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Post Internet Blues

by Gad Whip

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Edition of 200 = 150 Black and 50 Black & Clear Swirl 12" vinyl housed in a reverse board printed sleeve with a double sided insert. Released on X-Mist Records (XM111) www.x-mist.de

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  • Digipak Compact Disc
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    CD Issue on Fourth Dimension Records - "The CD version of this Lincoln/Yorkshire-based UK group's latest album (the vinyl of which was released by Germany's X-Mist label), following several low-key cassette albums released since 2014, plus the four tracks that constituted 2017's limited edition 'In A Room' 12" e.p. Gad Whip blend avant-garde sensibilities with a contemporary take on the place where D.I.Y. culture meets post-punk, hints of deconstructed garage rock and interstellar voyaging through sweat-drenched waking dreams. Immediate, powerful, confounding and kept in place by wry, sometimes observational, semi-spoken vocals that recall Jason Williamson and the late Mark E. Smith, this is music primed perfect for any 21st century meltdown in a suburban sprawl."

    Includes unlimited streaming of Post Internet Blues via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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1.
Red Shoes 02:35
Red Shoes The parameters, they keep changing, The times, they are ranging, Ain’t nothing getting resolved, Until it becomes dissolved. The results however, seem to differ, Let’s post them on twitter, And await the response, With abated nonchalance. Keep the faith, and all that jazz, Hope’s in the heart, where as, Red shoes are like common topaz, Looking swell playing razzamataz.
2.
Clear As Mud 02:57
Clear As Mud A colourful past spent in the west, A monochrome version of some quest, A cartoon steak for a birthday cake, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. How fast can you learn Braille? Zen and the art, pass or fail, We get needier as we get speedier, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. A finely tuned bullshit detector, Are we expecting the chief inspector? To call round and collect his pound, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. An interview with a barking gerbil, A row of plants on the window sill, Free cash, lets raid the stash, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Waking up to a Klingon frown, Floating around in your dressing gown, Don’t want to be a preacher, teacher, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. The pointy finger of fate, Always on time, never late, You like to flirt you like my shirt? Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Being polite doesn’t cost a cent, Did that sound wrong, you know what I meant, Sat in a bubble waiting for trouble, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Laughing at primitive forms of expression, Mind is focussed I’m on a mission, Fingers in pies is a bunch of lies, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Living next door to a drug dealer, How quaint, what could be cooler, You know it’s never dull in Hull, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Never ventured far from the apron strings, You like to have all the latest things, The nurse who likes to curse, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. Patience is indeed a virtue, A guessing game would you like a clue, Going on a cruise with my muse, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud. A postcard that says eat less bread, Is apparently stuck to my head, Judging by the stares from the squares, Cheers bud, that’s clear as mud.
3.
Goat Bag 03:25
Goat Bag A sea of concrete eating my face, This utopian scene had the desired effect, Sending me signposts when you can’t read a map, I am impaired with frustrated grandeur. Goat Bag, Goat Bag, Goat Bag. Travelling west upon a crest, Travelling east after a feast, Travelling north on the fourth, Travelling south shut my mouth. Your bad luck saved you once more, A Dunning-Kruger special brew, Hey don’t you forget that memory stick, Forceful gestures and a winning smile. I just went along with it all, Good as gold happy to play ball, A real saint with one tragic flaw, Staying afloat brought a lump to my throat. Destroy that malignant part of yourself, No gods, no masters, no bastards, Everyone’s suddenly taking the same photograph, Of a setting sun in the morning.
4.
Pay Trevor 01:46
5.
Couch Hunch 03:16
Couch Hunch A shaky hand shake with a sheikh, Give a little, but mostly, it’s just Take, take, take. All laid out on the historical time line, Enabling others to say what’s yours is now mine. You got the dollar? You get the extension. Born to breed, born to bake, And serve a plate of heartache. We got grievances and absences, And technicoloured tinsels, Sensory overloads and bucketfuls of jingo bingo. You may ask how this lot built an empire, It was the butcher aprons singing in the choir. You got the dollar? You get the extension. Take me to Point Nemo, So I can search for the satellite of love, Junk yard supremo when push comes to shove, Are you willing to change a raven for a dove? Developed a curtain twitch, Got grassed by the local snitch, A hobby bobby, does it for kicks. Texting in tights, Something I do at home, Pimp action on the speaker phone, I got a couch hunch, About this situation, Let me work out my mitigation, Something about integration. I got a couch hunch, I can change the world, My nails are starting to curl, I wish to remain in my domain. I got a couch hunch, Got a crush on Agatha Christie, Can’t see now it’s gone all misty, I didn’t dive, it was a fucking penalty. You dirty bastard, What a fucking rotter, A double parking snotter, The cul-de-sac cheater, Who got found out, I got a couch hunch. Yeah it didn’t quite work out, So I listened to Suicidal Tendencies, And ignored my vitamin deficiencies, I got a couch hunch. I paid attention to my instinct, I’ll never give in I am persistent, And when crunch comes to crunch I got a couch hunch. I got a theory.
