Keep improviste. You doing it verry weel. Dont give up.

trembling music, like a old documentary, poetry and imagination

enamored of the sonic chemistry and lo-fi nearness.

Brings me back to my jamming and gigging days. Loving the live version... feels like im there. Nice!

A cover of the classic Bob Dylan sing in open tuning with a bit of Nick Drakish flute.

Spotify

Lay Lady Lay (Cover)

Bigfoot And Me

sonic-attack Presents Abah Berabah - Scottish Killers EP

The Killer

01 - Abah Berabah - The Killer

Siegonia

"Mr. Tumbleweed" has been composed in an add-a-track challenge during Summer. I started with a drumbeat, The Fishermen & The Priestess added guitars, Patti Fetz added a synth bass, Cheslain followed with vocals and lyrics and Floral Tops completed the quintett with synthesizers. This song only consists of 6 recorded tracks (guitar is doubled) but I applied some production voodoo to make it sound big. Thanks for joining this fun game - I love our result!

Cheslain: vocals, lyrics
Floral Tops: synthesizer
Nadine de Macedo: drum programming, production
Patti Fetz: synth bass
The Fishermen & The Priestess: guitars

Where to find us:
https://nadinedemacedo.bandcamp.com/
https://thefishermenandthepriestess.bandcamp.com/
https://floraltops.bandcamp.com/

Cover design by Nadine de Macedo using Craiyon and pixabay.

===== LYRICS =====

Somewhere under the desert sun
Rolling on the desert sand
Going with the breeze
I cross your borders if I please

I have no place to be
I have no place to go
No particular things to do
Don't give a damn, I just am 

Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows
Not really welcome anywhere
I just go any way the wind blows

I don't want and I don't need
That's why they're terrified of me
Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows

Came across a quiet town
Stayed a while then moved on
There's no place I call home
It's where ever i roam

I have no place to be
I have no place to go
No particular things to do
Don't give a damn, I just am 

Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows
Not really welcome anywhere
I just go any way the wind blows

I don't want and I don't need
That's why they're terrified of me
Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows

(I'm Mr. Tumbleweed)
(Mr. Tumbleweed)
(I'm Mr. Tumbleweed)
(Mr. Tumbleweed)
Anyway the wind blows
Anyway the wind blows

Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows
Not really welcome anywhere
I just go any way the wind blows

I don't want and I don't need
That's why they're terrified of me
Call me Mr. Tumbleweed
I'll go any way the wind blows

Mr. Tumbleweed

Mr. Tumbleweed (with Cheslain, Floral Tops, Patti Fetz, The Fishermen & The Priestess)

Originaly recorded in 1998, remastered in 2022
Musik: R. Hanke/H. Krumm
Lyrics: R. Hanke
Vocals: H. Krumm aka  c r u m i u s

If you like you can buy the digital track in high quality here:
https://crumius.bandcamp.com/track/something-new

Something New

🖤Buy

One Love

Method: Layering (ehx mel9 and roland vt4 involved, as well as a guitar, a plastic recorder and the zoom r20 - incl the room2 effect).
Narration: Reading my latest poem. 
On my 29th birthday I had given a private reading of one of Ingeborg Bachmann's short stories, titled: the 30th year. Now, doubling up, I have not given a private reading - consider this a replacement. It is  a poem of mine reflecting some aspects of that eerie relationship between fiction and reality and dispersing personal narratives.

Gedicht / copyright jo richter:

damals, als ich jenen text bachmanns
vom aufbrechen des vertrauten, ins telegrafenferne
einer vom ich unversehrten heimat vorlas, im
dreißigsten jahr, waren auch die mich ummenschenden
befremdet: wie kann man sein wahres leben nur
so im streulicht fiktiven gestaltens betrachten?

jetzt, im realen sechzigsten jahr, finde ich
keine heimkehrnovelle im schrank, die nicht
von geld, von frieden, von der verzweiflung handelt,
im angesicht weiter und weiter vermieteter wohnungen
und viel zu fleißig gepflügter felder: gerne
rastete ich auf einer brache, wäre sie noch vor sinnen.

das papier vor mir ist ungelesen, als hätte ich
nie eine schriftspur darüber gelegt, dem vorgeliebten
nie nachgespürt: war ich nur da als probe-
abdruck der selbstbehauptung anderer, die ihre
geschichte frech in stadtmauern meißeln, über tempel-
freskos weißeln, sich stilecht in poetenpergamente kleiden?

Within A Span Of Ocean Held (live)

Mother Julian

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Mother Julian

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