Dismembered Tales

by Yorkshire vs Essex

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released July 19, 2019

‘DISMEMBERED TALES’ WAS RECORDED, MIXED AND MASTERED BY MARK ESTALL OF MARKETSTALL RECORDING IN BERMONDSEY – AND HE ALSO CLAPPED ON ‘A LOVER CALLED SADA ABE’
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THE FRONT COVER WAS DRAWN BY AN ARTIST NAMED SAM MEAD, WHO ONCE WORKED IN THE BIRDS NEST IN DEPTFORD… WE HAD TO HAVE HIM FOR THAT REASON ALONE; HE DREW IT WHILST LISTENING TO SOME OF OUR SONGS.

THE BACK COVER INCLUDES SKETCHES BY CHRIS ESSEX AND IMAGES FILCHED BY IAIN HOUNSLOW…

CHRIS ESSEX ARRANGED THIS BOOKLET AND THE COVER, WITH SOME HELP FROM OUR FRIEND ANDY MCKINNA.

SIMON YORKSHIRE WAFFLED THE NOTES AWAY.

THANKS TO BERTIE, CHARLIE, ELWELL, NIK DEKS, THE PEOPLE OF VINYL DEPTFORD, SISTER MIDNIGHT, THE DEPTFORD MUSIC COMPLEX, AND MANY OTHERS…

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Yorkshire vs Essex London, UK

Yorkshire Vs Essex are a London-based trio singing of the lives of historical figures... with nice slices of embellishment. Influenced by the likes of Robert Wyatt, Current 93, Scott Walker, Miles Davis, Shabazz Palaces, Nick Cave, Autechre, Matana Roberts, Bjork and Iannis Xenakis - but sounding little like them, bass and vocals merge with flute, trombone, accordion, digital horn and electronics. ... more

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Track Name: A Lover Called Sada Abe
Remember, remember this dismembered member -
An emblem of the feminine, of liberty and of love;
So her lover could neither leave her nor satiate another,
Sada severed me and then she housed me in her handbag.

Be tender, bartender, to these destitute testicles
And penurious penis, once exhibited to Tokyo’s pathologists,
But now penniless here in Shinagawa, in search of my Sada -
The lover who unleashed me to love her forever.
Forlorn and on the run... forlorn and on the run.

Don't ponder, don't wonder why Sada knifed Ishida
or why asphyxiation garrotted their parting embrace:
neither for rape as a teenager nor being flogged to the Geisha
but for love beyond Ono No Komachi's verses of waka.

Not just a dick depicted in pornos as the preserve of perverts,
and erotic grotesque nonsense and erotic grotesque nonsense,
I undulate and I roll from bar to bar for the love of my Sada.
When warfare waned for Japan's women Sada’s knife severed sexual inhibition.
Sada severed sexual inhibition. Sada severed inhibition.

Remember, remember this dismembered member
An emblem of the feminine, of liberty and of love;
So her lover could neither leave her nor satiate another
Sada severed me and then she housed me in her handbag.

Be tender, bartender, to these destitute testicles
And penurious penis, once exhibited to Tokyo’s pathologists,
But now peniless here in Shinagwa, in search of my Sada -
The lover who unleashed me to love her forever.

The lover who unleased me to love her forever.
Forlorn and on the run... forlorn and on the run.
Be tender, bartender; be tender, bartender...

And remember, remember... this dismembered member
Track Name: Dawktor Who?
Exterminate, regenerate the phenotype.
Exterminate, regenerate the phenotype
The phenotype regenerates exterminates…

You’re more Davro than Davros;
More sinner than Simonyi.
More Anselm than Einsten;
More Scientism, than Scientist…

Devolved from Biologist
To bathetic, post-colonisticist.
Obsessed with faith,
You’re the enemy of reason,
But the’ Selfish Gene’ is fucking genius…

The phenotype regenerates and exterminates
The phenotype regenerates and exterminates
More Davro than Davros;
You’re more sinister than Simonyi;
More Anselm the Einsten;
More Iraneus than my Romana…
Neanderthal on Twitter…

Exterminate, regenerate the phenotype
The Phenotype regenerates and exterminates...
Track Name: No Delusions and No Frustrations
Priggery, caddery, snobbery smuggery

Bea Miles squeezes arse-first into my cab commanding a trip of 25000 miles to Perth. I quote 19 days and six-hundred dollars, she acquiesces and quotes Macbeth – never having compensated a cabbie in years, just wrenching-off their bumpers or sailing-on their doors. Who better than me, then, to collate her tale as her tennis shoes straddle my dashboard?

