There Are No Maps For This Part Of The City

by Seafieldroad

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04:18
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about

An album of piano songs by the vocalist of Swimmer One

‘A lovely album. A late contender for one of the best of the year.’ Gideon Coe, BBC 6 Music.

'It's the sort of record that they – the Mark Eitzels and the Paddy McAloons – used to make. An adult pop record with heart and brains.' The Guardian

‘Eaton crafts songs that sound like minimalist classical composers working on adventurous ballads for REM. This album will either win the Mercury prize or disappear into fervent cult obscurity. It’s so good it deserves no compromise in between.’
The Sunday Herald

‘A compelling end of year treat... perfectly attuned to winter's lonely, dark nights.’ Drowned in Sound

'The songs glow with a sense of sincere, melancholic wonderment... An album to get lost in.' The List

'A heartbreaking and delicate album... a great piece of work.' Sunday Mail

'Majesty enough to keep Eaton strides ahead of the curve.' The Skinny

'Unquestionably the best thing he's ever done. I perhaps shouldn’t start off by comparing it to other albums, but when you see the ones I do, you will understand: Brian Eno’s Music For Airports. The Blue Nile’s Hats. Virginia Astley’s From Gardens Where We Feel Secure. Yes. That good, that special.' Is This Music

credits

released 29 November 2010

Andrew Eaton: vocals, piano, organ, melodica
Laura Cameron Lewis: vocals
Hamish Brown: synthesizers, sound design
Robert Dick: violin
Jackie Norrie: violin
Liz Ford: viola
Pete Harvey: cello

Songs by Eaton (2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12), Eaton/Cameron Lewis (1, 3, 10), and Eaton/Cameron Lewis/Brown (4, 11). What Happens Now (13) was written by Patrick Fitzgerald, Julian Swales and Dan Goodwin and originally performed by Kitchens of Distinction

Produced by Hamish Brown
String arrangements by Pete Harvey www.cellopete.co.uk
Additional recording and engineering by James Locke www.missionhallstudios.co.uk
Cover photograph by Laura Cameron Lewis
Design by Daniel Warren
Many thanks to Alex Fiennes for engineering assistance
Special thanks to Helen Williams and Jennifer Williams for the use of the piano

C and P Biphonic Records 2010. Unauthorised copying, lending, public performance and broadcasting prohibited

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Track Name: Brian Wilson Karaoke
I can see through the fog, just enough to crawl from room to room,
Sounds are a better bet, sing me a pretty tune and you'll get through,
All that aside I would love to invite you in,
What did you say your name was? Fine, let's begin.

Everyone says they're me but I know how it felt to write Sloop John B,
That other guy's a fake. Can't even surf, he's so fat, bloated and grey.
You'll never find a more real Brian Wilson in LA,
They say I've lost my way, well that's ok,
As long as they stay.

Time folds in on itself, it taunts me,
If you remember you can't have been there,
But if you can't how'd you know you were there?
Be my Eugene Landy, hold me till I don't care
Track Name: There Are No Maps For This Part Of The City
There are no maps for this part of the city,
I've never been here and neither have you,
Honey we'll just have to find some kind of way through,

There are no maps for these late bars and theatres,
No pull out guides to what we should do,
Honey we'll just have to find some kind of way through,

And maybe if I love you at all I should just let your hand go now,
See that you get safely home and that you never find out how much that I love you,
Cause much that I love you I am completely lost,
I'm so far off the map I've no frame of reference,
I am completely lost.

How did I get here so far from everything, feeling like I've come home?
I never wanted to hurt anybody but darling I can't bear to go,
Is that sound the world exploding, or is it just this bar closing?
Track Name: The Truth
The truth is not a monument, the truth is wrong and right,
The truth is a bloody war zone, a song sung in the night,
The truth is deaf to protest, is a red rag held high,
The truth is just that I love you.

The truth is bruised and naked, is broken from the fight,
The truth is clean and finely boned but dirty in this light,
The truth is a bloody war zone, a song sung in the night,
The truth is just that I love you,
As a fallen kite, wrapped and boxed in tissue for someone else, this flight.
Track Name: Tesseract
On that side of the wall there's a version of here,
But the table's the other way round,
It's a mirror of this and next door it's the same,
But the clock face is yellow not brown,
In the both next to ours sit ourselves in this place,
But in there your hair parts to the right,
And your eyes the same depth with that thought on your mind,
But next door you stayed silent that time,

And next door again we eat chips and talk shop,
And next door again we're not there,
We've gone to the shore and we're skipping some stones,
And you reach for me then but catch air,
I lean on my hand on this side of the wall,
And you tear it all down with 'let's get out out of here',
And I say 'the beach' and you're pulling me near,
But I think you're joking and I start acting weird,

But you don't this time, and you stop me this time, and you say this time, this time...

