• Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Bands & Projects
    • Marty Willson-Piper
    • Marty & Olivia
    • Noctorum
    • MOAT
    • Atlantæum Flood
    • Anekdoten
      • How I Joined Anekdoten
    • The Church
      • Sleeve Notes
    • All About Eve
  • Discography
  • Gear
  • Talking
  • Lyrics
    • SOLO ALBUMS
      • In Reflection
      • Art Attack
      • Rhyme
      • Spirit Level
      • Hanging Out In Heaven
      • Nightjar
    • NOCTORUM
      • Sparks Lane
      • Offer The Light
      • Honey Mink Forever
      • The Afterlife
    • MOAT
      • Moat
      • Poison Stream
    • Seeing Stars
  • Sleeve Notes
    • Of Skins And Heart
    • The Blurred Crusade
    • Seance
    • Heyday
    • Starfish
    • Gold Afternoon Fix
    • Priest = Aura
  • Bandcamp

Marty Willson-Piper

The official home of Marty Willson-Piper

  • News
  • Blog
  • Shows
  • Songwriting & Guitar Guidance
  • In Deep Music Archive
  • Contact

Feb 07 2021

TO WHERE I AM NOW

Ambling along the studded path surrounded by horses, clowns, and the thrill of yesterday’s failures. Blood seeped through the cloth onto wooden floorboards staining the pattern with a touch of colour until it became a pool and leaked down into the frightened heart. Last-minute tangled in the thorns, scratched down from the doors to the tail-lights, the turquoise flakes taste metallic on the tongue. Out of the scrapheap towards the grey-grit road, the slope rolls you on to the beach, beyond the sand and seaweed and into the shallow waves. The betrayal shook the spectators, Romans and Greeks with lions’ heads and brittle spears. In the north the stars spill light across the sky, tumbling through the stone planets, like frenzied thirsty alligators. Darting across the heavens, swerving antelopes, breaking the bones of the fragile skeleton immersed in the chest of rubies.

Later, backwards the shift, slipping down the slope like tiger stripes, the tanks propel the flowers into the collapsing gardens. A cry from the split between the arc and the hinge, a shedding, a switch flicked in a wet cave, electric light for the bats. Twenty-two years pass in the retina and hope in the crow’s nest signals the death of the horizon. Camouflaged under vast swathes of entwined vines the armies struggle to march but unseen progress whilst the enemies sleep. The curve of the earth pinpoints the destination, leaving the spike of a compass on the cheek of civilisation. A cat purring, serene sits amass the bodies as the thoughts of the dead rise into the clouds, chattering their way to purgatory.

Earlier beside the lake of triangles, the horns of mammoth preserved, the magic tooth of a warlock and the book with the ideas recovered still burning after centuries. A cassowary pecking at the eye of the legend, trophies strewn across the nursery, the seeds growing inwards until the eggs split into reversed creatures going back to death. Lingering under the swooping flight of the heron, a fissure opens to reveal a darkness in the bulb. Trading with the lieutenants and the nuns in the night clubs, the organist in the underwater park, the drip-dry acrobat and the buckled suite. The blast shakes the secrets from the chandeliers and the soft bullets clear away the tears, penetrating the walls between youth and history.

Blackened roses in a feather bed, blusher on the pillowcase and the Cadillac’s rims hovering above the eiderdown. The shuffle in the drum and the laces tied outside the boots, hindering the stride towards the chasm in the minutiae. Telescopes, funnels, cones, pipes, whistles and incense on the steps of the temple, made by men to glorify, to stupefy, to idolise with precious gems and the architecture of the parasites. Bleating the dreams into the deaf ears of the chiming whispers. The first plays acted by the children of the authors in the falling dusk, dressed in the automatic silver cloaks. Blinded, by the sound of the lights, the turning ahead, the tyres slip in the mud and the radiators sparkle emblazoned with the jaguar and the angel.

A vicious telegram of all the wrong ideas, the blacksmith fuming, humid rain and a chaffinch, lost with the insects. Free will revolves around the stolen blades. Giant turtle shells abandoned by the sprinters, fastidious, fumbled, losing the box, slipping into the thin woods. Heirlooms hanging from the branches, propellors and wings buried in the soil, the flood reaches the edge of the bed as the gongs reverberate through the mountain valleys, peaks tipped with the flames of snow. Vagabonds gagged in strychnine masks, the terror of simplicity, the food on the roofs, the helicopters in the sycamore, a collection shelved, crushing the curator, the tanner drowning in the MOAT.

Music today has been the strange album Yellow House by Brooklyn hipsters Grizzly Bear. It was their second album released in 2006 and lauded by nearly every critic for its originality and winding intrigue. The core of Edward Droste on vocals and keys and collaborator/drummer on the first album Christopher Bear, the addition of another songwriter and guitarist Daniel Rossen on vocals and bassist/multi-instrumentalist Chris Taylor gave the band a whole new sense of adventure which had essentially and originally been a vehicle for Droste as solo artist with a band name. (Actually, they’re all multi-instrumentalists.) Listen, it leads you to a lot of interesting places you might not have generally chosen to go.

Music Of The Daze

Written by Marty Willson-Piper · Categorized: Blog

Missing

This is my stolen 1965 Rickenbacker 12-string, serial number EB157. If there's any chance of this guitar coming back to me before I go to meet my maker, then that would be wonderful. Please contact me if you have any information.

