{"id":166,"date":"2015-11-13T12:46:07","date_gmt":"2015-11-13T12:46:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/avada.ampronk.nl\/?page_id=166"},"modified":"2024-11-27T12:17:50","modified_gmt":"2024-11-27T11:17:50","slug":"watch","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.matthieubrandt.com\/?page_id=166","title":{"rendered":"Listen"},"content":{"rendered":"
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SongSmith (2024)
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This album\u2019s got 13 all original tracks covering a variety of themes, mostly complex and layered: Alzheimer\u2019s, the travels of a Beat Poet, fake it till you make it, Kafka-esque existentialism, Bullshit Artists, Bukowski-style heartbreak, Satanic mind dives, and hope through perseverance.
\nOh, and the title song SongSmith, my first rap track\u2014where I get personal about why I write.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m playing all the (VST) instruments myself with my newly acquired keyboard skills, including flutes, violins, piano, Mellotron, drums, weird percussion, cello, accordion, organs, etc, etc.<\/p>\n

I do play banjo on one cut, did all the vocals and got Jan-peter Beijersbergen on guitar for a few songs.<\/p>\n

Lyrics are the core here – after 25 years of songwriting, I know storytelling is where my strength lies.<\/p>\n

And if you hear the ghost of Tom Waits across these tracks\u2026 I did my job.<\/p>\n<\/div>

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<\/i><\/i><\/span>Wistful Preamble<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
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Oh, how your memories can play tricks on you\u2026<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Some of you may not be familiar with my proclivity for utilizing the more expensive segments of the Merriam-Webster.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Lemme \u2018splain:<\/div>\n
Wistful: having or showing a feeling of vague or regretful longing.<\/div>\n
Preamble: a preliminary or preparatory statement; an introduction.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
This is the opening song of \u2018SongSmith\u2019 and is inspired by the movie \u2018Brassed Off\u2019 with the phenomenal Pete Postlethwaite.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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The film is about the troubles faced by a colliery Brass Band, following the closure of their pit.<\/div>\n
The soundtrack for the film was provided by the Grimethorpe Colliery Band, and the plot is based on Grimethorpe’s own struggles against pit closures.<\/div>\n
It has been generally very well received for its role in promoting brass bands and their music.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Parts of the film make reference to the huge increase in suicides that resulted from the end of the coal industry in Britain, and the struggle to retain hope in the circumstances.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
My late father loved Brass Music and early 20th century British composers like Benjamin Britten.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
During Corona I started to dabble in arranging horn parts and other orchestral music.<\/div>\n
VST instruments and especially the modeling type have become so good that I have overcome my allergies to \u2018in the box\u2019 orchestral pieces.<\/div>\n
Why not write one myself?<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
I remember vividly that my late father \u2013 who was a movie director part of his life \u2013 loved \u2018Brassed Off\u2019.<\/div>\n
It brought together great acting and great music.<\/div>\n
Except for\u2026. the movie came out in 1996.<\/div>\n
My father had passed away in 1989.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
Oh, how your memories can play tricks on you\u2026<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>What's Wrong With This Picture<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
Neon buzzing of the vacancy sign
\nIce machine humming, so’s the power line
\nTv’s on mute, reruns of MASH
\n6 pack in the fridge, make the evening last<\/p>\n

Blood on the mirror of the bathroom wall
\nPlastic Jesus has seen it all
\nThe toilet needs fixin’, drip drip drip
\nThe smell will send you on a crappy trip<\/p>\n

A muffled scream from the room below
\nSome punk on speed is beating his ho
\nBible in the drawer, never been read
\nThe sheets are sticky, the light is dead<\/p>\n

Window’s glued shut, the air is broke.
\nTaking a sip, having a smoke
\nWaving to the gals, queens in drag
\nAll my belongings in a thrifty bag<\/p>\n

And now the sky cracks open, a bold flash of light
\nRain pours down on this Saturday night
\nHell is boiling over, spilling back on earth
\nMy four leaves of clover have lost all its worth<\/p>\n

In this seedy flophouse dreams come to die
\nHome for now and you know why
\nA photo lies torn next to a Greyhound ticket
\nWhat’s wrong with this picture, it has you in it<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>SongSmith<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
a finger snapping groove
\nwhere meaning finds the sounds
\nis where I wanna live
\nwhere gems of words are found<\/p>\n

I like to chase, kill, skin and cook em
\nThen feed them to the world
\nIn this trial of sordid errors
\nMy sentence will be heard<\/p>\n

