great track... really cool sound selection!

This is simply amazing, an incredible sound taking us on this sonic sound canvas.....Bravo Peter and Feddo.

Really nice dub trip. Bravo, guys! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Like pulsing waves building up energy for the big crash. :)

I like the dub stutter on those drums. Dreamy soundscape, Peter. :)

gorgeous synths and chords!! ... greta work peter!!!

faraway monster

It's Thelonious-Panarlberg-Guybrush-Threepwood-Monkday! Commander Fullyard and myself had been snacking on this one since April 2021. More than happy that we finally got our baby born! While mighty Fullyard has done all the freaking magic he is famous for, my contribution was mainly about nonsense ideas such as playing the Theremin and sampling blowing-over-beerbottle sounds. Thank you a million times Stefan for this adventure, your stamina and all the wolves! The result is far beyond expectation; retrospectively it was clear however that things would be damn cool --- synchronized hairstyles obviously go hand in hand with synchronized vibes.

https://soundcloud.com/steve-fullyard
https://soundcloud.com/steve-fullyard/round-midnight

'Round Midnight with Fullyard

Coup Fatale (Belial & Libby)

Coup Fatale (Belial Pelegrim & Libby Laksmi)

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Upper Rooms - Vampirliebe

Blueprint for track that became 'Sandycove Milk'.

Inspired by wondrous music by Conin, whose track 'Kitty's Wake' reminded of the rich clay of Joyce's 'Finnegan's Wake'. This track, about the opening pages of Joyce's Ulysses, borrows coffee spoons, forever those of T.S. Eliot, in an effort to add sweet milk...drawn from the milk-well of honeyed Sandycove.  The lyric speaker is, notionally, Stephen Daedalus. For practical purposes, the lyric speaker is James Joyce himself. His aim? To hit Haines for a guinea [a pre-decimal unit of currency] before heading to France on a ferry. Whilst Haines still feels guilty (sheepish) about having fired his pistol at an imaginary cat he thought he saw in the fireplace in the Martello tower in Sandycove (now the Joyce Museum....a sacred...magical place, whose attendant Joyce scholars told me about the Haines' imaginary cat episode....it is all true...yet also dovetails eerily with the first chapter of Ulysses).

The reference to Haines having consumed Absinthe is a narrative fiction, invented to offer an explanation for his dangerous behaviour. No peer reviewed evidence capable of demonstrating Absinthe has hallucinogenic properties, exists, to my knowledge.


Lyrics

[chorus]
Gotta learn me some Italian
Gonna get me a guitar
Gotta learn me some Italian
Gonna get me a guitar

Hellenise me now
She come and go
talking bout Michelangelo
there will be time
there will be time

do I dare to eat a quiche?
I shall wear enchanted trousers
and float upon the beach

I’m still dreamin
something happened last night

Haines downed a snot-green bottle of Absinthe
started shooting at his Schrödinger's cat
in the fireplace
looks real sheepish this morning
gonna hit him for a guinea [a pre-decimal unit of currency]
and get outta here
gliding on the Emerald sea
to Paris
with Haines’ guinea in my pocket
when I’m at sea

gonna go uptown now
hitting the top deck of this here Martello
gonna watch the mailboat
glide on an Emerald sea
gonna rest my shiny elbows
on the jagged granite
just leavin the harbour

and here comes stately Buck
bearing a bowl of lather
crossed razor and mirror as well
holding the bowl aloft
and intoning...intonin

Introibo ad altare Dei
sacred chalice
sacred cross
and now I’m lookin at the sea
Thallata...sweet mother
Hellenise me
mailboat clearin the harbour
rage of Caliban inside me
cos of Haines....[firing a gun inside the Martello tower when drunk the night before, at a giant cat he imagined was sitting near the fireplace]
sweet Thallata
buttercups on the quilt
powdered musk and gauds of amber beads
calm now like the sea
there will be time
there will be time

Martello

Foratroca

All music by Peter Hofland
Artwork: Marco Tagliarino

Bended

ATHUL

I keep learning and experimenting with music. Sometimes I start with an idea, other times I'm just trying and see what happens. This time, I came up with a little experiment — you send me something (a pic, a story, a thought, anything with a mood), and if I catch the vibe and the stars align, I make music about it. That's how this track came about. And maybe more will come this way.

matcha sunday

Written by Terry Reeves, 1981
Recorded in a dusty attic, Wallington, Surrey, 1983
Terry Reeves: Vocals/ Guitar 
Brian Reeves: Guitar
John Palmer: Bass
Gary Reeves: Drums

Back in 1981, there was a major news item on the front of the tabloids involving two young teenagers who had committed suicide in a car. They left a note saying that there was no point in carrying on living as they had no job and no money. Unemployment was the highest it had ever been at that time, so it made the headlines. This song was my comment. There was nothing great about the Thatcher government and yes, I was there. (Terry Reeves)

LYRICS

Work hard at school and you will succeed
Get the pieces of paper that you need
You will get there if you are the best
But what happens to us, all the rest

CHORUS
NO JOB, NO MONEY, NO LIFE, NO POINT
NO JOB, NO MONEY, NO LIFE, NO POINT

Discipline will curb your greed
Much more training's what you need
It's better now than it's ever been
Hard times like these we have never seen

CHORUS X 2

Lets tell the truth and not live a lie
No piece for us of that money pie
The youth are the future that's what we're told
But what will they tell us when we're too old

CHORUS X 2

So what's the point in carrying on
Growing up is just one big con
Haven't listened to a word that's said
Perhaps you'll listen when I'm dead

NO JOB, NO MONEY, NO LIFE, NO POINT
NO JOB, NO MONEY, NO LIFE, NO POINT

Final Choice - Root Division (1983)

ATRIUM .

Bass player and keyboard crack having fun exploring a blend of improvisation, styles, minimal composing and maximal production.

Bended

Big Beech

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