Get all 17 The Mighty Ur releases available on Bandcamp.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Socially Acceptable?, Nano 2020, No Expectations, Eggs, The Log Splitting Man & Other Tales, Eulogy, Take It On The Chin, Now/Then, and 9 more.
1. |
Therapy Spell
03:07
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Close your eyes
Take a deep sigh
In order to imagine, another world behind your eyes:
Imagine if you will
A world without land barons
A world without robber-barons
And media barons
And barons in general
And come to think of it, Generals
A world devoid of medical coshes
Corporate whores and off-shore tax-dodgers
A world wiped clean of codgers chained to the pages of the Daily Hate
Wait -
Now picture a world shorn of all those heirs to the very brigands
Who fenced off and stole the common land
In order to extract exorbitant rents from the common man
-(And woman)
Simply contemplate
A world now wiped clean of hate
Where banker’s bonuses are replaced by acts of kindness
Instead of acts of mean-ness
Karmic currencies put an end to usury and abusery
And community
Is valued way above all that empty pageantry
No more masters
No more debutante balls
No boxing-day blooding of the hoary hounds
No more careful propaganda on behalf of fraternal underlings
Now picture massed assassins infiltrating masked balls across the land
Stealthily eliminating the one per cent with expert mercenary hand
Imagine no government
Imagine no Parliament
Imagine Andrew Marr desperately trying to hotwire a getaway car
As Jacob Rees-Mogg is chased by dogs
Across muddy fields, and steaming bogs
-Now take a pause
And imagine a world rebuilt from out of those better dreams of yours
Imagine everything
Now open your eyes and yes, of course
This world you finally see-
It’s yours
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2. |
Fake Economics
05:08
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Fake economics/ Fake economists
Magic money trees/ and Quantitative Fisting
--Balancing budgets that don’t exist/ -and they know this
-It’s all pish
Neo-liberal piss-juice/ and quantitative fisting
Like we get to print our own money!
That’s right – they print the fucking money
So when they say there is no money/ -Please!
You print the sodding money! You print it at your own ease!
Fucking money trees/ Magic Money Trees/ for you to fleece
The National Debt’s a promissory note
It’s a vague aspiration/ thus the nation can never go bankrupt
Coz you print the money
You literally print-the-fucking-money
We have to tighten our belts! Says the belching beneficiary
We need monetary –medicinal- austerity!
Household budgets/ magic money trees
Fucking please/ what mugs you think we must be/ brainless sheep for you to fleece
Come-on! –Please!
But there is no Magic Money Tree! There is-no-Magic-Money-Tree
There is no national debt/ just as there’s no magic tree
Hang on – there is a magic money tree
Your fake economists/ brainwashed En masse at the LSE/ schooled in neo-liberal realities/
They’re taught to teach us the same glaring inanities
But we know your oily illusionist-tricks
That come via paid-up media hicks/ we’re sold fake economics/ from fake economists/ schooled in Chicago/…And the LSE
There’s no magic Money Tree!!! We have to balance the books you see!! There’s no Magic Money Tree!
Neo-liberal piss-juice/ and quantitative fisting
There’s no Magic Money Tree! (There is a fucking Magic Money Tree)
There’s no Magic Money Tree!
It’s all wheels you shill/ still Peston/and all the rest of them …
Keep selling us shit.
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3. |
America First
03:49
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America
The greatest minds of your generation
Were blunted by greed, chemical coshes & rampant consumerism
Bright lights carefully dimmed out within dark carriages never to be seen again
Replaced by noodle-heads with rampant egos
Blood-soaked salesmen with meagre brains
Sowing the seeds of their own destruction
Child-like and vain:
Speaking to their own once-mythic greatness
Speaking from a storm-drain
Lost America
The time of the crowned and conquering child is coming to an end my friend
Just as your time in the lethal sandpit is spent
So relinquish now your magnifying-glass you teenage psychopath
For you cannot sit setting fire to the ants in there forever
America
Fever-stricken, sickened America/ the fourteenth amendment of your constitution bestows the Rights of the individual upon your corporations. so is it any wonder then
/that the corporations trample you underfoot/ with swift impunity?
Monoliths and Cinema-screens –
Snake oil served in jumbo-cups to useless eaters
I’m telling you America, your super-sized tourist hoards will soon be barred from boarding planes abroad
And your slick-salesmen will merrily put you to the sword for the simple fun of it.
