Coin

by New War

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    12" vinyl in deluxe gold foil printed cover.
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1.
GET IN THE BOOT Yeh C’mon get in the boot, we’re gonna take a ride around Tableheads slide down sceptres & their necks slump to the ground Who says there will be pie, snail brioche & caviar Voltron with Julie & blast the static through the sound O Yeh - C-C-C’mon Didja think query Garbo why looks ain’t frankincense & myrhh Why ruby kicks ain’t amethyst & a gurgle ain’t a purr I guess it no occur, silent silence hard to hear If shoes too small what cannot fit well cannot fear Oh Bleh - C-C-C’mon Well I’m a funky autonaut, I rock you through the cosmoroute All hail Guerrillas up in the mist to strike the root Gotta get a hackle up, pull a Punch n’ Judy show Drop the bomb like Ravachol & getaway slick like Bonnot Oh yeh - C-C-C’mon
2.
BLUEBEARD FLA -(GGZ) Hey now man Pull Up Lemme see yr ID Right Now Gave me a reason To Cruise Lemme see yr hand Held High Hey now kid Be Still Gimme a skittle Purple Gave me a Reason I guess Bow before the throne Glory Now you know who’s the boss Hey now baby G’goo Lemme see yr rattle Fat cheeks Gave me a reason Supreme Go on kiss the Ring Blue death Now you know who’s a god
3.
BANANA SPLIT WOLVES Well oh my god, what the fuck What pricks won’t do for a buck A shaft again, what shit luck Eyes glued to screen while the truck backed up Best china’s gone, the doilies too Fine Persian rugs pulled from under you It’s alright, a wish come true Wanted one cookie & you well got two So go on dip ‘em in that curdled cream again Skimmed the best & brightest of yr friends Guess we shoulda seen that chestnut descend How ‘bout a bow for all the cracked eggs & hens Oh those gods, what tired ruck Mass won’t sit tight, they weave & cluck I guess it’s grasped, guess too uncool Who knew these ears sprouted wool Spitting dust & Belgian rubber Mothbit silk & rotting butter It’s ok, no one really cares Lost shirts for Chanel underwear Here froths the forged dream again Making kicks for all yr pickled friends Guess we shoulda seen that echelon descend Banana Split Wolves & sugared monocle lens O dear god, the doc’s a duck A bill so vast, macro dumbstruck No one can pay, the ink’s leaked through Standard & Poor’s the motto too Everyone bond, we’re rated junk Vultures spit-swap that carrion funk We’re marked D & I love you Two big dummies lost all we knew So here reign the Truncates again Bludgeoning all those loose threads to mend I guess we shoulda seen the scalpel descend Snipping the net we’re too chilled to defend
4.
The Wig 03:51
THE WIG So game the powder & the wig Bailiff’s trot & Judge’s jig Gavel & its own sake - bang rot Now bowlegs struts on down the street & with every head he meets Show the hand of a true God-law laid down Hey hey hey - ah-ooooo Un- or conscious, no one cares The means are perfectly barbed snares To hunt endgame & bone-pudding results the Spectacle’s metastasised Its gaze quick-tumours over eyes Trickled wealth & a full mouth of indenture Hey hey hey - ah-ooooo Yeah here comes the precipice Denial & jokes flow as promised Grab a lungful, have a scoff, the descent’s long Suck the marrow - cake the corpse Slice the breast & pop the corks Ridicule & isolate, job well done Hey hey hey - ah-ooooo It’s so hard - to buy it back You want the world - the world’s cracked & now you’ll never - get yr money back Oh no you’ll never get yr money back Woo-ooo
5.
IT’S REAL WIDE Did I for one squint recognise The bastard coin that split my spirit clean Where Frensham & Longmuir jut Utes flame up & Necked Chook spits my name Liked Tehran cranes’ gut-dust sucked dry Swinging feet refrain away from claiming: It’s a real wide world & I feel stretched wide in the real wide world The scent of violence rubs oil through the air The Lynx Boyz on the trains make perfume in the Glare I heave in the Dank Cloud, it rends my body low Descending from the Cut, where Mole Calls flint & glow It’s a real wide world & I feel so dumb in the real wide world Messenger on the make, now why’s that movement grass Messenger on the take & now not even That I hang quite like a chad, Scalia from my eyes Jackie O mitts on my skull with my pupils on the prize It’s a real wide world Now c’mon honey - you know the world’s so wide If the world’s so wide, then there’s space to fall If there’s space to fall, then there’s ground to land If you land on ground, then there’s ground to claim If you stake that claim, then the ground gives way If the ground gives way, then things get weird If things get weird, then the world gets wide It’s a real wide world And feeling isn’t helping is it now
6.
THE WORK SONG Well I sang the 20th century - it did not serve me well Still stood behind a counter - embarrassed books for sale I’ll forgive you my opinions - they have not done much good My deed leaves dry desire, damp calls & unburnt wood You don’t have to answer me, I know what silence means A hole half full of truths unsaid, a spoiled future’s dreams I walk to work on Tuesdays, six questions in my head Now six & one forgotten, eight & half hours end Consensus is forever false & cloaks an interest bald Beta-body intentioned & earmarked for a Wald You don’t have to answer me, I know what silence means A whole half full of joys unsaid, a past splitting its seams There’s cold damp ground wet with the stick of birth & shattered time Of amniotic fever rush, cells bursting from their brine I cry out for my father, through static on the line I cry out for beloved sons, held fast by arms entwined Oblivion is easy & easier is blame & easier to rise than bread is hate’s head rubbed in shame
7.
THE PYRE SONG I’d been dying - my whole life With a Thrall wig - welded tight I’d been hanging on two hooks marked alpha/beta fool I’d been swinging on a stick, scratched ‘to be cruel’ & ‘who do you think you are’ Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Gonna crucify you before the sun comes up Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Rising from the pyre, brush the ashes off Somehow I’d felt bad before Sat outside the two-faced door A bridesmaid bored shitless & more With no coin to nudge Chauron’s oar (says) ‘who do you think you are’ Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Gonna crucify you before the sun comes up Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Rising from the pyre, brush the ashes off Now I’ve been alive since break of day My will runs strong on Diamond Quay With each silver hour stacked In a golden cord cinched tight All the oil of the world Spat back in bedrock bright (with) ‘who do you think you are’ Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Gonna crucify you before the sun comes up Now it’s one in the morning & my time is come Rising from the pyre, brush the ashes off
8.
9.
THE BREADLINE SONG Who don’t even care what the wise man said Buckets on the door jambs, piss streaks down the spread Comedy’s in headlights, then deer heads Laugh right off the bluff, stick the organs in the shed Here comes the deadline, deadline, son Here comes the breadline song So fall away boys, take it away boys So fall away boys, heave away boys Now I wanna tell you ‘bout a mensch Frenzied for feeling Frenzied for spirit Frenzied for meaning Holds its hand in claw, right side winched tight Eyes wild & split, vision seeping white Reaches out for the floor, where life unfurls its wings & falls through the flaps, with the wind whistling Here comes the Breadline Song & now It’s canonised: the moment you dobbed in Y’lick the reward, as it becomes heaven In the phantom crap, each drawer is true The Wardrobe revealed as a trap door through Dante’s leaking pen, ticking what to sell Tired Manuscripts, where all must knell Here comes the Breadline Song Now you know goddamn well For whom bells toll bright For whom peals send mad For whom cliches midnight In the hour of need, fathomless sacks lined In the screeching lede, plot’s whisked from sight Moral’s buried now, never again to rise Blighted yeast specks lord over pigeon fights Here comes the Breadline Song

