Songs of The Mike Smith Company

by The Mike Smith Company

/
1.
A Hargreaves of Cuffnells; the spoils of impropriety; this reckoning of daydreams; an innocence of misguided intentions. A weirdness of flangers; the sounding of abstract fantasy; a fault of misatributation; this mystery of actualization. A punishment of welts awaits your fascination of crushes. An artifice of flames engulf the opulence of distraction. An ignorance of details prevent a competence of facility. A flush, a sord, a suit, a puddling come out of the sky and they stand there. What counts in counts, in actuality: A drift, a drove, a charm, a colony. An ostentation, a pod, a pack, a company. A zeal, a trip, a must'ring, a lamentation, a murmuration. A scurry, a host, a rookery, an unkindness. When accounting for what counts it would be wise not to discount these terms of venery.
2.
Once imagined fate has forecast freedom of your own creation. Will (what once was) wastes its wielder bound in blinkers to a station. Ill fit image cut when cradled trained by frame and grown in malformed expectation. Forced false setting! What's made is laid, tucked tightly to your tote. A twist but for the knot around your throat. Some scoutly spirit sold a safer self, but packed you'll find there's room for nothing else.
3.
Something fell. Something changed things for yourself without means to express the change without. There is no badge but your resolve to crush the one who has fallen. You dig a grave, drape yourself in mourning wear: a roughly sewn uniform of something else. A cherry-picked pantheon, feigned formality, callous rubbed against itself. Where came this unyielding adamance? This baseless authority? An absolute rejection wears away at all who miss the question. A spiky path for those who love you; a twisted hedge to the centre of yourself ; an intimidating invitation to a game you made yourself. Something fell. Nothing changed you much at all.
4.
Another One 05:35
5.
All becoming deeply entertaining Falmouth goers having just come lately. Mountain's noble outlook planted roadside Certain unknown variations waylaid. Black ribbons wind through scented snow Salt air sticks sweet in crisp morceaux. This concrete daydream found a home A teapot cottage now unknown. This high voiced help shut down our pick This bounty lost on Look 'n' Lick. The oddest essence loud and clear So easily forgotten here. What Charles had seen he settled there. Fascination poured. How Mabel could have found her place in this eyesore. Tucked wooded at a quiet point. It was someplace near. Unknown even to our most lore driven guided tour. All becoming deeply entertaining Falmouth goers having just come lately. Mountain's noble outlook planted roadside Certain unknown variations waylaid. Privateer! Hard to mask our crushing disappointment Local flavour seekers’ lost anointment here.
6.
Hoots Haunt 04:20
What owl's hoots haunt fell-forced night's gown? Haunts hawk on woods, grim notes fall foul. Fear grips none near, wight waits his owl. Go forth, now not! Hanged woods urge out. Winging orders, howling hastens. Feasting feathers nearly grounded. Who is hailing our dark winged foe? Gathering nightly, faint lit fires guide Freely grouping nether noones. Winging orders, howling hastens. Who is hailing our dark winged foe? Freely grouping nether noones. What owl's hoots haunt fell-forced night's gown? Haunts hawk on woods, grim notes fall foul. Wight waits his owl. Hoots haunt.
7.
Widowed hoard, cork jockey, platter. Out, set as empties. Memory clean. This widowed hoard, once lined up like jockeys, now set out like empties. Widowed hoard. All heads have their platters, and wiped clean of memory they're free to reflect anyone. Could anyone echo the sound of her master's voice? This widowed hoard, so carefully collected and now disconnected. Once a whole, split apart. Who could remember a lifetime of evenings? This craft without creation. Your only mark a gilded blemish: "FROM THE LIBRARY OF…"
8.
Dark Sequin 05:25
Crested constantly in your dark sequin, set in polished stone, steel faced, vested in velvet. Crossed casually as if to cover it up, arms a fell menagerie. But what lies beneath a cowl, and above a solid stance in brazen booties, is an unseen detail as of yet. A look into your eyes to surmise somehow where the weakness lies, without doubt mirrors only fear without, cutting down anyone who comes around. You'll be standing still, crested constantly in your dark sequin, set in polished stone, reeking of your own rot.

credits

released April 26, 2019

Jonathan Adjemian ~ Korg MS-20
Robin Dann ~ vocal
Rebecca Hennessy ~ trumpet, vocal
Mike Smith ~ bass, vocal, maracas, Moog Little Phatty, programming

Music and Lyrics by Michael Smith (SOCAN)

Recorded by Sandro Perri at Sonology,
except for all the DI junk that Mike did at home.

Mixed and Mastered by Sandro Perri.

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All-Set! Toronto, Ontario

Dedicated to releasing sounds from Toronto’s left-field music scene, All-Set! Editions aims to cover everything from bent song-craft to wobbly synthesis, with frequent stops between and beyond.

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