6.
The Vault 02:36
The Vault When the waters rise, can you hear the cries? The pink headed lab rat scurried across my field of vision, It was dressed in a pair of yellow y-fronts, And was carrying two Ennio Morricone LPs in its front legs. Where the blind lead the blind, The squinty eyed one is king, He once told me you have to flower wherever you are planted. I’m sowing seeds for survival, whilst the deniers await an arrival. Chained to radiators in a disused call centre, Doing 8 hour rotating shifts and fed on supermarket bin scraps. Original 1970s green woollen existential goalkeeper jersey, Guaranteed to double in weight and go baggy when it rains. I’d like to shoot a burning arrow through your flag, Be done be gone – away with it all. I’m sowing seeds for survival, whilst the deniers await an arrival. When the waters rise, can you hear the cries? Chewable tie outfitters, figgy piggys catered for, Indeed this way and that if you please, oh you are a tease, I think that bloke over there keeps bees. You need a steady hand to place the fighter plane decal, At this point your thoughts are with another person, And how you try and see with someone else’s eyes. I’m sowing seeds for survival, whilst the deniers await an arrival. When the waters rise, can you hear the cries?
7.
Invention Of Invention You’re a comedy caravan parked in the driveway, An acidic aftertaste the morning after doomsday, You’re a shadow of a half-remembered memory, You did what you did and couldn’t let it be. You’re a vitriolic has been in the departure lounge, The world loves a bastard now isn’t that profound, Caught with your hand in the honey pot again, A rogue in brogues with mush for a brain. On the shelf in a modern curiosity cabinet, A fine example of what we call a shit magnet, My voice is my password repeat ‘til ad nauseam, It seems quite plausible so let’s keep with the theme. Addicted to high drama with very low motives, You kept it quiet and hoped no one would notice, A little soundtrack to an imaginary scenario, A reactionary nightmare blasting out in stereo. There are 25 instruments in front of you, And only the clock can be trusted, Anyone in PL3 got the brown water, Because the mains pipe is busted. The broken eggs called nine nine nine, That was actually a prime-time headline, You wonder how and you wonder why, We have managed to survive this far, Before even the invention of the invention, Of the invention of the intervention, A naïve dream that makes no sense, Unless of course you happened to be there.
8.
Puddle Of Death There go the monotone hands, held together with rubber bands Speaking of generation credit debt, or something else to make you fret An angel sneezed in my face, there’s always someone on my case Smelling salts for an old cynic, they make me feel sick. High fidelity, high definition, low on quality, low on cognition The internet streamy media, the bastards just get greedier It’s a winner baby, solve that mystery, avoid being shat upon by history Dead language passes through our minds, of course it takes all kinds. Distinguishing truths from fictions, I’m lost and won’t ask for directions A saga in saga from some old diva, This age of irony is starting to wear thin, Just like the Stasi in east Berlin This age of fury is casting us adrift, The bus smelt like a puddle of death, Like someone had taken their last breath, Heat, sweat and whiskey sadness, cosmos and crisis in Kings Cross, A storage facility within a show box, it doesn’t beat people just clocks. Images become memories become narratives Become history become policy quite nicely.
9.
Delivery Window The delivery window, Where the artist is present, But the cash has gone. I’m thinking bottled beer. The delivery window, It stinks of euros, Un-em-fucking-ployable. I’m thinking vino. The delivery window, The girl from Gothenburg, Had a Tupperware party. I’m thinking tequila. The delivery window, Bit risky knocking one out, Still no one’s about. I’m thinking rum. The delivery window, Where not much gets done, It isn’t much fun, I’m thinking cider. The delivery window, A bloodless transition, A money off coupon. I’m thinking real ale. The delivery window, A lost Leonardo, Universal credit charges. I’m thinking cocktails. The delivery window, Getting cabin fever, Now I’m a believer. I’m thinking retsina The delivery window, Waiting is but a game, Put that in a frame. I’m thinking spicy chai, Hot chocolate, double espresso. The delivery window, Needs a damn good clean, Time to plan and dream. We don’t have nets, And one often forgets, That damn delivery window.
10.
Mice And Men 00:39
Mice & Men Loud fluorescent lights, Long sleepless nights, Hit and miss bathrooms, Getting high on petrol fumes, Regulated by available power, Counting down to zero hour, Of mice and men, We’re making plans but then…
11.
Bad Terms 03:15
Bad Terms I closed the curtains to keep the distractions out of sight, I can still hear you though, laughing through the night, I tried to put my arm around you but nothing was there, To someone else I’m just catching fresh air. Will I see you again? Can we dance ‘til dawn for one last time, Holding my waist and leading the line. I’ve got memories deep in the back of my mind, When we were one, two of a kind, Where have you been all of my life, Where have you gone all of my life. Will I see you again? Can we dance ‘til dawn for one last time.

