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about

We expected this album to take less time than HA HA TAPE 1, because more than one person at a time were working on their tracks at any given time, but we managed to break the first album's record time. The next should be here much sooner (December 2013; wait, that's now).
A number of ideas were used to inspire the tracks from the start, including picking random subjects on Wikipedia for imaginary track titles & artists (a kind of role-playing, I suppose) as well as making use of a website which supplied random samplings from the Oblique Strategies set of playing cards devised by Peter Schmidt & Brian Eno.

This album is dedicated to our friend, rudi.

credits

released November 24, 2013

thanks to ziggy for the artwork
mastered by NoSleep

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the cookdandbombd collective UK

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Track Name: Beagle 2 - You'll Never Listen 'til Your Life is Peachy
What kind of friends did you keep for yourself?
Who helps you out now they’re testing your health?
Now there’s a warning I’ll probably forget,
When I’m alone racking up my regrets,
You show me pictures of silver and how,
That seems a lifetime away from you now,
That’s why we filter the light where we go,
That’s why we censor, the more that we know

Why aren't you living for the images of rose beds?
Instead of listening to the rhythms of the brain-dead
How can you stand to spend any of the twilight
Feeling stupid when you know at least you’re half-right?
So we drink for some driftwood we can cling to
Only then do the rhythms seem to shoot through
We can talk, and it seems to matter more, but
That’s a lie, and the same old words are slurred up

You’ll never listen ‘til your life is peachy
As time goes by I realise my eyes want nothing more to do
Than look at you, and in-between I stare into the blue
We've had our knocks on jagged rocks, but in-between we patched things up
And seen them off, and most of us would settle for that too
Gone blind from pining, and you don’t want any more advice from me
And that’s the thing: you’ll never listen ‘til your life is peachy
Well look at him, the man you’ll be some day, try to stimulate your tiny brain
‘Cause all the signs are that it’s never easy

Confessions at midnight are met with blank looks I’m afraid
That’s why we filter the light where we go,
That’s why we censor, the more that we know

Why aren’t you living for the images of rose beds?
Instead of listening to the rhythms of the brain-dead
How can you stand to spend any of the twilight
Feeling stupid when you know at least you’re half-right
So we drink for some driftwood we can cling to
Only then do the rhythms seem to shoot through
We can talk, and it seems to matter more, but
That’s a lie, and the same old words are slurred up