It’s been a while, but after a hectic start to 2025 with overseas research trips and the like, I can almost taste spring in the stinky atmosphere down by the docks.
I’m currently completing a small book titled Where Your Mind Is? (some of you may know that title from the 2003 7” single by Specifik and me). Where Your Mind Is? is effectively a collection of lyrics, some recorded, some released, and some which remain purely on paper, but with a contextualization for each song - each of which is also underpinned with deep footnotes. Squagle House is aiming for the pre-order to go live at the end of the month, with a view to shipping in mid-March.
So, here is a taster - of a song and lyrics at least (no footnotes or much contextualization …) of ‘Sixteen’, an unreleased demo written in 2005 and recorded in 2007. Specifik and I are potentially working this one up for a proper release at some point.
Sixteen
The first line of sublime sixteen bars,
I’ve driven sixteen cars home from sixty bars,
For sixteen years I held back sixteen million tears
That I cried into sixteen beers
And do I feel any better?
All I know if that I’m feeling wetter – from writing sixteen letters that sit in six draws at number sixteen
I feel a desire to scream
But no-one hears me now – I cry sixteen times
Onto six pieces of paper that become rhymes
And I make six takes over sixteen breaks
Looped and produced and then cast into shape
But the armature I use is wearing thin
Eight double gins releases my feeling of sin
That’s sixteen shots – do the maths
See
‘Cause you plus me is beginning to equal three
I promised myself I’d get a grip
But as my palms ooze they begin to slip
Will it matter if I run right off the road?
The sixteen valves I push until I’m told
I see red lights on the dash
Fast cars and cash
Never impressed me
If I crash
I could die a local hero as I’m still young
I could name sixteen heroes all of them unsung
But are they still alive somewhere?
They sing along
Sixteen songs to the album they belong
And it’s not wrong to think like this, is it?
And if it is I don’t want to be right I’d rather lose it
I’m doing sixty-six in a thirty zone
I see six lights flash in front of my home
There’s no way out of this I’m in too deep
You’ve opened up my eyes and now I’ll never get to sleep
It’s the sixteenth day of month six
Not that I count
As I shout, I got clout like Michael on The Mount
Yet all I do is revolve
Like a move round a roundabout
I gotta do something about –
This
I try sixty methods, I experiment with sixteen lies
Severed six hundred ties
With sharp scissors
Now I’m driving through a blizzard
The white stuff is all around it surrounds my sound
And I’m grounded but not six feet deep
As my depth is metric and the earth is unique
So I try and bury sixteen hatchets
But plant six hatches
Not as I predicted
I’m inflicted from wounds from someone I trusted
And I never lusted
As we walk through blustery gusts
The wind blew away the rust
Now I drive on the solo
Only me I can trust