the lost heart roams deserted highways in the night, searching for a place to call its home
’cause the places it has known are all but lost, all but lost.
the lost heart sings to silent airwaves and the frequencies bounce off his lover’s head.
calling out, calling out “if you need me, if you need me i’ll be waiting, all alone”.
and so, it remains
that feeling of excited news
so proudly pronounced and
said to the world;
“hear me”, as the words fall silent
we all prepare
a sudden verse,
proof-read and ready to speak
and so often the sullen love’s we wish declare
stay quiet behind our heart’s muffled choice
so easy it is to say, ‘i love this’, and that’s the way
kept open and friendly, that’s all we need
yet still those words remain unseen
to fuel the flame, we can decide that it’s all simple
when my love keeps bed with another,
still we decide that it’s simple
and convince the heart’s woo’s to be clear,
but it’s not so clear
the tale; so often read
keeps stories of new love
but it’s not until this point
that we realise, it’s not simple
or moreso, the truth is simple,
yet we hide from the brutal truths of honesty
instead, convince ourselves that we should lay silent
dormant, for i am fooling this feeling,
treating the heart like a misfire’d spark
just be honest and true to she who you love,
despite the fear of what change may come
if the stakes are to lose
what current seas’ swell,
best be the truth
and let tides do the tell,
it’s more than you think;
to me,
and that’s an important honesty
you’re in a difficult spot,
and that’s what i love.
let’s face a quarter-life challenge together
we’re young and ready and moving on
teach me what you want to teach your students
let’s sit at the piano together, alone
let’s just all say what we’re thinking
better than spending the night, convinced it’s all in good fun
better than hiding and saying the night’s done
better to wake in a clear-blue sun
Silence was always the problem,
Silence was strange.
Strange space between them and of them,
Strangelove turn’d to distant days.
i want christmas in france;
in the hills where a French grandmother will ask if I am in love
And I’ll answer “no” and we will talk about love
with the whole family
and ponder over wine and contemplate the world
instead of arguing over who got the pork and if the shops are open on boxing day
Australia.
And she flew in
on sunken air
not without dreamy desire
across
and into this foreign bed
and such foreign lands
but no such dream may visit
unless
what the fuck
ever happened
to the soulful guitarists?
and musicians that feel
broken-hearted men
with fingers to place words
as notes; to chords
and sing
now there’s too many illiterates
pressing buttons
making sounds
who haven’t even learned of heart
just downloaded the samples
looking the part
am i one of these?
or one of those?
we ought to stick to our guns
let singers sing
and fumblers fumb.
too many illiterates
pressing buttons
making sounds
that’s all they are
Tonight, let the moon be a hole in the sky.
Light shone through a window for passers-by.
in-midst of a musical fit
the man finds clarity.
only when faced with the ugliness of the external world
can a person seek inner truth through beauty
with timing impeccable,
such words fell into his pocket;
grains between toes
itching for attention, yet tiny in consequence
to be given the gift of a loud instrument
is a sacred responsibility
and the musician who wields such heavy artillery
shall face only listeners and inner-ear reflection
tonight; to amplify such history’s face to my pocket
in a few dissonant strikes
i found myself able
to dismantle a reaction
tame one’s prose in youth
and think about our world,
so said; a mild grain
itching between my toes
and rinsed away in a B minor key
friends suggested I use the diminished 7th
during that pivotal moment
sure, he did. and boy! it did a lot
in-midst of a musical fit,
tonight i found myself kneeling to the glory of music, expression and communication
and not to the restless itch
of their pocketfuls of sand
castles built to shield them from themselves
pick up your instrument,
you can do it too
the late hours, again
hiding in the corners of the ceiling
staring down at me
locked eyes and stolen rest
there is never enough time
to think about everything, every thing
hiding memories are slowly found
in this tired-night waking place
at least i’ve found something
and so the late hours come and visit
when they do so please
and talk a thought so to appease
the sleeper’s sudden symptom sound
the late hours talk
and words resound
talking all the time
hear the sounds my voice makes
send it back through the relay
attempt to understand
these new notes; out of phase
in music, when we improvise: you just go for it
fill loungerooms with amplified thought [/or none]
direct-in [no effects, no processing]
and then you listen back, later.
it feels good to do this, in a group we are colourblind
surrounded by the whole spectrum,
we take turns
and splash the beautiful ignorance of spontaneity
around the room
and then hit the playback,
it feels good to do this
i figure; this is right, this is true expression, this is pure
and then in conversation, in argument, in passionate fuss
i let loose and express, free of over-thought and monotone logic, i improvise
and it doesn’t feel so good
there’s colours to these words
but so often they paint an england dreary
when intended is ocean cleary
need time to cleanse my palette
choose of colour and not without
to be silent for silence and explete through-shout
it feels good to have learned this,
the context of improvisation
and the difference between sound and communication
lately wondering
if i’ve been wasting time
how fine, the balance
of fun and fruition
pardon and perseverance
tripping from europe’s december-winter
back into the homely sun
to find a brightness continued
into australian winter’s months
and then i wonder;
“have i no time for introspection?”
