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about

Independently released, first release on skirted Records.
Included on the disc quicktime vid animated by Mike Heynes for the song Hulagu.

credits

released October 10, 2004

Miles Climo ( Drums, backing vocals)
Elisa Kersley (bass, backing vocals)
Cara Conroy (Trombone, percussion, backing vocals)
Aaron Lloydd (guitar, trombone, vocals)
Fran Mountfort (Cello, keyboards, random percussion, backing vocals)
Chrissie Butler (Lead vocals, clarinet, melodica, kazu)
mr sterile (vocals, guitars, percussion)

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skirted Records Akaroa

Home of skirted Records, stable of DSLB, mr sterile Assembly and assorted side projects

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Track Name: Babylon Express
Take a propa gander
at the bold black lines
and see if you can discern
any lies
it's a manufacturing marvel
of these modern times
to market to the masses
the same mumble many times.
The symbols and the syntax
supplied within the news create and construct
a cartoon of correct views
and once its on the screen
its valid then as proof
so go flick through the channel
to see the branded truth.

To target to the market
takes a certain skill
select out the stereotyped
image of all the social ills
There's pills for cocks, pills for highs,
and pills to counter pills
in addiction, who needs substance
as long as there is thrills.
So tease out the tension
with warnings of terror
and colour code the chaos
to prevent the picture getting clearer
hide behind the safety lock
cos ITS GETTING NEARER
the telly suggests a survival kit
but now a little dearer

So take it once, take it twice
take it right between the eyes
take with mock satisfaction
bent over, open wide
take it long, take it soft
whatever you do, take it all
heres the choice for the taking
no need for blinders made of wool.

Here we are and here we go
its always showtime
and we know they always lie
but somehow not this time
we deplore the criminals
unless its own crime
then we hollar 'its justified'
within the parties 4/4 time
each morning comes the latest slant
comes rolling of the press
all the people that have been saved
like a turkey being dressed
and I know one way of the other
there are those who 'cant care less'
so ladies and gents present your tickets
for the one-way ride on the Babylon express.
Track Name: Nodding Head
As we come through the darkness,
there are flashings of light.
of those souls who have gone before,
of those brave who risk shining bright.

Of the big picture we take account,
make sense and try to figure.
That we discover with every understanding,
that the picture just keeps getting bigger.

In the silence, there are never any words.
It can be when the loudest things are said.
The hold of the body, the blinking of an eye,
the stream of messages from a nodding head.

Be strong, hold on, keep going.
I love you, this hurts, and I’m proud.
With protection, encouragement
and devotion.
I am here, see my face in the crowd.
Track Name: For-all-Dom
On my throne, in my kingdom
I am balanced on sticks.
Rainwater runs down, wash around my poles.
I am balanced on bits.
I could see for miles if these clouds weren't
around my head.
I keep planting trees & they keep growing up dead
All this could be nothing said,
living on a sharp end of a wedge.

See me here, I am lined up
with all you other selves.
If I could tear down these shutters
then I could finally see myself.
On the stated image of selective history,
it is the basis of props.
Not born in tow but loaded up
with my own personal cop,
with guilt its hard to cope,
makes me choke.

There could be a mountain side of ecstasy
in my garden of cells.
With all the sweetened fruits
and honest truths
and none of this hierarchical hell.
Take the time to find the freedom,
it is the one struggle in many parts.
I see my feet point to for-all-dom,
these are the barest of paths,
a well walked path,
we'll walk.
Track Name: Star's fall
Stars fall across the wall,
In trite ideological tunes.
As memories consign to fiction
great words to little rooms.
Boys throw rocks at the army,
hailing from old political wounds.
Messages of confusion mass,
to each, offer some hope soon.

Faces straight and blank,
more considered than the dead.
If there’s no lines to read,
in between nothing can be red
sky’s at night, cynics delight,
early awake and scared to bed.
If what you know
is what you’re shown,
is what they say
you’ve have said.

Masks of grief and disbelief,
my heart, the world knows shame.
O armor me, with complacency
and look for signs to blame.
On toilet walls and sluts in curls,
in darkened, foreign names.
On the righteous pews of hallow avenues
where morals fall down lame.

To a red cross in bandage bleeding,
who restricts the blood?
If lives are lived in denial,
who then holds the love?
Prophecies remain in waiting,
and no hope still from above.
Compensation trickles down,
a king hit in a welcome glove.

Defeat is defined in promises,
“Listen, just a little more.”
Like love withheld as collateral,
“Please, give a little more”
Children raised to servitude,
to supplement the oldest flaw.
That debt’s exist before the credit,
It’s why the soul is poor.
Track Name: Flash and Exposure
He drops his trousers to all, showing what's in store. Carries with him his ethics like Indonesia in East Timor. With a plan and task in mind, outlined for the local poor,
who fumble with the deadbolt 'cos trade's at the door.

Blood runs deaf to our ears, radio relays how the money grows.
The heavy knocking of the IMF, in poorsville progress comes in blows.
The consumers all want a bargain, as the Warehouse jingle goes.
The vulgar prophets at the door, keen to make a South Pacific Mexico.

