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by Ian Evans

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Manhattan 02:34
There’s something about Manhattan that puts you in a magic state We got pickles with our pastrami and rye bread There’s something about nostalgia that puts you in a trance like state What hits you when young will stay deep in your head If you can look into a book or an internet meme… Everything is quite deep man, but I don’t mean that to sound silly As you will hear if you go on, I devoted months to Black Metal I work in an office There’s something about song writing that makes you absorb anything Kate Beaton and Nelson, at the time of writing There’s something about an actual Chicago pizza or cheese steak The history and touch are a euphoric state If you can just block out the din and really feel their smooth skin There is so much, with velum fluff, pores and warmth and goose bumps I’m standing by the *actual* lion statue, seen in Ghostbusters! I’m eating an Italian beef, by the *actual* Chicago tribune!
A golden disc, into a food wide slot A 3D museum of pop Culture, film and history Highbrow and unsavoury The Moors Murders and George Best Morecombe and Wise’s breakfast Lord Lucan and Rab Nesbitt The first time I saw the Smiths When we logged on, John Craven’s enthusiasm was well said A, pre-Google Earth, zoom in-able world (for the UK) A laser disc, into a food wide slot A 3D museum of rock Culture, art and history Highbrow and unsavoury From Vision On to Tiswas Not the Nine and Future Shocks Lord Lucan and Spinal Tapp Kickstart and Granada Land
The Swiss Cottage has a real Swiss Cottage I’m nervous at 9am and off work for Optimax I’ve had mine cut, air puffed, tubes stuck Suction to test their strength and resilience Tiny circular blades inside the tubes Paid half by my Mum (after she kindly offered to) I’ve just moved to London and West Finchley tube Smell like an oven lighter… Blue strobing. Bright, blue Destroying air, as the laser cuts in two My minus eight eyes and tries to make them work new When it’s over, you’ll sit and keep them shut Resisting the urge to peek and still scared that it won’t work I risked it in five and saw a new world Just like my old glasses eye sight, but still hazy They let you go out alone to try your eyes So I crossed the street to the O2 Centre, Finchley Road The colourful fish in tanks were my first view I really can see the Waterstone’s and croissants Full of sand but still soft, as if they move I must never rub them, so bedtime goggles help too Getting my eyes done Getting lead home by new friend Mark Bannon Such a good friend with whom it all goes so wrong On check-up day I walk around London sites An obsession that later fuels so many lyrics The chandelier in the giant local mosque Lords Cricket Ground and onto Abbey Road itself Freud’s old house and Sherlock Holmes’s shop This is perhaps the first time that I did this Two days on, I show off new eyes to Karen at Container House I squint at golden flames. Eyes are perfect, except for at night time
Savoury 03:32
My 1980’s lunch... With 3D Piglets, cast in MSG and corn meal The crackle and crunch wolf… Five pennies for the orange packeted Prairie Wheels In Ashby de La Zouch… K.P. or Kenyon Produce nest, near to Adrian’s home A Pandora’s Box of treats… New hedgehog flavour or Walker’s flouting of colour codes K.P. Sky Divers: only 5 pennies In the car on the way from Grandma’s Airy and corny, sky blue packet Only puffs of wind in salt and vinegar Close to the Stertin’s shop Was an inflatable Santa with v-shaped digits Spring onion Tudor Crisps As the Band Aid single first came on the Top of the Pops’ list Totally unsavoury, savoury flavourings In dust of navy packets and salty seasonings Ephemeral flavour shakers with fish and chip dust Which we all would save to eat without the actual crisps The anger of Raidettes… After a 5p increase on Astra’s snacks Artwork by Robin Smith… Of Vy-Per the Venomous and a yellow square-eyed cat Wickers gave me a jester kite Astra the space pirate gave me dye-cast toys and a post-swimming bite They were called Outer Spacers first… Then Alien Spacers as well Bright green or bright red to denote flavours… The crisps themselves and their bags as well! An Octopussy watch… Free with the discontinued hunks of tomato flavour Also crispy bacon… Both of which were patronised by the, clearly fickle, blue monster K.P. Sky Divers: only 5 pennies In the car on the way from Grandma’s Airy and corny, sky blue packet Only puffs of wind in salt and vinegar Joining the Monster Munchers Club To get their tech specs, pen and tall stories books The pink monster-shaped crisp is now long since gone As are saucy flavour and their other two friends Totally unsavoury, ice cream flavouring It met with mixed reactions in 2004 Sharon Waterford invented the pickled onion flavour Briefly poor graphic design, but now so cool once more
