Get all 12 Fugitive Orchestra releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of At The Races, The Price of Doubt, Live at Pete's Candy Store, Tomahawk Caress, Rules of the Riddle, Heterochromia, (Re)Percussions vol. II, (Re)Percussions, and 4 more.
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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, 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.
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.
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2. |
Worried Looks
04:27
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You were there the night Tommy Cooper died,
Sat making notes on the back row,
Trying to finish that novel you started,
And ensuring it didn't end a diatribe.
You clapped along when you felt like it,
Laughed when it felt appropriate,
I’m sure you stuck out like a sore-thumb.
But when you feel like your end is coming,
You take you chance, ‘cause you might not get another one.
And the worried looks on children’s faces,
Were enough to make you scared,
Though you tried to act so nonchalantly,
They all knew that you cared:
For the ones who saw it coming,
And the ones you left behind,
While mediocre wasn’t what you hoped for,
It was all that you could find.
You tried your hand at levitation,
You tried to saw yourself in two,
But your living room’s not the place for magic tricks,
And you ended up with a nasty bruise.
So you packed your dreams in freezer bags,
And hid them all away,
But when the time came to unpack them all,
You realised they’d been replaced.
Peering over the tops of the walls you’ve built,
Standing on the tips of your toes.
You look out on all the bone’s you’ve collected,
And hope you’ll live to see them decompose.
And the worried looks on children’s faces,
Were enough to make you scared,
Though you tried to act so nonchalantly,
They all knew that you cared:
For the ones who saw it coming,
And the ones you left behind,
While mediocre wasn’t what you hoped for,
It was all that you could find.
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3. |
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He can see the truth – through the cracks in his fingers,
Of the hands that are covering his eyes.
When he removes them from his face,
He recoils in shock (or perhaps it’s mock-surprise).
From the tension and the drama,
That spills out from his soul,
And the monotony of madness,
That means he’s lost control.
He sees the church spires and the minarets,
As giant needles that anaesthetise the sky.
He’s got the courage to ask you for your watch,
But he lacks the strength to say ‘goodbye’.
He’s a confidence man, don’t say I never warned you,
Always equipped with a plan, now prepare to pay the price.
Clutching a copy of “The Ten Commandments for Con-men,”
Written by the man who sold the Eiffel tower, twice.
There’s no limit to the time he can spend,
Occupying the space inside his head,
He said: “The sleep of reason, produces monsters,
But not the kind that live under your bed.
The quiet, creeping kind – that aren’t really there at all,
But if you let them in, they’ll ruin you
And you’ll live out your days in a room with padded walls.”
Sometimes you listen to songs,
Just for something to ignore,
Sometimes you look down at your hands,
And ask yourself what they’re for.
Other times you look into the mirror,
And tell yourself you’re everything you abhor.
He sees the church spires and the minarets,
As giant needles that anaesthetise the sky.
He’s got the courage to ask you for your watch,
But he lacks the strength to say ‘goodbye’.
He sees the church spires and the minarets,
As giant needles that anaesthetise the sky.
He’s got the courage to ask you for your watch,
But he lacks the strength to say ‘goodbye’.
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4. |
Already Night
03:08
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Your daily-bread is the same for all of us,
You took a mouthful of sin,
And washed it down with a spoonful of stardust.
You’d drink down the sun if you thought you could fit it in your glass.
And forever is a bad word,
Eternity is a curse,
Happy are the lucky-ones,
Those in love got it worst.
You’ve got a mouth full of teeth,
And a heart full of pain;
Most of us we all feel the same.
But you’d never admit it unless you were forced to take off your mask.
And forever is a bad word,
Eternity is a curse,
Happy are the lucky-ones,
Those in love got it worst.
And so the story goes:
You’re not too hot,
And not too cold.
But if you think the end is in sight,
Then you must be blind in both eyes.
You’ve thrown so many sticks and stones
At those broken homes,
When your words did no damage.
And you tried to get over your fear of the light,
But when you opened your eyes,
It was already night.
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5. |
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You changed your ways forever,
You crucified your dreams,
You played with time together;
It unravelled at the seams.
But I can’t react.
Since my dreams are no longer, no longer intact.
No I can’t respond.
Since it’s my destiny (whatever that is)
That I’m trying to abscond.
And it’s a wonderful night for an amateur star-gazer,
To talk with unconquerable reason –
About how love moves in on increments,
About how hands and hearts entwine.
But if you find the truth assails you,
If you find your lies corrode;
You’d better get used to the taste of medicine,
And the long and lonesome road.
