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lyrics
After bathing in waves of radio,
toweled and marbles scooped,
strap on the chaps, hike up the boots,
be off for the summit
to set some spatial roots.
Gripping ripples and wrinkles,
grabbing crumples and crinkles,
make a beeline for every line -
tree, hair and hem, until up stops being up.
Walk the walk, rock to rock, block by block,
a walk around a world of worlds
cross, step and stomp
on every crack-assed crevasse.
Virgo hots the spots
and Libra chills the rocks,
Pop Space Rocks Hop Scotch Skip,
Skip Smooth Stone on Pond.
I find that though I just want sex with Saturn,
I want to make a moon with Mars,
but without repeating the familiar pattern
of burning my buns with stools of stars.
And the whole world spins and walks away,
taking all the wobble with it,
climbing out of its mind.
And we all just turn our backs,
getting smaller in the rear view,
climbing out of our minds.
Where to can't be known
(a where...some or any).
What to want: to get closer than most.
Is it just more hill?
or will there be every zombie plane ever?
wayward, wandering...
finding those phantom legs and arms,
riding shotgun in cars of muscle
and on bikes of dirt.
You'll find the most of the trains of ghost.
What's under the rocks that are your bed?
Trucks of monster, underfed.
So, duly stoked and stoned by ites
and rocked by oids,
we march with purpose, with precision,
looking for order, direction and decision,
walking away from easy fights,
live to lefts and dead to rights,
to sniff and sneak and track and seek.
Overall, we made quite a nice little parade,
crossing fields of magnet, clouds of gravel.
Keep the stride tight,
strut, truck, shuffle,
some amble, some scramble,
a little shimmy, skedaddle and scoot,
boot by boot, toes of steel
with an iron heel. Stick spur to moment,
step, stop, step, stop, step, stop.
Stride for stride, hand in hand,
and side by side,
click heel to toe to tip to tap.
We glode and strode,
the search was a party
with the stress on tense pride,
hunting, pecking,
the idea being to follow a feeling forever.
Mopes were laying back where it all began,
lying around, lying about each little thing.
And so we bounced from sol to sol,
sticking our noses in each nest,
right where they longed to belong.
supported by 12 fans who also own “Pressing Planetoidal Perambulations”
unique, frenetic, provocative, surprising, amazing how they keep the listener on their toes while providing just enough structure to keep them grounded Tim Patterson
supported by 11 fans who also own “Pressing Planetoidal Perambulations”
The new live EP by Ryan W. Stevenson's project reminded me, that this debut album must have been gone down the wishlist... If instrumental Canterbury stuff is your thing, this should be a no-brainer. Firmly rooted in the past (late 60s, 70s), nevertheless with a fresh sound. Guests incude The Tangent's Andy Tillison and Soft Machine's Theo Travis. Carsten Pieper
supported by 11 fans who also own “Pressing Planetoidal Perambulations”
all of it good: the whimsy, the drama, the wild, the cosmic; deftly dancing the line between order and chaos, between the sublime and the vile, between the fathomable and the ineffable. puts the listener in a liminal limbo you don't get to be in (and still enjoy!) often. Tim Patterson
Delicately constructed free jazz that reveals its details slowly, gradually unfolding to reveal beautifully considered compositions. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 5, 2023
supported by 11 fans who also own “Pressing Planetoidal Perambulations”
In 2019, I was in Salisbury and attended the Alphabet Business Convention without knowing any artist. Lost Crowns was my favourite band that played there. Pablo P.