Filip Hnízdo

I promised you a clothes rail.
The clothes rail stays alone.
No stability to hang to.
No coiling wires call it home.

No hooks will hold it as it bends where shapes in fabric plan descends.
No scraping.
No oft browsed dresses fast escaping.

No pattern's second youth.
No sandwiched underdogs will turn to bargains under this rail's roof.

No clumsy, newly learnt construction,
Joints squealing from mass production.

No step back when it's all complete,
Checking fact echoes instruction sheet.
No wobble.
No stubbed toe moving laughing hobble.

No vintage clothing sunlit sale.
No, not for this forgotten rail.

Four years ago I released a collection of recordings titled Generation Ship Disaster. I had spent the previous two months playing around with synthesisers and sequencers properly for the first time (having moved into a flat I was afraid to make much noise in so as not to upset the lady living below us).  I recorded probably around 100 tracks during that period and, as I used to do quite frequently, collected all of them in one folder, emptied out the terrible ones and sequenced the rest in some sort of order. I gave it a title of Generation Ship Disaster because I was intrigued by the sci-fi concept of generation ships - huge spacecraft filled with people living, having families and more while traveling to colonise another planet, sometimes without realising they're on such a ship and not a planet. The tracks kept their original titles (usually just bashes at the keyboard or descriptions of the sounds within) and a few "songs" made it on, a demo of Dead Margaret (which I was told had an awful last verse but I kept it in anyway and never recorded a full version though I should), Acoustic Guitars (a song for Duncan Geere which appears to be an attack on electronic music but is purposefully placed in the surroundings of an album of electronic music), Vandals and Car Thieves (a short escape song I was told I sounded too American in) and MIDI Rest (which sums up the whole nature of the recording process). Shyness had samples from Wikipedia and other places put in and should have probably been held off and put on the Please Pay Her collection of similar tracks. Chamber Rock is a collaboration with Duncan Geere (he provided bass guitar and helped with the initial structure and drum programming). Lemonade is a ringtone I made for my girlfriend Lindsay Phillips.

Playing the instrumental tracks to people I got responses such as "Some of these are good but they're all far too short", "They sound like intros" and "It needs vocals otherwise it just sounds like computer game music". I tried to add vocals to tracks like Hullo (I think I have original lyrics for it somewhere) but failed.

I've always felt it was a good record but also felt it wasn't really complete. Some days I just felt it needed editing (39 tracks is a lot). Some days I felt it just needed vocals.

The second idea is the one I've stuck with so I have taken the concept of the Generation Ship Disaster of the title (and cover art) and written lyrics for all the sections that didn't have vocals already (i.e everything but the songs and Shyness). I half wish I could edit the tracks to make them better (I've lost all the presets, layers, sequences and section files) or rearrange the track list at least but have decided to leave it completely as it is aside from adding lyrics.

It's probably best seen as an hour long science fiction play.

What I need is help.

I'd ideally not record any extra vocal parts of my own (aside from maybe doing a closing 40th track when it's complete), instead relying on friends and anyone else who puts their name forward. There are currently quite a lot of characters so the more people the better but once I get an idea of how many people I have (and how many male and female parts), I can start re-writing it.  I'm trying to do it as quickly as possible. Most of the words have been written and the music is obviously already done. I don't mind how people record their parts and wouldn't even mind doing things on the phone or via Skype if it had to be done that way. Or just me coming over with a field recorder.

Most of the parts are probably best done spoken but I'm open to singing and rapping as well.

Get in touch if you're interested, via email, Twitter, Facebook, phone or just telling me if you see me about.

Hopefully I'll have the project finished over the next few months. Please help if you can.

A huge thank you to the organisers of the Here Comes The Sun festival at the Rising Sun Arts Centre in Reading for putting on another amazing event,  I saw many brilliant bands and spoke to many brilliant people.  Music wise I especially enjoyed Rhapsodaisical (flawless jazz-blues-folk under summer sky), Lawrence Piddock (great ukulele-bashing-out of punk songs and more), Triplets from Outer Spece (great British ska with fantastic lyrics about clams, monkeys and other things), John Arther (lovely folk), Modersohn-Becker (literally stunning noise and looping experiments with theremin) and Boredoms in the Bathroom (doing their My Planet My Rules song suite with some wonderful samples).

I also played to a lovely, supportive crowd upstairs and although this year all the technology worked (I had a bit of a disaster setting up last year), I found myself too nervous to do anything with it.  So once again I resorted to playing bad chords and rushing through songs far too quickly.  Hopefully people were at least entertained. 

