We went west to no salvation
We were thinking that we were free
We’re just now getting out of the garden
only to be buried by the sea
Between the notion and the nation
there’s this little thing called faith
Birds fall dead on holy places
sacred spaces long laid waste
We went south just to get some air
but it was a tree-lined way of pain,
Bienvenue au le monde, mon frere
Ma, you can’t have an Abel
once you’ve had a Cain
Between the victor and the victim
there is a constant tacit game:
He who sleeps will be he who bears
scars without a name
We went east just to say goodbye
to those who’d said the west would be the end
It seemed a clear drop at the horizon
but the sun must rise again, friends
Between the crowning and the coronation
tiger-lilies line the way
to the battered door of the station,
where they bear your sons away
We went north to twigs and pebbles
and a dusty country road
(It was skulls and bones and ashes
trapped beneath the snow)
Between the shouts of the louts and lushes
there’s the thrum of locust wings
Beneath the singing of the thrushes
the spider loves the fly on in
Berlin based songwriter Oliver Burghardt tempers avant-garde absurdities with charming anti-folk on his latest as Pink Lint. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 27, 2021
The new EP from NYC’s best live rock band is a scorcher, full of bleak, driving guitars and topped with dark, prophetic vocals. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 15, 2021
Jane Weaver leads her Fenella ensemble through a winding ambient maze inspired by Marcell Jankovic's 1981 cult-hit animation “Fehérlófia.” Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 30, 2019