11209512_1669022976719710_7288437867089763325_n

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.

Primary Sidebar

  • spotify
  • facebook
  • instagram
  • youtube

Liking the blog?

Tour Dates

Instagram

Rockin' the MOAT t-shirt next to the real deal! #m Rockin' the MOAT t-shirt next to the real deal! #moatband #poisonstream 🤘🏰

T-Shirt Design by Reid Wilson
Photo by @oliviaelektra 

#schoolkidsrecords #nikoröhlcke #wellscathedral
Peter Walsh and I getting down at the Heron Tower Peter Walsh and I getting down at the Heron Tower disco 🕺🏻 #heyday
Soundchecking at Birmingham Symphony Hall, 10th Fe Soundchecking at Birmingham Symphony Hall, 10th February, 2001. All About Eve supporting Fairport Convention.

📷 by @derektimbrell
Thanks to The Wernickis for a little glimpse into Thanks to The Wernickis for a little glimpse into their new New Mexico listening space 🌵 #nightjar #schoolkidsrecords
Redeyed lad of the lowlands 🎵 📷 @oliviaelek Redeyed lad of the lowlands 🎵

📷 @oliviaelektra 

#danelectro #danelectrobass #redeyerecords #pleasantrylane #pleasantrylanestudio
You usually don’t spend the day in the studio an You usually don’t spend the day in the studio and the night at a gig but if you put the studio next to the gig then there’s a greater chance. So @salimnourallah did just that, he put the gig and the studio next to each other and made it possible for me to spend the day recording and the evening playing live 🎵

📷 @drewliophoto 

#galacticheadquarters #happinessarecordlabel #pleasantrylanestudio #salimnourallah #oliviawillsonpiper
TO WHERE I AM NOW A visit in the studio today fro TO WHERE I AM NOW

A visit in the studio today from old mate Mark Burgess from The Chameleons who has been hanging in Texas recently. I was thinking about the two of us growing up in the northwest of England and all these years later finding ourselves in such an unlikely spot together. We fixed a few issues in the universe and I carried on recording some guitars until Mark had to leave. Mark had played at the Galactic Headquarters next to the studio this year as Olivia and I had four years ago and this reminded me to remind myself to remind everyone to remind their friends that we will be playing there with Salim on Saturday, New Year’s Eve, for the ultimate in intimate performance. You can get tickets here (follow link below).

CONTINUE READING: https://martywillson-piper.com/2022/12/to-where-i-am-now-1045

KEEP IN TOUCH: https://linktr.ee/mwillsonpiper

📷 @salimnourallah 

#markburgess #thechameleons #chameleonsvox #pleasantrylanestudio #happinessarecordlabel #martywillsonpiper #oliviawillsonpiper #moatband
📷 @argirgirl 📷 @argirgirl
TO WHERE I AM NOW Sadness manifested in a buildin TO WHERE I AM NOW

Sadness manifested in a building, today we went to visit Paisley Park. Prince built Paisley Park in Chanhassen, about twenty minutes southwest of Minneapolis. It opened in 1987 and he recorded his later albums there. Apart from Prince, REM also recorded and mixed Out Of Time there, recording Kate Pearson’s vocal on Shiny Happy People vocal. Madonna had Prince play guitar on three songs from Like A Prayer and the two co-wrote Love Song, finishing it remotely due to Madonna not being able to stand the cold weather and the rather desolate location of the studio. Of course, there are things around but it’s not in the city and it’s not in the countryside, it’s in a suburb, no distractions, just what Prince wanted.

CONTINUE READING: https://martywillson-piper.com/2022/12/to-where-i-am-now-1032

KEEP IN TOUCH: https://linktr.ee/mwillsonpiper

📷 @argirgirl 

#paisleypark #prince
Load More… Follow on Instagram

Mailing List

In Deep Music Archive

Songwriting & Guitar Guidance with Marty Willson-Piper
ORDER HERE

"These are awesome sessions that I highly recommend for guitar players of all levels. Very informative, frank discussions on everything related to guitar and music in general. Definitely a must for anyone pursuing songwriting."
(Stephen G., VA, USA)

"Marty knows how to bypass scales and get to the heart of feel and timing. His musical knowledge spans multiple cultures and genres. Perhaps most importantly, Marty is a cool dude. I highly recommend his guitar guidance." (Jed B., MN, USA)

"Ok, so you’re sitting in your home and Marty is across the world but is actually right here teaching you how to play guitar and write songs. He is a delight to talk to and he is your teacher, meaning he wants to see you get something out of his lessons. You know he’s paying attention and wants to steer you in the right direction. I am so grateful and humbled that he offers his time in this manner. This is an amazing opportunity for anyone who admires anything from his enormous body of work. How often do you get to learn from somebody that inspired you in the first place? Amazing." (Ann S., CA, USA)

Missing

This is my stolen 1965 Rickenbacker 12-string, serial number EB157. If there’s any chance of this guitar coming back to me before I go to meet my maker, then that would be wonderful. Please contact me if you have any information.

11209512_1669022976719710_7288437867089763325_n

MARTY WILLSON-PIPER © 2023 - Front Page Images by Hajo Müller