For the expediency of it
See joy-stick destruction is like the sweet blood of virgins to these Bathory-bathing-hounds – so look around –
Your communities have all been auctioned off by corporate thugs in tailored-suits
Coz they don’t need hijacked planes no more to take down the prime real-estate
– It just takes cold reptilian calculation in place of hate
So why America, why?
Why do the ranks of huddled masses grow more wretched and swell with every single passing day?
Let me spare your blushes and break it down for you….
The corporate entity does not care for you
It does not even consider you
For aint you viewed the rushes
Ticker-tape updates in tent-city is bull-shit for the bulrushes
And this gravy-train only goes one way
So if you are truly chosen as you so often say, then you had better pray
you had better pray America
For these psychopaths have no loyalty to your land-mass – thus once your money-supply, food, water, and gas has become sufficiently depleted – they shall move on with barely a backwards glance
The crescent moon choke-hold and the petro-dollar stranglehold is ever-weakening
So what exactly is there left stop it crumbling?
Can you not hear the approaching juggernaut a-rumbling?
Your simpering snowflakes tried to warn you of a coming mighty avalanche
buy many left among you think you still have a semblance of a chance
Dance
Dance America
Dance to the tune of the latest incarnation of robber-baron-in-chief
and cheer
Cheer as the king of cheats robotically bleats: America first! America first!
And as the Jekyll island jackals suck the remaining marrow from your bones
Under cover of night the Prez quietly boards his corporate jet alone
Zap! Wham! And Holy Cow!
Look at the sandpits burn like oil-slicks now!
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4. |
The Yellow Kings
04:15
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YELLOW KINGS
Welcome
Welcome to the kingdom of our Yellow Kings
Here all cartwheels are forbidden
Along with speed-dating and playground swings
In place of jester’s sticks, we have puritans who scratch and sweat
And simpletons who clutch their propaganda-sheets tight to their chests
Three men were arrested for curing meat
One was executed for laughing at the Leader of a Scout Group
Who had demanded his papers at a pop-up checkpoint
Shot point blank by snipers with goggles, his body disposed of by bob-a-job boys in toggles
Now kids place flowers at Checkpoint Charlie
So it would be churlish to challenge the legitimacy of the yellow kings
So on wards we lurch – lurching ever-onward
Some fella was imprisoned for refusing to accept her complimentary newspaper
The commuters just shrugged and turned away
As they escorted her away
So have we not then become, little more than chicken-shit-minstrels bowing elaborately to our yellow kings?
-And incidentally, what of things?
Brightly packaged void attempts to fill the void
And sometimes indeed it does successfully fill the void -
But only for a second, the merest breath between a heartbeat
Up until the packaging dissolves and the void returns and
On it goes
On and on it goes…
And in a sense this pitiful scenario puzzles me, for the evidence of this self-evident truth
Is all around us and all about us – it is in plain sight for all of us to see. should we choose to see
And yet, we choose not to see
See-
The truth should not require further articulation
Or an abstract art to act as a roadmap
And all I know is that
When we keep the truth alive within us
There is a great and a mighty beauty that never quite lets go
And that is what terrifies them so, I suppose
And so it goes –
On and on it goes….
So what happened to the Kingdom of the Yellow Kings?
What has become of our Kingdom of the Yellow Kings?
… And what of things?
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5. |
Receiver/Deceiver
04:21
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RECEIVER/DECEIVER
I’m a receiver/ I am not a transmitter
I’m a believer/ though I’m seldom fulfilled
I still go one believing/ Coz I have to believe in
A world that is ordered/ despite all its ills
I’m a believer/ a receiver/believer
I don’t want to change things/ I don’t want to make things
A face in the crowd makes me ever so proud
I have to believe in a world where dreams are illusion/ I can’t handle confusion/
Coz I’m a receiver/ a receiver/believer/ and I crave the protection/ my dreams are projections/
I believe in receiving even as my days are receding
Please turn up the speakers/ for the reception is weaker/ the signal is failing and I’m lost at the tail-end
As the screen starts receding/ it’s all disappearing
I was a believer/ I was a receiver believer –
But now I believe …
That I was but a man
And that man is far greater/ maybe even creator/ if his dreams are permitted to seed and to grow
So don’t be a receiver/ don’t be a repeater.
Don’t be a transmitter, just be a believer
And if the soul is all fiction, as the experts all reckon/ then my lifetime’s submission/ was but a shrug to the dark
But now there’s a suspicion/ as I lay in suspension/ that I somehow extinguished that necessary spark.
