Get all 19 Hemlock Smith releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Small Change World, Live @ CCC Festival (May 5th, 2020), Hemlock Smith & les Poissons Autistes: "The Necrophone Sessions", The Ghost Parade, St.Louis (Webcam Version), I can only see the Darkness_DEMO, Medusa EP, By the Grace of Dynamite, and 11 more.
1. |
Birmingham
04:12
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Birmingham.
In Birmingham
Before the war
There were some monuments
So proud they roared
We rode our bikes
Around these walls
Those tiny satellites
It held them all.
In Birmingham
During the war
The buildings came and went
A molten core
We rode our bikes
Amidst these ruins
Just tiny satellites-
Chaotic spins.
'n Birmingham
After the war, you wore
A veil of shattered glass-
You were so pale
In Birmingham
We're settled dust
Once tiny satellites
And now we're lost.
In Birmingham
We take the bus
We stumble on and on
Because we must.
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2. |
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I rehearse my death everyday
I rehearse my death everyday
I get up like a stumbling ghost
I crawl into the bathroom, my back numb from bad sleep,
Eyelids swollen and half closed.
I wash with mechanical precision,
First the head and then the limbs.
I dry myself with repetitive gestures-
I dress in clothes I once liked.
I eat an old piece of bread.
I would share it but there's no one to share it with…
I collect my things and glance at the news and the weather.
None of that are important to me.
I call the elevator.
It's the only thing I call…
I get out of the house having talked to noone. Not even to myself-
I drive to work in my small car, like tuna in a tin can.
I can detect a whole swarm of me, but they're locked up like myself.
Sometimes I honk my horn to see if they react.
But they don't…
I work all day, at a job I don't like, amongst people I don't care about,
Listening to bad background music.
They'll play that at my funeral, I guess…
I eat alone, and the silence stares into my brain.
Then I watch TV, films where beautiful women fall in love
With all kinds of idiots
It could happen to me I guess; but it hasn't, though…
When I turn out the light, there's nothing to recollect or to remember.
Darkness comes and confirms the day's events.
I rehearse my death everyday.
I rehearse my death everyday.
My death
Everyday
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3. |
The Flat Hands
06:27
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The Flat Hands
When there's strangers on my pillow
And dwarves run thru the walls
When there's blood on springtime swallows
And the silence starts to brawl
When the skeletons in my closet
Wake the spiders on my bed
When the dolphin in its dragnet
Makes the flood all turn to sweat
(well, then what… ?)
When the answerphone brings boredom
To my disconnected ear
When freedom rhymes with seldom
And my roommate's name is fear
When corpses look like girlfriends
And blow kisses to the gloom
When armies of dead postmen
Ring twice and deliver doom…
(well, then what… ?)
The Flat Hands (of fate will hit you in the face when you least expect it)
The Flat Hands (of fate will hit you in the face when you least control it)
The Flat Hands (of fate will hit you in the face and you can't correct it)
The Flat Hands (of fate will hit you in the face when you least deserve it)
(well, then what… ?)
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4. |
The Man in the Grey Suit
03:40
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The Man in the Grey Suit
Pain is the measure
That keeps us growing
Such powerful incentive
To quicken the stride
Pain is the treasure
We're trying to hide
Put it aside
Time is the essence
Forever fleeting
Fake reminiscence
That withers and fades-
And the man in the grey suit is waiting in the corner
If death is a passage
Then what am I paying ?
If death has a message
Do I speak its tongue ?
Did I mock it ?
Am I putting it on ?
And the man with the black tie is standing in the corner, waiting
He has me measured…
He has me cornered…
He has me measured…
He has me cornered…
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5. |
Metaphors
04:29
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Metaphors
Speaking in metaphors
Is something I can do
Describe phantom entities
Utter silence – too
Screaming a melody
Violated sense
Objects of pointless phrase
Betray present tense
Speaking in metaphors
Is something I give in…to
Words---those futile birds
I haven't said a thing…
I haven't said a thing…
I haven't said a thing…
I haven't said a thing…
I haven't said a thing…
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6. |
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If you had done more sports. (Wheelchair Suicide according to Charles Bukowski)
Here I am, sitting in my top-notch, guaranteed-for-life wheelchair, a crouched and pathetic figure on the first floor of my completely Hollywood mansion, staring down the spiral staircase, the stairway to nothingness and oblivion.
Images keep flickering in my head : Gene Tierney throwing herself down the stairs because she didn't want her baby, Richard Widmark pushing the old lady down to her demise in « Kiss of Death ». I remember the old woman having a chair with really big wheels – kinda cool !! And I can still hear Richard's crazed laughter when he dit it, even though I haven't seen the film since 1951. He was a swell guy, Richard ; I met him once, but the sound of his name was a little bit too german for me !
Such great movies ! Come to think of it, my life has never been this dramatic. Quite the opposite, really. The stroke was just bad luck, the doctor had said, and of course, the alcohol and the cigarettes didn't help !
« If you had done more sports … » he had whispered, regretfully, avoiding my eyes.
« Well, then, time for my exercise… », I mutter and unlock the brakes. I roll towards the staircase and try to convince myself that I'm actually gonna do it !
« It's time for my close-up, Mr. De Mille !! », I shout as my wrists tighten desperately around the wheels.
But then, all this seems so ridiculous, pretentious and vain ! Real torture in a wheelchair is not to end it, but to sit it out and wait, wait for Cpt. Death to finally find you, helpless, sweating and full of piss !
