cutter clasped in his hand
I hate what I used to enjoy, I'm becoming the clown of thorns
I can speak the language, but I can't make it dance
There's a need to recharge my soul
The truth is negated by song; displacing emotional wrong
The cynic is a basilisk, & I know I'm full of shit
But, as usual, nothing is wrong
...so knowing they had to get out of there at some stage - not later but then & now - which was then come & gone, off to the front the side the back that caused air to waken, vent its forth a broken promise kept, come answering gladly against the wall curtain raised adventure happenings under the table, weary weight of curse, distance savour worsen capture said 'somewhere along the line the ice was broken', northern cry release
I find that I'm losing my voice; abstain from mystical sights
The hypocrite sits with his obsessive gifts that will work endless shifts in the shafts of his mind/mine
A strange kind of happiness, lacking in joy
Full stop. Count off. Exact refusal tie. Measurement patterns, bringing forth progress, his own unsteady warming, mounting bannister, spiral staircase; it is the world that is hunger;, it is hurt, torn & cumbersome; perseverance was mild; silver in platitudes, a red foreign sun asleep in its patterns; slumber was comical, dreams held it open, the sun was improving, we captured that night. Soon there is movement, inside there are people; consigned them in consecutive autumns, where they had to reveal how the plot has now turned.
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5. |
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O Henry, falling leaves & branches talk a worried sad refrain,
your eyes half tilt, your brain half mast
to tie the fond anonymous bond beyond your aching shelter lying walls
that fall to fall & raise the days, museum haze
O Henry for the season, falling autumn rains/reigns its claim to fame,
your head a handsome sleeping sound,
your ship not sleeping in the sand when run aground, you stall tall story disco library, white with dust & wiped & fussed;
open even over time does not mind to go in blind
O Henry, unforeseen your odds are even now to me
I don't see how you never lied, you never cried;
your melancholic putrefaction changed its dirt & you were left unhurt -
& you went waltzing through the door, to be O Henry ending nevermore,
nevermore
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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
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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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Later at Whitby's
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