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The Wrath of Love

by claudia barton

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1.
Once it starts it never wanes You look up and there it looms A super moon fit to burst A Perigee so full it hurts. The Wrath of Love knows know rational And won’t be held to account The Wrath of love can smote you down Without the slightest qualm Uncanny how a twister starts From nothing in a field of dust The emptiness at it’s mercy Just exacerbates its voracity The Wrath of Love knows know rational And won’t be held to account The Wrath of love can smote you down Without the slightest qualm The wrath of love won’t leave you be Like molten lava steadily spreading down to man and beast to eat the trees and scorch the sea Like you scorched me Like you scorched me Like you scorched me
2.
A Cup 02:13
A Cup Give me a cup to drink from Make it gold or carved in wood Before my time’s been poured away And drained of it’s blood Give me a vessel to drink withal Make it crystal or cast in silver So I can taste the liquor slipping past my fingers Give me a cup to drink from Be it bone or an empty horn Droplets will not quench a thirst I must gulp it down And when I’m well and truly done No longer tired and brittle I’ll stretch my bow of yew And shoot those arrows tipped with bone And plant them where they’ll grow Shoots form which we’ll whittle New arrows from
3.
DO YOU WANT WAR? you want war or adventure advance further the front line is here between my mouth and everything south has already fallen so easily taken couldn’t wait any longer to be conquered you want war you want reform stand up tall and perform brace yourself for full frontal furore the bodily combat manoeuvres that i have in store is what your trainings for never before have i been called to take up arms there’s been no cause but i find your charms irresistible and though i can’t defend myself i too want war you want war and victory don’t be torn over her or me we’re in the realm where everything’s fair you may have it all when its love and war it’s in the treaty though it’s not pretty never before have i been called to take up arms there’s been no cause but i find your charms irresistible and though i can’t defend myself i too want war after the war your heart will sing looking forward to your home coming you in your uniform and i with my head shorn i’ll where your flag proudly when you planted it in me and when we’re parted i’ll treasure the spoils of war
4.
Into Oblivion Lover when we’re through I’ll cherish you Sunk in my heart Deep in the pit With you’re own memory groove. What you want from me precisely You don’t even know Well let me show you Let the ladder down and you’ll see Surrender my paradigm unmeasured Remember a lifetime punctured with pleasure Come nearer to the swell of delirium Your fears will be propelled into oblivion. Tell them your are caught your hands are tied There is no need to be so afraid The essence of you will satisfy And when you are released I’ll leave no trace Know one will know You’re free to go and ponder on the after taste.
5.
Be Unmine 04:12
Be Unmine I’m going to have to exclude you from my dreams I’m going to have to banish you from my thoughts Scrape your eyes from the wall of my mind Delete your words, the timbre of your voice Dissolve your image Dismantle the pictures Put a flame to your homage Disconnect all triggers Be gone, be gone, be gone Paradigm be unmine, be gone Be gone, be gone, be gone Paradigm be unmine, be gone I can’t see the wood, or the trees I can’t see the leaves, just a pattern of you Be gone be gone be gone be gone Paradigm be unmine be gone You’re going to have to Forget all contours Untie the feeling of their hands in yours From now on you’ll have to wear gloves You have to live and forget about love. Be gone be gone be gone….
6.
Mast The 02:57
7.
Civvy Street 09:25
CIVVY STREET there’s nothing like your last cigarette or at least the idea of it so you reach for the packet again and again the heavy chain of Civilian days some contextual blindness might compensate for post traumatic stress poor baby how do you dress on Civvy street? i’d like to say you’ll be alright i’ll pick out the shrapnel from your mind with my eyes if i could hold you tight i’d draw out your plutonium tipped thoughts with my lips maybe you’ll be alright you might beat that dopamine habit you might find a flame or another way to fix the lights on Civvy street
8.
The Norm 06:44
The Norm Pete who lives in the middle of the street, when his wife is away on business, Will try on a few of her dresses, just to separate himself from the grubby banality of what he deems his man's work, at the office. The items he chooses are colourful, floaty, impractical, unfathomable and ultimately point to the divine. Next to him is Nathan who regularly changes partners, He is somewhat a collector Regards himself a connoisseur. Keeps a spreadsheet in his head With a checklist and rota Nathan likes to do it upright, Near a large mirror. So they usually end up in the bathroom With the slight mediterranean drain odour Lights bright like a film shoot. For him it needs to look like porn. Thats when his pleasure mushrooms Sending him plunging towards the unknown Trembling and sliding on the tiled floor. Next door along are the newlyweds. She pretends that she young again and he is an uncle or teacher She goes back to an obscure place from her childhood Never fighting her abuser She lies back all passive Eyes big like Bambi While he breaks his way into her. He has his own delivery narrative: She's a prostitute doing it for free She's a nun whose had to give up the habit She's a celebrated news reader And he's the old irresistible dispatch rider. Somehow their avatars collide Meeting at the threshold Tumbling as one to the other side. Stacy who lives at number three Is kind of an authority And full of helpful facts, She writes about it in magazine's But can't actually bring herself to go through with the act. The children who live at number one Have shown their bums to one another And some other young neighbours last summer The littlest can hardly recall it. If the oldest one does she won't say. But for the middle one it was a pivotal moment She remembers it like yesterday. There is the nice looking boy at number seven. well he's not really a boy any more, thats the thing He's still idolising the same ill-suited person He's started rearranging the covertures of his bed And any amenable soft furnishings Into the undulating form of the aforesaid. Then is forced to take advantage of them. His younger brother Simeon Has a thing for older women. He involuntarily raises an eyebrow At wizening birds of a certain countenance. Its not just their wealth of experience. He thinks it's about breaking down boundaries And the authenticity of the action With his girlfriend it feels like role-play. He put an ad with an agency "Puppy seeks mature bitch for suckling and ball games" Sort of witty and not too dirty. He liked the transmogrification Into another species Plus it added to his anonymity. At number 8 theres Tony Who hasn't had it for decades. When it comes on the Telly He switches it off. But if he sees a pretty girl in a shop He'll wink And instinctively want to doff his cap Imagining she can see the young man she's made him feel With the wavy hair and chizzled mandible. Sometimes his mind wanders back alone To those first encounters with his wife The eiderdown quality Of the skin covering her bones Then he might shuffle further into history To those boys he was so fond of And the mutual fondling. When he was in the armed forces. At number nine theres Yasmina Who fancies lots of guys Are her secret admirers But she's in a already in a cosy relationship with Phillippa They've slept side by side for years Slipping hands up jumpers And down trousers. Travelling to sub tropical climbs natural wells, hot springs, Places of respite and rejuvenation Taking tours around their hallowed grounds They are each others holiday camp haven. A harmonious rendition of "Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow" Resounds through the walls. While this goes on indoors Outside stuck on lampposts are stickers for swingers meets Which everyone ignores. Its not for them, not at all And neither are the onezie nights at Clambers Or the new naked lazer quest evening Or the pole dancing classes Advertised discreetly in neon At the lap club that popped up on the next street. Or the tea dances for the over eighties up at the hall Or the David Essex concert next week.