I plead guilty to conjecture
\ndistortion, hyperbole
\nthe ironic smile when I write
\nsurely tells it all<\/p>\n

in a world of first responders
\nto the misery of others
\nI observe and bide my time
\nuntil I put the truth to rhyme<\/p>\n

a eulogy of love gone wrong
\nan anthem or a curse
\nwhether real or conjured up
\nthe message is the word<\/p>\n

if you give me half a chance
\nI’ll yoyo with your mind
\nI’ll leave you thinking for yourself
\nnot tow the party line<\/p>\n

But attention span a commodity
\nThat’s handed out economically
\nMisconstrued, you’re offended
\nWith anger you apprehended<\/p>\n

what you perceive to be the substance
\nwhen all you really heard
\nwas the clutter of your mind
\nin four letter words<\/p>\n

You think you have me in a choke hold
\nyou’ve got the goods on me
\nno sense in moving forward
\nI’ll get the third degree<\/p>\n

You see my evasive antics
\nknow my whereabouts
\nwhen all I wanna do
\nis to get lost in the crowd<\/p>\n

anonymous obscurity
\nor a case of false identity
\nI aspire to no fame
\nit’s your tinsel currency<\/p>\n

No need for immortality
\nno fear of missing out
\nI’ll live my life vicariously
\nthrough the stories I recount<\/p>\n

whether I’m ignored, revered, laughed at
\nscolded, jailed or mucked
\nit’s really all the same to me
\nI don’t give a fuck<\/p>\n

I had my joy pounding down
\nthe words as I see fit
\nall the rest is ego
\nand superficial shit<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Dead Man's Hand<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
Black aces and black eights
\nThe kicker facing down
\nBefore the night is over
\nYou’ll be six feet in the ground<\/p>\n

A hero in your own mind
\nThis saloon is where it ends
\nThe cards are on the table
\nYou’re playing the dead man’s hand<\/p>\n

Don’t know who’ll pull the trigger
\na coward or a friend
\nBut we’ve been on to you
\nsince day one
\nSo you better understand<\/p>\n

We have seen you dealing cards
\nFrom the bottom of the deck
\nWho will be your Jack McCall
\nAnd shoot you in the back<\/p>\n

Longwinded stories
\nHistory revised
\nLike Wild Bill and his tall tales
\nYou’re packing only lies<\/p>\n

Will you fade into the sunset
\nOr go out with a bang
\nThe cards are on the table
\nYou’re playing the dead man’s hand<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Kafka Is A Bitch<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
It starts off with a letter
\nyou done something wrong
\nIt’s only a small fine
\nnothing can be done<\/p>\n

You choose to pay the fine
\nit goes missing in the mail
\nReturn address unknown
\nthere’s no way this could fail<\/p>\n

the fines keep piling up
\nthere’s money to be made
\nbefore you even know it
\nyour house is up for sale<\/p>\n

Foreclosure is not the end
\nthe IRS wiggles its tail
\ncause you broke the rules, you see
\nthey haul you off to jail<\/p>\n

You can’t afford a lawyer
\nThey give you one for free
\nHe’s absent at your trial
\nBecause he’s too way too busy<\/p>\n

To beat this thing, fill out a form
\nso you can be released
\nGotta pick it up in person
\nTwo blocks down the street<\/p>\n

Your family won’t help you
\nCause you put them all to shame
\nAlthough you played by all their rules
\nYou didn’t get their game<\/p>\n

The goal is not the money
\nthey can legally steal from you
\nThe system is to keep you small
\nthen hide the ugly truth<\/p>\n

The fear will keep you guessing
\nAnd stagnant in your place
\nAs they devide the world between them
\nYou can only wait<\/p>\n

For a handout or a crumb
\nA sign of fairness to be had
\nWaiting for Godot
\nYou will simply end up mad<\/p>\n

The moral to this story
\nDon’t antagonize the rich
\nThere is no happy end
\nCause Kafka’s is a bitch<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>The Long Goodbye<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
On a road less traveled
\nTo a home I’ve never seen
\nI dread the long goodbye
\naway from who I’ve been<\/p>\n

I’ll climb the stairs with purpose
\nOnly to forget
\nWhy I even went there
\nWhat I needed to go and get<\/p>\n

I’ll start seeing in your eyes
\nThe pain comes with a sting
\nYou used to be my love
\nbut I stopped remembering<\/p>\n

How and where we first met
\nAnd what has happened since
\nI’ll soon forget your name
\nAs my mind starts wandering<\/p>\n

