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Music for All Occasions

by Robocobra Quartet

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Correct 02:56
i wondered why - instead of calling me "a critic" - you called me "critical". i've been asked if Cash really killed that man way out in the desert of Nevada. I don't know. he says "You've got the look of someone who's got the world figured out". correct. but it's a solo endeavour: admission for one. admission I've strayed. admission I'm done. admission I'm long gone. admission for one.
You'll Shrug 04:21
pour over a week of transcripts: four out of five words a waste leave more on the cutting room floor. or you'll start to get the feeling that your mouth should sound the opposite of what you mean to coax a kind word, to coax cordial flood you'll get the feeling.
Nice Life 03:45
your two o clock fell through. your three o clock failed you hands wave from afar... dreadful sinking when you find they are just palms in refusal. chris won't be seeing anyone today, he feels its better this way. your day flew in. your day can't begin. you saw them slip and fade: pirouette turned setback. head split on ice. nice life.
i have nothing to report on my return back from fact finding, i have found no facts. home from the new world, gurkha's gloss turned matte. i want to talk for a second about where we're at i want to talk for minute about that i want to balk for a moment before we yield faults find their way to cheek each year I have nothing to report on my return but i found comfort in a held-back smile seeping through your speech sleeping through a few weeks, waiting for the worst to drop those weeks were astral but i lay in wait for the death-knell  sometimes your day takes a different shape than you thought it would resemble.
like a claymore faced toward moving car like a turncoat, incorrect guess at who we are history not worth repeating r.o.i on a chance meeting work in shifts for twelve months of the year to come a long way from right about here dragged by the hair, pulled by the ear caught by surprise on an idle monday says "it feels right", looks more like a halt at a turnpike a frightful prospect draws near work in shifts for twelve months of the year to come a long way from right about here dragged by the hair, pulled by the ear.
Find X 02:00
find x, show your working. found standing next to profound things find yourself seething find yourself not hearing find yourself saying the same thing.
got on like a home on fire 
as embers burned i quickly learned this home was a pyre 

got on to a bad repetition
 watch me second guess, watch me dig my heels in
 what i do best

 what i do has Strait Bering on you
 stepped out for the entire day just to watch my mind go astray 
like an encore on a setlist, lose magic by delineating everything straight away
i want to be a doctor. i want to be a vet. i want to be what the universe doesn't know it needs yet. i want to be a firefighter, albert stanley    right now i'm gordon ramsay  when the letters stop coming, when the jury comes in i want to be a straight line i want be present for the shrill chime of my verdict a guard in a white uniform, a sixteen year old not home i'm perched on the pavement clutching a phone galvanised by the knowledge that I'm alone  learning about straight lines a billion people with little x's for lives a billion people joined in a collective sigh  when I emerge and roll the boulder back i'll be much bolder and tactful too. the slate will be wiped and i'll start anew.  i'll be a straight line i'll be present for the shrill chime of my verdict 
another year came around take stock of what's left in lost and run aground sachets scattered on a tray let the help take it away third-person fugue state hibernate for december, when frost bites down a season drowned and then frozen as a placard, spelling out in script: "31 days set to fuck you up hard". four months on, that creeping sense of dread turns numb spring has sprung and the world stays deaf and dumb come along for a dry run - this one's just for fun.


"This record initially started as an EP that was going to be one side of a 12" that PRS were funding, with the other side would be blank with an etched design. Ultimately we tried to make some more music that could strive to be better than a silent side of a 12"... There's a lot of space on the album, in comparison to how tightly packed our next record was. In hindsight I realised all these songs are about time passing - roughly a year - and I was really happy that it came out in November because it always feels like a winter album. Those cups on the front cover are tiny in real life; Tim Farrell who designed the artwork still has them I think. Quite a few of these tracks have double or even triple-tracked drums in different rooms (including the now-demolished Mandela Hall in Belfast). You can hear it most on Dirge For Self. Almost every single part on this record - including drums, saxophones, bass - were recorded using a stereo MS room mic. Not to get too deep in the weeds but I got a bit obsessed with the sound it can make when used with a limiter on the M portion of the mic signal. It actually feels like you're in the room and experiencing the instrument get louder or quieter and how it affects the sound bouncing against the walls. Really cool, you can hear it all over the record; especially on the Find X saxophone solo. Happy we decide to just say fuck it and write an LP" - Chris, April 2020


released November 18, 2016

Chris Brazier - Assistant Engineering
Chris Ryan - Vocals, Drums, Production, Engineering
Dan Coutant - Mastering
Gavin Millar - Photography
Nathan Rodgers - Bass, Effects
Patrick Gardiner - Backing Vocals
Paul O'Reilly - Bass Clarinet, Clarinet, Tenor Sax
Ryan Burrowes - Oscillator, Effects
Sean Joseph - Backing Vocals
Simon Templeton - Piano
Thibault Barillion - Tenor Sax, Alto Sax, Flute
Tim Farrell - Art, Layout
Tom Tabori - Soprano Sax

Recorded at Start Together, The Harty Room & Mandela Hall, Belfast
Mastered at Sun Room Audio, New York
Lacquer cut at Finyl Tweek, London

This release has been supported by PRS for Music Foundation’s Flash Funding in association with MODO.




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