Never seen you in books, never seen you on TV
But I've met you face to face, the scariest indeed
You don't want my heart, you don't want my blood
You don't want my hand in something called love
Garlic won't stay you and neither will the cross
Your not of the living dead and Dracula is NOT YOUR BOSS
Vampire, Energy Vampire
I don't believe in devils - Energy, not my soul
You can't generate enough, human black hole
Steal my good mood, steal my attitude
Haul me down baby, baby needs sexual food
Like the black widow who eats its mate
Sucking out lifeforce, biogreed KNOWS NO HATE
Vampire, Energy Vampire, Energy Vampire
Genetics and genitals, mass conditioning crap
Mistakes I made in trusting you
You used me like a virus and a host
You'd destroy me and then yourself
You don't talk to me, you don't give a shit
I scream in the basement, I'll not die for you
Only one thing, one thing left to do
Is sing this stupid song right in FRONT OF YOU
Energy Vampire, Energy Vampire, Energy Vampire
i will always love you
Freedom 55
Work till you're old
At a job you never liked
To buy that mold
Left you empty
Full of spite
Age Bracketeers, Ad wo/men profiteers
Life insurance sharks with cancer maps
Building paranoia of growing old
Status quo and the generation gap
Creating a world where only youth seem happy
and all the rest is a slide downhill
So you can sell us your fountain of youth
patented and brand name snake oil
Makeup disease queens
Adorn soft porn fashion machines (magazines)
18 year old fake faces
"I use Oil of Olay"
And there's Si Sperling . . and the diving board
Letting you know
You're an inferior man
If your bald spot shows
Be somewhere by a certain age, a tool to measure people
Every newspaper person knows its pigeon hole value
Travel while you're young, it'll be too late when you're older
If you ain't made it by 30 you're never gonna make it
Don't bogart that Geritol, you're too old to rock
Only the good die young, 65! YOU'RE FIRED
Women's handcream addressing
Be somewhere by a certain age, a tool to measure people
Hope I die before I grow old, don't trust anyone over 30
Lost youth, wild years, settle down, golden years
I WILL BREAK BARRIERS
So be a slave till 55
You can bloom all your life
So I shlock and rob out a set of songs
I plaster the city with dirty word posters
Chorus - More Gimmicks, More Gimmicks I implore you please
MTV's hot, I'm learning all the moves
As me and my hair get bigger and bigger
I just want enough, just a piece of the pie
Chorus
Now I got a manager with no ears
Record promoter, radio directors they shake hands
Well have I made it, do you listen to me now
Chorus
The blood was redder this time
Everyone made lots of money
The psychiatrist says I'm legally sane
I used to really dig that shower scene
Slow motion, rewind, my friends, we rented every one
I've been in jail 10 years or more
The artists that built his picture
They, like he, were too busy to see
But after time, like me
I was curious about the real thing you know
My fictional director penance as censor of his art
No Death, No Death, No Death
A tale spun of religion and malady is nothing new
Evangelicals with death machines, Dr. Doom and suicide dreams
This letter refers to just a political christian few
Minions of Mindless Ones pinned to the tube
Their Book of Vishanti has a passage of future destruction
Coup d'etat nuclear control room, 4 faithful on horses
Petty tyrant fanatics becoming Thanos like fascists
Mage, I bet Jesus and Budda would smile on you
With Seraphims bright shield deflect their attack
Sorcerer Supreme, Earth's magical protector
"By the fearsome Fangs of Faralloh, by the Mabdhara's talon's sharp, let these
tendrils birthed in blackness be thrust through yonder warp" (Thanks -
MakeMineMarvel)
(Despite the blackest that you may make it
I don't want boundaries
I like the walk
I don't want to eat animals
I want to drink the sun
Fear's the real limit
This is the weirdest
I'll be sufficient
I want to drink the sun
Me? I work at the bomb factory but I hate war
Stay at home you dum Yankee fucks
I had no life and I was a knob
My country needs me, the President said
Stay at home you dum Canadian fucks
They paid me a wage while they paid my school
So kill for your flag and kill those who burn it
Stay at home you dum soldier fucks
Who's looking cool and who cares to know
Plugs it in, turns it up
Music's got my body starting to twitch
My clothes are wet, my hair's a mess
She looks over here, he looks over there
Talk is lost as the band starts to beat
Music's got my body starting to twitch
See some friends and yakity-yak
Hear the cheer, the band's said goodnight
What I hope for is stuff real fast
Music's got my body starting to itch
I wake in the morn' with bags and bad breath
I wanted to be an athlete but I've got the wrong genes
Our bodies being of matter is the original sin
Do the transcend, ("shake yer boodee")
My body is a vehicle I drive into the ground
My body is no temple, it's more like the morgue
Oh, go on.