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6. |
Strategy Of Tension
05:50
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STRATEGY OF TENSION
Gas pump coins/ rag and bone men/ the ghostly cacophony of hawkers/ and commuters in bowlers/
Punctured plastic footballs/out of reach beyond the fenced-off rail-lines/
Haunted houses/ derelict houses/ newly-weds with bright futures collecting Tupperware/ shopping for supper-ware/ the death of industry/ the end of rent/ and the birth of right-to-buy
Cold-war spy-sagas and Harold Robbins/ Bodice-rippers/ Tit-bits/
Pans People and limp-wrists/ pansies and comedy feminists
Kids in blazers/ men huddled around braziers/
Hot metal presses and Laura Ashley dresses
Boot-boys and Butlin’s/ Brian Rix and Miss Whiplash/
Whitewash/ Whitehall farce and Mary Whitehouse
Cockney pugilists/ Northern ventriloquists/ -Situationists
Grub Street hacks in dirty rain-macs/ Kojak/ and Hijacks
Bobby sands and Grandstand/ Alison Gibbs doing handstands in the playground
The IRA/ the MFI/ Soccer-yobbos and Red Robbo
Red Rum and hum-drum Sundays/ Ice-cream sundaes/
Chicken in a basket/ Pizza in a briefcase
..Kiss-chase
I heard the bomb at Woolwich Barracks/ The Galloping Gourmet and Fanny Cradock
Robin Day and Peter Jay/ Neo-lib-looming/ male grooming
If you want a coloured for a neighbour then Vote Labour!
Love thy neighbour and Mind Your Language/
White men in turbans in prime-time sit-coms/
Shin-guards/IRA bombs at horse-guards/
The Strategy of Tension doesn’t warrant a mention/ just as OPEC doesn’t have an impact on Dennis Healey’s tattered knees/ take a breath…
The lagered-up stars of Saturday can’t even beat the Poles these days/ And Boob Moore’s heroic hollow legs/ they seem a million-million miles away these days
Boot-boys make away-days seem like dawn-raids by The Red Brigade/ Lou Grade gives way to Michael Grade/ and it all slowly/ begins to fade
As the Iron lady patiently waits for the fire-sale/ the yard-sale/ the bonfire of all sanity
The end of society/ and the slow-birth of austerity
It’s not so much the rivers of blood/ but the sewers of hate that gush like the forgotten Fleet
Beneath the satellite towns and sink estates
And the inner cities are ablaze these days/ not helped by the cop tightening the thumb-screws
With a sly smile upon his face
And they wonder why we’re aimless why we’re rootless, nihilistic, and dead-eyed
But they do not mention the seeds of their strategy of tension
To keep us either violent and predatory/ or muted and sedentary
And it seems surely inevitable, even evolutionary/ that some evil emissary
Will cap off this age of Shiva with the greatest light show the world has ever seen
And will ever see/ A fatal inevitable jolt and
All eyes shall be blinded by the flash of Shiva’s lightning-bolt
This is a Strategy of Tension.
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7. |
Armageddon Rag
06:18
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ARMAGEDDON RAG
The 1980’s were a pitiless drag
Thanks in large part to the embedded, and ever-present, Armageddon-rag
And still today, from time to time, I dream of flicking through a school library-book
Defaced and emblazoned with the prominent symbols of the time
Symbols for anarchy, symbols for fascism, communism, nuclear disarmament
Not to mention the odd dripping cock carefully positioned next to a black and white statesman’s mouth
Or a foul thought-bubble, emerging from Twiggy’s aged timeless head
Way back then
The children of the stones had grown away from their fear of the Sea Devils
Only to have the fear rudely replaced by Panorama’s jaunty Armageddon-rag
This detonation in the country’s living rooms was presented by a youthful Paxman, who made his name by informing us – Over the sound of a chopper’s spinning blades –
The effects of a one megaton bomb exploding 7000 feet above Westminster
And how in the event, he related, it would create
A fireball stretching a mile across
With temperatures reaching 100’s of 1000’s of degrees of centigrade
He gleefully hovered over Vauxhall Bridge –
Look dad, Vauxhall Bridge, that’s near where Nan lives –
And Vauxhall Bridge would experience winds of up to 700 miles an hour –
And the vile polluted Thames would carry toxic spores all the way down to Gravesend
For we carried these haunted dreams right into our teens
And way beyond as well
The BBC and Panorama
Defaced the generation who defaced those school library-books so very well
Introduced foul thoughts and dripping cocks into our collective consciousness
Maybe the threat of Armageddon was their retribution instead
For us drawing tits on Winston Churchill’s waistcoat
And a nob on Nelson’s painted head
-I’m off to bed
I’m off to bed to dream of strange familiar things like defaced library books
And the fearful spectre of Armageddon
-Yeah, it’s a drag
But this is an Armageddon rag.
