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. |
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HE BLOOD OF THOSE FORGOTTEN GODS
You may think yourself the architect of your own ruination
Yet you are not the accumulation
Of all those nervous ticks and party tricks
That have become
Over time
Your collective identifier
You are neither the performing pup
Nor the rabbit frozen in the headlights of an onrushing truck
Neither are you the taught-by-rote stoat thrown into mute deference
When in the presence of someone whose ascent
Was guaranteed at point of birth
You are not the child admonished
And punished for a failure to raise your hand in class
But maybe
Maybe what you are, in actual fact, is the accumulation of all your tiny acts of kindness
The smile that lifts the day of one who is more inclined toward the darkness;
They whose tiny acts of bravery defy their own shattered histories
For they are not their histories
Just as you are not your history - just as you are not a screen for others to project their dreams upon
So give up your tinsel-sticks and your coloured crayons
Tear down the paper cut-outs and switch off the magic lanterns
And stop and think -
Think about how far you’ve come and all that you have created
For do you still cower in the presence of Power
Like a chastised child?
Or a whipped dog
Do you resemble the correspondent scraping and fawning outside the royal awning?
Or do you look beyond your imposed prejudice and off-off-shelf world-view?
Do you?
And can you
Can you, from time to time narrow your eyes, and switch to see beyond your slate-grey future?
The future they all mapped out for you.
When you were a child you had some mighty dreams
You had some golden dreams
Dreams to drown out the demons
Then teachers, parents, preachers, and a mighty array of hastily-assembled creatures –
All assembled together in order to narrow down your vast ambitious horizons
And eliminate all trace of critical thought
-Or so they thought
Yet somewhere along the ledge a mass rejection of official narrative was birthed
One that steadfastly refused to be crushed this time
Whether by embedded strategies of Tension or some foxy Contelpro operation –
It was a genuine awakening
That refused to be put back to bed
Thus the censor in the head
Was nullified
And those that the media-mouthpieces vilified
Conversely became deified
The wealth of the west was built upon the blood of the east! We cried
Beneath the pavement, the beach! We cried
And in our reclaimed authenticity
We found ourselves no longer separated from our surrounds
Despite their mighty efforts and long-term plans
To cleanse the very soul of the city
And banish its heart to the blank hinterlands
A great and golden land spring liberated from out of the wells of our collective imaginations
Golden pillars frame the ponds wherein children bathed delightedly
And stars shone over reclaimed meadows and high grass where once the black glass of corporate finance held temporary dominion
Gone
All gone
Torn down and replaced with raucous inns – the Bucket of Blood reborn
Fruit now picked on Tyburn’s green pastures
And true, all this may not be truly cast as paradise
But it has once again become an authentic place
For running through this reclaimed space: Ichor
The magical blood that once coursed through the very veins of those ancient gods…
The ground swells
Hold tight, and set your sights upon those forgotten horizons and selfless deeds
For all is well
All is very well
Indeed.
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2. |
Rejecting Soma
03:56
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REJECTING SOMA
And so we find ourselves now, living through these dying days of drip-fed Soma
And incremental soft dogma
A shiny self-promotional world in which oppression
Finds its manifestation
Behind manifold masks and expert skin-grafts
Behold, the grim oppressor dons the cloak of freedom
Whilst secretly shoring up the already- mighty fortified walls
And still, the remaining doped-up shackled serfs do not determine
The true extent and nature of their own imprisoning
Coz from the earliest of ages
We were taught by rote
Passive obedience
And stage-managed subservience – to an overlord we would never ever encounter
For a good old while back there it seemed we enjoyed our dreams
And steered-fantasies well enough
Electable interchangeable front-men and women
Human sales-pitch-faces for the permanent machine
Selling us a nightmare as an attainable dream –
-Surface change we could believe in
Tiny
Almost imperceptible alterations
To the pitch and speed of the bleeding …
Yet there is something fundamental changing
Trust me; they can feel the swell of the terra firma shifting
And what was certain seems now uncertain – consequently all the stake-holders and placeholders are to be found keening
Fretting, sweating
At the terrifying possibility that the 100th monkey has finally awoken
For outside their diminishing reach, somewhere out there
Something is stirring
Deep within the caverns of solitude and despair
And yes, they have the means to monitor all these emerging tangled networks of awakening
But they lack the tools to close up the magic box
Thus those who would be dream-weavers
Are now reduced to mere observers
Banks and banks of screens in bunkers
Track and stack the information into computer servers
But still scramble to make sense of a narrative ever-shifting
Ever-developing
Enveloping
The still-evolving minds of those who curse the status quo
And consequently they damn the very day we became our own narrators
Began by-passing the machine-selected editors
Laughing in the face of stone-faced men
Whose job it is to rein us in
See, nowadays
Only a select brand of ageing greying husks
Still place their misplaced trust
In twisted dangerous narratives and a machine that’s doomed to rust
It’s coming.
