Manteision Bodolaeth

by Rope

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08:37
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07:09
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05:26

credits

released March 11, 2016

In the spirit of reference, pieces of art alluded to in the lyrics of this album include works by Tom Sharpe, William Buckland, William Shakespeare, Wilfred Owen, Boris Pilnyak, Jim Pinnells, John Kennedy-Toole, Grant Morrison, Ernest Hemingway and T.S. Eliot, as well as the courtroom scene from Fritz Lang’s ‘M’ and that try, by Gareth Edwards. New Zealand vs Barbarians at Cardiff Arms Park, 27th January 1973.

The live performances of which this album consists were committed to record by Lewis Johns at the Ranch Production House, Southampton on the 29th and 30th August 2015.

Cover Photo by Alfred Brown IV – www.pizzavsgod.com
Artwork by Sam Phipps – www.iamsamcreative.co.uk

Rope
Josh Smith
Kai Woolen-Lewis
Leigh McAndrew

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Flood Records Belgium

Flood Records is an independent Belgian based emo and screamo label, founded in 2012.

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Track Name: Ohrwurm
The world outside is none of my concern – a bleakness I don’t want to know. Years spent in search of certainty found only in the assurance of men. No doubts is what these men had, and if they did, they kept it to themselves; instead of spreading uncertainty around, left to wondering who or what they were, close to an answer.
Track Name: Peut-Etre
I’ve eaten many things but never the heart of a king. If I had to take my pound of flesh, I wouldn’t know where to begin. It moves me like dogs barking, six billion babies crying. I’ve never found the words to say, but never for want of trying. Could be. I know you’ve been smoking since before it was bad for you; these days it’s a mug’s game that only a mug would let himself do. The bull’s left the china shop and rampages right down the street. Meanwhile, inside the shopkeeper is left with splinters and holes in his feet. Could be.

“Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.”
Lucio – Measure for Measure
Track Name: The Perks Of Being
Once blithe with spring, the summer thaw now settled in; there must be towns lovelier by far than ours. Some corner of some foreign field; lest their eyes see more, prevent it. As was said, I say out with you vile jelly. I was angry once at how life gives and how life takes away. I missed the point then, suppose we only ever do. Just intruders in the dust, a flag lost blowing in the wind. Lost to all but me, the Volga falls into the Caspian Sea. The lion, instead of devouring has chosen to lie down with the lamb. Millions condemned to forgiveness. The stone rolled away to leave the cave. Millions condemned and then forgave. The peacemakers shot in the face; the meek, enchained and enslaved. If I could absolve you, your accomplice in sin, would my absolution be valid and where would guilt begin?
Track Name: Ignatius (A Plague Of Dunces)
After period of order, winds of change, dark days ahead. They say “an ill wind blew no-one good”, “he’ll grind your bones to make his bread”. Crushed beneath Fortuna’s wheel all semblance of collective will. Having once been so high, humanity fell to unseen lows. Once dedicated to the soul, now dedicated to the sale. The humble pious peasant goes to town to sell his children to the lords of capital for reasons questionable at best.
“I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labours, I make an occasional cheese dip.”
Ignatius J. Reilly - A Confederacy of Dunces
Track Name: Crisis On Infinite Earth
I’m standing here at the gate to heave stone, mix mortar, hang your slate. But this work well’s been held dry; there’s not a drop for you or I. It seems all that’s left for me to do is run a mile in someone else’s shoes and I could run and run for light-years, but there’s nowhere left to go. Our cosmic ambitions, they turned out chemical and cute. I don’t need my breath back, butty, my lungs are lined with soot. It’s a crisis on this infinite earth; the concept of year round spring-time erases all idea of worth. I’ve witnessed axes falling and head-baskets getting full, but there’s nothing I’ve ever seen like that look on a man’s face; eyes rolling, tongue twitching, mumbling intelligible verse from his favourite prayer. This table has to be wiped clean. I’ve left the plate and crumbs for the service.
As with many of Britain’s post-industrial wastelands, the South Wales valleys can be a brutal place to grow up nowadays. People who would, generations ago, have found gratification and purpose in work are left with little to turn to but cycles of crippling boredom and self-destructive behaviour. A sentiment with many of our close friends in mind. K
Track Name: Brian Lung
“Debut d’une lutte prolongée.”