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8. |
The Still Centre
14:16
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STILL CENTRE
I have been told there is a single fixed point in the universe
And from this still place I am told that all truth emanates
And there is a point, supposedly at the base of the skull
That is like a decommissioned antenna
And with careful concentration
We may activate the signal once again
And there sits a serpent at the base of each and every spine
Waiting to be awoken
So that it may rise and curl itself like a caduceus around the spine
I tell myself the garden is mine, and with that in mind
I hope and believe, more than anything
That I shall return to this lost paradise one day, someday soon
And someday soon all the sins of gravity shall be forgiven
…simply washed away
And on that day
All those levers of control that depended utterly upon the illusion of endless forward motion
Will simply shake away, will be blown away
So stand and stretch and step outside this cave of shadows…
Simply walk away
From out of the shroud of night into the cradle of the day
Tell yourself the garden is mine
Tell yourself the garden is mine
Take back what the mental enclosure act took away
And you’ll be just fine
And on that self-anointed day, your new-found stillness shall appease you
It shall release you
From the iron grip of all capitulation
And the prison complex of manipulation
For there is no person nor representative-entity
Who polices or guards the gateway to eternity
The gateway to eternity is untended
The garden is unfenced and uncorrupted and it welcomes everybody in
At least those who are not steeped in manipulation
Mired in exploitation
For these are the original sins
But there are tiny sins: sins of manipulation; sins of low-expectation
Foisted upon us all
Now washed away, they fall away
When we return to the garden
So we may as well return to the garden
We were not born in sin; we were born into a sinful system
We are angels fallen, kept low
Sandaled feet that pin our heads to the floor
Taught to train our eyes upon the floor
-Fuck that, no more!
The serpent rises. The tyrant drowns amidst a polluted sea of his own creation
Negation becomes creation
Babel rises, common tongues speak of new beginnings
Fear is banished to the darkness from whence it came
And we, naked as jay-birds in the meadows
Now clothed in light, we blast the shadows
We rise like angels
Mind-liberated, reconnected, unshackled and sovereign once again, we are born again
Born again in light
Dancing on a pin, at the centre of everything
We were not born in sin
We were born into a sinful system
Disconnect the system
And let the walls all melt away
For too long we fought the urge to purge the demiurge
Now we blast the demiurge
Our will is done
And the serpent rises, Babel rises
You can’t touch me I’m a part of the union
This is not a prison complex or an investment duplex
This is the apex, it is the still centre
This is the still centre of everything
Evolving at this very moment
Every breath
Every imagining is an act of Creation
The serpent rises, Babel rises
We are at the sure centre
Of everything
The garden is yours once again
The garden is yours once again
Just let it fall away
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The Mighty Ur Leyburn, UK
The Mighty Ur are Steve McAuliffe (words) AC Monks, DP & Sned (music).This bandcamp site holds the music created with with a variety of musical co-conspirators in a variety of styles along with the works of The Mighty Ur
The Mighty Ur recommends:
Completely original Zapa/Beefheart would be a lazy comparison. Saxophone welded well. The new stuff stands up with & even beats the early 80s output. Check out Dusbin Of Sound and In Toytown too.
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From Leeds. Completely original.Jesus Lizard/ Beefheart would be a lazy comparison. If they were from LA you'd never stop reading about them. There previous 10" title is as relevant as ever
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The mighty Subhumans. A band AC Monks has probably seen more than any other over 4 decades and they're still pumping it out.
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A massive compilation of Washington DC duo Teen Mortgage's fuzzed out, propulsive garage punk singles and EPs.
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Scratchy DIY punk from Philadelphia with an impeccable list of inspirations. Think Crass, Flux of Pink Indians, This Heat, and Chronophage.
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Normal Never Was - Revelations - The Remix Compilation
by Crass
The legendary Crass made the stems from their debut available for remixing; the result is this excellent, mind-melting 40-track collection.
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