a year of creation, production
but no reflection?
guess i broke that mirror last year
september in my city is always pleasant
even time for the beach
burnt-out from exhausting creative wick
that waxed a dreamer’s tired breach
more time spent in bedroom
with dimmed lighting and opened windows
to read, write, paint and listen to myself
to think and in a positive move, express again
make every word inspired
to be performed with conviction
to have something to be heard
this evening
i listened to a recording
direct-in through the acoustic guitar
i remember i played as you sat on the floor in my doorway
we felt the sparks fly, perhaps for the first of times
as you’d let me play for you
and we’d joke over a smoke
turning the recording up loud;
i can hear your laughter
recorded softly direct-in through the pickups
of the guitar
and it’s like i’m still able to hear you;
that laugh, oh! sweet chaotic waveforms of joy
sounds that will forever bounce around in my guitar
play it back, turn it up
Translation below:
That’s fate! We were searching for information about ‘Arandel’, when we found the Australian Arundel who just released his first single A Deep Freeze after three years of hard work. You can download it for free via Bandcamp.
Yes, you read it right! Three years for a single, nothing less. At least, with this single, we can wait for the EP who will come out next winter. This fellow promises us the moon with his smooth acoustic-electro-pop. We are really enthusiastic about this new single.
A fabulous cross-road between organic trip-hop and orchestral tendencies of Lamb or Craig Armstrong, purified beats of Massive Attack, arrhythmic virtuosity of DJ Shadow and spacious composition of David Sylvian. With the romantic combination of friend Kate Jacobson and roommate Simon Crossley voices, A Deep Freeze is sincere and at the height of it’s ambition. “With each listen, you’ll hear something new and hopefully get sucked in to the adventure that is A Deep Freeze.” says Lucas Arundell, surely aware of the epic potential of this piece.
beautiful dream
needed to get out of town
took a drive to the country
got a flat tyre
asked someone if i could stay
a nice man – widower let me stay
he had a farm with ducks, birs, pigs, horses
let me feed them.
he was a very kind man – also getting lots of support from the townspeople. i think it was only recently his wife had died. saw a ‘deceased’ sticker/tag on the front face of his phone. like that’s all he could see
in his house – there were only a few photos of him and his wife – also no sign of children/grandchildren.
he had an imac – skype window open at the time
under the bench in the kitchen there was a little guest bed set up
he had a barbeque and the town mayor lent his condolences
always dreaming of the mad professor
she drank wine from a beaker and lit cigarettes on the bunsen
but nothing could attract his eyes from the chalkboard
kept up late at night by the constant question,
the constant; so sly & disguised, hiding among variables,
numbers sought after in the quest for purpose, meaning and explanation
tripping formulas and standing equations
a dose of adrenalin, snippet of rose petal
and the burn’d carbon of loveletters once held value
now mix and form a lethal compound
blowing off steam as winter’s bug bites,
professor’s own concoction forms a remedy
for rested sleep,
and nestled deep
within his theories
and to one day understand
to lay to rest the quarrelsome spirit of insight
so that they both can drink wine from beakers
and light cigarettes off the bunsen
The other night we got together at the shed to record vocals for A Deep Freeze.
This track has been in the works since 2008. I actually started writing it when Simon and I lived together and played in a band. It’s been a long 3 years of developing the song and I love where Simon and Kate have taken the lyrics and story. It feels as though we’ve got some sort of narrative or dialogue happening between the two characters/singers.
Anyway, I finished recording Timbales and Snare drum for the opening section today and it’s just got a couple of guitar chords to go before the recording’s done. Then the somewhat mammoth task of mixing! Either way, it’ll be out soon. I’ll be excited that people can hear it. Three years in the making.
Simon plays in the band Skypilot.
Kate plays in the band Texas Tea.
Lucas
Low-resolution collection of images to accompany a preview of upcoming single ‘A Deep Freeze’. Artwork and Photography with Mel Baxter.
Youka and Darek, I can’t thank you enough. Lucas x
It is a duty to myself
to look after myself.
I will live at peace always,
or seek to obtain peace and
freedom from inner conflict.
Just as the day goes into hiding at night,
I too must retreat to a hideaway
from time to time.
In order to create, exist and to be a good friend.
faces wear me out
at night when overseas counterparts connect
sharing text of thoughts with context lack
but the truth is easier to twist with fingers
and not faces
nerves (like ice) exposed to the sun
he didn’t understand the artist’s heart
stolen up in misconceptions
for one moment to better understand
before judgement speaks
spaces and homes cook in the day
greeting the tenant to bake
in hot summer air is a fan-forced sweat
only left to title a friend un-met
living alone, i find sometimes i’m running blind
and into a wall
it’s bricks resemble shapes of faceless histories
now i’ve got to break it down
traces wear me out
breadcrumbs don’t always lead you back home
but down another path
so i’ll move forward as a bullet in the sky
sifting the clouds to drop down and into
the clear day tomorrow