Scream

Following Tiny Dancer’s introduction to the quite frankly disturbing world of Angels Of Light during our recent podcast and also to coincide with Halloween, I have been brooding over the number of songs that can be said to truly upset me. I’m talking about the sort of songs that leave you feeling slightly less comfortable with the world than you were before you’d heard them. There probably aren’t that many around but I reckon these three just about hit the spot.

Public Image Ltd had the obvious head start of having Johnny Lydon’s bizarre wailing voice, which was put to particularly unsettling effect on Careering from their 1979 album Metal Box. The lyrics aren’t especially creepy but god knows they aren’t exactly cheerful either:

There must be meaning
Behind the moaning
Spreading tales
Like coffin nails

And the whole affair leaves me needing a good strong drink.



Public Image Limited – Careering


Wire, genius post-punk art-rock lunatics that they were, managed to capture something of the same feeling on their 1978 album Chairs Missing on the track I Feel Mysterious Today. It all starts off quite jauntily, but soon kicks in with some good old fashioned paranoia.

I feel mysterious today
Everyone is coming this way…



Wire – I Feel Mysterious Today


However, the cream of the crop when talking about bands who produce disturbing music – and I use the term 'music' loosely here – has to be Throbbing Gristle. Stepping back one year further to 1977 (what was it with the late seventies that produced all this at the same time as disco?) The Gristle released their album Second Annual Report. It’s quite hard to describe, but I think a taster can be found in Slug Bait (Live at Brighton).



Throbbing Gristle – Slug Bait (Live At Brighton)


As far as I can tell, it’s a sample of an interview with a man who has killed a 10 year old girl, played over TG’s customary tape-splice art noise attack. For years I’ve tried to hold on to the idle dream that it is not a real interview, but unfortunately I think it might be. Of special horror is his admission that he had originally intended merely to rape her and only strangled her because he ‘flipped out’. Nice bloke.

Pretty much the rest of the album has this sort of stuff going on, including the cheerful tune Zyclon B Zombie, which deals with the Zyclon B gas used to kill Jews in the concentration camps of World War 2. If you really want to pursue this further you can buy the album here - but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

So, top marks for freakin’ me out definitely go to Throbbing Gristle. If anyone can beat that I’d love to hear it...


Crisp Debris


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They Said It Couldn’t Shouldn’t Happen

What happens if you put three men in a small room with one microphone, some cds, eighteen bottles of beer, and one packet of Hula Hoops? Why, this of course.


Tiny Dancing Podcast - 271007


These are the songs:

Poppy & The Jezebels – Electro Bitch
Brian Eno – True Wheel
Angels Of Light - Sometimes I Dream I’m Hurting You
The Replacements – Androgynous
Strangelove - Casualties
Tap Tap - Drink Like A Boy
Nick Lowe – Cruel To Be Kind

These are the men:

Tiny Dancer
Crisp Debris
Ricky Stardust

Enjoy?


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Freedom Is A Good Thing

The world of the free cd is not always a happy place to be. Stuck at the end of a shelf, in a pile of The Mail On Sunday and Evening Standard piss poor disco compilations, 80s worst ofs, and charity collections featuring a rogues gallery of the most deplorable acts free publicity can attract, all put together in shoddy cardboard sleeves. Except for the one the little purple chap chucked out a few months ago of course. The sleeve was still very poor though.

Yes, for the occasional quality free cd, it can be a pretty lonely existence. And so we should remember the great and good of the free cds, for they should be treasured.

In recent times, my considered king amongst the complimentary cd peasants has been Unconditionally Guaranteed 2000.3, which was given away with the then-acceptable-now-generally-boorish Uncut magazine, in early 2000 (as the more astute of you may have determined from the title).

Seemingly randomly put together from the better elements of what was knocking around that month, it is markedly better than the majority of cds that they make you pay for. I had it in my cd walkman (so old, so old) for months, and I didn’t even mind it skipping whenever I deviated out of a smooth, horizontal float down the road (so cheap, so cheap).

Perhaps the best measure of it’s quality is that I went on to buy a couple of albums by it’s featured artistes as a result. So, in the general theme of talking about something specific, let me tell you a bit more about that.

