Joined: Feb 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 1,017 Location: Toronto
Heartland + Swedish Love Story « Thread Started on Oct 26, 2009, 2:19pm »
Midnight directives
Cross her off the shortlist. My blood is a red-winged bird. The way will be lit by the bridges we burn, oh. And come, tornado! Carry me away from the croft. Ruffle my hair, bear my body aloft, oh.
As the cutlass came down on a Saturday night, Left an un-planted field, left my daughter and wife. Called away into service, for a clerical life. Left an un-planted field, left my daughter and wife.
Thought I was a sad-boy. Now I know, I know, I know I was wrong. Since you came along, I can see how content I had been. It'll drive a man crazy to age from the outside in. But I have a plan, it's a trick with a prick of a pin.
And as the cutlass came down on a Saturday night, Left an un-planted field, left my daughter and wife. Called away into service, for a clerical life. Left an un-planted field, left my daughter and wife.
For a man can be bought, and a man can be sold, And the price of a hundred thousand unwatered souls Is a bit of meat and a bit of coal. It's a bit of meat and a bit of coal. It's a little bit of meat and coal.
Keep the dog quiet
My body is a cage. This union is cage about a cage about a cage. And this, and this town too. I'll see you once in a while but I can't be seen with you. This place is a narrative mess. The floor a tangle of bedsheets and battered sundress. The ink has dried in the well. The journey once was consequential, Now: sequential, sequential, sequential, sequential.
When will you silence your hounds? The eldest sons to the altar of the Eternal Sound. Their blood is spilled at the dawn. A nation bound to your will, still, the violin plays on. Plays its devotional song. Once it was, once it was so essential, Now: sequential, sequential, sequential, sequential.
Mt. Alpentine
Lead on, oh horse of mine, we will climb the side of Alpentine. Lead on, oh horse of mine, we will voice our satisfactions. Karma is the concatenation of your actions.
Red sun no. 5
I'd been living through days Carrying no burden But the shit of cattle And my resignation
Until the sun rose crimson Crept across my limbs and I saw that they were earthen That they decay and worsen
And from my ginger chest, there Came the sound of thunder I am not a father I am not a farmer
I tremble to speak of it. Held her in my arms and Pressed her to my heart and Pressed my hand o'er her lips
I murmured words of his love I will be his baron With him I have an ending With him I have completion And the cover of night
Lewis takes action
I got a message for the acolytes. I am your man for a wifey fight. I got a thirst for liquid gold. I'll bludgeon 'til the body's cold.
The stony hiss of cockatrice has cast us into serfdom. I close my eyes, and spur Imelda down the mountainside For a liberated Spectrum.
I took No-Face by his beak and broke his jaw, he'll never speak again. I took No-Face by his beak and broke his jaw, he'll never speak again.
My every move is guided by the bidding of the singer. The night is split by the whistle of my amber whip And the fire from my fingers.
The great elsewhere
Talking, what's it good for? Absolutely nothing. Wrestle, let's wrestle. You can pin me to anything.
Thought I saw you in my tea leaves. Thought I saw you in a forest flame. I'll fill up the silence with the sound of your holy name.
Knowledge of the sea-ways, knowledge of how the water flows. Whoever coined the phrase has never had to brave the snow. I climbed the shroud to the top-sail and I peeked through the glass. The curvature bisected by a wintry mizzen mast.
The scar upon my stomach, I call it my Flying V. And every time I show it, I can feel your eyes on me. How many islands will surrender to the blunderbuss? And how long must we sail before you show your face to us?
Followed him out to the end of the pier. "Don't come any closer," he cried, "I am afraid Of the man I'll become if I lay my Life down for a people who I don't even care for." Face to his face, I put my Hand into his and I tried to tell him, "No, I've seen his work upon the panes of cathedrals, In the sweat of the workers and the flight of the seagulls."
