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"slightly offbeat and a little bit unpredictable" - Steve Lamacq, Radio 2
alice{musics} is alice pianical; richard ace of bass; gregg pink::: tangents on the piano and elsewhere ::: gigs have been played with the likes of eugene mcguiness and picastro ;; at the Old Blue Last (Young and Lost Club), UCL Union, Swindon Town Hall with Neon Productions, Port Mahon Oxford (Permanent Vacation and Pindrop Performances), Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes, 93 Feet East, Old Queen's Head ::: steve lamacq played a song on his radio 2 show ::: in the not too distant past I've collaborated with Andrew and Sam of Youthmovies (I also played cello on their single, Ores)
WOM
not in this kitchen
There are landmarks on your t-shirt. They remind me of your fine mind.
They are objects born from lack and tantrums. They turn me round your forename. (Bar charts try hard but I find such tantrums of reason and upright landlords ridiculous.) I can’t help my fist deforming, but you can eat in canteens and write.
oh clarembault
there’s a little core in the lack of all objects it will bother you and build tingles in your wrist whippet thin whims, struggling to come, bustle in your thumb
there’s a little lack tapping at the back of you neck tie into little knots all the tiny dots they become come you, struggling to come bustle in your thumb
there’s a frequent whisper with us in our small talk, there are horse-drawn symbols in the words we undo.
umble
tremble into night, rhapsodic, I might quiver at your eye. it will leave its litter here alright, but there are astronauts blatantly at sea - try transcending that with no velocity!
you can sew!
cars and darts talk like sweethearts like we’re not fond of. nor will I stock up on Cartesian thoughts in the spring. we began to reach for taut sturdy saucepans to bequeath bruises to you too. ought I not speak of tree-trunks hidden in old suit-cases my grandma packs her trenches in tightly? she chokes at teatime, so I can not think of kingdoms keeping in eagle-fingered men. I cannot eat a thimble. I cannot keep or deem it worthy of tripping up her thumb. I infer from your forehead barging in, formed but thoughtless, you are not quite that sickly keen.
winK:
shuffle the card and re-man the tall tall story told to tempt you to tell me you were here to author it all. I was on, I was on talk-shows, and televised peep-holes into the mind of tender young men. when you were out splitting the sad land they began to beat up my hand. (I resolved, I resolved) on and on, on and on hoards and hoards of coarse rascals. on and on, on and on. applause? applause? of course, of course. K. O.K O. what have you done now? filter your form in films of your future forms to fill and thoughts to be authored. I..m no fool, there..s nothing at all prescient, intrinsically harmful. essentially a biff in the gob can shut a sign and sink it in quick-sand. well I..ll decide the meaning and die.
shrinking of treehorn:
filthy fulfilment - not me. I might cull acorns from trees, autumnal, I fumble for future stupor such super such fandango. fa la la la la la la la...'turn that tape around'...'what I want is want'...'space is pounding out'...'can you can you can'.
hark the hard-boiled angels
If you see her spread her knee and wink an earlobe shout shout shout; if you see him twinkle his despicable eye shout shout shout.
All the elms in the world gather around gather around gather around gather around. Oh just to keep a slumberous love locked in the dark locked in the dark.
Like a knight might set his chessboard he begins to fight fight fight all the objects in her eyeball, all her queasy might might might. Like a cantaloupe cut up she knaws his rigid rind rind rind like a stone gi’n birth by mothers thrust out by their kind kind kind
All the elms in the world gather around gather around gather around. Oh just to keep a slumberous love locked in the dark...Hark the hard-boiled angels sing, lick their lip, lick their lip.
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