Category Archives: Music

So here you have it. A ringtone for your phone. Derived from the song “Safe”. And it’s free.

Follow this link.
Download and open in iTunes.
Sync your phone.
Enjoy.
It’s safe.
Literally.
Cheers.


At the izakaya named Oysy (oh-ee-she), the song “Selfish” found its setting. And deep fried rock shrimp.

Of course it did. Indulgence is this track’s pivotal drive, its focus point, after all. And Oysy (japanese for “delicious”) delivers just that. Right there on the plates next to their mouth-watering food. If the above product deserves any merit is entirely up to the distinguished listener/spectator. But frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

Give me what I want
And when I please.
Fuck you for mentioning
That I say my “w”s like “v”s.

I just want a triple shot
And I want you on your knees.
Get on your knees.

I read my news out loud,
Don’t care what you do.
Play these 5 chords for hours
-when did you leave the room?

Won’t take that call past 8
And probably not before.
To hell with all this othering,
Don’t want it anymore

I’ll stay awake and take and take (and take)
Until I crash and burn.
You’ll whisper something
… I won’t hear

I just want you naked now,
So close your eyes and listen to me.
Listen to me:

I’ll take you where and how
And when and as I please.
And know there’s no one except for you
More selfish than me.

© 2010 th(is)how
all rights reserved


The best kept secret in Alternative Indie Nincom-pop Postrock is everywhere: “S” is available for your listening pleasure on Spotify

 

And Spotify has opened in Denmark as of today too. Congrats. Of course you can click the logo to listen and/or buy “S” there too.

Go ahead. Click. Enjoy.

 


And now approachable at gogoyoko too.

That is an icelandic based service for your ears. What makes them different is the fact that artists can actually choose to donate revenue of their sales to charity. Since I couldn’t find a charity supporting the arts or a “go-pirate-Britney-you-moronic-freeloader” organisation, I decided to let 100% of the income on one song go to doctors-without-borders (visually/fantasy-wise that organisations name has always tickled my curiosity. But then again I have a dirty mind … )

Which song have I chosen to give away for a good cause you ask? Well, “Selfish” of course, duh. So go ahead. Buy it. Is there a nurse in the audience?


S(explicit) for sale on Amazon too. Come again.

And on Amazon the entire album is deemed “explicit”. I am honoured. But I am not blushing:

Here’s the text to the one S(explicit) song we have. We kept it neat I think.

SELFISH
Give me what I want
and when I please.
Fuck you for mentioning
that I say my w’s like v’s.
I just want a triple shot.
And I want you on your knees.
Get on your knees.
I read my news out loud,
don’t care what you do.
Play these 5 chords for hours
-when did you leave the room?
Won’t take that call past 8
and probably not before.
To hell with all this othering,
don’t want it anymore
I’ll stay awake and tak and take (and take)
until I crash and burn.
You’ll whisper something
… I won’t hear
I just want you naked now,
so close your eyes and listen to me,
listen to me
I’ll take you where and how
and when and as I please .
And know there’s no one except for you
more selfish than me.


Now available on iTunes for your listening pleasure. You’re welcome

S - Th(Is)How

“Rich on cinematic effect, layered with aural surprises, this narrative piece of program-music disguised as postpop/postrock beckons you to decode its heart and soul, blood and bones. This is how it feels to be lost by design and still safe. Somewhat.”

It’s been in the making for a while but now it’s happening: the baby is out and one can finally approach new sonic shores. It’ll hit iTunes shortly, but CDbaby has it on the shelves already.

  Go buy it. Reviews are welcome.


Note to self: String it one at a time

I’ve probably strung a thousand strings on a hundred guitars over the years. I buy strings at a bulk, once I’ve found the right ones for that particular fretted concubine. But nevertheless I do it over and over: It’s time to change out the grimy old dead strings and re-invigorate the soul of sounds, to crisp up the ether of harmonies, to dress that slap of wood with new strings. It’s a task I’ve always undertaken with tremendous respect and awe but also with a great deal of weariness, it’s bothersome and it’s a goodbye to a phase that more than likely has been full of explorative joy. But it’s also like snuggling in to a fresh set of sheets together or slicing in to a fresh-baked loaf, so when the time comes I’m all gung-ho and off they come. The strings. All six or seven of them. All at once. And that is stupid.

Here’s how I always end up telling myself to do it: Take of 1 string, clean your fretboard on that lane, and attach a new string. Then the next and so forth. That way the bridge on your hollow body, which is only strapped down to the guitar by the concerted effort of all strings stays in that place where you found the sweet spot of intonation. Clearing out all strings leaves your bridge free-roaming and makes the entire endeavour even more tedious. Not to mention what the removal of all strings at once does to a free-floating floyd rose and its springs and shit. Sigh.

At least those all-nickel 0.011’s are sweet, slick and sooooo mmm under my calloused fingers. Now remember to do it right the next time, okay?


RELEASE!             The debut album “S” is finally out

“Rich on cinematic effect, layered with aural surprises, this narrative piece of program-music disguised as postpop/postrock beckons you to decode its heart and soul, blood and bones. This is how it feels to be lost by design and still safe. Somewhat.”

It’s been in the making for a while but now it’s happening: the baby is out and one can finally approach new sonic shores. It’ll hit iTunes shortly, but CDbaby has it on the shelves already.

 Go buy it. Reviews are welcome.


… -.- . – -.-. ….

(Title: Scetch)
– …. .. … .. … -. — – .- … -.- . – -.-. …. .-.-.-
.. – .. … .— ..- … – .- … -.- . – -.-. ….

What started as a sketchy squabble turned out a serendipitous session, from the lick of a lip to the noodling, fiddling, uprooting of the treacherous third, to sliding shifts in major and minor monotones, crossing every bridge in compliance, only to return on sweeping feet. The inane little play of my exile fretboard came together as a mellow mouthful.

As it is, before the juicy apple lets go of the tree, all is just sun and reckless wondrous activity, all play and abundant inspiration, before the end of the road catches you between beats and on a down strum (it’s done?!) It’s done. Leaves you sitting there agape, wondering, overwhelmed by fleeting bliss and you scramble, miss a step, rush to revisit and sponge up a little gratuitous heart-throb, a little now and then, here and there, losing time only to reminisce a few, before you part ways again, leave the room, enter the hallway, exit the stairwell and slip into the vacuum of the streets, the valley of awkward disconnect becomes the function, and just like love, unites mouth with teeth in a smile and a bite.

Please observe: as no words found matter, the offer is for you to croon, purr, growl, hum, bend a note, pitch a key, find a pulse under the rustbelt sun. These men from 1951 battled dirt, heat and dust for us to bate our breath and put our naked eye to their tracks of rock and metal. Do not strain to imagine what this might add to a scant song, or rather, if the music applies any sense to the sights, but let it propose a mere question like: what did these men dance, hum along, sing to in their cars, homes, bars and beds? Will their night be welcome and their radios silent at last? Will they bend their backs to father songs between shifting sheets? Will they shuffle their feet in jazzy circles of eight and come next summer, will they pound out a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat for dear life, stroke their favorite sweat-sticky chords, deliver harmony from strings, lay down firmly another shiny leg of warm winding road to somewhere sweet?


SIGH

 


SMOKE

 


SATURNALIA


SAFE


SHIFT


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