When I was young it seemed to me
Anyone could be Christ, but like Mary
I heard that this Christ would be
'Cause I'm dyin' to be Jesus
Christ suffered under society's sins
Every decision I would now make
'Cause I'm dyin' to be Jesus
I travelled the world spreading love and honesty
I was convinced that I was he
A lash of God's whip, why won't he talk to me
If I am the real Christ then death is my altar
Christ's crucifixion denied the Devil his power over death
Dying to be Jesus
You look up at me
Co-produced and mixed by Cecil English and Mark Critchley
Dive/ Photo crew: Geoff Wilson, Danny Cullen, Sara Lapsley, Terry Armstrong,
Mark Critchley, Lovely III and Wally
All songs by Mark Critchley
Special Thanks To: Mark Jowett, Ric Arboit, Nettwerk, Keith Parry, Sandi
Kilby, Scratch Records, NoMeansNo, "Where's that toaster" Deprogrammer
Radha-Vinoda dasa, Trudy Buckler-Blake, Andrew Atkins (they'll pay us
eventually!?), Laurie Mercer, Sandra Lockwood, Tammy & the all night staff
at The Bread Garden Cafe on Bute St., Grant & Kat, Mary Lyell, Norm and
Betty Critchley
For those who ask, no sequencers, synths, samplers (except "More Gimmicks" end
slidey piano) or varyspeed techniques used in this recording.
Capitol's parent company is THORN EMI in England. EMI (Electronic and
Musical Industries) merged with Thorn in 1979. Some of the other labels that
they own or part own are: Angel, Blue Note, Chrysalis, Enigma (defunct), IRS,
SBK, and now Virgin (including Caroline). With some help from CEMA
(Capitol,EMI, Manhattan, Angel), they also distribute Alpha Int'l., Barking
Pumpkin, Bellmark, Cara, Chameleon, Curb, 16th Ave., Gold Castle/Cypress,
Rhino labels and MGM/UA videos.
This conglomerate also own part of Thames Television, Filmtrax, SBK,
and EMI Publishing, HMV (His Master's Voice) record stores, Electronics,
Security, and Software businesses, "Rent-A-Centre" rental stores (furniture to
jewellery), and is a major world supplier of light fittings. Also, according
to the information they graciously sent me, the Thorn division manufacture:
"radar equipment for airborne and battlefield applications, proximity fuzes,
thermal imaging systems, underwater ranges, computer-based command &
information systems, radar/ magnetic/ infrared/ acoustic signature control data
distribution systems & electronic warfare equipment. In late 1990, as part
of a major restructuring of its defence electronics activities, Thorn EMI
acquired MEL, the UK defense division of Phillips. This business has
complementary activities in radar & electronic warfare systems &
reinforces the technical & competitive strengths of Thorn EMI Electronics
in important areas of the international market."
Many people, including a few people at Capitol, were not aware of
this military connection. It seems hard to escape (or cure) any association
with companies like this especially when some of your taxes go beyond your
control and into the building of military people and equipment (as we all
know).