The cd opens up with Kit And Holly by Echoboy. I hadn’t heard of him before, but I thought it was one of the best things I’d heard in ages. I think I was looking around for something a bit new and inspiring, and the electronic / guitary mix-up, sounding like the future, flicked my switch. So I bought Volume One, and it was rubbish. There wasn’t anything else like Kit And Holly on it, mostly instrumental and less melodic stuff, and so my switches were swiftly unflicked.



Echoboy – Kit And Holly


About five years later, I realised I was wrong about the album, and that it’s actually rather good. That happens sometimes. The songs that I thought were rubbish weren’t rubbish anymore. None more so than this nine minute slice of wandering melodica and ten pin bowling percussion.



Echoboy – Constantinople


I’ve picked up some Echoboy since, and it’s okay, but he seems to have tried to take the Kit And Holly line a bit more, without really hitting the same heights. Oh well. Get Volume One though, here.

Track 7 on the cd is Museum Mile by Geneva. Another band I’d never heard of – I obviously wasn’t getting out much. At the time, I thought it was the jewel of the compilation, and I still do probably. Huge vocals, dreamy synths, indie guitars, and production you can see your face in. Lovely. Looking back, the lyrics are a bit on the dodgy side. But then I’ve never really cared about dodgy lyrics. Debris and Stardust think I’m a bit weird for that, but I’ve always considered the voice to be an instrument first and foremost, and if it works within the overall song, then I can forgive everything else. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate good lyrics, but it’s not the be all and end all. Like I say, weird.



Geneva - Museum Mile


So, I bought Weather Underground, and listened to it solidly for about a year. Unlike Echoboy, the album's more of the same, which did me just fine. Shortly after buying it, Geneva announced a gig at the Camden Underworld that I went to. Before the last song, which I’m pretty sure was Museum Mile, they announced that it would be their last gig for a while, and they never appeared again. Andrew Montgomery, he of the huge shimmering voice, formed a band called Amityville, but like the name, they were pretty horrendous. So I stuck with Weather Underground, and it’s beautiful, clichéd majesty.



Geneva – If You Have To Go


Buy it here. Because weird is okay.

Finally, to give Unconditionally Guaranteed 2000.3 the honour it deserves, here is the full track listing:

1. Echoboy – Kit & Holly
2. The Cash Brother – Nebraska
3. The Handsome Family – A Beautiful Thing
4. Doves – Rise
5. Gonzales – Real Motherfuckin’ Music
6. Josh Rouse – Laughter
7. Geneva – Museum Mile
8. Black Box Recorder – Weekend
9. 16 Horsepower – Clogger
10. Earl Bostic – Flamingo
11. Cathal Coughlan – Officer Material
12. Virginia Rodrigues – Jeito Faceiro
13. Ivan (Buddy Holly) – Real Wild Child
14. Morphine – Rope On Fire
15. Seafood – Easy Path
16. John McEntire – J.I.H.A.D.
17. Six By Seven – My Life Is An Accident
18. Talk Talk – Ascension Day

Sir, we salute you.


Tiny Dancer


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Fear Of Everything

Phobias are a nasty part of the human condition. They burrow to the root of all our fears and fill us with angst and nausea.

But don’t worry my petals - in this we ordinary mortals are not alone. That’s right – even rock and pop gods have phobias. U2 had Vertigo. Iron Maiden had Fear Of The Dark. The Bee Gees had Claustrophobia. Black Sabbath were Paranoid. The Cure - if Lullaby with it’s lyrics of being eaten by a spiderman in the middle of the night is anything to go by - had a serious case of arachnophobia.



The Cure - Lullaby


But you know what they say – there is nothing to fear except fear itself. Which is bad news if:

a) you’re counterphobic;

b) you’re Ian Brown;



Ian Brown - F.E.A.R.


or c) you’re Mu-ziq



Mu-ziq - The Fear


Crisp Debris (is afraid of no man)


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Let's Go Outside

In an unexpected turn of events, I actually left the house last night, under the cover of darkness. It’s not something I do very often and so when I do, I try and get something out of it. In the past, this has led to trips to the hospital, and unwelcome excursions into Surrey. This time, I’m hopeful it will lead to one of the worst gig reviews of recent times.

To Heaven then, to see Von Südenfed. The first turn on were Chrome Hoof. But I missed them, because I was in the pub. I expect they were quite good though. Someone told me they were. Here’s one of their songs, so you can imagine what they might have been like.