Only I have noticed her She neither needs or remembers makeup And her hair is naturally black They only like her since she became slimmer But I’m sure we’d have something they lack She seems so like me before I came out of my shell… and realised what was what And our deep friendship is what it’s all based on She might not have dated much? So she seems just like a mirror of what I need Lacan said that I love my pet Because she never mistakes me for a former love… And only loves me for myself But she plays her cards so close to her chest I am sure that we’d have what it takes But she might also be shaped by others Nietzsche thought women appear deep, because they’re actually bottomless She’s not quite perfect, so of course it makes it special… If you saw her, it would be so exquisite, because she’s so normal Like Donna and Justin, they are wide eyed corrupters Whilst being corrupted and not realising
The first strip had blue lines And then a fresher one So we went to Boots, to get a better job in and not tell anyone Everything is different in our world today Everything is different in our world today Ration my rum, well that is surprising We’ll find a bigger house together now then! We don’t quite believe it, but everything’s different in our world We don’t quite believe it, but everything’s different in our world today I wanted They Might Be Giants’ new CD Which wasn’t in Chicago So I’ll buy that to toast our epiphany Girls’ names have potential. Boys’ just seem functional And the best are all shorter for their (less cool) full versions as well I’ll buy a big rucksack so we can go out I’ll treat it like always and minimise jobs To just what’s important, although I guess we’ll be tired out So we all have fun and I’m laden with essentials I’m so so excited, except I’ll have to ration my rum
Homerton 02:20
Roll on slow train to dawn, pulled by Anthony Stone For our town day out Love love love the good news from Jaggers I’ve been summoned to a séance We’re getting out, to somewhere art goes on In our charabanc I hadn’t met my Estella Haversham as yet, so the world’s my Oyster card Each year I think about which songs I like this time and I write them in my camera book Moonlight Shadow, The Air That I Breathe, Building a Bridge to Your Heart I am about six Last of the Famous International Playboys That Friday Feeling song Love love love the hydraulic buffers at the end Where everything must come Every year we walk to the Casey Jones’ café and eat a doughnut That Otravine advert is everywhere we look I’d read about Geales and tried to write my own guide book Something isn’t perfect in 1990 and I feel it should be I have to soak up everything Seeing dinosaurs for the first time in 84 A t-shirt with a candelled Stegosaur My Mum and my Grandma go to see Diana Spencer’s wedding dress The Visionaries are my favourite in 86 But I have so much more to fit Songs can’t contain all that I feel
On the 230 from Wood Green to Leyton (tied to the mast) Nasty kid called Tricky, swearing at a nice Mum on her mobile Ra’s smiling at him as he sails through London to her Like Odysseus all calm Just think of her in your strong arms There’s always trouble ‘cos there’s something in the way On the bus route to the dance show Past the Poor School on the Gray’s Inn Road City that we romance so And she’s standing in the chorus of the dance show As the Trojan War comes to an end And she’s warming up and stood in third position As our hero’s on the final bend It’s a laugh to know a secret you would kill to know We’re the Muses for this story And Kate Bush is good, George Bush is bad And he gets to see her dance on time You just watch them by Beau Brummel’s statue Saturday They’re a Rockette and a Myrmidon And the gaping face of jaws ajar… The sound of corsets hitting floors Heaving with lust outside your window Inside, it’s a storm inside a teacup blown away It’s a magic day Oh she’s inside of an unusual picnic (all crumbly and entertaining) We won’t go away with you, please put her down Bad situations like Rawlinson End And I’m like, “their life’s changeable and entertaining” Now I’ve gone all voluble, please put me starboard… Where I can see the stars above the briny… See our heroes climb Clissold fence at night Saved in a submarine by my kind aunt She’d dazzle the chorus line please put her down
New Town 02:28
Bombs fall down Raymond Unwin - you don’t choose to live in a bloody new town It’s not your fault - you’re good, good guys The car centric layout was their soul’s demise The Shredded Wheat Tower, in Welwyn Garden town Not so much a city, but not really bad at times… Glenrothes got it right with their new art Milton Keynes’ concrete cows have charm… Derek Walker thought that telecoms Had outmoded the need for non-grid systems A lazy grid, to keep it real With cloned roundabouts and a Prisoner feel It’s actually green and good for cycling… A pagoda, windmill and also lots of muggings Swindon on the other hand seems quite glamorous… I’d die if I lived there myself, but I love trains and Mr. Partridge “Let no building be higher than the tallest tree” Nah, that’s not for me