I played two completely new songs, Joni Mitchell Tribute Night (inspired by the Joni Mitchell tribute night the night before) and Chippy Mike and a Detour (which is probably two songs not one), one song, Mr Compere, I wrote about the last festival set and my personal failings in order to perform it at this show, and a song for Christy Harrington-Brown which was lyrics on top of Bees (instrumental) which I finally finished  (the first verses were written for a while for Christy but I could never work out the rest so the morning of the gig (staying over at Christy and David's) gave me the opportunity to add them).  I've also recorded a version this morning with the vocals (this is attached below and in the playlist). Spider Song I was meant to play at my first ever show at the Rising Sun Arts Centre a few years ago but lost the lyric sheet to so did it this time instead.  Samantha is from the Three Imaginary Girls EP and the first song with sung vocals I ever recorded (it was nice to play it, though Georgia would have been more relevant as I'm about to start a job at the Zoological Society of London(!)).  25 Days was a cover of a wonderful Hello Saferide Song performed with Duncan Geere, and Acoustic Guitars was also performed with Duncan as it was originally recorded for him.  I suppose that's it.

Here are the lyrics to the original songs I performed:

Mr Compere

Thank you Mr Compere,

Now I know you’re right.

I strangled my ambition with technology that night

But it’s all right.

Thank you Mr Compere,

For making me feel nervous by the mic.

I needed it to realise that’s just the kind of fuck up people like.

I looked into the crowd,

As they saw I failed.

Though I felt a little shame,

I didn’t feel afraid because I knew.



That nothing fills a heart, quite like the smiles of friends supporting you.

Thank you Mr Compere,

For telling me I’m running out of time.

I was told that I should make it when I’m 28, now I’ve turned 29.

A rush of writing and recording in a panic, what a way to spend your birthday before work.

…

When they uploaded the photographs, and joked, I didn’t feel great.

Almost impaled by his Theremin said Zac, you’re not the ones I ought to hate.

I didn’t play an instrument for weeks,

And I thought I’d give it up for good.

More like I acted all dramatic, trying to make people think,

I ever could.

I try my best to be all musical…

My friends put up with it.

But think we really like your lyrics,

But your music sounds like shit.

Chippy Mike and a Detour

You got out of the car and splashed onto the pavement like a DIVER who forgot to uncurl and made the audience wet.

Your heart beats like an amateur table tennis game, this is as jumpy as you get.

You’re in the inside lane, jumping hurdles just to make a person smile.

Running rings around the opposition falling in a dizzy pile.

Your name is Michael and you’re always in the chip shop.

Your friends all call you Chippy Mike.

You find it really hard to tell them that it’s not the chips you like.

There’s this man who always comes into the shop

Orders something off the menu like he’s picking for a friend.

I think he hates the stuff but he comes in every day.

Most people have a regular option

Or a regular time, or a regular way of dressing,

This guy is different this guy is odd.

He looks into your eyes and his are wider than the sun it’s like he comes here with a purpose

And it’s not about the cod.

Your name is Emily and you’ve featured in a song before.

And I’m sorry if that song made you out to be a whore.

It just happens when you’re making up these characters

At least you didn’t die oh I can make you up a boyfriend if you want.

The colours of your hair or your accents and the way that you dress they’re changing every day, somehow you’re always out of fashion.

Your eyes are always wide as if they’re taking in the sights, you’re always paying notice and you’re smiling with a heart-exploding passion.

Give me a moment and I’ll work out what you’re going to be.

And why the feeling that used to propel these songs is failing me.

Then the fictional characters they turn to me and say:

Why don’t you smile that much anymore?

Why don’t your songs make us laugh that much anymore?

I think it’s trying to be arty.

I got in the car, the day before my birthday, I thought I’ve got to do something today it doesn’t work like that.

Is it motivation?  Is it inspiration? I don’t even know I just know that it’s wrong.

There’s a man on the door I give him five pounds

And I step into the Sun.

It’s half an hour later I am half the way through hugging everyone.

We crowd into a room I’m standing at the back and my new friends think I’m in strange mood

Old ones simply know it’s me.

Damien A Passmore steps behind the mic, the crowd is packed so hard that half of them can hardly even see.

There’s a girl by the mixing desk and when they play The Birthday Song she sings along mouthing the lyrics to the chorus.  Soon she’s singing along with the rest of the crowd about boobies and then,

Like she’s suddenly been jabbed in the back by some nonsensical morals stops,

Realising what she’s singing she looks around awkwardly thinking “I hope nobody saw me”. I did.



I’m thinking about all the things that I could try here.

But the songs aren’t coming out that fast I think I’ll be here for a while.

I only want to make an impact.

Martin tells me I should scrap the art and just make people smile.