For the odds are stacked against me
\nAn empty shell I’ll be
\nFull of rage and anger
\nIt runs in the family<\/p>\n

I’ll lose the will to try
\nI keep on looking for the words
\nWon’t know where I am
\nI draw a blank, it hurts<\/p>\n

We still laugh about us doing
\na Thelma and Louise
\nBut I won’t know if you’ll leave me
\nalone with this disease<\/p>\n

In the wasteland of my mind
\nWhere memories grow no more
\nI stare into the distance
\nWhile you quietly close the door<\/p>\n

For the odds are stacked against me
\nAn empty shell I’ll be
\nFull of rage and anger
\nIt runs in the family<\/p>\n

Before it gets to this
\nOf forgetting who you are
\nOf the love that we both feel
\nBefore I’ve gone too far<\/p>\n

I’ll slip away into the night
\nPlease don’t come and follow
\nYou still have a future
\nThat’s not so grim and hollow<\/p>\n

For the odds are stacked against me
\nAn empty shell I’ll be
\nFull of rage and anger
\nIt runs in the family<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Drifter's Lullaby<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
When I was young
\nI hopped a freight train to the coast
\nand when I got there
\nhitch hiked back, to boast<\/p>\n

about my worldly travels
\nthe things that I had seen
\nInstead of flippin\u2019 through the pages
\nof a travel magazine<\/p>\n

Yet with each year I lose
\nmore memories than I gain
\nAnd dread that I will end up
\nthe same the day I came.<\/p>\n

a blank roll of paper
\nGone on the road
\nall my stories told<\/p>\n

When I was young
\nI had the world at my feet
\nIn dim City Lights
\nI dropped my lines to a beat<\/p>\n

in free form verse
\nI planted the seed
\nfor the drop outs and bums
\nfor the rose among the weeds<\/p>\n

I pray nor confess
\nyou\u2019ll never see me blink
\nYou see, the spirits I believe in
\nAre the ones that I can drink<\/p>\n

Four sheets to the wind
\nGone on the road
\nall my stories told<\/p>\n

Drawing to a close
\nI paint the poems of the night
\nThey never hit the canvas
\nWithout putting up a fight<\/p>\n

As the crowd goes left
\nI still go right
\nAnd though Jack and Neal are gone
\nI’m still basking in their light<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll fiddle when Rome burns
\nShoot a squirt gun at the sun
\nThey\u2019ll have to drag me to my grave
\nwhen my time has come<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll run with the bulls
\nright down to the wire
\nAnd sing this drifters\u2019 lullaby<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Tricked By Satan's Treat<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
Streetlight shines
\nmisty light
\ndown the alley
\nShades betray
\nwhat he craves
\nHere he makes
\nthe devils\u00b4 bargain
\nSatisfy
\nthe greed<\/p>\n

Feed the beast
\nNo one sees
\nTricked by Satan\u00b4s treat<\/p>\n

Sins disguised
\nSilent lies
\nClose his eyes
\nState of Bliss
\nrendered by
\nA Spiders\u00b4 kiss
\nFill the Void
\nlust enjoyed
\nA life destroyed
\nSacrifice the soul<\/p>\n

Feed the beast
\nNo one sees
\nTricked by Satan\u00b4s treat<\/p>\n

Shame decried
\nvoices heard
\nregret defied
\nPromised land
\npolluted with
\nhis bloody hands
\nRighteous deeds buried by
\ndisgraceful needs
\nProphesy of doom<\/p>\n

Baptised by Satan
\nthe sinful will rise,
\nthe virtues will fall
\nDefy temptation
\nRedemption awaits
\nCleanse your blackened soul<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Cried On The Dotted Line<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
Don’t trust a gal with dishes in the sink
\nwith a dirty kitchen she has time to think
\nbe in your business till your veins swell up
\nDrip her little tears in your coffee cup<\/p>\n

Where’ve you been to, who’d you see
\nWhat’d they say about you and me
\nThat’s a line I’m just not buying
\nYour crooked smile is a telltale lie<\/p>\n

So you cried cried cried
\nCried with your life on the dotted line
\nThe room goes dead when you walk in
\nHer friends all show their friendly grin<\/p>\n

Low life vixens on a cocktail high
\nAll screwing around with the UPS guy
\nAin’t no use in trying to trick the dame
\nCan’t con a con and they’re all the same<\/p>\n

They fall in love with your free spirit
\nChange their minds in a New York Minute
\nOnce they got you on a leash
\nhave you tamed and on your knees<\/p>\n