For the next 1 minute and 47 seconds, every noise I’m making came to me in dreams… The melody stuck as I woke up upon my sofa I have no clue to what the lyrics mean Fishes and loaves You toady; you try and impress me with amazing hobbies If I was a woman, would I do something something all the time? Embezzling spice – you’re so unnecessary Aim for the place Something to do with Jodie Kidd on Newsnight Review I let you eat the food that comes from my machine I never ask for thanks; you never give me no thanks Tell me is this the way that it has always been? Bangers and mash The nut cracked ballet is a girl with shoes that lift the winner Anything bad you can imagine, will have been done Bananas in wine - you’re being so contrary Aim for the face Aim for the place
From Rodean to Bodeans caff Dressed by J.F. Leotard Our art must need to exist (We can’t just want to be a band) Using the 4, 5, 1 progression can be elegant Quo and C. Christian do it eloquently (Jet can only make it drag) The Brit School can move a few hoofers, but you risk coming from a mould…. Technique is always great, but your casual listeners won’t do work If you go to a show, you’re mostly there to chat to all your friends So you can’t expect total observation, you should just create for your own ends Punk is pretensions (ironically) With prog bands they aren’t pretending…. We could check out Fever Fever’s, “Monster,” single (for inspiration with stage things) If we make a mistake we should always play on, with smiles on our chops Take a spare guitar, tune up and practice for ever…. The sound is always bad and they don’t listen much Being modern is sometimes popular (but nothing else will date as fast) Using nostalgia’s always good (but you can’t know it will last) “Backbeat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out” Those lyrics are shit Infinitely shit You’re like a grumpy pixie And maybe I only like you for who you remind me of? But we both have room for development…. So, can we make a deal? Each punt at Trinity was named with a connection to threes K.T. and Duffy have sure been lucky, but in the end they are actually good Stanivlaski, taught her to feel like a FOX Lindsay Kemp Michael Clarke’s screeching website dock The Vaganova method I’ve decided is ace The Cecchetti method she was mostly against Florence Ballard can’t even cash in on the moniker of her own band You’re like a lovely pixie, so could we make a deal?
Colin the squirrel is the reincarnation of one of the old judges He has his own Facebook group and no fear of jurors We queue to get into Southwark assizes It takes ages to be searched. It’s like an airport and very 60’s I’m tired and excited I’m not called to a case in the first week, so read Caitlin Moran’s book and Scarlet Traces I’d like coffee and crisps, but don’t want to waste them By day three, I’ve realised that there’s no rush to do anything We’re opposite HMS Belfast, whose guns point to a motorway service station Scrawled in the toilets is, “Judges eat caviar, barristers eat shit. Jurors eat at Whittington’s” The best value for your free food card is pie chips and beans at lunch The cooked breakfast is nicer, but smaller and leaves you with credit crunch 10am start. 4pm finish. Good hours for me The judge sends us home and I go to buy cheese Borough Market is nearby as well as St. Thomas’s. The tallest hospital on earth It’s still dwarfed by the alien Shard. It’s like the end of War of the Worlds I love the George coaching inn nearby and the big model skull in the surgery yard The judge is all I’d hoped for – jowly and upper class with a ruddy complexion The defence barrister notices a juror’s Howard Marx book and makes an ill judged attempt to appeal to him Saying that some people might think of anti-cannabis laws as immoral. But the defendant is a copper, whom all of us give honour It’s weird how close the twelve of us feel, despite forgetting to give names and ideals We joke that a witness might be silenced. Or that he’s having an affair - it’s fun to make up evidence And to laugh about how bad that would be We find him guilty, which he really must be But, as a policeman, he’ll lose his job we worry and it’s only one grand They want to play charades while we wait, but I’m too shy to partake
Most boys liked metal and fantasy But not me yet… it was always Brit-pop The death grunts were slow to get past But time changes were my first way in there Meshuggah, Death and Melvins at first…yeah! Christmas 2011, I only listened to the Black stuff And Norwegian weather forecasts I read the whole lot Varg Vikernes has served sixteen But Venom weren’t totally real Filosofum’s my fave – so unusual and stretched and folky too In Terrorizer ’11, he was still deep in hate So you can admire music and not a man himself Darkthrone changing… Death and Black both great Soulside up to Plague... I’m still against the crust punk Krallice also make spells work Gehenna might have made my fave with World War Pallbearer and that groove on Werewolf Bergen troubadour Mayhem haven’t really made a bad album Are Immortal secretly good musicians? Glenn Benton’s face Now Cannibal Corpse. Terrible covers, but best head banging ever and intense riffage I’m now onto them I long to scream out yeah In the Black Country air
Plane Trees 04:06
Plane trees Moving in the breeze Shedding their achene Fur to lungs and sinuses They compact, survive black pollution and pollarding Capability bred Perfect for London
