Perfect Wreck EP

by Mountain Schmountain

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02:04

about

Kind of a concept EP about a person who takes a break-up so badly that they ultimately eat a biro.

credits

released March 29, 2012

Written, performed and produced by Simon J Curd.
Sincere thanks to anyone I bugged for advice or opinion in the process.

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Mountain Schmountain Nottingham, UK

Extreme MOR

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Track Name: Fibres On The Frames
Tiptoes find the stairs that creak the least, irises adjust, do my pale arms and face remain a faint corner-of-your-eye glow like a turned off television does? Let the sofa seem to sit in its previous place until fumbling fingers find a switch - and switch. No shadow gets recalled by our indifferent landing walls, no memory etched on bedroom floors, all the awkward talk in doorways wasn’t why we came but it might leave fibres on the frames. Let the bare bulbs and the dust, in strange shapes on empty bookshelves, speak for everything that left in boxes bulging with regret. Let neglect and disrepair just confess that I was there.
Track Name: Exit Signs & Longitude Lines
Now we’re all standing in the airport with no luggage and no seat, or standing in the bath with arctic water ankle deep. Oh, to superimpose my Perspex window ghost over rows of crooked rocks, serrated outcrops; something to break the pulleys and weights that held us in place, the bright strings of spit that didn’t break after people kissed. I stood and watched you disappear as your fingertips careered over continents like stylus/needle reading the subtle relief of mountains and seas. You were on your knees, reverent, in the glow of the closing bookstore floor and my feet are aligned to exit signs and longitude lines.
Track Name: Perfect Wreck
Slender pines watched the fumes cross the moon and dark blue/green weeds looking up from beneath saw the fuselage plough into the silk sheet lake and break. The starboard engine muttered apologies for dinners left out and lights left on - limbs left swinging for something to cling to like they should have clung to other limbs. High above, the first pink ribbons of morning swathed close around grandiose columns of smoke. And face down, electrical sparks danced about as parts of the plane bowed out, proud to light up some depth. Now, how about one quick breath? - Like the ones that punctuate every ‘I worked for this’, tumbler gripped and lifted to lips ready to sip. Every ‘I tried my best’, still unfastening a dress.
Track Name: Between Insects & Biplanes
No loosely tied wires try to fight to make something work, they don’t reach and grasp to hear those familiar clicks and whirs. Now the buttons of your long, brown coat are a countdown and all attempts to abort fall short like trying to throw stones underwater. If there were a diagram on an old page, between insects and biplanes, dissected and explained by clear labels, I would stay up all night and study by sceptical lamplight, no cross-section, no close-up to escape. When the receiver pushes air towards your perfect ear it vibrates those tiny bones in waves that recreate a voice but words that fail to make the connection that they used to make.
Track Name: Scribble
I take your point but no, I can’t just let this go, I can’t just cross it neatly out. I’ll scribble and scribble until you can’t tell what was there. Actually no, I’m not bigger than this, I’m not better than this; I’ll scribble until it goes right through. And then I’ll set the desk on fire and the first on the scene will find me with ink on my teeth.