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UK - England - South East

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Rock: Folk Rock Folk: Power-folk Moods: Solo Female Artist
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by blue kite

Haunting melodic music, for a dark world. Late night early morning themes. Female vocals, floating over rock guitar transformed by cello, flute and trumpet. Songs for thoughtful adults. Whisky and cigarettes in the small hours.
Genre: Rock: Folk Rock
Release Date: 

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  Song Share Time Download
clip
1. Into The Crowd
4:16 $0.75
clip
2. Safe Tonight
4:24 $0.75
clip
3. Crossing Charlotte Street
4:25 $0.75
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4. Swim In Colours
4:18 $0.75
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5. (Some Of) Mary Shelley's Blues
2:46 $0.75
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6. The Sound That Groups Make
6:06 $0.75
Downloads are available as MP3-320 files.

ABOUT THIS ALBUM


Album Notes
I locked up my office, and headed down the stairs; out into the night, and the cold air hit my face like a Long Island longshoreman wielding a jemmy. I was crossing Charlotte Street; windswept, rainy, dirty traffic, bustling crowds – you know the score – drawing on a cigarette or three or four... Then she stepped out of the shadows:

what could she hope to find?

Maybe, some strange peace of mind? I could see straight off she needed reassuring words – “It’s alright,” I said, “Let yourself be safe tonight.” But what hope could I give, that could help her choose to live? She was hitting me big time with the major existential questions – this was no small-time, nickel-and-dime philosophy bar chinwagging. You learn to say your name; learn to crawl, to creep; but she was swimming in shallow colours:

red, blue and green

I could see the effects of rushing through the world etched on her face like an Escher litho; a life of fond farewells left to hang, where your laptop tells when to fly. Her head would be lying tonight on a pillow made of company dreams, so passionless and inbetween, and I could see she was pretty pissed off. Me, I’m not like the other men, who fuck and fight; but even then, you know, I’m still all struck through with them old Mary Shelley blues, sewn-up around heart like a gun.

what could I do?

I had to let her go, and walk on to my car; by rights, it should have been a 61 Chevrolet, instead it was a 73 Victor with the nearside mirror missing – that’s post-modernism for you. I turned to watch her. It shouldn’t have been allowed; she stepped back into the crowd, then I realised, you can’t make love die.

and now, read on...

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