about

The 1860’s Broadwood boudoir piano stood in the middle of the shop piled high with Jacquard trim and military ribbon. It had been tuned as far as it could be to a pitch and a half below concert pitch frequency, which was fine with me, we could sing out of tune together. The challenge was to record an album of sonic haberdashery in five days with the old piano as lovely assistant. I knew we would be leaving soon and losing the piano, the rare opportunity of a few days alone compelled me to make this recording.

The piano lent itself to the torch song metier like an expert. If a key felt loose and clanged brightly, it was soon submerged in the spectra of 160 year old harmonics. You can hear it was sometimes slow to respond, we had so much in common. On the third day of recording there was mutiny, some keys were tired and refused to play unless hammered, so I tied up the strings with metallic chord, buckles and military ribbons, and made a prepared piano of haberdashery.

The material is partly new, partly old, partly blue, partly borrowed, out of date as a sixpence, but mine, and songs my hands remembered. The Wrath of Love featured in a Cloudier Skies album, Mast The was once a ballad released as Mastering the Mystery, Into Oblivion was written for a Curious Performance and A Cup was a ditty written for Andrew Kötting’s film EDITH WALKS. The other songs Do You Want War?, Civvy Street, Be Unmine and The Norm, are loners, songs found in my pocket.

When finished I took the dark material to Harvey who forensically examined the recordings like an astronomer combing the skies for intelligent life. Yes, the recording technique was basic, an SM57, SM58 and a telephone, but his alchemy has brought the seedling recordings into the light.

It was always going to be weird, a sentimental fool, an album of banished melodies and pathetic fallacy. The best bits by far are the climactic pauses.

It has taken three years to want to release this on the net, but if you rummage through it I hope you’ll find something you like.

released December 1, 2020

credits

released December 1, 2020

Gratitudes to Leslie Hill and Helen Paris, for the sparkly stuff, to Andrew Kötting for being so gentle with the brutal truth, Ian Williams for his enduring influence, Oliver Cherer for all the lifts, mechanical and metaphysical, and Dorothy Barton, whose is present in all the nooks and crannies of this record. Big thank you to Robert Blandford and his camera for finding the images inside and under the piano.. Thank you to the good alchemist Harvey Summers. Special thanks also to the Guardians of Happenstance, and thank you to Mr Hirst, for all the romantic gestures.

All songs written, recorded and performed by Claudia Barton.

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