The Dust Lounge Recording Company

pre-recording

sidewalks resemble the aftermath

of a cluster bomb attack

there’s a heat on the street,

Burger King, White Castle

the stench of cheap meat,

subterrain men and woman

performing their everyday rituals

leave no trace of their whereabouts 

as they traverse in-between 

the less than exuberant ‘down n outs’,

they’re all daytime spectres and they’ve 

clearly mastered their maneuverers,

local junkies gloat about the price of dope,

“don’t stray too far from the dust lounge”, 

in this neighbourhood, or there abouts

a true Englishman is rarely seen,

you want a day trip?

avoid all transport to Cabrini-Green,

jetlag drags, I’m told I’ve got to walk with 

a local swagger, I’m so tired and wired

my stride turns to a stagger,

Miller light isn’t going to prop me up

I need something harder,

the people that fall in and out 

of my life will never comprehend 

just how long it took to get here,

it isn’t some ‘cheap day return’

or an excuse to crack open a beer 

and talk about shit we have no 

intention of following through with,

that’s not me, it never was   

 

it was the summer of 98

we were writing these little songs

they sounded large in our heads,

some play at it, others insist they 

were moments away from “making it”

“yup whatever mate” I’ve heard it 

all before, what we produced

wasn’t some six form college shit

we lived it, 26 years later the size 

of the music sounded greater,

it needed to be left to die to 

gain a true perspective,

it feels pointless to resurrect it,

I’m not going to lie, I feel dejected

wasted and infected with 

“what could’ve been”,

in those days I was young enough 

to flee responsibility, but I knew 

it would eventually creep up on me

 

exiting the studio 

we inconspicuously eyed up the mix of

eating establishments on the other side

of North Milwaukee Avenue, 

“we’re in the big leagues now brother

it’s the perfect chance to make up your mind

about what you don’t want to be doing with your life”

I knew I was experiencing a short-lived slice

of everything I’d ever wished for, 

glancing directly opposite

words sprawled across a dirty glass door 

“Mexican Food Served All Day”

less talk, we’re going to have to jaywalk,

the door let out a creak of authenticity,

upon entering all eyes locked on me,

the woman behind the counter 

was smoking a cigarette

all the way down to the filter,

they’re serving traditional Burritos

the type you see in the movies,

tap water was served in 

‘sewage green’ glasses, 

the pastel colours emanating 

from the viscous looking sauces

suggested to me they were packing 

serious heat ……. fuck it! let’s eat,

with some ‘slight of hand’ trickery  

the ‘belly-timber’ was handed to me, 

let’s break this thing open causally 

and then we’ll gorge on it later

 

hired drums just aren’t the same 

we are the infinite keepers of time,

conveyers of the primal heartbeat,

drums administer a complex communication

that connects people across nations,

some players just go through the motions,

not me, I excise my emotions, 

I have to go to hell and back

before I can walk away 

from a drum track,

hired drums, are like ‘hired guns’

soulless, favourless, 

contaminated

with indifference,

I found myself having to beat them

into obedience, I can’t explain

the beautiful violence 

I feel deep within my heart, 

when the song starts,

it lights me up like a Ferris wheel 

it’s through this I heal

and travel without leaving 

my drum stool

 

Pre Tour

exiting the studio at midnight

the heat hits my face,

30 degrees and rising

I can taste the neighbourhoods 

distinct flavour, it’s a mix of

body odour and cheap 

Dunkin Donuts coffee,

let’s antagonize the night

screw public transport 

we’ll hitchhike, 

“Thumb to the wind”

we need to find a substantial 

drinking establishment serving

more than Samual Adams,

the distant lights 

from Wicker Park shine

on the skyline, a pick up truck 

stops just in time,

we hop in the back

“We’re not in Soho any more Dorothy

we’re hitting the road and it ain’t yellow”

I’ve found my home 

in the folds of the unknown

I only need the road,

and the music we make, 

there’s a lifetime told 

for all to read in the 

stories I’m yet to bleed,

they’ll pour out of me 

before my time is done

To Be Continued …….