Heterochromia

by Fugitive Orchestra

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released July 29, 2016

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Fugitive Orchestra Portsmouth, UK

James Tattington started performing as Fugitive Orchestra after reading a passage in a J. G. Ballard novel.

Fusing together Beatboxing, Live-Looping and Guitar, Fugitive Orchestra makes music best described as Alternative Jazz-infused, Bluesy Hip-Pop; drawing inspiration from the likes of Elvis Costello, Andrew Bird, LCD Soundsystem, Paul Simon and not being anything like Holden Caulfield
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Track Name: They Don't Say Cheers, They Say Good Luck
Open the curtains, banish the grey
Open your window, it might happen today.

Open your suitcase, unpack your soul.
Tie up all the loose-ends, it’s time to take control.

Fighting the current, trying to come unstuck,
Searching for answers, well you’d better stick around.
‘Cause around here

They don’t say ‘Cheers’, they say ‘good luck’.
They don’t say ‘Cheers’, they say ‘good luck’.
They don’t say ‘Cheers’, they say ‘good luck’.
Track Name: Nostalgia Blues
I tried to tap dance, but soon found I was wearing steel-toe-capped shoes.
I've tried playing by the rules, yet even when I break them it soon turns out that I lose.
If I can't find a way out of this constricting kimono I'll be stuck with the nostalgia blues.

My bread always lands on the buttered-side, but why do I feel like I'm the only one?
That by some universal conspiracy I've got less time to get all these things done?
If I can't wriggle out of this crocheted bikini I'll be stuck with the nostalgia blues.

'Cause nostalgia is a currency we never seem to be running out of,
And I always seem to be on the wrong side of the road.
We've heard and will obey all of the adverts
While the scheduled engineering work will continue as planned,
And we say: 'We want our shirts whiter than Jesus,
We want our reality on demand.'

I've had many tries to visualise a future in which I could be someone whom I admire and not despise,
Well each time I fail and feel alone and so confused.
If I can't find a way out of this faded tuxedo I'll be stuck with the nostalgia blues.

'Cause nostalgia is a currency we never seem to be running out of,
And I always seem to be on the wrong side of the road.
We've heard and will obey all of the adverts
While the scheduled engineering work will continue as planned,
And we sing: 'We want our shirts whiter than Jesus,
We want our reality on demand.'
Track Name: Captain of a Sinking Ship
Hold on to that fire for whatever it might signify,
And pretend to be the person that you buried alive
With each new and unexplained equation it means you're getting there,
While you calculate philosophies and the tangles in your hair.

There's no need to change speed, you're just changing direction
But you're a fading man-child, just praying for perfection.

And logic is overrated, yet you say the same of truth,
Cue another awkward-pause for nothing more than to give you an excuse;
A chance to realign your conscience with something a little more your style,
But you're a misanthrope without any hope,
Who never learned to smile.

There's no need to change speed, you're just changing direction
But you're a fading man-child, just praying for perfection.

And all we're asking for is perfection, and if you don't like the sound of that sir, then there is the door.
It's hard to know when the shit is gonna hit
When you're a captain of a sinking ship;
I'm a captain of that sinking ship.

He sacrificed his heart on the altar of bad-taste,
It was an open-casket funeral with an extravagant wake.
Now all the beauty-queens and Jimmy Deans,
Bite their lips behind the scenes.
They all pout and preen, or so it seems,
They've got twisted fingers and shattered dreams.

There's no need to change speed, you're just changing direction
But you're a fading man-child, just praying for perfection.
Track Name: Doctors, Lawyers & Indian Chiefs
The coffee grounds are burnt.
There’s a tea-stain on your shirt.
There’s blood on your lapel,
From where you cut yourself shaving.

Some say you’re a tax evader,
Or that you’re still playing Space-Invaders,
But whichever one of those is true,
I still think it’s amazing.

And twenty clear plasters couldn’t cover the scars,
Or the bruises, of the heartache you’ve caused.
You might be a doctor, a lawyer, or an Indian chief,
But that don’t excuse you – from breaking the law.

And what about that lover you had,
You two were as-thick-as-thieves,
But I can see from the colour of your eyes –
You feel like you’re bereaved.

Some say she gave up the fight,
Or she lost the battle with cellulite,
It would seem there ain’t a surgeon in the world,
Who could help her now.

And twenty clear plasters couldn’t cover the scars,
Or the bruises, or the heartache you’ve caused.
You might be a doctor, a lawyer, or an Indian chief,
But that don’t excuse you – from breaking the law.