This show was 71st in the global downtempo chart.
The rotation system of relentless alignment,
pulsing distant alarm, chromium chords -
The yellow stainer comes with vivid cuts.
Within the metronomic biosphere,
you bring me my earthy organ,
chew me slowly with your clinical rhetoric.
Leather face - but not as we know him,
his tobacco chants, rolling closed eyes,
Promising a throbbing hope.
Warm sprawling county, swept away,
poke and distortion, confined.
Nauseous delirium, Old Mamma lullaby,
throwbacks and petticoats on the porch.
Temporary peace in the basement,
but god knows I love the crunch:
The tin piston system in the dark oiling himself.
Concrete cool, the reverse switch,
they’d be having it, the lot of them,
pair me down and load me up.
Driving organic pulse, black-brown and instructing,
autumnal breath on wet windows.
Here come the thin pipes,
dancing down the market streets,
churning over, churning over, twinkle horn.
Open me up, don’t centralise me
with your driving film score.
Bamboo beauties, in