So I guess you can tell that this bothered me and that this
down-the-line association is less than perfect but perhaps something positive
can come of this BlurbBurpInTheBelly OfTheBeast (Boycott me ).
If you want to write me about this (or my songs etc) I can be reached
through Nettwerk at Box 330-1755 Robson St., Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6G 3B7
Tel: (604) 654-2929 Fax:(604) 654-1993.
Thorn EMI's address is 4 Tenterden St., Hanover Square, London,
England WIAZAY.
Referring to this Thorn/military matter the Managing Director of EMI
Records in London told me "Personally do we agree with it? No, but that's a
business (laughs), unfortunately." And, "what are you going to do about it?"
Thanks for listening,
Hand aging fetish
Intensive dead leaf care
Hall of fame Bobby Hull
Hawking his ultimate toupee
And 2 minutes to Rocket Richard
For Grecian formulizing the grey
Every media person knows its pigeon hole value
Not married and childless by 40, what's wrong with you
I'm not the man I used to be, you're too old for that
Youth is wasted on the youth, if only I was young again
Newly weds, nearly deads, age and expectations
Baby boom, 30 something, middle age and crisis
Over the hill, old timer, prejudice, AGE RACISM
Wait till then to really be free
It won't take long
Till you're dead and gone
So enjoy your 17.5 years
As you let your body go
Because TV and Banks
well
They told you so
More Gimmicks
So tell me what it takes to join the fold
To get that contract before I grow old
Well it's interesting but sorry it'd never sell
Thanks for considering us at K-TEL
They cut like a knife through emotional rain
(The power of love takes my breath away)
Get an image of leather and a red bandana
Ten crucifixs and a Harley bike
Rent a smoke machine and a flashpot too
Up on stage if I drop my pants
Then the media will write about me every chance
I lack originality, have some sleaze
I'll make back your money just you wait and see
And pollute the airwaves till they're full of me
Lipstick, lipsync, I'm a poseur too
So give me a cliff, a stage, and a wind fan
And the money to hire all the models I can
I gotta be recluse, play the rising star
Act as indifferent and as cool as I can
Of course I say no to drugs, just rider the booze
Of course my girlfriends and a 50's car
My immortal recordings, a Hollywood star
My face on the cover of the National Enquirer
And the majors Scrambling for a deal
Got a brand name producer whose rubber stamp seal
Will guarantee the door to industry appeal
Its the "smell the Greased glove" world wide tour
Heavy metal kings in the rock wrestling ring
Oh, could you hold, Pepsi's on line 2
I sound as bland as a typical star
Tell me again that I can't sing
I'll buy your company and make your head spin
No Death
Slasher flick, Graveyard trip
Drive down that axe, Fast and hard
Boy, did it spirt far
It didn't have the squish
That I usually hear
I read it in Gorezone magazine
Centerfold posters of Jason and Freddy
Line my bedroom walls
So the court laid me all the blame
Those violins really pierce my memory
I can hallucinate red going down my drain
Slasher fun, can't you take it?