And right at this moment we're pressed up to the wall, your hands in my hair, the shake of our fingers, finally burning a trail of tears,
Your breath on my body and lash brush my lips and this fury of touch, a violent solace, of soft soft soft fingertips,

So longed for this shudder of sweltering pains that bloom as your fingers crush into me,
And my cells break down and my skin becomes yours and you cry and I bury you inside me,

For this time is all time and I'll never lose this this,
Even when you're gone.
Track Name: Hanging
A boy is on the stage, he is young and beautiful,
He is perfectly at home but he's miserable,
Well he must be very sensitive to have come this far,
And every single minute he is thinking of you,
And he put a lot of thought into his haircut too,
Appearance is important in his line of work

Don't buy his music and don't go to his shows,
He is just going to let you down,
It doesn't make a difference how much poetry he knows,
He is only going to leave you hanging.

The boy hates his face but he describes it well
For an audience who like him 'cause they're in the same hell,
He mistakes it for love but you didn't have to.

This is not a climax, not an uplifting chorus,
It's just a drop in the ocean,
Stay on the phone love help is coming.

I'll sing you a song and I'll put on a show but I'm still going to let you down,
It doesn't make a difference how much poetry I know,
I am always going to let you down,
I wish that it was different but it's all that I know,
I am always going to leave you hanging.
Track Name: Stamped Addressed Envelope
I'll wait for the text then I'll meet you in the morning,
wherever you are,
We'll talk and we'll laugh and we'll run or go swimming,
wherever you are,
My girl you have no idea.

This town is a playground, these streets full of stories,
wherever you are,
I'm lost and afraid every time you don't show me
wherever you are,
My girl you have no idea.

How much I love you, how much this hurts,
How much I want you to get what you deserve,
How much time I spend just staring at you,
How you'll be shaped by the things that I do,
My girl I have no idea,
My girl you have no idea.

And every time I see you I'm overwhelmed by everything life is,
And every time we say goodbye my heart fucking collapses,
I'm sending you out into the world armed with every weapon I have,
I'm sending you out into the world but I'll always want you back,
My girl you have no idea,
My God you have no idea.
Track Name: All I Wanted Was To Be A Gangster
All I wanted was to be a gangster, now I work in a library,
All I wanted was to break heads but somehow I just drifted into kindness, gentleness,
I couldn't want it less,
No wonder I am so depressed,

All I wanted was to cut throats but I just wasn't cut out for it,
Hands too clumsy, heart too soft, I'm good for nothing much except kindness, gentleness, indecisivenss,
While murders go on all around I must keep these books in the right order,
I must file them all from A to Z,
It's just that it's such a disappointment,
It's dull and no one ends up dead,
All I wanted was to be a gangster
Track Name: Feeble Jesus
He's the image of you but without the scars,
He got the beard to a t, took your photo to the barbers and said make that be me,
He does miracles but you can see the strings,
Lazarus is still depressed but the wine tastes watered down,
But we followed him anyway, he was the next best thing.

We tested him once, we were curious to know
If he knew his bible like he knew his game shows,
He got most of it right, got the begats in the right order,
But he missed out the blood, it was like he'd been censored,

Feeble Jesus, show us some blood, show us some blood boy,
Feeble Jesus, let's see those wounds, let's see those wounds boy,

He's got good intentions but then you hold his hand,
And it slips through your fingers like he's made of sand,
And I wonder how he'd take it if we all held him down,
And drove nails right through him till he cried out loud.
Track Name: All The Ways Of This Love
My fingers brush the keyboard as I walk the ridge of your spine,
Your muscles tense with a click,
I return your scattered kisses, the touchpad licks the tips and I send to you all the ways of this love.

A photograph I took today of two birds falling down...
I play again that song you sent,
And gaze upon every inch of you as I send to you all the ways of this love.

Your body stretched out in front of me in the late light of this screen,
I was always good at problems but this one I can't equate,
I can write you out in sequence but you don't materialise,
And this life doesn't have enough depth for us to draw the lines between all the ways of this love.
Track Name: Fucking Manchester
We're up on the 20th floor,
You can see every city from here,
You can see where the bomb went off,
Where they stitched a new street in the cloth
And there you are at the window with the sunlight on all your skin,
Every woman that I ever wanted, every city that I want to live in,
Here in this room, here in this room.

We came here for a weekend, to build ourselves from ground up,
To walk and talk and kiss, to eat and drink and fuck,
And later we put our clothes on, and stride past the old and the new,
With grins as wide as the canal, as loud and high as the factory,
A boy wrapped around a girl in a city wrapped around a town.
Fucking Manchester!

And later still we're kissing in the John Rylands Library,
In front of a fragment of paper that is older than we'll ever be,
This city took centuries to build, we're babies compared to it,
Trying to lay some foundations, while floating high in the air,
So many abandoned buildings, shadows and ghosts everywhere,
But this is how it starts, however much it hurts,
This is how it starts, with love and hope in our hearts.
Fucking Manchester!