Say It Ain’t Still Sunday


It’s still Friday. It’s still.

Mo Kolours is an artist my friend saw at Latitude Festival in the early hours of the morning this last Sunday and now I’m listening to this song Biddies, having not heard the artist or song before today, and it’s cool because this is the first thing he’s uploaded onto the Bandcamp (2011), and I can move forward through time over time, explore through the discog, get my daily movements of truth, make my acquaintance with innovation, assemble my endorphins, feel well exercised, well inspired. Alive there, all still there. All still.

But, basically, I am actually dancing. I’m dancing, dance routines, and the song’s the thing I dance to, it’s all filling the room foreign, the bedroom, the dancing’s startings today, today it’s daze, it’s long short daze, and dust, and gleaming, and diamond, and gushing. It’s let go, Its lets go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Shades on, lights off, arms up, makes criss cross, arms down, flex shoulder, twist and turn, makes figure eight, fingers clench straight, point twards heaven, knees bow, tied hips, eyes still, head stern, and sway, and swap sides, and now lets try symmetry, now disassemble, the fingers tingle, relax and catch, tense and drop, eyes still, mouth a purse, firm like leather, thighs manoeuvre, swerve twards chest, toes tip toe, kneecaps before, then back, then forward, now I’m loosening, now i’m tuning, i’m fuelling, the nylon’s damp, the dark hair mocks a rhythm, the shades fell off a few minutes ago, the lights have adjusted, i’m turning up, on time and twisting, never stop now.

Still, you can Like the facebook; it’s a good way to show appreciation and to keep up to date with this mesmerising moving organism, pure movements and limb cures, music for battlers, bouncers, for bolstering the maids and the driven, the present tense and the muscle pegs. I’m feeling fine; thank-you Mo Kolours, thank-you friend, thank-you internet and thank-you Latitude Festival. Thank-you thank-you thank-you thank-you.


Darling and I Grow by Alexandra Stewart

Introducing shoes and bench and Alexandra Stewart. Intra-space-shake-inducing Alexandra Stewart.

Bosh, binoculars on the bedside table and beats for backnots, heartknocks. Gosh. Onwards. Introducing two songs from 2 different releases (moments of), an artist’s name and her band accomplice, hailing across oceans from the brightest sparks of internet… catchin’ my drift?


Bouncing back to post-summer, 2013,

… Darling is a song that, for all its contents and instruments, you would apprehend as a cutescape, itsy plastic cups clasped, full of something directed toward something simple, those electronic flaking lofi indie numbers; affected piano, the drum machine, the oos and the girl’s spritely interjections. And, for all its appearances it does indeed somewhere bear the benefits of this little genre: it sounds fresh and nice and endearing and pocket-sized,  a blush, it’s a 2 minute moment of smile…

But it’s more than that,  it’s wondrous and worthy. It’s a handshake heartshake, cutescape but landscape, expansive, plush and painted upon solemn railway drum-stations, rickety rhythm, not just summery, not just sweet, but also gravity, but awesomely falling leaving, blooming beats sad; those feelings that fly fairies deep in the hollows of stomach tingles, but also down south west where it’s serious and fairly sad. Somehow in two places at the same time; the fluent fort of lyrics & the danced disrupting tempo, the two moment smile all the time a waining-wondering, and working.

I Grow

Fast-forward to the shores of pre-summer, 2014, (if Alexandra Stewart would allow us the juxtaposition…)

… I Grow is instantly standing high tall. It’s a different approach to music, it uses different muscles, it hits considerably more frequencies hard, Alexandra’s voice arises in its sombre actuality, it’s beautiful, its bindings, bound in the tied tight chords so smooth, soft, yet completely unquestionably stuck on the right notes, the right words, the right way to come in and to go out. This voice, this song, it’s upon that next level, that older, that new stonking air-pressure of altitude; it conducts the music and the music billows underneath, upholding, huffing, hitting the heart really really hard. When the drum comes in toward the end, when it all falls walls down, crashing over, I’m marching to heaven with my hiking boots on, I’m walking to my end off a cliff, toward the border to the country I never came upon, my futilities are falling away and flying off behind me, my trail of footsteps are blowing up hurricanes in the dirt, I’m heading towards heart, I’m heartened towards head, I’m, I’m basically slightly flustered and basically troubled for words, breathes, okay breathe,

