by mr sterile Assembly

Hūrrē 03:49 video
Seems like every talking head, spinning clever, sing aloud Every claims to speak, tongue in cheek for the ‘silent crowd’ Every point explored, cue applause and minds and hearts Everything is black and white, twitter into bite-sized parts Everything's urgent, talk it up or talk it down Everything matters, despite the fact that facts are known Everything’s balance, depends in fact on who decides Compassionate gaslight, say it’s nothing smile wide See informed mouthpiece, filled your ears up with their junk  Every trusted mug, comforts drug, your brains drunk Every reused excuse, adds authority, gospel proof Fuckwit behaviour, be subjective with the truth Every expert here, with loud idea’s got it wrongEvery wise refrain on display and now it’s gone Every balanced point, mr smartarse hit’s the mark Every shred of ‘good advice’, there to prop the oligarch.  It’s that thing your breath does when it's cold. Born from your inner warmth, when the Mercury’s low. Coming from your mouth, honest without sound Here’s something I can trust, your tiny rising cloud. You’ve got a lot to say For someone with not a lot to say But never let the facts Get in the way. You say that you know We doubt what’s below You’ve got a lot to say For someone with not a lot to say But never let the facts Get in the way.You say that you know We doubt what’s below Your hollow show
Three years since the last break, not a single day off since Paradise is busy by the bay In orbit of the corner store, seven days a week Seven through to seven every day Upper flat, Inner city, such a long long way from home Double cleaners wage pay the rent In a tiny condensed world, make do in single room Quiet touch only, beside the daughters bed Living third world in a first world city Employer brands the loyalty, keep the manners nice The old bloke at the front desk, bites down the bitterness Stress value first impression, try smile with missing teeth Fight for slight promotion and pass the urine test Living third world in a first world city A state house by the motorway, three families in one space How many can camp down, into a single double bed Fever likes the company, attract by rheumatic heart Win the prize of penicillin, or a surgeon on your chest Loud hear them Lucky them Who were there And who got out Don’t hear them Other them Who are there Who can’t get out


released October 14, 2020

Recorded as one take with everything as once on afternoon in the upstairs attic space in Liverpool by the delightful Stephen Cole at What Studio.

Recorded June 2019 by S Cole
Remixed and mastered by S Cole September 2020

Thanks enormously to Stephen for being a genuine sweet thing
To The Unstoppable Sweeties show for hooking us this connection
For John Lake for the prompt in turning this into a real project
To Bridge and Jim of REACT, The Rangiwahia Environmental Arts Centre, for the construction of the heads
And to Campbell Kneale for the painting of said heads!




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