Chrome Hoof – Pronoid


In a bid to make up for my tardiness, I might go and see them in a couple of weeks when they play at the Amersham Arms.



Or I might stay in.

Following a bit of Fourtet record spinning, which was generally unremarkable, the XeroX Teens did their 'The Fall for the 21st Century' thing. Barking vocals, programmed backing tracks, and a bit of mouth box action led to a decent half an hour, even more so when the soundman remembered to turn up the guitars. They’re out and about a lot lately, so go and see them, and be all cool and that. They played this.



XX Teens – Onkawara


One of their other songs, which I swear I’ve got somewhere but I’m arsed if I can find it, has a bit that sounds like the WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WHEEEEEEEEEE bit on Crazy Horses. Which is no bad thing. Check them crazy legs.





And so Von Südenfed. An unexpectedly wonderous union on their album, the crowd of mainly blokes in their mid-20s to mid-30s, dressed in dark clothing, and mostly attending on their own, eagerly wanted to see what it would turn out like live with the possibility that it could be a shambles shaken out of their system by a bass raping deejay set by Skream, which was rather splendid.

A table full of noise gave the matching polo-shirted (nice) Herrs St. Werner and Toma free reign to kick off whatever mad-arse beats and bleeps that came to mind, which they did for about five minutes. Then, possibly hearing something that triggered a vague semblance of memory, Mark E Smith wandered out with a fistful of lyrics, in a very fetching slightly shiny jacket, to contribute his noise to proceedings. I’m not sure I understood a word he said all night. The usual then.

After about five minutes, he seemed to lose the thread of what he was saying, so he wandered off again. A bit later, he wandered back on again, pressed some buttons on the table of noise, leafed through his lyrics, found some he liked, and started again. This happened about three or four times in all, before it became apparent he wouldn't be coming out anymore, and so things came to a halt.

It was quite, quite excellent. In fact, one of the mid-30s blokes in dark clothing who was standing next to me told me it was the best thing he’d ever seen. Fair enough. I'm guessing he's never seen Shed Seven though.

To best sum up the experience, this track is apparently Mark E Smith talking to someone, which was recorded, and later added to. I should think that’s how Von Südenfed works, and is a fair approximation of what we were treated to.



Von Südenfed – Jbak Lois Lane


I don’t think they’re going to be playing live too often, so if the opportunity arises, you must take it. In the meantime, buy the album.

So, that was pretty shoddy then. Mission accomplished. I thank you.


Tiny Dancer


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The System Of The World

James Chapman is a very talented young man blah blah blah made his record in his bedroom blah blah blah signed by Mute blah blah blah Mercury nominee blah blah blah world tour blah blah blah blah blah from solo-fiddler to celeb-hob-nobber in 12 easy months, an example to us all, talent will always win out, a demonstration of a fair and fateful universe blah blah blah, yes yes yes, we know we know we know.

So you don’t need me rambling on about his music for a few witty yet informative paragraphs, and then posting a couple of songs that you can hear on 50% of the other blogs out there, because that would quite simply be both boring and beneath us. No, you don’t need me to do that. So I won’t.

What you need is me to ramble on about his knob twiddling on the work of others. So I will. Marvellous.

Not happy with creating his home made masterpiece, James Chapman is now having a go at Maps-ing up anything else that comes within grabbing distance. And then, when he’s applied the Maps-ing, he’s sending it back out to the world on free cds that are given away at gigs and that. And with the cds are passwords that you can enter into the Regions section of the Maps website, which lets you get at even more remixes and new tunes and whatever else has been thought up that day. Truly, he is a generous one-man-synth-pop-ish production line.

Here are a couple of Maps remixes of tunes by The Longcut and Kyte. I’m not a huge fan of either band, but these I like.


The Longcut – Holy Funk (Maps Remix)

Kyte – Secular Ventures (Maps Remix)


What I like is that instead of falling into the classic remixers trap of going the same but different (double the length of the intro, beef up the drums, play about with the structure) they’re different but the same (pretty much saying ‘well, your song’s alright, but I’d have done it better by doing it like this’). Kind of like pretending to pat the original artist on the back, but actually sticking on a sign that says ‘NOT AS GOOD AS ME’. But in a nice way. Obviously.