My words were drowned out by the sound Of the motors and rowers, the ship as it ran aground And from the trees came a thousand soldiers. I went down on my knees with a spear in my shoulder. About face, about face, I swam back To the Victoria. I shiver with the Memory, memory of the island dwellers And the indifferences of the Storyteller.
Oh Heartland, up yours!
The stars collected. Each world accounted for. Freed all the children. Seems there's nothing more.
If I only had a rowboat, I would row it up to heaven. And if heaven will not have me, I will take the other option. I will seek out my own satisfaction.
From the wight lying in the barrow, To the priest with his broken arrows. There's a method to the madness. They will feign an expression of sadness. A concatenation of locusts, And the farmers are losing their focus. On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses I will sing, sing, sing to the masses Oh Heartland, up yours!
The hollow voice of our 14th century. Too much assumption to be taken seriously.
Oh, you wrote me like a Disney kid, in cut-offs and a beater With a feathered fringe, it doesn't suit a simoniac breeder. Doesn't work, doesn't fly, doesn't handle.
From the wight lying in the barrow, To the priest with his broken arrows. There's a method to the madness. They will feign an expression of sadness. A concatenation of locusts, And the farmers are losing their focus. On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses I will sing, sing, sing to the masses Oh Heartland, up yours!
My homeland. I will not sing your praises here.
Lewis takes off his shirt
As soon as I got on the horse, I forgot about the math. Forgot about the odds against an adolescent standing up to all of Owen's wrath. The heat of prairie summer, impossible to take. I grab the hem and lift the fabric over my sweet head. I know what you're looking for, and I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you.
Government rule established by a dazzling light show. A hegemony armoured with a thousand-watt head and seven inches of echo. I keep up my velocity, my spurs are in her sides. I don't know what I'm doing, and it is the only way. Toward the range I'll ride, singing, I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you.
"I am overrated," said the sculptress to the sea. "I've been praised for all the ways the marble leaves the man, And I was wrong to try and free him." And as for me, I am a vector, I am muscle, I am bone. The sun upon my shoulders and the horse between my legs, This is all I know.
My senses are bedazzled by the parallax of the road. I concentrate to keep contained the overflow. My knuckles grip so tightly, my fingers start to bleed. If what I have is what you need, I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you. I'm never gonna give it to you.
Flare gun
The wella woods of Belvedere. The peat and moss of Avenroe. St. Germain's canaries. The fortress of Alpentine. Oh my soul, my loyalty is to the East And Spectral man, and bird, and beast.
Red soil for the taking. Ruddy women for your brides. All good men of valourous heart, Consider a new start and sail today for the Heartland.
E is for Estranged
Boys run like water from the barrel to the trough. They'll never stop their running. Gunning for their brothers. This house is a hostel. It is peaceful, but it's always emptying. Boys all want to be someone.
Haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird. I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire. If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire, I'll score you a string ensemble.
I saw my son at seventeen, The shutters made projections on his naked frame. Now at twenty-five, He simply cannot stay away from the ketamine. With makeup on his sores, He spends an hour a day composing little eulogies. Sometimes he sends me letters, But it's mostly garbled phrases and apologies.
But haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird. I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire. If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire, Cue the Bulgarian men's choir.
Tryst with Mephistopheles
I stumbled on the summit's path. Clumsy, clumsy. No paragon am I. I can't even keep my shoes tied.
I've been in love with Owen ever since I heard the strains of Psalm 21. Standing between the choirs, As they sang, "Laudate Dominum, Laudate Dominum".
Damn, I wrote it down, but I left it in the pocket of my other jeans. Scrawled across the foolscap: "I don't know what your devotion means, I don't know what your devotion means."
And up, upon the summit I can see The one I worshipped as a boy. The Creator, The Great White Noise. The Great White Noise.
Charged and charging up the ridge. The chests are empty, the coffers too. They float in the flood, and so will you, I swear, so will you.