I go back to the beginning.

You got out of the car and splashed onto the pavement like a DIVER who forgot to uncurl and made the audience wet.

Your heart beats like an amateur table tennis game, this is as jumpy as you get.

You’re in the inside lane, jumping hurdles just to make a person smile.

Running rings around the opposition falling in a dizzy pile.

Your name is Michael and you’re always in the chip shop.

Your friends all call you Chippy Mike.

You find it really hard to tell them that it’s not the chips you like.

There’s this man who always comes into the shop

Orders something off the menu like he’s picking for a friend.

I think he hates the stuff but he comes in every day.

Most people have a regular option

Or a regular time, or a regular way of dressing this guy is different this guy is odd.

He looks into your eyes and his are wider than the sun it’s like he comes here with a purpose

And it’s not about the cod.

One day he opens his mouth to speak, it’s not an order this time

And he is beaming in his face.

He asks you out and you say YES!

So happy you set fire to the plaice.

She walks out smelling of grease and flames

You must be used to it you say.

 

Spider Song

You took hours to get ready,

We were standing by the door.

You came running upstairs screaming:

"There's a spider on the bathroom floor"

We laughed.



Two of our group went down to look.

We never saw them alive again.

And now I'm here

Clutching in my right arm the right arm of a friend I knew

It's quite a mess.

I've got pest control on the other line saying, "no,

we only do earthly pests"



Now I'm looking in its eyes

and it's looking rather peaceful so I ask it:



"Just what are you planning to do?"



And it says (after a three second pause to rest)

"oh… I'm so madly in love with you"

"Is that a fact?"

"I guess"

"Then why'd you eat all of my friends"

"Friends are nothing compared to the love we'll have"

It said they're nothing, compared to the love we'll have.



And then it did a little keyboard solo.

Which isn't too hard when you've got eight limbs.



--



Now I'm standing in the aisle and thinking

Though I've always hated spiders

She's kinda sexy when she's shaved her legs.



We'll have children and they'll all be freaks

The doctor says they're due in a couple of weeks

And I'm someone, we've a web for a flat,

It's always tidy, there's a view and a cat

That likes us.

My new friends are wearing silk

Until they promptly disappear.

I've never felt like I do now

But wish I were out of here

To a bathroom with a mop and some spray

We've had wraps for dinner just about every day.



And she's four times the hassle in bed,

Has a slightly uneven though just about loveable circular head

Is spineless but not without heart.



Sometimes I ask if it's worth it and say

"Perhaps not" but I'd rather not be pulled away

From the table all chewed up and rolled up and lonely

and dead lying lifeless and loveless and friendless and heartless and

still and all broken apart.

Joni Mitchell Tribute Night

At the Joni Mitchell tribute night,

All eyes are on the lyric page.

I feel like Joni Mitchell’s smiling looking in

As you play clarinet on stage.

You’ve lost your voice and that’s the replacement.

No one really gets it but we get some stunning Joni words to read.

And the music is so brilliant it’s only that and lyric sheets we need.

You walk nervous through the crowd and there’s a lot of us you’re breathing heavily.

But when your shaking body nails the sound of Blue

I shiver like I do when Joni Mitchell’s version plays to me.

There’s a sign of relief on your lips,

You try to take in the applause but you’re just pleased you made it through.

While at the Joni Mitchell tribute night,

Everybody wished they sang like you.

As you get on the stage, it’s me that’s nervous,

I feel like a piece of scum with my “can they do it?” fear.

It’s my favourite I wish that I were brave enough to sing or play it here.

An acoustic guitar has nothing going in a place like this.

An acoustic guitar has nothing going in a place like this.

I try to dream as the synths go round as the chords melt away and my strumming’s drowned.

An acoustic guitar has nothing going in a place like this.

Getting kicked for requesting folk in a club,

I’m tired of disco, I’m tired of dub.

An acoustic guitar has nothing going in a place like this.

Then out of the corner of my eye,

I see another harmless guy looking bored,

At the lack of a C Major chord.

We know acoustic guitars have nothing going in a place like this.

Samantha

There’s a powder room in the basement

And a strange sound

When you opened up the window all you saw was

Dust and gravel

Hey Samantha.

It’s hard to walk through a park without grass

Or flowers or trees or the gentle buzz of bees

Samantha you’re fiction and you’re boring and you’re just like him.

 

A soft tap buzz, he lied to me at nine Samantha.

A deep dark stare, he thought I’d never track him down

 

Samantha you’ve got eyebrows and some teeth

But nothing in between your eardrums.

Hey Samantha what you know is clear.

When the glasses feel warm and the alcohol begins to set

I try to think of nothing you’re the only place I seem to get.