I roll back to my bedroom and turn on the TV.
« What was I thinking ? » I mumble, as I pour myself an indecently large glass of scotch. I lean back into my comfy, wheeled prison and grab the remote control :
« Well then, let's find ourselves some sports !...we can do porn later ! »
(and the wheel of fate, turns round and round…
Wheelchair of fate, turns round and round and round…)
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7. |
Myrta
05:26
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Myrta
Myrta.
What did you grasp of this world, with your clenched and tiny fists?
The hands that touched you?
Some peasant cloth?
-and then the fog-
-and then the void?
Myrta, What did you mean to this world?
The hope and despair of a new mouth to feed?
The tears of your mother, (of pain and relief?)
A name in a book-
Misspelled and forgotten, (a stamp and a box, not even a grave)
This sadness
My sadness
Sure belongs to you
These children
Our children
Shall remember you
We're helpless
We're voiceless
But found a way to be
We're weak and
We're orphaned
But our memories are ours
to give
Myrta,
How I understand you
All this numbness and then to die
24 Hours - A day - A life
Oh Myrta, - What did you look like?
Oh Myrta, - What did you look like?
Oh Myrta - Did you look like me?
This sadness
My sadness
Sure belongs to you
These children
Our children
Shall remember you
We're helpless
We're voiceless
But found a way to be
We're weak and
We're orphaned
But our memories are ours to give
Our memories are ours to give
Myrta - Did you look like me?
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8. |
L'Appallissade
03:50
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L'Appallissade
I yearn for you
I'm concerned for you
I burn for you
I turn on you
I crave you near
I slave you, dear
I prey and sneer
I shape your fear (my dear)
I feast my eyes
I suck you dry
The knots are tied
I'll please the bride
I'll please the bride
I crawl for you
I maul for you
I fall for you
Appalled by you –
Appalled by me.
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9. |
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Les Corps Subtils (Coronary Coroner)*
(Is your machine running ?)
Ok. Eh, well, my name is William J. Pratt, and I'm, what you would call a legal examiner for the County of Hillsboro, State of, well, you know where we are…
My job is basically…to examine dead bodies as a physician and to determine the cause of death.
My work is fairly routine, I guess, most of it being cancer, old age and heart attacks. But every once in a while, you stumble upon something that is fairly odd and eh…disconcerting. This is the moment where you would find yourself starting to investigate …to find out whether or not there is a suspicion of a wrongful death. In those cases, you collaborate quite strongly with the Police force, so this is the interesting part of my job, the most difficult and rewarding cases being those involving any sorts of poison and drugs.
Well, you know, I only meet my customers after they're gone, so to speak, so human contact is kind of limited, you know. You have to touch them in the most intimate places, cut them open sometimes and yet, you never meet them. The secrets you discover are mostly the ones they were trying to hide, but you could still only guess what this person was really about, you know…
A fantasy of mine? Ha… Of course, when you're young, you always dream of some sort of miracle, you know, a young person supposed to be dead that you would be able, in the nick of time, to ressuscitate…you see…but once you get older, those fantasies tend to fade. They're just not realistic I guess, and in this work, you become very, eh…very, very realistic.
No, eh..I'd say that my hope would be to find out about the human heart. You know, this is an almost perfect machine, fascinating, very complex, but still working 24 hours a day for numerous decades. So it would be…interesting, you know… to find out what actually makes it stop. Not technically of course, because we know all that, but more…eh.. philosophically speaking. The grief, the loneliness, the lack of hope, the disappointment. What brings it to the point where it becomes too much to bear?
And also, on the other hand, what makes a person so heartless as to kill another human being? What brings on the rage, frustration, hatred to make this happen? And what does this heart, this wonderful machine, feel afterwards…anguish, guilt, fear? Or nothing at all…?
So, these are the questions that go through my head while I look at them, day after day, year after year. I examine them, I try to understand them, I search their souls, and mostly you know, what you find is silence…silence and the screaming void.
But this suits me fine you know. I'm a God-fearing, quiet man, I've got my family and they know almost nothing about what I do, or why I'm doing it. I guess they really prefer not to ask any questions. So I go on with my business, examining people as tactfully as I possibly can; I'm hovering over those bodies, like the vulture, like the gravedigger that I am, wondering if, one day, in any mysterious way, one of them will speak to me… But hey, I figure, as long as they're not talking, at least, they're telling the truth, I guess…
(Well, that's it. I'm done, I reckon'… You can stop that thing now…
You can stop that thing…
You can stop that thing…)
* "Transcript of original sound recording made in February 2008, at Hillsboro Public Library, on a dictaphone. Voice of William J. Pratt used by his kind permission".
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10. |
The Space Between Us
07:05
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The space between us
The space between us
Is getting bigger
The seeds of distance
Are growing tall
The space between us
Will pull the trigger
Shoot its rockets
And make us crawl
Make us crawl
Make us crawl
The space between us
Is just a figure –
- of speech – a notion –
- an ocean –
And we're so small…
We're so small…
Come near me
Come near me
The space between us
The space between us
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Hemlock Smith Lausanne, Switzerland
Hemlock Smith come from Lausanne (Switzerland). Since 2002, they’ve released 7 regular albums with intelligent pop, as well as 2 soundtracks for silent film and 2 collaborations with Noise duo Les Poissons Autistes. Fronted by singer-songwriter Michael Frei, Hemlock Smith's distinctive voice is complemented by a talented band seamlessly blending Pop, Folk, Rock and Trip-Hop Sensibilities ... more
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