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6. |
List of Demands
02:53
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I’ve dealt out: heartache, heartbreak,
And heart-attack on a plate.
And that was all before the breakfast course;
Bon apétit if you dare.
I’ve internalised hurricanes,
That led to stomach-pains,
And gastroenteritis, or chronic laryngitis;
The physiology just scares.
Should I employ Lady Macbeth to wash this blood from my hands?
Should I destroy the evidence, before I’m issued with a list of demands?
If tiredness leads to apathy,
Familiarity leads to contempt,
Then allow me to postulate that love turns to hate on increments.
Sometimes I feel like we’re unravelling at the seams,
As the fabric tears to shreds I sit among the skeletons of our dreams.
And you always had such a way with words,
Always could puncture conversation.
But a radiographer looking at my blackened heart
Couldn’t provide my justification.
Should I employ Dorian Gray to teach me the pleasure of a double-life?
Should I destroy the evidence, that it was me holding the knife?
Should I employ Lady Macbeth to wash this blood from my hands?
Should I destroy the evidence, before I’m issued with a list of demands?
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7. |
Scenes
04:14
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“I was you six months ago”, she says.
And unclasps her hands and rolls up her sleeves.
“I was you six months ago”, she says.
On the balcony, preaching to the converted.
She says: “You look a lot like Romeo,
But it’s hard to put a face to the name.
Maybe we should take it slow;
‘Cause these tragedies all end the same.
“I was you four months ago”, he says.
“In the hotel room, covering my bruises.
Did I make the mistake of believing what you were saying?
Maybe I mistook your words for truth.
Maybe I can’t afford the cost of living;
‘Cause beauty is the currency of youth.”
She says: “You look a lot like Romeo,
But it’s hard to put a face to the name.
Maybe we should take it slow;
‘Cause these tragedies all end the same.
And there goes the cardboard-box man,
He’s worried that he might blow away
And he can’t stand up for the pressure of language:
It presses down upon his shoulders like the elephant in the room.
And he can’t make plans for what happens in the evening,
‘Cause his time is taken up howling at the moon.
And she says:
“You look a lot like Romeo,
But it’s hard to put a face to the name.
Maybe we should take it slow;
‘Cause these tragedies all end the same.
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8. |
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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’.
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9. |
Scared of the Sky
03:55
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And nothing ever changes,
They’re just rebuilding roads and rooms that feel like cages.
Well it’s hiding under bridges,
Whistling through the trees.
Don’t look for the answer in the books you’ve found,
Or in the summer breeze.
How can you believe what you believe without being scare of the sky?
How can you deceive, the way you’ve been deceived,
Without having tears in your eyes?
The suburbs sighed a symphony,
At night the gutters cry and the ocean weeps.
The pavements chatter senselessly,
And the buildings whisper lists of threats
Through panes of glass and crooked teeth.
How can you believe what you believe without being scared of the sky?
How can you deceive, the way you’ve been deceived,
Without having tears in your eyes?
And then you finally realise,
You’ve lived your life for someone you’ve never even met.
You were born unclean, or so it seems,
And there’s no way you’ll be getting out just yet.
You’re feeling so vulnerable, you feel just like a kid
And you’re so scared of dying, without ever having lived.
How can you believe what you believe without being scaredd of the sky?
How can you deceive, the way you’ve been deceived,
Without having tears in your eyes?
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10. |
Lost & Found
05:16
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I’d like to be in a crowded-room that doesn’t feel so lonely.
I’d like to be in a different space, a different place,
That doesn’t feel like this body;
So hold on now – we’re going home,
Wherever that may be.
And hold on now – we’re going home,
Wherever you take me.
‘Cause I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming,
I’ve been going where you’ve been leading,
Give me a choice, give me a reason.
It’s my inspiration you’ve been impeding;
And it’s not over yet.
I’d like to be in the wilderness.
If I was alone I think I would care much less:
About the rising tides;
About my inspiration’s demise;
About the way I haven’t seen so clearly since this boat capsized.
So hold on now – we’re going home,
Wherever that may be.
And hold on now – we’re going home,
Wherever you take me.
‘Cause it’s not the end of the story.
I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming,
I’ve been going where you’ve been leading,
Give me a choice, give me a reason.
It’s my inspiration you’ve been impeding;
And it’s not over yet.
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Fugitive Orchestra Portsmouth, UK
Singer-Songwriter James Tattington began 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 Andrew Bird, LCD Soundsystem, Talking Heads, Paul Simon, Kate Bush and the Blue Nile.
... more
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