about

You won’t hear many modern groups that match NEW WAR’s Kitchen Sink rage, Vorticist sneer & Delphian vision. Imagine an American gasping for life with three Australians pushing their instruments within an inch of theirs. All stood on the edge of a crag, finishing each other’s jokes as they start to slip.

Picture a fever blur of Rhythm & Detonation (R & D), open-
bordered punk, fevered and lurching dub, pop as sharp as
Northern 80/90s & as loose as Hansa-era Iggy. They’ve been
described by The Music as like ‘the Birthday Party in the 25th
century’ & by Tiny Mix Tapes as ‘Lynchian mysticism...
burning in This Heat’s tape machine’ but as Crawlspace wrote
‘comparisons only tell a partial story... NEW WAR have a
talent for cohesive transformation, for repurposing the past for
the now... They know what they want to do.’ So you won’t
hear some sort of wet genre pastiche, the blood in this group
is their own & it pumps ferociously.

credits

released September 21, 2018

by NEW WAR:
Melissa Lock - Bass
Steve Masterson - Drums & Drum Machine
Jesse Shepherd - Keyboards, Piano & Synthesiser Chris P - Vocals
Recorded & Mixed by Lachlan Wooden (Total Control Henge Beat, Eddy Current Suppression Ring Primary Colours) at Sing Sing Studios, Melbourne (Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds Murder Ballads & Nocturama; Go-Betweens Bright Yellow, Bright Orange). Mastered by Simon Polinski (The Church, Anita Carter, Yma Sumac, the Triffids)
Artwork by Luke Fraser/Ahr+

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it records Melbourne, Australia

Underground music out of Melbourne, Australia

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