Oh, goodness my good toes, this song is filling me with —%uuuuu&*^@£%&@k— energy, and it’s impossible not to stop, until the song does so, it leaves, and it all feels a bit difficult. But thank gosh it’s not actually real life, and I can just press play again, and carry on the unfoldingness of feelings and whatnot. All the fluster so steadily sturdily contained in 6 minutes, albeit on repeat; this music is allowing me all kinds of controlled euphoria, controlled respiration, controlled growing, all coming together on the high altitudes.


Apart from these two songs, I am filled with urgency to tell you that the artist updates her Facebook page and if you scroll down this Facebook page, there is all manner of time-swilling buzz of videos and interviews and songs, links to other vital places, and yes, head over, get to know it all and enjoy.

In terms of the very above, Darling is buy at name your own price and I Grow is One American dollar or more.

Leaving you with flowers and painting and Alexandra Stewart, unbelievable ing you with Alexandra Stewart.




Egg Lamps Wrap-Up

Sometimes it gets so good that words would only slide off. Sometimes the multi-media in question completes the canvas so much, that to direct any response would only add an unnecessary hum of noise. Rarely, but sometimes it happens. It happens when the song in question steals every grain of my evenin’ feelin’ out of my mediating brain and puts it onto my immediate sensory organs… all I can do is not think, feel one, feel unitary, a body of being.  happy times. … And so the winner is Ok Kid and their song Borderline and all the songs on their self-titled album of 2013, the dark ballet shoes black piano keys video thump for this song (above) and the dusty dashboard radioplay they gave me in a White Van outside Salzburg. And so also does this song complete 8 tracks of Egg Lamps, that is, the foregone collection of 7 music instalments spread over 14 days with German lyrics introduced with English short story responses; it has the intention of transporting a listener into new geographies of human sound, a language not universally listened to. One brief scour shows this song nowhere to be seen on Hype Machine… absurd… and so I feel a shiver of activism, maybe this mix could shift some geographies. Hope you enjoy the 8tracks. Why not open it in a new window and read through, chronologically, all the corresponding instalments (below) that form together a bigger story… although that having been said the words are as usual inessential.

Egg Lamps Series (German Lyrics) from APocketFullOfSeeds on 8tracks Radio.

1. 4am acoustic guys (byebye, 2011)
2. Falling asleep (Jens Buchert, 2012)
3. Breathless between platform (Kazimir, 2013)
4. Nodding to homeless man’s story (März, 2002)
5. Feeling free at the service station (Mellow Mark, 2003)
6. Kind lovers leading me to the crossroads (Niila, 2014)
7. At the crossroads where all youth follow suit (Horizont Ford, 2013)

I realise this format, this idea, these words, the songs, it all might seem rather opaque; I can’t deny I’ve not refrained from allowing it so. This project is designed as a foreign maze to render slow-burning fulfilment to you the scroller, it’s admittedly been a slightly spontaneous prototype of future projects when more things are happening.


A Song about Corner Booths

I was going to do a ‘p.s. post’ on the Egg Lamp charade, partly because I have come across more gute Lieder in the process of hitchhiking and my host driver has the radio on and some epic song comes on and he offers me 7 cigarettes over the course of 200 miles, and then another epic song comes on the radio, and partly because all of the 7 story instalments I wrote on 6th July very very absurdly came basically to real life over the proceeding 2 weeks: the 4 am spontaneous acoustic intimate gig (although it was midnight and it wasn’t acoustic),  the long-life conversation with Hans the homeless man on a platform (*Rolf on a bench), the sunset bus with my reflection on the window, the moustache man (drove me from Rostock to Berlin), the 11 o clock lovers leading me to my crossroads (an amazing couple full of smiles and gave me a bottle full of water for my travels after driving me to the mountains). Shit got real!

