Made by my head
Music, Ireland. Grey, name. My name. A step ladder. This house was built in a bog. Music is the window. I fell off a step ladder.

Saturday, August 26, 2006


Music. The Guggenheim Grotto.

Sing, little pieces of angels. They'll sing as soon as they assemble all of their pieces. In the meantime I'm going to look at the kitchen sink, pressing buttons on a tape recorder, play and record, I'm solving a detective, or the plans, and everything is a street and everything else is a hair pin, and this is the hair pin that everything else is. I'm going to erase that from the tape.

Band: The Guggenheim Grotto

Album: ...Waltzing Alone

They might sound like a lot of other bands if you only half-listen to them, but closer inspection reveals a very distinctive band. They're better than having walls and doors in your head that keep out all the things you want to keep out and let in all the things that bring head-warming presents and say they love what you've done to your head. Most other bands are worse than walls and doors that let in most other bands.


The alphabet can be used for two things and one of them is the same as the other. I'm going to erase that too.

Saturday, August 19, 2006


Music. Revere.

I got some witches to make me some feet for when I'm in space. I spy with my little eye, they made me a little eye instead.

I spend these days wearing a rain coat on the beach, catching all these little pieces of the alphabet, and some of them are words as sharp as shards of glass. You can talk to your shins or Batman's shins or your own shoulders and you can say, "I wish I was talking to Batman's shoulders." Batman's response contains too many sharp words, but it would provide a perfect link to the following line: A timeless fusion of time and something I wrote on my head and forgot about, and the sentences I write on my brain lose their 'if's and 'but's so when I say 'I can fly' I wouldn't be absolutely confident of that.

Band: Revere

They're another Cork band. They released their debut album, Modern Science, on their own label. They're better than Snow White and seven dwarves and three bears. Most other young bands are worse than one of the dwarves fighting with the small bear.

You can find them on Myspace at:

Saturday, August 12, 2006


Music. Kila.

It's all buzz and whizz and sad sad sad and lonely, never mind. Running after long nurses and never mind. They live by the sea and they hold themselves in place with sticks and endless sentences that always teeter on the edge of ending but somehow keep going and I'm a balloon. When I wasn't a balloon I was something else. The woman I met in the dust was wearing a shadow she designed herself. Mine blew away in the breeze and I missed being able to look at the ground to see what I was. If you've got something you'd like to say and you've nailed it to something you'd like to sell, you can always just turn around and face the sun, and pretend you've got a shadow behind you who's sorting everything out.

Band: Kila

Album: Kila and Oki

Kila play traditional Irish music and for this album they're joined by a Japanese musician called Oki. They're better than being able to say, "Every stinking day I get this," only if you want to say it. Most other bands are worse than having to say it every stinking day.


Sunday, August 06, 2006


Music. The Blizzards.

South of outstanding, north of killing rats, pleasant afternoon hours slip away and all I can do is say or say is do or hide behind a filing cabinet.

Everything you do is like the back of a truck or the front of yourself and you write in the dust on the back of a truck and that's everything you do. They've got diamonds becuz because because because. I stole their diamonds.

Band: The Blizzards.

They're from Mullingar and one of them played rugby for Leinster. I can think of at least one reason not to like them, but they're better than being able to say, "Why are there five witches examining my head?" and then realising that they're good witches who'll tell you when your head smells.


There's a thorn in my storm, and you you you you you, well I'm not going to blame myself.

He shoots, he scores, he glues himself to a lilac tree. Let's kick him.

A walk in the rain - Poetry. Ireland. Reading the news with no trousers.
Very Slight Stories - Very short stories.
Henry Seaward-Shannon - Slightly longer short-stories.

More blogs about music.


April 2005   May 2005   June 2005   July 2005   August 2005   September 2005   October 2005   November 2005   December 2005   January 2006   February 2006   March 2006   April 2006   May 2006   June 2006   July 2006   August 2006   September 2006   October 2006   November 2006   January 2009  

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?