Trust me, this is the hour before the breaking dawn.
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3. |
Son
03:34
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SON
Oh son of mine
Be ever-vigilant, be diligent
Yet never forget to be flippant at least when the occasion demands it
Never compromise except when necessity dictates that you must
And never take a single thing on trust
Never position yourself in a nowhere place
Just to feed the needs of others
Because although initially you may merely
Lightly bruise yourself
In time, trust me
You will completely lose yourself
Incrementally you will lose yourself should you meekly surrender
And if you do meekly surrender you shall find yourself in a place of un-belonging
Longing for a sticking place to screw your courage to
You will find yourself adrift and lost at sea
Like the mid-Atlantic accents of the Washington correspondents on the B-B-C -
Son, the same families and old familiar bloodlines
Still rule this cursed country
And the trick is to never settle long enough for them to heed you
For them to bleed you
Son
We all need you
As we need all the sons and daughters of this blessed isle
To break with the cycle of conditioned pain and sorrow
And build the paradise that our generation steadfastly failed to
---Son, you must believe
Son…. You must conceive of this:
You, and all our blessed sons and daughters
Are the architects of tomorrow
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4. |
Invocation
05:15
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INVOCATION
This is not a weak-pleading or a polite invitation
It is the summoning forth of mighty universal forces
This, is an invocation
Land God
Earth God
Mountain God
God of flowers
God of the invisible particles that fly upon the breeze, unseen
God of the Underworld
God of the Over-world
God of the fabled magic money tree
Old Gods, New Gods, Great Gods and Tiny Gods
I beseech thee
I invoke thee
Shake us out of this drugged-up, zoned out world we now inhabit
Wake us from out of our soma-induced torpors
Reawaken the latent spirit of liberty
To make us masters once more of our own destinies
I beseech thee
God of crows and hawks
God of sparrow-hawks
God of the Mighty Redwood
God of twilight
And God of urban planning
God of all that exists within the great beyond
And all that breathes beneath the great blue yonder
I gather you
I command you
Combine your mighty forces
Corral your winged horses
And wrest control from out of the clutches
Of our psychopathic handlers
See, my own careful conditioning has led me to assume
Your vital energies exist in forms
I cannot and dare not even begin to comprehend
But I now consider your ancient and eternal truths may be secreted
Upon the breeze between the bending willows
Or in the breath upon my sleeping pillow
Maybe the truth resides in the turning of the tides
And the message of liberation is disguised
Amidst the blaring of car-horns or piercing sirens that breaks the spell of peaceful night
Your mighty and fearsome force has been suppressed at source
Suppressed by false gods
And artificial energies
Energies whose very existence requires the subjugation
Of your undeniably liberating and cleansing powers
I offer up by way of an exemplar - the embittered class of nuke-em-high
Clambering, fearful impotent men with rheumy eyes
All set fast upon a path of wanton annihilation
All devoid of wit and independent thought
Let alone the capacity to envision
A million souls blasted into scattered fractured molecules
That will lodge themselves deep into the lungs of future generations
And for what: what do they base their rampant fear and loathing on?
An engineered pantomime-play of flag and country, of strength and stability, of progress harnessed to economic stability.
Shadow-play
These angry men
These impotent men
They who had it all, they who consumed it all
And now wish to deny it all to the cursed ones to follow
They are hollow men
Soon-to-be-forgotten men
And their twisted tangled narratives can’t be allowed to define us any further
Thus I invoke you
To usher in this golden age
A golden age no longer mired in fevered dreams of fading empire
But rooted in boundless possibility
And harmonious creativity
Ancient Gods
Gods within and Gods without
Patient latent waiting Gods
Let us hear now your mighty shout:
This is the birth of our supressed creation!
This is the hour of our liberation!
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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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Normal Never Was - Revelations - The Remix Compilation
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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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