Bone Architecture

by Harry Stafford and Marco Butcher

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    CD Presented in a colour sleeve Digi Pack with 12 tracks

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1.
*Bone architecture (E) Five friends in the protest group, Five goons in the snatch squad swoop Rows of shields and baton charged water cannon face enlarged. Bone architecture, inferior structure protester on stretcher, un-British sector, Stress the structure, un-glamorous fixture, caught in the mixture, protest elixir. *It’s Just bone architecture, let him down, let him down! Snapped neck like a spent matchstick, let him down, let him down. Five friends are three with two in the van, mashed in the face, nose out of place, Lost in a loop and fighting out, Blind in the soup I hear you shout. Night stick, riot stick, pictures from phones cracked bones, snapped bones and pavement stones. Tear gas , pepper gas, smoke bomb yellow Black eyes split ear squashed marshmallow Blood in my mouth, teeth on the floor, Compound fracture shut in the door. Three friends beaten one on the floor, my air, I’m crushed, pours out, no more. *It’s Just bone architecture, let him down, let him down. Snapped neck like a spent matchstick, let him down, let him down! Inst . . . . Five friends are three with two in the van, mashed in the face, nose out of place, Lost in a loop and fighting out, Blind in the soup I hear you shout! Night stick, riot stick, pictures from phones cracked bones, snapped bones and pavement stones. Tear gas , pepper gas, smoke bomb yellow Black eyes split ear squashed marshmallow X2 *It’s Just bone architecture, let him down, let him down!!
2.
Look behind you, look again, all good things they disappear Look behind you, look again, all good things they disappear. And he’s thinking what will I be when I’m gone? And she’s thinking of all she can do without him. And he believes she’ll miss him every day And she knows that she is finally free And he loves to dream of other girls. And she hates to dream another night And she’ll gaze upon a frozen street And dream him skidding off the road Look behind you, look again, all good things they disappear. She knows when she was younger then. Had boys attend her every need He thinks he was her first amour She doesn’t have a past to him He laughs at bickering couples fighting. Not us, that’s always other lovers She smiles hopes that she’ll see him punch him He scorns and walks the other way. Look behind you, look again, all good things they disappear. He thinks he taught her everything. All she knows is he knows nothing He thinks he informed her musical style She’s laughing at his provincial tastes He thinks she’ll never leave him ever. She’s been seeing someone else for months He’s happy he (thinks) knows ‘everything’ She’s moving in with Zak on Friday. Look behind you, look again, all good things they disappear.
3.
trying to get in, someone’s tryin ‘ to get in . . . A vampire or a taxman, dead squire, or a batman There’s somebody trying to get in! x2 Weell . . . They ain’t going to get inside, The place where my mother died, They ain’t going to get inside, They ain’t coming in where I abide. They’re tryin’ to get in!? There’s someone trying to get in, there’s A vampire or a taxman, dead squire, or a batman An insect a sea gull: dull object or wolf skull Help me! They’re tryin’ to get in!!! Weell . . . They ain’t a-going to get inside, The place where my mother died, They ain’t going to get inside, They ain’t coming in where I abide. They’re tryin’ to get in!?
4.
Oh, how I love Juniper Sunday. See her around, see her at noonday. knows all the hombres, Dylans and villains. A list of her friends is billions and billions. She’ll take you on a trip that leads to the spaceship. She’ll make you sit and wonder, as you go under We once had a date I slept on the camp bed Told me she once had a thing for a skin head She’d take me to a place where they call up the Gods And often it worked despite all the odds Oh, how I love Juniper Sunday. I wish I could see her again every day She’ll take you on a trip that leads to the spaceship. She’ll make you sit and wonder as you go under We once had a date we drank too much Absinthe Told me she’d never, touched any since Oh, how I love Juniper Sunday. I wish I could see her again every day Scarce believed it when they told me you’d died The world turning slowly, I am landside Said you’d got tired of the unyielding pace A reverb of sound tumbling from grace Oh, how I love Juniper Sunday. I wish I could see her again every day
5.
So much confusion and it’s blocked out the sun and the sky, but I . . . like it like that. Going to take the last flight through time zones and into last night, to end up . . . outside your door. Pass me on the road to the other side I’m crossing that space to you Send me a message, phone the hospitals More than just passing through Ask all about me, send someone after me I’m more than a missing person Travelling with haste, last in the race I’ve blocked out the sun and the Sky Back to where I began sliding through time and through space And it’s up . . . the whole game is up Coming to earth with a thump, before I even set off Crashing headlong into last week.
6.
Termite City 04:04
Termite City Everyone wants to bomb their city All four quarters & signed committee. Pull it down and start again, office blocks to trash filled docks! Show a little love, show a little love Show a little heart on a concrete wall, spray can poison an act of persuasion. With a brush of the master under the skate park smells of turpentine reeks of platitudes smells of turpentine reeks of platitudes. Let's all praise the fatal city, lets all burn the phantom city. I see the naked city blushing; I see the mortal city dying. Either way I wanna see it, I wanna see what you have made! X2 I wanna see what the tech you’ve played, tossed in the mix homemade grenade. Play the blues punk! Play the blues and play them in an X formation! What have you done to the fatal city, what have you done what have you done? I gotta know, I gotta know, I gotta know, I GOTTA KNOW!!! I’m back on track, I don’t look back, It’s my comeback, insomniac. I don’t look back, It’s my comeback, insomniac, I’m back on track. I’m the man of all moves I’m the king of the palace the emperor of night, urbanite dumb malice (digitalis.) plethora borealis. When you hear the warning be sure to check your notification! Parasites, cellar bar invites, crepuscular lights, inner city delights. Termites, Termites, Termites Lost in the night exotic dancer, Tango the park, guess that’s no sir Don’t get up don’t go to bed, when will it be dark again!