No doubt there will be much more to come from the horrifically talented Chapman in the not too distant future, but in the meantime, if you want the password for the extra Regions tracks, send me an email or something. And cash. Cash always helps.





009. Captain Beefheart - Big Eyed Beans From Venus


Tiny Dancer


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The 1990s Made My Stereo Explode

Following on from Dancer’s post below I would like to make a confession.

Country music and I have a ‘difficult’ relationship. I almost always experience the strange sensation, having just listened to another twanging tale of lonesomeness/alcoholism/poverty set in the cattle ranches of Texas/old Indian trails of Colorado/deserts of New Mexico, of wanting to immediately listen to some FIERCE TECHNO instead. I don’t know why this happens to me – I just know that I like it.

In ascending order of fierceness, I now present to you three tunes that - if played loud enough – have the power to make birds fall from the sky, bring down religions and even make time stop (then rewind a bit, stop again, get confused and eventually think to itself 'what the hell, let’s just go a bit mental').

First up on the 'decks' is Cubik by 808 State. Starting with a whooping alarm, a warning in itself, it wastes no time in introducing the now classic UGH-UGH-UGH-UGH-UGHHH riff which surely caused more parents of the 90s to bellow ‘turn that music down’ than any other tune.

Especially look out for the middle section, which goes a bit skippy, turns back on itself, breaks down completely in a frenzy of feedback and then launches back into the growling riff and scatter-gun beats that can make small children cry.



808 State - Cubik


Next up we have Moaner by Underworld, taken from their bizarrely underrated 1998 Beaucoup Fish album. Words that you might use to describe this song would be ‘sinister’, ‘aggressive’, ‘angry’, ‘blimey’, ‘that noise is making my speakers melt’, ‘that’s a lot of drums’ and ‘yesohyesohyes’.

As usual nobody has any idea what Carl Hyde is talking about – but full marks for using the phrase ‘I am dubious arab metal’. As a fun game, try taking your pulse before listening to this track and then taking it again at the end.



Underworld - Moaner


King of our fierce three, however, is The Prophet by CJ Bolland. It is literally impossible. I genuinely believe that it doesn’t exist. It can’t do – there are laws of physics that it doesn’t obey. It starts with a sample of some mad evangelist, moves through some build-up drums then, after a couple of minutes, introduces the hook line. So far, so normal.

But wait – what’s this? After about three minutes you will hear our evangelising friend utter the words "Come With Me". And you will. Now at this point remember – it’s OK to raise your hands and pump your fists in the privacy of your own room, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

Maybe you think it stops there but no, my friends, CJ doesn’t let us off that easily. He just does it all again. Lots of times. With more drums each time. It’s a simple but effective formula and one that not many people know was first proposed by Einstein when explaining how time and gravity interact. The original formula was E=mcDRUMS.



CJ Bolland - The Prophet


Strangely, having got that out of my system, I will want to listen to some Patsy Cline to calm me down again. Up and down, up and down.


Crisp Debris


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Wild As The West Texas Wind

Sometimes, I think I’d like to be a cowboy.

Marty Robbins was a cowboy. He must have been, because in his song El Paso, he rides a horse, falls in love with a swarthy maiden, has a run in with a bunch of banditos, is shot repeatedly and at the end, dies in the arms of the swarthy maiden he fell in love with just a few minutes previously.

As it’s written in the present first person, I’m not sure how the dying at the end works, because if he’s dead, how can he be singing the song? And if he died, how could he have been a racing car driver for several years afterwards? Hmm.

These are just details though. If I had a Top 10 Songs Of All Time, El Paso wouldn’t be in it. And probably not a Top 15 either. But it might be in my Top 20. Narrative foibles aside, it’s a song of love, treachery, death and redemption in under five minutes, and has a chorus that soars like a vulture circling a dead body in the desert.



Marty Robbins – El Paso


Cowboys are not just about death and fighting and that though. Don Williams, who was also a cowboy, mostly sings songs about love. I’m no authority on the matter, but I’d hazard a guess that approximately all of his songs have the word ‘love’ in them. And Don isn’t interested in the bitterness of love, or the frailties of the heart. He’s just interested in loving his lady, playing his guitar, and singing about loving his lady and playing his guitar. We could all do well to learn a lesson from that.

