Music composed in 2018 by Rene Puschinger.

Clear Water Lake

WAVES

Track #1 from the Brahms’ 3rd Racket EP, "Age of Correction"

Age of Correction

Smokey

Ecliptic Lie -  Ahasuerus/NewPrimitive

A collaboration existing of singer-songwriter 'Ahasuerus' backed up by the 'NewPrimitive' sound.

Existing Material.
https://soundcloud.com/user-146470540      - Ahasuerusett  
https://soundcloud.com/user-944548283      - AhasuerusSefr
https://soundcloud.com/mordecai-jande-banda - Ahasuerus
=============================================
OctaveBelowRecords;
https://octavebelowrecords.bandcamp.com/track/ecliptic-lie
https://www.instagram.com/octavebelowrecords/
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCWL-vXptJuayYVyKWWECY0A
=============================================
-lyrics - Ahasuerus

Write it off
Cut the cost
Let it lie

Forget that I said it
I forgot what you did
But I lied

And I'm dedicated
to being a hypocrite
A quite committed misanthropic idiot
Fool
Run away before the fangs they bite
I've been a better man
but not tonight
just no

I'm elated
And quite sated
So I'll lie

It only meant nothing
don't let it mean something
that was a lie

And I'm dedicated
to being a hypocrite
A quite committed misanthropic idiot
Fool
Run away before the fangs they bite
I've been a better man
but not tonight
just no

Ecliptic Lie

Bandcamp

Ecliptic Lie - Ahasuerus

June ( The Halfway Month )

Hold On

Thank you to my friend and brother🙏Robert Grigg

https://soundcloud.com/robert-grigg

Cradle To The Grave

Ain't No Fear

Saw the weakness of my generation. 
All enjoying a bottle or two.
And who quickly progressed from those dancing young nights and then searched till their minds were shot through.
Who are sad that they're still by the ocean? But why would that be? 
Who's castles of sand crumbled right in their hands as they entered into their thirties?
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
Pitied the best minds of his generation.
And watched as they struggled to breathe.
Who has seen them descend into madness?
Stressed out from the ordinary.
Who is glad that he lives by the ocean?
Why wouldn't he be?
Who with just a bit more education. 
Could of turned into a somebody.
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
Your heads gone to pieces.
Give yourself a break and make a new start.
Who is sat with little miss Moffat.
Glugging down all her peaches and cream.
Who is moving on to bottles of vodka?
To get to that place more quickly. 
Who feels sad as she looks at the ocean?
And why would that be?
Who has wasted the rest and is failing the test?
Passing out never falling to sleep 
Oh, these are your days and this is your life.
So don't worry too much.
Never stood a chance right from the start.
Cos nobody told yas.
Starting drinking at Twelve. 
What did you expect?
Your heads gone to peices.
Give yourself a break and make a new start.
Before you start fading away.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake light tragedy among the scholars of war
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley death or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares alcohol and cock and endless balls
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement.


Madness, Starving, Hysterical, Naked.

Howl At Nowt

The Fear

Covered up 
Deeper cuts
Rips and tears in skin 
Become more 
Over time
(And) Over time more within
 
No matter what the way
All lives here decay
No matter words we say
Memories erase

Go on and gnaw
Get deeper til  teeth hit bone 

What may exist without being known
It makes the fear creep in and spread slow
For what is here now in plain sight
Focus remaining life on borrowed time

In time there heals despair 
Eyes on lines of sight
Ones that make you feel there
But never here and never right 

Bring forth the will to see
Through eyes that feel detached
All out of hope to be
Patina coated black

What may exist without being known
It makes the fear creep in and spread slow
For what is here now in plain sight
Focus remaining life on borrowed time

Bones that ache make me bend my knee
Best to not kneel there anymore
There’s quiet in the space between
There’s no more fighting with a broken sword

Now you can see
Maybe enough to breathe

The Fear (lyrics in description)

David J. Kemper is a composer & producer from Chicago, Illinois, city of big shoulders, (former) hog butcher to the world, and home of Nelson Algren, Carl Sandburg, John Dillinger and Al Capone.  It has been speculated (by Mr. Kemper) that the gritty, rough and tumble energy of the streets from whence he hails has given extra bite and backbone to the sounds that he comes up with.  It is a theory, anyway.  Don’t think.  Just listen.  

The music featured here is but a modest selection from the ever-growing DJK repertoire, solo releases (Wet Work), as well as his "other" band/project/whatever, Brahms' 3rd Racket.