So I was going to do a p.s. post, but instead I did the above p.s. blurb to precede a post on something quite different:

Griff’s Room Band and their song Corner Booth. This is a song about wanting corner booths in restaurants, it goes the distance in terms of explaining why this particular place of the restaurant is desirable. It goes 3 minutes without much elevation, not too much greater meaning, just really wanting a corner booth, and all this to the brilliantly mastery of Holloways-like cheerful violins and melodies and liveliness. The kind of golden delirious but happiless song for a golden delirious but happiless day, the good things in life.

This little song summary is not at all to lop-side against the rest of the album on which it appears. A stable 6-straw hat hamper  to jump into and to be carried along within toward a miscellaneous city park where everyone is doing miscellaneous city park things. That is, well rounded folk, “good vibes”, sunshine, lyrics to lull to, to nod to, rock-knocking palm prods, string-lined and strong hearted 3 Men with instruments, yep. Right on.

That last paragraph was describing the 6 song item released this June, Shut The Case. This is music and band I heard about through Lili and the Dirty Moccasins who are supporting GRB at the CD release gig.

Egg Lamps #7 (The End)

Horizont Ford – Wahn Solo

The junction we stand at the side of is gigantic. It’s a work of art in itself, a monstrous maze of transport, tarmac. The lovers I accompanied have already departed and I’m alone. It’s 20 year old century and the car windows are all shut. The music that now ever so saintly fades into view is the almighty Good, the contours of fellow-minded mess. I look around, the lovers may be gone, but their presence is replaced by an ever growing multitude of weariness, a waft of voices and problems and languages, we all look upon the junction with a sense of fascination, a low sense of forgotten amusement bobbles at the surface. One friend over there cracks a smile and winks at me, or maybe the girl two to the left of me, or maybe at no-one in particular. One passer-by over there sits down, and we all slowly follow suit. And our amusing uniform distracts the heavy flowing junction, they all stop their cars and look at us for the first time ever! Horizont Ford‘s music, innovative music, music of freedom still filling the air waves, we tap our feet in unison and establish our new rhythm.

These short story installments will leave you nowhere! But, they have narrated an essense of why I would chose these 7 very diverse songs in my German Language Music Educational for English-Speakers guidebook  (I wouldn’t call it that). But, enough words, enjoy the songs, explore those other places, other realms of imagination… If you’re still with me from the beginning, you will understand the cats are by now extremely hungry which is worrying as we are running low on spaghetti.

Egg Lamps #6

Niila – Das Labyrinth

If this chimney moustache keeps on glancing gleefully over at my rockin’ out head, I will breathe in all his restlessness and I will become him, I will still be him when I get back on the bus and I get to wherever I’m heading, when my head’s on the pillow, I will have an unpleasant moustache and I will still be smoking. Bwaaaaaahg! I get up, out of the sticky double bed, open the door, the front door, fingers slimey from the hull of my voicebox spread open, arms above my head, and it’s all smashing glass bubbles behind my eyes, EVERYTHING’S SHIT! What an exclamation to greet the newspaper-sellers and the clipboard-holding penniless poorly. EVERYTHING’S SHIT! Before I know it I have my hand grabbed by some fellow angry man and a flustered woman, lovers at 11 o clock. For 4 minutes they run me along the streets, bellowing, crying and I stay startled, following their furious feet, my brow becomes ever more a crumpled blanket of my bemusement. And upon our togetherly grabbing for breathe, the lovers and I at the busy junction, our destination, I realise they’ved guided me through an angsty torade, Labyrinth by Niila, a fleeting heart-flying flood of melodramatic exclamation, the recommended medicine for certain moments! Certain moments of melancholy!