He also has a voice that will nurse you through the nights when you’re on your own and no-one else in the world can help you, and he’ll get you through to morning, and do it all again the next night if you need him to. He’s like that, is Don.



Don Williams – Shelter Of Your Eyes


If I was a cowboy, as Marty and Don have repeatedly pointed out, I’d have to fall in love with a cowgirl. And where as a cowboy I’d be interested in death and fighting, and loving my lady, and playing my guitar, and singing about death, fighting, loving my guitar and playing my lady, my cowgirl would be altogether different.

Cowgirls are the stoic, tragic, massive haired giants, who protect their cowboys from the real world. They are beautiful and fragile, yet as strong and resilient as an ox. Whilst I’d be out a’drinkin’ and a’whoopin’ it up, my cowgirl would be tending the farm, bringing up the kids, and putting me in my hammock when I come back from a week in the saloon, looking at all the purdy dancing girls and drinking my horses weight in moonshine. She wouldn’t mind, at least she wouldn’t say so, and I’d love her forever, although I wouldn’t say so. In a perfect world, my cowgirl would be Patsy Cline, and she’d sing Crazy to me as I passed out every night.



Patsy Cline – Crazy


As a cowboy, I’d have to aspire to be legendary, with stories told about me in every town and city in the West. The stories would portray me to be everything a man can be, and none would really pin down the tragic heroic soul that I really was.

Ideally, to start with, I’d be remembered as the greatest of the outlaws, and for my run-ins with The Man, and for my support for my fellow outlaws, and for my hell-raising. After that, I’d be remembered as the man who found true love, and how my cowgirl settled me down, and reined in my wild heart. After that, I’d disappear from view for a while, content with the love of my good woman, but I wouldn’t be forgotten. After that, I’d triumphantly return to the world, and be heralded as the redeemed hero, and mostly everything I’d ever done would be remembered and rightly acknowledged, even by the people who weren’t that interested before. And then I’d die, and a world would mourn.

People might forget that at one point, a point that no-one ever really remembered, I’d take up the fight of the down-trodden, the fight of the cowboy's traditional enemy, and that shouldn’t really be forgotten, even amongst the easily remembered.



Johnny Cash – The Vanishing Race


Yep, sometimes, I think I’d like to be a cowboy.


Tiny Dancer


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I Love The 80s! Unplugged!

Ah, the 1980s. Big hair, shoulder pads, Transformers, the Charleston, fighting the Bosh, the electric lightbulb and ROCK. Yes ROCK. In fact, if Anne Diamond could transform into a car and ROCKed, then she’d be the perfect definition of the 80s.

When I started this I had a point but I appear to have mislaid it.

Ah yes, ROCK. Bryan Adams, G N’R, Aerosmith, Kiss, and, God forgive him, Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen. At the start of his career they thought he was the heir to Dylan, but in the mid 80s he went electric and turned it up to 11; he punched the air, put on a bandana and filled stadiums around the world. This poster boy of blue collar leftie (well, leftie in US terms) virtues started getting a following that spent their days waving flags, stockpiling weapons and campaigning against abortion.

And most of it was due to this song, Born In The USA. Misunderstood as a rallying call to all right wing Americans by the kind of people who must only listen to choruses. How can people mistake Bruce’s anger for triumphalism when you consider the following lyrics:

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I’m ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run aint got nowhere to go

Like a lot of Bruce’s work it’s about no-hopers shit-kicking in a dead-end town and the only way out is that busted up old six-string in your hand or the gun that they gave you when they sent you to ‘Nam. If you think you know it then listen to this version by Ballboy and give it a reassessment.



Ballboy - Born In The USA


It was a moment of inspired brilliance that led them to drop the chorus until the very end so the first time I heard it I didn’t even realise what it was until about half way through. It’s strange, but those wistful Scottish vocals almost add extra melancholy to this story and instead of it being one man’s tale it becomes universal; the little man v.s. life everywhere. Damn near brings a tear to these eyes.

Now, Guns N’ Roses. If Led Zeppellin had come about in the 80s then they would have been G N’R. The whole idea of them is just too big for my brain to properly compute and describe. I cannot contain them in thought or word.

How does one describe Axl Rose or Slash? Have ROCK, sex, drugs, money, excess and hair ever come together in such a perfect package before or since? I suspect not. They were Dynasty by Bruckheimer and Simpson, made of 50% coke, 50% ego and playing guitar with their cocks. But by God, against all the odds, they wrote some astonishing songs.