Hey Samantha, your hair is kinda rubbish and your teeth,

They look, like an after dinner panic everything is broken

And this song is finished, this song was written in two chords

An A and an E

An A and an E.

Bees

There's a bowl of opportunities by some gorgeous food on the party table

But I just say hello collapse, and in the room beside the door I rest.

Rule-breaking smokers on the outside weeping loudness up the stairs.

You’re a fabulous host but drama seems to follow everywhere you go.

I wrote a verse about playing hide and seek with myself

And then discovered it's the name of twenty blogs that would be better than the song

It's like they're walking down the aisle towards an ending while we’re tearing up the supermarket shelves

Like a bee jumping from flower to flower in a short top and jeans

A motive for the words I can't find though I have in store.

Now is it gone? Is that a song? Maybe I've written it before.

I remember the two of you disappearing for a moment and then remarking afterwards you felt happy but naughty to get away from the party guests for a private moment in the spare bedroom.

They were the most sweet and brilliantly romantic words I heard all year

Spelling out the letters of your name in types of tea.

Discussing the type of literature I didn’t know you could discuss in such depth.

Inventing games while you’ve a tower of purchased ones.

A House decorated with sticky notes.

Happiness.

 

As has been said countless times, writing or talking about music is very different to playing, listening to, or dancing to it. By sitting the two next to each other in uneasy juxtaposition, music documentaries often leave people thinking either “I'd rather listen to the music” or “I'd rather they talked more as I can listen to the music on my own”.

 

Shut Up And Play The Hits tells the story of LCD Soundsystem's final performance at Madison Square Garden in New York City. The concert itself is thrilling, perfectly filmed using independent, roaming cameras that make you feel like you're there, simultaneously as a crew member and a member of the audience. Additionally, as one of the most quotable, honest-talking and unique leaders in musical history, James Murphy's comments are equally rewarding. I stepped into the cinema wanting a bit of both but more of the latter. I left heartbroken, inspired and humming 45:33 well into the next morning.

 

By showing full performances, a single interview and linking them with hazy come-down shots from the day following the show, the film manages to make its audience feel like applauding every time the band ends a song (it's quite fun watching obvious restraint in a cinema when people want to rock out) and applaud again every time James Murphy perfectly taps into the essence of the last decade of musical culture.

 

You can argue for hours about what the greatest album, band or genre of the last decade has been but I don't think there's any denying that LCD Soundsystem are the band that most perfectly sum up what it feels like to be having that argument and idolising music and its performers while knowing that they are actually people just like you.

 

All these topics are covered, we hear about James Murphy's own dreams of living in London, how he pictured David Bowie as being from Mars and Nick Cave as scary before realising they're ordinary people checking their emails every day. Losing My Edge, the single that echoed the shock of waking up to a world where record collectors are overtaken by kids with access to downloads and online encyclopedias of music is described as a serious “heart attack” when the interviewer points out its funniness. Elsewhere Murphy discusses ageing (starting a band in his 30s and ending in his 40s), the transformation of music meant only as a recording to, at first reluctant, performances (describing them as an LCD Soundsystem cover band show) and the connection between a band and its mythology that turns a forgettable gig into a unforgettable one.

 

The main focus is the band's demise itself. “Why?” asks comedian Stephen Colbert at the start. At the end of the film, we, and James Murphy himself, are left with the same question. Is it band suicide? Is it stopping because of ageing? A fear of stopping to be relevant? Has he been too cowardly to be a real rockstar like Kanye West? He seems to feel as though he has made the right decision but doubt as to why he made it or whether it is actually the worst decision of his career makes the film tip over from a glorious, fun, disco-punk celebration to a heartbreaking look at endings and memory itself. The shots of the following day, as phone calls are ignored to give preference to tasks like shaving and walking a dog, and everyone starts looking back through the after-party alcohol to the unrepeatable show itself are enough to pull at the heart of anyone, even people who have no great fondness for the music.

 

“If it's a funeral...let's have the best funeral ever. “ reads the tagline and intro to the film.

 

“This is our last song” James Murphy says at the end of the show. The crowd make boos and sad noises he instantly attacks to transform into a celebratory cheer instead.

 

Hilarious, yet touching shots of over-emotional, devastated fans show that the band has had an irremovable impact on many people. From great lyrics and inspiring fans to get every record mentioned in Losing My Edge to creating some of the best dance music recorded, LCD Soundsystem are obviously a hugely important musical act. Thanks to some brilliant directing, editing, camera work and an understanding of the essence of that greatness, the film-makers have added one more thing to the band's legacy: a truly brilliant music documentary.