Nathan Johnson didn’t care to fight, but he could do Aggression is the key to win, should that hard path you choose It’s so sad that people can get angry or hold a grudge I disagreed, but didn’t want to shout Because your chemistry made anger you’ve lost good friends You thought they were your foes, but they were not Just look for facts and work it through and always ignore hate You put yourself in rage, but pretend it controls you mate They say that anger is an energy and spurs you on Am I really saying that it’s always bad? Just to confirm - if you are angry then you are wrong You’re talking over someone and not getting on They say Saint Anger’s not respected and that is good I understand hormones and I sympathise… Now let’s get back to facts and sort this Anger’s so certain, but kindess and wisdom are full of doubt I know that your wife works from anger, but understand… She kicked and shouted the c word in my face, because I stood near her at a concert And I stayed calm. I would have been a friend and it’s bullying From what I’ve read, Gideon Mantle did try his best to work with Owen, but it met with hate Anger and arguing are the best way you can win But only for yourself and not for long The opposite of a conversation is waiting for your own turn, to talk over the other one
A speaking voice isn’t in key but can still express emotion… So an out of tune singing voice can’t be inherently bad And yet most would say that it is bad If you’ve ever thought that free jazz is an, “emperor’s new clothes thing” Just remember that *everyone* says they loathe it So the average view has totally won… The losers will still love it without you. For them it’s fun Any two or more notes played together will form a chord Whether they clash or not is called an opinion If you make a mistake it’s only ever charming… Unless you expect perfection, which is inhuman First takes are often the best because it’s hard to be impressed with polish, over the first idea If you’re an entertainer, your job’s to give an audience fun If you’re an artist, your job is to please just one… That’s you, and when you play it live you might want to ease the people in I’d like to sound like someone with intense classical training Who then just mucks about, which is almost true… If you want to sing, paint or write you can always do What you might actually mean is that you want to be famous… If everyone liked your work, would that be a bad sign? I suffer for my art and now it’s your turn
You never soap out a wok or teapot. Just soak in green tea, like that girl on Sherlock In Heston’s pudding is a whole orange. So over Christmas all the juice soaks in My toastie machine soaked in aged rich cheese A guardsman’s jacket from the age of steam A brace of pheasants on the rack above Approaching half-life of galvanic sludge Soaking an oak cask in galvanic sludge Rubbing an apron in salt from the sea Feeding a fruit cake up with neat brandy The aftertaste of Cazu Matzu cheese The ingrained pub smells since the smoking ban Kylie, Liz Hurley and Nigella Lawson A poetry book, splashed in crumpet stains The changing language between Basque and Spain Stuffing an oil drum with galvanic sludge Avoiding change and not a moment too soon! File under imagination…. Lack of…. But, if you find your senses reeling, prepare to hit them through the ceiling Our student fryer, never changed its oil A baby’s blanket with her mother’s smell Yamaha resonate guitars to age Resting a steak to keep in juice and taste
Debs 06:02
At morning round the city, crowds mingle from stations and lanes In Whitechapel, around of the church steps, Debs is buying tea She’s waiting to meet a potential boss in office work “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” Stock questions and inane “I only want money so I can have fun and security – Like everyone else in your company from sixteen to 61” Drawing cartoons in the common room Coffee from the machine Revising history with Nessa in 1983 Is Debora They had Grolsch bottle tops tied to their shoes on the day they met Nessa and Viv liked the Specials and Debs is a lapsed Brossette Debora Finding a rare XTC CD after museum trip She cried at footage of Live Aid, which really affected me You’ve seen how she looks at her friends… Debora They’re out at the pub once again. And then the first round’s on Debora Eventually broken hearts mend And then you can laugh with Debora The best things in life are your friends… Debora They’re laughing and holding on hands. So that they’re not split up whilst they’re watching the band Debora


This is an album of all the music I wrote between 2011 and 2012. It was recorded at home, but captured some real magic I think. My wife was pregnant at the time, so it has a happy feel but also some self-assessment and worry!

I was really into an organic sound, so left in a lot of background noise and improvisation. I was also using different guitar tunings on each song.

The download comes with complete pdf artwork and a booklet of lyrics and references.

This album is free, but any donations help. Cheers, Ian E X


released April 25, 2012

All music, lyrics and playing by Ian Evans


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Ian Evans UK

Pop/experimental/rock musician and songwriter from London

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