Here is Sweet Child O’ Mine, again, stripped down to it basics, this time by the excellent Luna. Some may consider it sacrilege, others may find it dull, but I think it’s kind of lovely.



Luna – Sweet Child Of Mine


Ricky Stardust


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All You Do To Me Is...

You’ve probably heard of 80’s band Talk Talk. But if you are a fool and haven’t, then you’ll at least know their work through No Doubt’s cover of It’s My Life, presented for you here in its original form. Note how No Doubt cleverly updated the 1984 hit by... er... making it exactly the same, except not as good, and with some blonde bint singing. Timeless.



Talk Talk – It’s My Life


Sometimes unfairly tarnished with a reputation as a naff New Romantic band, Talk Talk were in fact always pushing themselves musically even whilst still turning out classic singles such as Life’s What You Make It.

Take It’s Getting Late In The Evening as an example of a band pushing their boundaries to produce something a bit different and special. Stick with this one; it starts off quietly and then overlays a bunch of organ after about three minutes that will make your ears go strange. Best played loud.



Talk Talk – It’s Getting Late In The Evening


Of course – as is often the case – the further a ‘pop’ group goes musically, the less radio stations give them airplay and the fewer albums they sell subsequently. Talk Talk are the classic example of this phenomenon as on their fourth album they turned their backs on ‘easy’ singles and instead embarked upon the mad, experimental Spirit Of Eden.

The result was, inevitably and rather heroically, commercial suicide. Indeed, it was to be the death of the group and they split up not long after. That’s what you get for stuffing your album with avant-garde trumpets, seven minute long songs, wailing feedback and barely audible lyrics.

But – and here’s the best bit – Spirit Of Eden is an album of proper GENIUS. Listen to I Believe In You - like a dose, it may not hit you straight away, but when it does, you’ll know all about it, and you won’t forget it for a loooooong time.



Talk Talk – I Believe In You


Crisp Debris


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I Don't Want To Play Anymore

If a middle aged man walked into a school today, and asked if he could touch some children, whilst wired up to a strange machine of his own twisted construction, it might not go down too well. In fact, I speak from experience when I say it wouldn’t go down well at all.

And if a middle aged man walked into a television studio today, and started fondling the heads of the celebrities of the day, all the while sucking on some kind of tube, it might not be that well received. In fact, it’s probable that he would be ejected from the building, and called a ‘nonce’ to boot. Sticks and stones, I know, but words can still hurt. Oh yes, they can still hurt...

Bruce Haack never had these kinds of problems. So what is it that separates a man like me and a man like Bruce? Apart from a number of restraining orders, 260 hours of community service still to complete, and a regular feature on Crimewatch?

For a start, I haven’t built myself a whole studio full of synthetic noise-makers, without any kind of background in electronics, pretty much unlike anything that has gone before, and which was borne out of a savant-like talent for music. No, I haven’t done that.

I haven’t made a whole load of lunatic records for kids throughout the 60s and 70s, which included tracks like Bored Of Education, the vaguely upsetting This Old Man (which came with the sinister promise that he would get inside your mind), and School For Robots, which included strict instructions on how a robot should dance. No, I haven’t done that either.



Bruce Haack – School For Robots


Then, interspersed with all the crazy mind-mental records for the kiddies, I haven’t recorded an album for the adults, which is all about how well bad war is, and about death, and the devil, and proper grown up stuff like that, which sounds like it could have been made tomorrow, but was actually made nearly forty years ago. I had a go at doing that, but it was rubbish.



Bruce Haack – Electric To Me Turn

Bruce Haack – War

Bruce Haack – Song Of The Death Machine


So apart from that, I can’t really see much difference. Some people just can’t see the genius before them. The school kids didn’t even mind that much...

Bruce Haack died in 1988, but by that time had made at least sixteen records for everyone. A documentary about him came out not too long ago, which is really rather good, and his albums are becoming easier and easier to track down (in that you don’t have to speak Japanese and work out Japanese websites to get them anymore).

Get as many as you can (although Hush Little Robot is as good a start as any), and play them VERY, VERY LOUDLY outside of primary schools.

The kids need Bruce.


Tiny Dancer


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