Artbook Flipping / Spring Rounds

by Robocobra Quartet

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Recorded live by Chris Ryan at the McMordie Hall, Belfast on 9 June 2014


released July 12, 2014

Tom Tabori - Soprano Sax
Jamie MacKenzie - Tenor Sax
Nathan Rodgers - Bass
Chris Ryan - Drums/Vocals

#1 Lyrics by Chris Ryan; music by Robocobra Quartet.

#2 Lyrics by Chris Ryan; music by Igor Stravinsky. Arranged by Robocobra Quartet.




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Track Name: Artbook Flipping
i'm drowning in a sea of marketing buzzwords
and i'm puzzled by this, the last refuge of scoundrels:
"creatives" hunched over a light-pen
thinking (their way) out of the box they put themselves in

art-book flipping, "inspiration" is the linchpin
it's simply self-delusion to think that this is more
than aping thoughts off of the beaten track
this route brings home the bacon
careers built on faking / art-book flipping!

well, of course every excursion is going to be met
with resounding indifference: cosmic inattention.
even among my fellow black-sheep i maintain a heterochromic penchant
even among my fellow black-sheep i find the flock heard no mention
of how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love comes once to bend them

but i'm not looking up for answers…
or at least i'm not stopping at the heavens.
and if we're looking for other life that's "intelligent"
i hope fermi & co. spare me
because i'm asking the same question…

(… "where is everybody?") art-book flipping!
Track Name: Spring Rounds
i'm staying on the fence, but i'll straddle it
conventional 'wisdom' often isn't
convention is there to be toyed with
convincing us of an alternate
contending our tendencies to chase it
conventional wisdom often isn't
convention is there to be toyed with
convincing us of an alternate

how can we submit to tradition without giving independence an honourable mention?
and, i should mention that 'human nature' is a bullshit conception;
we have a long-standing tradition of genocidal intention

and riddle me this:

- sex scene at eighteen: legal human being
- twenty-five to life (murdered man, sobbing wife)
- slaughterhouse/dead cows/blade to neck/fork to mouth/swing of guillotine a natural thing
- oh, but don't fuck the poor little things!

and my man chet atkins (i mean chet baker...) wanted to get lost
and i can relate to that first (but probably not foremost):
the remarkable feeling of being in motion again.
going to georgia, going to maine, there's never a "ville" with no "gaines".

but i'm not en-route looking for escapism.
i take trains: you'll find no vauxhall and i within
i've seen folks left high and dry scrambling to find piece of mind
running to burning men, looking for moments away to find nothing within.