Gone are the visitors, the reporters of gore
I've become a writer, I'll escape through fiction
About a director and his fate
Actors, editors, musicians
Special effect's ultra realism
Producer's bottom and sequel dollar
Or they really didn't care of a splatter legacy
(Stoking short term artistic fire
Driven along by monetary/career desire)
There came a time
Of haunting reflection
Negative celluloid creatures
Grown beyond
Their prison of plastic and silver grains
Chainsaws Machetes
I've seen heads roll a thousand times
Cool analytical death appeal, Halloween dressup for real
I had the strength where the writer/director just speculate
Perhaps their ignorance matched my innocence
And we cheaply exploited each other
Except I was only 13
But unlike he, nothing can set me free
I'm here for life, writing for my life, all life
We make films on paper together
Open Letter To Dr. Strange
Well curse me for a novice if you see fit
But by the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth have you seen the clues
An evil grips the world and it's not the Dire Wraiths
You can find them cloaked between the lines of news
Ancient claims and battle games, do it in and for God's name
Spells of Modern Bafflement keep us from seeing
Who, like Silver Dagger, would force us their point of view
Normally I wouldn't summon you my fear of fate
But they're collecting money and minds at a frightening rate
Paranoia through ignorance, patriotism and lies
Like Mists of Morpheus blackening the earth
Turning masses into flocks while the TV hypnotizes
Apocalypse by horsemen, wielding combustion
They're working to fulfill this profecy of Darkhold
Sacrificing us all with Galactus hearts of pure cold
Judgement day, non-Living Tribunal, vapour trail to heaven
They've even imagined they'll be Immortals and saints
Written by God's hand? No, mutants, in their 2nd New Testament
Legislating fear and hate, gaining Power by Hour
They'll blacklist and bankrupt you as new age occult evil
And burn your mag, banish your fans as Spawns of Satan
Like the Ancient One himself, you've prob'ly met them too
But by Satanish, what realm has cast this spell?
It is not Valhalla but the essence of Hel
It could be Nightmare or a Mephisto soul deal
By the Crimson Bands of Cytorrak drive them back
I don't know who, maybe the dread Dormammu
Bathe these intolerants with the All Seeing Light
By the Wings of Needless Sorrow and the Winds of Watomb
In a Mystic Whirlpool of love, wash their soul of doom.
there will always be moments that you can't control
where it
Feels good to be alive)
nuff said, Ed.
Photosynthesis
I am in this life and
science dominates my mind
Thinking and rickety stilts
to drag me to what you think
Dogma in stifling blows
and the air of the earth
and wish for the gills of the sea
And whatever it takes
to live in the ground
soar through sky and time as well
I don't want to eat plants
I don't want to eat life at all
Like a shining solar panel
Photosynthesize to feed every cell
would you vanish completely
Suppress no more and let dream
you lock me securely
Destroy me with self-righteousness
and mind my own life
Please don't force me your heaven and hell
No Life
Well you finally got the war you've been asking for
What'd you expect voting for Reagan's whores
You love your guns and your Rambo toys
And Ollie North and his macho boys
We'll never use them plus it's good for the economy
I've a family to feed and must pay the bills
Besides if I don't build them someone else will
Suck your war movies like a soother
Be as dead, as dead as you can be
'Cause there's no life in the army
So I joined the navy to get a job
Top Gun's number one and bomber jackets reign
While an Officer and a Gentleman gets all the dames
God's on our side, the TV said
So kick sand in my face and I'll nuke your ass
And all you civies can go kiss my gun butt
Suck your war movies like a soother
Be as dead, as dead as you can be
'Cause there's no life in the army
We all bought Corvettes on graduation day
Once thought 3 years to owe is a small price to pay
Now I'm a lieutenant engineer and I wanna stay
Worship that rag like some star spangled shroud
Drape your altars and your office walls
And be wrapped and buried in it when you fall
Suck your war movies like a soother
Be as dead, as dead as you can be
'Cause there's no life in the army corps(e)
The Club
I won some tickets on the radio
Took my motorbike to the show
6 bucks Jack, I ain't got the dough
Check the list and let me go
Black leather coats on every other Joe
She's got the hair and pointy shoes