"Your light is spent! Your light is spent!" I cried, As I drove the iron spike into Owen's eyes. The sun sped cross the plains like that cinematic moment where Humanity and nature collide. When you think, "Everything's gonna be all right," Just before the hero gets a bullet in his side.
Whizzing off the clifftop, Listening for the spatter, thirty floors below. Down come the vultures. I will not be your fuel anymore.
Now the author has been silenced, how will they ever decipher me? I hope they hear these words and are convinced You never even knew me.
I draw a bruise on your brawny shoulder, Scratch my fingers over your tattoos. The author has been removed.
What do you think will happen now?
The difficulties of my story: Despite discomforts, despite myself, I I reaffirm my endless devotion To the belief that we're all of value, We're all of virtue, and so inclined we Fill up our cups and toast to each other, And though I listen to the arguments That most divergent systems employ to
Debilitate us, delineate us, Repackage our words, demystify us, I unceasingly affirm my love can Cannot be measured, cannot be altered. I know, I know it, I do affirm it With overzealous obscurantism. With every word and with every gesture, I must express it. I can't define it, But all the same I know I can describe it:
I walk o'er bridges and see the river. A marble statue the sun has weather'd. The stubbornness of the overgrowth and The old memorials covered in snow. We've Written the way the universe will go. A righteous white horse, a man with a bow. A sharpened bit of the mistletoe. Scissors of fate or the fire of Surtur. Though we're divided, the force of nature Will put us all in the ground together
This morning I must get up To see the world around me. Right away, what I forgot In seeing ourselves as words upon a paper.
The sun is up. My arms are wide. I am a good man, I am yours.
E is for Estranged Owen: piano, singing Ed: percussion
Tryst with Mephistopheles Owen: celeste, electric bass, harmonium, piano, Rhodes, singing, violin Jeremy: kit Ed: marimba
What do you think will happen now? Owen: prepared piano, singing
---
Recorded by Sturla Mio Ţórrison at The Greenhouse, Reykjavik, except 3 and 12.
Mixed by Rusty Santos at 6 Nassau, Toronto, and an undisclosed location in Brooklyn.
Mastered by Alan Douches at West West Side Music.
The Czech Symphony Strings, directed by Adam Klemens, recorded by Jan Holzner at Smecky Sound, Prague.
The St. Kitts' Winds, contracted by John Marshman, recorded by Jeff McMurrich and Matt Smith at 6 Nassau, Toronto.
Leonie Wall flute, piccolo; Sarah Jeffrey oboe, cor anglais; Micah Heilbrunn clarinet, Lisa Chisholm bassoon, Mike Fedyshyn trumpet, Gabe Radford horn, David Pell trombone.
Written, arranged and produced by Owen Pallett.
Photography by Jimmy Smits.
Art and layout by Colin Bergh.
---
Without whom:
Sam Amidon Thomas Bartlett Antoine Bédard & Kris Nelson Bishnupriya Bhattacharya M Blash Bob Wiseman & Magali Meagher Basia Bulat Win Butler & Regine Chassagne Jennifer Castle Stephanie Comilang & Dan Young Joni Daniels Markus Dravs Ed Droste & Chad McPhail George Graves at Lacquer Channel Jim Guthrie Kevin Hegge & Greg Bird Hárry Hutchinson Liz Hysen Steven Kado Leslea Keurvorst Jeremy Laing & Frank Griggs Amy C Lam Mark Lawson Jerry Leibowitz Amor Jalandoon Khaela Maricich & Melissa Dyne Maggie MacDonald & John Marshall Jonny McCurley Maura McGill John Cameron Mitchell Lisa Moran Davida Nemeroff Kele Okereke Richard Reed Parry Zac Pennington Mark Ronson Simone Schmidt & Punchclock Ami Spishock Jessie Stein Leon Taheny Nhi Tran Gus Van Sant Nadia Sirota Lex Vaughn Carl Wilson Patrick Wolf Ben Wyskida Animal Monster Arcade Fire Beirut Bell Orchestre Simon Bookish Cadence Weapon Deep Dark United Dirty Projectors Frog Eyes Grizzly Bear Hank Collective The Last Shadow Puppets The Luyas The Mountain Goats The National Nifty Mika Penniman Pet Shop Boys The Rumble Strips Max Tundra
all my friends and family, and especially, Patrick Borjal.
