1. |
Radio Song
03:24
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My radio only knows one beat, it goes kick kick kick snare kick kick kick snare kick. You sing your songs with the words all wrong, as if you do us a favour. My heart breaks a harsher art, you aren’t as tender as you say you are. A bedroom was the perfect cocoon for you to do your damage. My radio plays your favourite station, like one endless awkward conversation. This just isn’t really working out, I’m sorry. Your guitar only knows one chord, white Stratocaster making everyone bored. Open my chest, show the crowd my mess, and then demand adulation. Your heart’s scared of the dark, I’m not as wholesome as your fictions are. A dark room was the ideal tomb for me to bury my body. Your guitar plays its single tune, like it was all too much and all too soon, but this just isn’t really working out. I’m sorry.
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2. |
The Lovers
04:13
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You were a figure of speech, I was a matter of fact, at cross purpose. “Nothing in my head”, she whispers into the mirror, as if it could hear her soft sobbing. I went to liminal space, and they all knew your face and phone number. You were an ambulance, I was a flaming wreck, and we were lovers. My kiss is cola flavoured and my blood is a hot commodity. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you like? Each day is a new touch barrier, like each word is a promise that you can’t keep. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you like? You made my mouth run dry, I made your blood run cold, it’s not nothing. “You’re wasting my time”. She sighs and sips at her drink, “I hope I never find out what you’re thinking”. You’re at the idiot shop, and every name they drop is spelled backwards. I was an ambulance, you were the edge of a cliff, and we were lovers.
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3. |
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We’re singing in the cubicle, everybody else like a pack of wolves. When the boys are talking, sharp teeth are glistening, I’m not listening. Ticket to ripper city, ride the glitter railings. Follow you to your door when the summer’s fading. None of this means a thing until we start singing. The night will never love me back. The dark will never hold my hand. The silence never says my name. I’ll see you later alligator. You’re a hyena, I’m telling everybody. Laughing along, your mouth wet with viscera. The buildings sway, the streets curve away from you now. Like Cherilyn Sarkisian, I disbelieve and disbelieve. Like Cherilyn. I guess we’re leaving.
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4. |
Steve Lamacq
02:02
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A fist bump, from your boyfriend. Punch drunk, acting so annoying. Every little part of me wants to destroy him. Anyway anyway anyway anyway. So punk rock, black leather, fucked up. Light as a feather, stiff as a board, like power chords. But anyway. Now you’ve grown impatient, I’ve seen you running through the railway station. Ask the director,“what’s my motivation anyway?”
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5. |
Hot Problems
03:56
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We exchanged our gifts, I gave a tiny piece of death. Fingers in my mouth extracting every shallow breath. I received a photograph, a new ghost in my bed, and letters meant for someone else. This word you taught me makes more sense. Just treat me like I’m nothing, maybe god herself could strike me down. I’ve heard that heaven’s waiting for an angel. Treat me like I’m nothing, only god herself could want me now. I’ve heard, heaven’s waiting. Darling, you’re a parasite, but I’m your gracious host. You’d maintain your innocence with your hand around my throat. It recurs in images, a ghost that doesn’t sing. What’s the matter, honey girl? Are you scared that you might feel something? Treat me like I’m nothing. Come on, coward. Hunt me down like an animal. Please, sweetheart. Hold me down, like an animal. I broke every vessel that has ever graced your lips. A minute on the mattress, or a lifetime on the hips. Kissing apparitions, just a new ghost in my room. Falls into position like you taught me everything I knew. Just treat me like I’m nothing. Please. Please. Please.
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6. |
Lunched Out
04:09
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Slapped my face as heard as I could, did not feel a single thing, and gifted my body to the endless yawning void that lurks within, and ashamed of libidinal currents but the heart wants what it wants, and when you’re sleeping I hear restless chatter of conclusion I’ve already reached. I’m all ready. I don’t wish anymore. “Oh, the drama, the smell of the greasepaint”. The velvet curtain falls. And, scene.
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7. |
Quelle Surprise
02:56
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Morning - yearning, laboured sigh. At sunrise, poison tired eyes. Each dull day, lonelier than masturbation. At night - the lights igniting without you. Spoon fed and cherry-red in dead bedrooms. Midnight - no-one will be waiting up. “Soothsayer”. Day breaks an already broken man. Machine aches for the touch of callous hands. This evening, you romance the cathodes again. Outside, strangers make out on the pavement. Inside, your private shame makes arrangements. Midnight, no-one is in love with you now. “Soothsayer.” “Truth-teller.” Out out out out.
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8. |
Thousand Bird Pattern
05:40
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I look good in a dunce’s cap. I suit the shame like it was tailor made. And I know the word that you wanted to call me. Has a cat got your tongue? Do you do this for fun? I’ve seen the colour of your lipstick, honey, and it matches the blood on your teeth. I know exactly where you get your outfits, and you really should have kept your receipts. I’d look cute in a witches hat. I wear my curse like a corpse wears a hearse. And I know the moon by her maiden name. Is there something you want? Is your kindness a front? Just slip out of that jacket, and do a little runway, sweetie. Uh uh uh oh oh. XXOOO
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Fashion Tips England, UK
dance music for anxious people
fiona ireland - sampler, backing
vocals
esme louise newman - vocals, synthesiser, programming
jorden sayer - guitar, sampler
liam slack - bass, backing vocals, programming
booking - fashiontipsband at gmail dot com
band photo by david hall
... more
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