Gone the tribal homeland, in the global market place. Unless there's something to consume, a natural resource you can't replace.
Or a quaint ethnic show, of dissent there's no trace, 'cos the World Bank's funding your survival and they'll buy the smile off your face.

Demands are made and met, by embarrassed men, call it duty.
Carnage hidden out back in the third world, seen in the west as ads of ideal beauty.
Minority groups, indigenous peoples, to finance, cede their sovereignty.
While the visitor at the door, with his dak's around his ankles, cums flashing his filthy economy.
Track Name: Demonocracy
The time for demonocracy looms,
ladies and germs, pens at the ready.
Open ears to the lies,
of a ship sailing steady.

The mass appeals for very good deals,
look out if one is not had.
And luxury's a human right,
that the new right demand to have.

No matter if the bulk of the people bust their guts,
broke under the heaviest load.
It's a platform of the highest standards,
not experienced by those below.
Track Name: Wage
Down the place where I work,
some one new's taken on the role of boss.
Coming in with new business schemes,
talking down like they got the rule of us.
Down the place where I work,
they change the name, increase the load.
Following some American model, at business school where they were shown.

ch. And though I get shit wages,
doesn't mean I am shit.
A clever plan modeled on paper,
doesn't mean that it will fit.

Down the place where I work,
administration likes to stick its nose.
Though it doesn't know what we do,
it likes to fix things as it goes.
Down the place where I work,
when the union talks, it's like a joke.
Because the company send in consultants,
and they're the group who go for broke.

You work 'cos you've got a need,
rent each week, families to feed.
A massive debt from student fees,
or you like to buy things nice.
If you're out of work, your still to pay.
All the benefit bashing on call in shows each day.
The threat of a rut, the need to live and play. Hardship's a fertile ground for illegal ways.

Down the place where I work, the work load makes people sick.
This morning when I woke, I needed a rest, so I phoned in crook.
Down the place where I work, people like to play their power games.
Pretend to be someone else's boss.
I prefer to see different skills, but you're all the same.
Track Name: Feed the Machine
Feed the petrol from the bowser,
feed the gas into the beamer,
feed the tape into the tape deck
and dust to vacuum cleaner.
Feed the plastic to the crack,
feed the cash into the bank,
feed the labour to the wheel
and the shells into the tank.

Feed a bureaucratic paper chase,
fill the forms in with the proof.
Feed the telly full of power
so it can feed you truth.
Feed the market with your custom,
the things you're fed give you worth.
Feed the fire to your hatred,
that was fed to you from birth.

Feed the meat into the oven,
feed the needle to the vein,
feed the world with racist lies
and then say we're all the same.
Feed the factory with the fodder,
feed the frontline for the trade.
Fuel the system with injustice
and say the outcomes self-ordained.
Track Name: Hulagu
Did Georgie do the hula too,
when his name was linked to Hulagu.
Hey George, you are linked with historic company.

The books that survived old Mr Khan
never made it past the Americans.
So George, do you think this is religious destiny?

The past treasures of the civilised,
trashed and plundered before our eyes,
in 2 days went 10,000 years of history.

They're looking still to find what's gone
to the highest bid from foreign homes.
But for George, it's one more medal to mark his infamy.
Track Name: No Vote
No vote for the soft drink,
no vote for the burger,
no vote for the running shoe
made by a third world worker.
No vote for the soft toy,
no vote for the plastic tray,
no vote for the electric thing
made on a pittance pay.
No vote for the t-shirt,
no vote for the T.V.
no vote for the teddy bear
that the garage gave away for free.
No vote for the power switch,
no vote in the place you work,
no vote at the movies
when overseas the owners lurk.
No vote in the beach towel,
no vote in the swimming togs,
no vote in warehouse crockery
'cos third world workers
treated like dogs.
No vote in 2 dollar art,
no vote in the plastic candle sticks,
no vote in laxative music -
why's that? It gives me the shits!
No vote in global eating joints,
no vote in mags and papers,
no vote in the fashion realm
supported by well paid actors.
No vote when the business
is bigger than the government,
the democratic market is a lie.
You do not vote with each dollar spent.
Track Name: Science
The water is a science, politics science too,
the science of the spin job when PR turns on you.
The maths is a science and the deciles of the school, the feeding of the hospital, and the chlorine in the pool.

People are a science and the way people work.
The math of making comedy the math of emissions murk.
War is a science in the acting and the language, violence is a science how to create sympathy for damage.

Fashion is a science you can get a degree,
the science of the stereotype, the science of fickle empathy.
Appearance is a science and the power of a look,
the weight of first impressions like spices for a cook.

Business is a science, the science of doing deals,
the science of manipulation of working wheels within wheels.
There's science in polls and science in TV,
in the level of sounds of what to hear and when to feed.

Persuasion is a science and the way opinions sway,
to guide and conduct it in a scientific way.
Language is a science, words can be colonised,
the science of exclusion, the science of little white lies.

ch: So if you don't know then you don't know. And If you knew accurate then you would say. But if you don't know then you don't know. And if you can't keep up then you canít play.