I kinda like the one with the ring in her nose
I spy a Marshall up on top
Oh I fear for my fate
Middle ear damage doesn't have to wait
BeBop tonight, it'll be my fix
When I stopped to take a look
I see some arms wailing about
I couldn't care less, I feel refreshed
The band takes a break, got to get their beer
My eyes start to notice all the smoke in here
Meeting every eye that stops to stare
Games and desire secretly conspire
Say, haven't I seen you in this bar before
Some people sit there with lead feet
Come on, get up, get outta that seat
Come up here and do the Geek
BeBop tonight, it'll be my fix
When next I stopped to take a look
I see arms and legs wailing about
We all go out 'round the back
Huddled little groups, laughing fresh air
Its my chance to pee over there
I gotta go in and shout about
Go buddy go, table bang a beer
Thank-you Vancouver, the band appears
Try to keep up now it's a blast
Soon having fun as a bumper car
Everybody's dancing in this bar
BeBop tonight, it'll be my fix
When next I stopped to take a look
A sea of arms and legs a whaling about
Body and Head
My boobs are too small and my cock is too short
My bum is too big and my belly needs a tuck
My hair's the wrong colour and so is my skin
My nose is bent and my teeth aren't straight
I wash and perfume but my body's still not fresh
Cosmetics give me the color I need
Holes in my ears and golden beads
I wanted to be a dancer but I'm oh so clumsy
I don't even try 'cause I'd look dum
I'm just trapped in this damn stupid body
And female bodies are also blessed with "the curse"
We must control body function and desire
The body is animal we must transcend
Burns a mixture of cigarettes and booze
Towed to the garage for some snip and drug
Ya gotta go some time, what's a year or two
Now it's got cancer, it's the will of the Lord
I knew it'd let me down, it's got a mind of it's own
Good riddance to my body `cause I'll go on
Dyin' To Be Jesus
I saw you in the hospital
the doctor shook his head
He says a fisherman under the bridge tonight
saw your jump
and rescued you
Your sad eye avoids mine
as I open your note
of bleeding
blue
words
That being Christ was the ultimate thing to be
The church and society held it decree
Though no one ever talked about it realistically
Girls should strive for sexless conception
Only one Christ is supposed to come
Not everybody could be it but why not me
Rejected by his own family
I then set out on a policy of drugs and loud music
Parental view, black sheep tragedy
So must I if I am to be him
Hospitals and their drugs didn't set me straight
It was leaving home, that house of hate
Would be the one I imagined Christ would take
Eventually with heart pure and true
God would tell his son what to do
I'm dyin' to be Jesus
Just like Christ I had believers too
Deception and police and Roman ties
Religion and church, a crock of lies
Except God hadn't come and converted me
I assumed earned physical immortality
Until age lines on my face, shocking reality
A lash of his whip, lust thoughts invading me
With each lapse of not following a Christ decision
Thoughts of the Devil, creating confusion
My name is immortal as I will be in heaven
I want to prove it for everyone to see
But Christ with an ego? I cannot be he
Except it's me killing me, am I the Antichrist?
In sin and in doubt and we're both 33
This bridge is my saviour, PLEASE GOD SAVE ME
Dying to be Jesus
Dying to be Jesus
Dying to be Jesus
silently
hair in dried tangles
The doctor returns and informs me
You're the third case like this
this month
itchy bandwagoneers
Drums: Glenn D'Cruze
Voice, Piano, Guitar: Mark Critchley
Bass: Rob "Mr. Wrong" Wright except on "More Gimmicks" - Keith Rose (Funky
Mahn), Janos Sagi, Mark Critchley (Yup, it took 3 of us to fill those big red
boots)
Recorded by Cecil English, assisted by Brian Who Else at profile studio,
Vancouver, fall `91
Editing: Mark Critchley, George Maniatis, Ric Arboit
Mastering: Brian Gardner at Bernie Grundman (thanks Brian).
Guitar Amps: Dale Darlington and Phil Doebeli
"No Death" Skull Photos: Mark Critchley
Back Cover Painting: I, BrainEater
Typesetting, layout and artwork assistance: John Rummen
Design: Mark Critchley
Glenn D'Cruze appears courtesy of Mint Records
Published by MarkMystroMusic (SOCAN)
Thorn/EMI Talk
This recording would not be here in this form and accessibility, at
this time, without the help of Nettwerk Records. Nettwerk is independently
owned and at present has a pressing and distribution deal with Capitol Canada
(thank-you Capitol).
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