7.
Worst in me 02:58
Damn the creator Anti- Agitator Ditch Excavator No vote Dictator Behead the traitor War Generator Exterminator Fuel indicator Behead the traitor War Generator Exterminator Exterminator You’ve got the worst of me x4 and the whole world laughs at you Light simulator Wide Luna crater Dead Demonstrator Please Later waiter Troll moderator Gun liquidator incinerator Death escalator Behead the traitor Exterminator Behead the traitor War Generator A Midnight freighter Bomb detonator Pollen inhaler Peace gladiator. Time moderator Gun liquidator incinerator down escalator Damn the creator Anti- Agitator Ditch Excavator No vote Dictator
8.
Savannah of Havana Oh, listen to my tale of despair. I am old and my features are a caved in fright mask It was a long time ago and as I haunt the cruise cloisters It’s (all) about Fornication (fucking) and terrible shame. It was me who was that unctuous promiscuous tart. I was debauched by couplings both stinking and doomed. Tanked, glib affairs, dead-end Liaisons And dipsomaniacal fuck buddies, all in a line And I’ve never cast off the self-disgust and the guilt. As I look into the pit of recrimination and hate And endlessly renewed licentious squalor dictates I was everyone’s favourite after club mate. Of morbid mendacity and many acts of predation At last, I met someone who matched my substation. It inevitably flattened me after the fact. She was a purveyor of hot and messy pleasures on tap. And yet worst she was capable of matching depravity. Her name was Savannah, but I called her Hannah. She scared me to death with her palindrome horror. We soon became buddies and went out on the prowl. “Oh, Hannah of Havana the consort of kings? If I thought I was vexatious, she drubbed all my sins. She piled into a party with needles and pins. Then she killed me, Oh, countless might have beens. Skunk Drunk Funk Boy, meets his Savannah This time it’s personal deep in Havana Hannah you made me wanna be nice, I love you, I love you, that why I must die.”
9.
Hide the Knives! Move over superhero because you’re emperor bat-shit zero And the gang all skittle in behind the man I feel like taking up this space as I watch you fall from grace And the madman thinks the world is in his sights It’s not an every day thing make your stolen car sing Burning tin the wasteland in your town And yes, you’re absolutely right, you’re gonna lose this fight Start losing in the eight and dive the tenth Ah well he came here yesterday, and I heard him call your name Now he’s lying in the station cut in two Yeah, he’s running out of time, it takes more to get him high If he comes home, you better hide the knives And as he looks a down his sights, I’ve blown away his alien rights And the blood is getting darker as we speak As we take it to stay slim, is this stuff gonna last him Or will we have to lock the windows tight?
10.
F.T.S. 03:08
F.T.S. (Fuck this shit) The writer, the speed freak, alone in mid-flight. His brain, floating wild like a ghost in the night Accelerates the woe to his mind in a fright, But want to fly higher blown like a kite. He’s written it down, a journal on screen, The rest of his stuff, one day to be seen, It talks of a life, of a love that has been, He’s written in haste and vented his spleen. But he’s tired of it coming back to him now, He’s avoided the guilt and pins in the highbrow, But the heat in his head is driving a plough, That furrows a trench that gets deeper each hour. “I am what I am, and I hate myself most, I’ve written a will and relocated the post.” "It’s three in the morning, I’m walking wherever, Far away from my house to a station wherever? And wait on the platform, so long and whenever? It’s probably time for the gesture whatever? "I hold my hands in the air, on the tracks and the grit, With the train in my head, I shout, “Fuck this shit!” Paramedics in stress, Police not impressed. Fingerprinting the bits, nursing passenger’s fits. But what of the after, in this terrible town, He knew it was sooner. And sooner was down. Cremated in haste, he’ll never get older, Lost in the journal colder and colder.
11.
Horror film House Oooo, Oooooo . . . . . . . . Arrrrgh! . . .Ummmmm . . . Tired old house fulla creaks and bones Last saw action at the time of the Stones Raised 8o thou at auction and 95 re-selling But nobody knew about the killing Family moved in, with teenage kids Mom is good lookin’ and dad played tennis sets Found a case of black suits in the dark basement. Turned them inside out and burned their minds. Now one man’s suit is another’s fancy duds But the ills that lay on them came alive in the bloods The rags made them do it and the murderous thoughts And now they know the blood’s in the bones. Now the parents are mean, and the kids drive in cars They go out at night, to the drinking bars The bones are inside them and the screaming is high There’s been a lot of killin’ by and by
12.
Arnold Layne 03:00

about

Harry Stafford and Marco Butcher met online primarily it was to exchange ideas and talk about their musical influences. But after a while it soon became apparent that there was more to the ideas and wild notions, they were creating than a mere shared love of Swing, Be-bop, blues, post punk, trash and all the untamed genres in between.
The record, Bone Architecture is a collection of songs composed with music mainly by Marco and Lyrics and occasional keyboard and guitar expression by Harry. It is a raw and at times unforgiving forage into urban punk blues with, fuzzed up jazz and garage trash rock.

credits

released September 3, 2021

Harry Stafford: Vocals, piano, guitar. Marco Butcher: Guitars, bass, keys and Sax. Kevin Davy: Horns. Wasted Pido: Extra Guitar.

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Harry Stafford Manchester, UK

Harry Stafford is guitarist and singer of post-punk-blues-Gothic-rockers Inca Babies. The incas were formed in Manchester UK., in the 80s. In 2015 he decided to release some solo material that echoes his love of Blues Piano and barroom ballads. But 30 years with the incas meant it wasn’t going to be as musically simplistic as that. Guitar Shaped Hammers and Gothic Urban Blues are the result. ... more

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