You’ll be waiting at her beck and call
\nEverything big, becomes real small
\nSo you cried cried cried
\nCried with your life on the dotted line<\/p>\n

Hanky and Panky are DOA
\nStaring at the ceiling, nothing left to say
\nShe used to be pretty, used to be kind
\nNow all you wanna do is push rewind<\/p>\n

Where did I screw up, what did I miss
\nwas it her eyes wide open when we first kissed
\nStuck here forever, Groundhog day
\nWaiting for the bitter end, saying all my prayers<\/p>\n

No sense to try, there’s nowhere to hide
\nCause you cried with your life
\nOn the dotted line<\/p>\n

Yeah, you cried with your life
\nOn the dotted line<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>The Waitress<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
it’s a quarter after midnight
\na bus ride of an hour
\na double shift at Denny’s
\nstill living hand to mouth<\/p>\n

A scratchcard at the depot
\nwith a prayer to the lord
\nShe knows that it’s a long shot
\nits the only dream she can afford<\/p>\n

she climbs the stairs in darkness
\nthe door is bolted tight
\nYou have to watch your back round here
\nthe gangs are out at night<\/p>\n

she got herself in trouble
\nand moved back in with mom
\nwhen he heard she was expecting
\nhe was all kinds of gone<\/p>\n

Step by step, mile by mile
\nShe’ll walk a road of hardship
\nWith a closed fist and a smile
\nShe holds her head up high, ain’t ever going to quit
\nIt’s not what comes across you path
\nIt’s how you deal with it<\/p>\n

She peeks into the bedroom
\nThe boy is sleeping tight
\nThe worries dissapear for now
\nShe’ll turn in for the night<\/p>\n

She’ll raise him to be proud
\nHow to be a standup man
\nHe’ll learn that it’s not who you love
\nit’s whether you can<\/p>\n

After a long day of serving
\nHer back and feet are sore
\nShe puts away the small bills
\nTips for working poor<\/p>\n

Victim of misfortune
\nand dire circumstance
\nShe’s the one who’ll beat the odds
\nGiven half a chance<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Praying Mantis<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
She’s
\nAnother man’s prize
\nAnother man’s diva
\nAnother man’s claim to fame<\/p>\n

Another man’s queen
\nAnother man’s trophy
\nAnother man’s winning game<\/p>\n

She’s
\nAnother man’s muse
\nAnother man’s victory
\nAnother man’s lucky charm<\/p>\n

Another man’s elixer
\nAnother man’s doll
\nMe she can do no harm
\nno more<\/p>\n

‘Cause she’s
\nAnother man’s vixen
\nAnother man’s trouble
\nAnother man’s road to madness<\/p>\n

Another man’s burden
\nAnother man’s poison
\nAnother man’s praying mantis<\/p>\n

Another man’s horror
\nAnother man’s hell
\nAnother man’s ticking bomb<\/p>\n

Another man’s risk
\nAnother man’s funeral
\nMe she can do no harm
\nNo more<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Before She Met Me<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
The title of this instrumental is taken from a phenomenal book by Julian Barnes.<\/p>\n

For me the content and atmosphere have a different significance that is a bit too personal to share.<\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/i><\/i><\/span>Circus Clowns<\/span><\/a><\/h4><\/div>
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The downtown bar at midnight
\nthe usual gang is here
\nthe open mike fandango
\nplaying for a beer<\/p>\n

there he is, awaits his turn
\nthis time he’ll really shine
\nthe big break is upon him
\nhe’ll have his name in lights<\/p>\n

he came here for the music
\nstayed here for the dope
\nthe white lines of illusion
\nambition lost in smoke<\/p>\n

He fills the stage with ego
\nHis girl is filled with pride
\nShe’s paid his way for years, now
\nHe really took her for a ride<\/p>\n

the silent guy who backs him up
\ntakes it all in stride
\nthe music is degrading
\nhe’s simply doing time<\/p>\n

He’s smiling through the whole ordeal
\nit doesn’t bring him down
\nthe circus closed down years ago
\nit just left behind the clowns<\/p>\n

the grandpas with bandanas
\ndressed in leather tights
\nbecome coked up barflies
\neach and every night<\/p>\n

Back home they couldn’t cut it
\nBrought good taste to its knees
\nThe only team to draft them
\nwere the oakland alkies<\/p>\n

now my limo waits
\nto bring me home
\nto my five star digs
\nCause you see that quiet guy
\nreally made it big
\nYou see I really made it big<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

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