I’ve uploaded the final mix of “It Only Matters To Those To Whom It Matters” to Fosca’s Myspace page. It’s extremely catchy, features Tom’s guitar at its most spangly, NO KEYBOARDS WHATSOEVER (Kate borrows my guitar when we do it live), and has a big singalong chorus – you have been warned.
Listen:
www.myspace.com/foscatheband
Lyrics:
some shudder at the way you shrug off days / but it’s galvanised this idle stray
a photogenic ghost who’s lost on most / a secret caption: ‘Joy On Toast!’
well here’s a new twist upon trysting / have you ever stopped and considered
that many daily concerns can be adjourned / once you have learned
that
it only matters to those to whom it matters
it only matters to those to whom it matters
you’re musing if it’s worse to live than to rehearse
and is being ‘right’ all the time your curse?
needles in the park, the teenage watermark
lovers through the Brain, not through the Heart
there you go, scolding your shadow
in the hope that no one will notice
why you always carry a book
not as something to read – but somewhere else to look…
it only matters to those to whom it matters
it only matters to those to whom it matters
(unabashed indie guitar solo)
oh save me, oh help me / from judging Life so easily
oh save me, oh help me / from judging Life so easily
it only matters to those to whom it matters
it only matters to those to whom it matters
The Swedish band Friday Bridge have released their excellent new album “Intricacy”, which features speaking and singing from myself on one song, ‘Pigeon’:
Another Swedish band, This Year’s Model, have an album called “The Clock Strikes Ten” out soon. That’s the one with the CD booklet featuring short stories from myself, Jessica Griffin (as in The Would-Be-Goods)and Vic Godard (as in Vic Godard). Bid (as in Scarlet’s Well & The Monochrome Set) is also on the album. It’s very nice indeed to be in such company. My story contains the line “We could always mail it to Cliff Richard.”
Monday: A mysterious chemical odour is in my room. Paint, cleaning fluid, something like that. I tidy up the cupboard under the sink where the usual sprays and cloths are stashed, but can’t find any spillages. Still, it forces me to generally tidy up, and in the process I discover not one but three umbrellas I thought I’d lost. I open the window, but as it’s a rather chilly, windy and rainy Bank Holiday, it doesn’t stay open for long. When I do want to brave going outside, however, at least I’ve no shortage of brollies.
Later, I walk into the shared hallway and notice the odour is definitely stronger. So it’s one of those instances where one has to brave not just the sound of whatever music or shouting or drilling is going on next door, but the stench of whatever odiferously-charged home improvements they’re implementing as well. The price one pays for living near others. I am fuming at their fumes.