More thanks:
Steven Himmelfarb & Billions Susanne Herrndorf Laurence, Kris, Harry & Bart at Domino Everyone at Blocks Recording Club Jan & Tom at Tomlab Matthew at XL Andrew and Justin at Secret City Jeff Waye and Third Side Cathi Gibson and Rough Trade Ben Goldberg and Badabing Carsten & Andreas at Puschen Brendan Bourke Stacey Mitsopolous & Miro Oballa Gillian Bar
Deepest gratitude to all those who worked on this record:
Rusty, Mio, Jeremy, Jeff, Matt, Nico, Ed, Colin, John, Reg, Alan and orchestras, you are the greatest.
Joined: Feb 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 1,017 Location: Toronto
Re: Heartland + Swedish Love Story « Reply #2 on Nov 1, 2010, 11:56am »
A Swedish Love Story
A man with no ankles
Somewhere between her window and my doorstep I remembered what it was to play, to play, to play Don't tell me you can't remember a time before our carnal needs Turned us all into employers and employees
"The future is a constant in a world of free will; If we are all pre-destined, the future: variable." I wrote it, but I don't know what it means, don't know what it means, But a fat-fingered wife isn't how I'm gonna end my teens.
Upon upon upon the beauty I take the yoke and do my duty Do do do do do do my duty do do do do do do my duty
Stopped by the river to fish out a fiver Slipped off my sandals and I waded in there Watched as the water licked my toes and my ankles From the back of my neck, to the top of my head, oh!
Scandal at the parkade
Your equations, your essays never hit an illogic mind. Aim for that heart, aim for it, we will leave the logic behind. You'll travel far, you'll travel, boy, you'll see the end of Bahati. You'll see them fall, you'll see them pay, you'll be the end of Yoweri.
Co co, co co co.
They're getting soft, they're getting old, you'll see the end of Johnny. Don't make a story, make a hit, you'll see the end of Golding.
Cause all that they know'd of cottages Cottages buttoned them down, buttoned them down Once they got into cottages Cottages buttoned them down Let them pick up th'attack, th'attack, th'attack, th'attack, th'attack, We gonna button them down And all that they know'd of cottages buttoned them down.
Honour the dead, or else
Sleepy boy, did you forget about your godfather? For him they put a barrier about the bridge in memorium. Your mother never brought herself to use the word 'jump' Your father said "Don't be a bloody twit." But am I man enough to honour the dead, or else?
Now I keep a flat-boy on the West Side I have the first couple of hours to myself to pretend I'm alone Never bothered with the inconvenience Of life-insurance, or a bike helmet, but I watch my back
Honour the dead, or else Honour the dead and save your applause
All the haunting is inside your head He pricks you when you smoke in bed He switches off The Cure and says, "Selfish, selfish sleepy boy, Selfish, selfish sleepy boy, You need someone to get in your way, You need someone to get in your way."
Don't stop (on my account)
Trussed up like a rabbit, told what I can do and say It's mine, it's mine, nobody can take it away My life it is a wreckage And my life it is my own How long, how long before they take the money away
Once you loved a man who put his lover in a crust Well, could you love a man who'd see it all turn to dust? Cause I'll calcify the wreckage And I'll call the work my own How long, how long before the features turn to rust?
I don't wanna hear another song about your ex-wife I don't wanna hear you bragging 'bout your Swedish rights But don't stop, don't stop, no, don't stop, don't stop, Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop on my account.
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