The And

by Angil and the Hiddentracks

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1.
03:35
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2.
05:43
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3.
05:22
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4.
02:27
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5.
03:39
info
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6.
05:40
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7.
04:57
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credits

released 01 January 2010

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tags: angil asleep breut delgados hiddentracks howard other pollock pop putnam rock sadier stereolab

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Track Name: Kira#2
KIRA #2

You do not get men on waves like the back of your lover’s hand. Lift it gently when he’s deeply sleeping. Resume again but you still don’t understand. Start from scratch and get a fuzzy feeling you know nothing.

Did you?
You did

You never catch your own nickname, the one he gives you while you’re away olate again or already dreaming. And now you’re unlikely to comprehend. This time the wall is on the writing – you know nothing.
Track Name: Unbroken hearts
Unbroken hearts

Unbroken hearts are rife. One of the things that I pretend.
I’m fudging with my life, fooling myself in the end.
I’ll leave all this behind, come to the new me.

I can’t remember us though I still can hum the song.
There’s not much I can trust, my memories are mostly wrong.
I’ve left all this behind and built new ones already.

I blow the acid test everytime you come around.
Have I not tried my best to keep your beauty down,
to leave your face behind, and read another story?

I dally with the thought of being together again.
Laughing at how we fought war stories in the sand.
We’d leave them all behind, burried with the worries.

Unbroken hearts are rife. One of the things that I pretend.
Track Name: Sail home
Sail home

“We’ll sail home by moonlight, another honeymoon.” (F.W. Murnau)
The fabric will come loose and sever from the loom.
The aching, the thrilling, I’m sure will be gone soon. We’ll head home.

Your phone’s on in your dress; my number’s the top one. It dials as you walk; I answer and listen to the world from your pocket until your credit’s gone. Come back home.

I guess there is someone, I guess you’re with him now. I don’t blame him for making weapons; I blame him cos he digs art. Well I dig dignity; though I’m digging my own.

The nosebleeds, the sick days, the memories, us fighting. It’s a big house; it’s our house. Our fences. It’s burning.

The couples on small boats all waving and shouting. Here’s Ringo; here’s Captain; and the band’s still playing. We can’t hear their music; it’s the waves, it’s the wind. It’s an old film

“We’ll sail home by moonlight, another honeymoon.”
We’ll head home.
Track Name: Jackson Jr Redding
Jackson Jr. Redding

You've got to live up to what you want.
You've got to stand up to what you don't.
I knew I'd end up singing a song that goes, you've got to live up to what you want.

I'm not listening to you, I'm not seeing you, I just pretend to. There are parallel words, much going on beyond the persona. If I wasn't in here would I be there? Or am I bound to
10% here, 10% there, and 80% true?

You've got to live up to what you want.
You've got to live up to what you want.
I know when I'm old I'll sing along the song, You've got to live up to what you want.

Kamal is inspiring, Yoni is stimulating, Otis is Redding, and Jackson Jr. is one of the best artists of his time precisely because he sings You've got to live up to what you want.
Track Name: Lipograms
Lipograms


How does it feel like to be yelled at in Romanian for 2/3/12 hours
at the 12-hour Romanian-yelling Festival?

I find this limit, this kind mind, this I-blind spirit.
I will drink high-fi liquids in right-wing bikinis. I find it striking – isn’t it?

Remember September eleven. Remember September eleven. This is not a song about politics.
It’s just a fucking lipogram.

With all of you, with all of you x2. This is not a song about sex. It’s just the shorter phrase I could find that employs all vowels. Except for the one you ignored once before.

Not slow, no solo on Mojo’s top mottos.
Robot’s blood, so-so, don’t know, no no.

Fuck Us. Why Ys?
Alaxas and Sabras
Track Name: In the attic
In the attic
I know the weather looks dicey. I don't mind. I'll trek all across the country and travel light. My car and i won't break down or quit. A wavy line on a notebook. A golden one.

"Leaving is such a cinch"
I sense this itch to travel sometimes

No word was ever misspelled. So much for signs. The stakes are too high in being what I am. It's driven a wedge between me and my self. The essence of nice music and knots. Man is wallowing in his need for power. A betrayer of his people. Who cares?
My song itself has a nice design, don't you think?

Any grievance?
I'll be in the attic.