about

Bil Amos - Bass
Geoff Bolam - Synths
Pete Davies - Vocals
Lee Drinkall - Drums Guitars B.Vocals

Recorded at Yuba Studio, March-April 2018.
Goat Bag video - www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kFo3CX8nns

"The four English shit on conventions and common song structures and prefer to do their own thing."
polytox.org/gad-whip-post-internet-blues/

"God bless these weirdos"
www.yellowgreenred.com (Sept 2018)

"Recurring images of decaying infrastructure are just a mirror of political, social, media and moral realities, which are expressed as unadorned here. Post Internet Blues reactivates the anger in the stomach and leaves a lump in the throat like no other 12XU-compatible range has made this year."
onetwoxu.de/2018/08/14/gad-whip-post-internet-blues/

"Post Internet Blues has the atmosphere of a night drive through the zombie-ravaged Lincolnshire: as the fuel needle shivers deep in the red, the inmates see only blood and decay everywhere, where once-blooming landscapes gave hope and confidence."
kopfpunk.wordpress.com/2018/08/15/review-gad-whip-post-internet-blues-lp/

"Post Internet Blues is, at least in my opinion, the band's most intimate album so far, if you do not listen to vocalist Pete Davies scolding too much - not so tame, rather the wolf in sheep's clothing."
manierenversagen.de?p=2140

"The pounding rhythmn section and the sharp and pungent, at the same time restrained and distressed guitar chords underpin his angry and fed up vocals, emphasizing his sense of disgust, sorrow and disenchantment for a unimaginative and conformist nation of sheep."
whitelight-whiteheat.com/new-music/wl-wh-track-of-the-day-gad-whip-goat-bag/

credits

released August 3, 2018

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Gad Whip England, UK

Art punk ramblings

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