As we cruise out of Sydney, I enquire why she motorcycles in evening dress, before skewering sharks with knives by her beach cave, or why ‘Gentleman will refrain from smoking’ sings the sign under which she refuses to refrain for...

Priggery, Caddery, Snobbery Smuggery

At Wagga Waaga Bea bawls ‘Pull over!’ because Rosie Norton has flown down from Kings Cross; Fresh from the thunder, Rosie wriggles-in beside her, shunning me as a senseless shibboleth.
The filth have harassed her for wandering with wizards, drawing demons and fucking gay men; Residing in tents and stables, Thorn curses conformity and conducts a sky-clad ritual with Miles.

She sings ‘Though the tabloids taunt me for anal antics and meddling with the mentally ill, I came into this cab bravely; I’ll go out bravely to enchant pompous prudes and

Priggery, Caddery, Snobbery, Smuggery.'

As the cab comes to Ceduna ,Bea beckons Bill Chidley clad in Grecian tunic and clutching pamphlets. William wandered out of the asylum – sentenced by sober society for flogging mere nudity and nuts.
His pamphlets he places beside Bea’s Battered coat, and once again the cab becomes sky clad,
But Chidley chides sexual convention, and wishes to unite with the wheels of the world.

So Together, on my back seat, they mourn a planet on which sex is perverted and uniqueness prevented; where Bea’s arrested, Rosie’s restricted and Bill’s banned from Australia’s soapboxes by

Priggery, Caddery, Snobbery, Smuggery

Norseman nears as Bea previews her death, and reveals the reason for her voyage:
‘The wildflower’, she wheezes, ‘the emblem of Australia, grows in Perth like no other…
When they scatter me across this country, they must scatter them upon me…
Play ‘Tie me Kangaroo down Sport’, sing it for Bea now’, as Perth approaches…'
She reaches out and holds me, huge though she is, followed by her fellows…
With no inhibitions and no superstitions... they fuck....

Priggery, caddery, snobbery, smuggery
Priggery, caddery, snobbery, smuggery
Priggery, caddery, snobbery, smuggery!
Track Name: Peace be with Her
(Please note – the lyrics to this song are the originals, but we improvised during the recording, so you will hear something different)…

Charles Peace, Charlie Peace, is requested not to interfere with my family.
Deformed in Darnell, formed in Hell, fled to Hull;
Only the second shot was fatal; Catherine was always postnatal. Charlie Peace…

Miller labourer, Sheffield charlatan murderer.
Picture famer, poverty proclamaimer;
In the Mill, in Darnell, in Armley Jail, hanged in Hell…
Underestimated, overcompensated.

Picture framer, run to Hull,
Darnell Murderer – fled to Hell, hard to foretell.
Peckham Pouncer, Blackheath Burglar, Sheffield murderer, murder, murderer.

Man of science, man of silence,
Back to Leeds Magistrates: they’ll hang you for my wife; they hanged you for my murderer.
Charlie Peace requested to not interfere with my family…

Charlie Peace, Charles Peace forever constrained to IMDB.
My Ghost will never be free (only the second shot was fatal) proclaiming no man of science – just Yorkshire defiance

'Ear all, see all, say nowt;
Eyt all, sup all, pay nowt;
And if ivver tha does owt fer nowt –
Allus do it fer thissen
Track Name: The Nutcracker
Festive soldiers eat Christmas mice; festive soldiers eat Christmas mice;
Festive mice eat Christmas soldiers; festive mice eat Christmas soldiers…
This is a toy story, just like toy story
So I enter magician, rat catcher…decrepit, degenerate godfather to both Fritz and to Clara…but always Clara…always Clara. Unspoiled by any spurious Christmas Eves; I’m your Uncle Drosslemyer

Toys, Toys, come to life; Toys, Toys, take a wife
Gingerbread soldiers eat the mice; gingerbread battles mice…

Enter the toy Nutcracker; enter the toy the Nutcracker, cradles in my arms to fall into Clara’s the boy Nutcracker.
Clumsy Fritz may break him, but Clara’s loins repair him, running round and around the Christmas tree under the witching hour…my rat catchers…
Toys, toys…

Enter The Mice Rat KING Monster…he has Nutcracker in his claws, he has nutcracker in his jaws, he has nutcracker in his loins, but Clara felled the rodent, Dear Clara felled the rodent…Clara saved her toy boy, Clara saved her toy boy…Toys, toys come to life;

Now my dear eavesdropper, judge me not too bleakly, judge me not too weakly…for the king’s ratcatching has to be done and the best tool is Clara to free Nutcracker I had to trick her; I had to trick her to free Nutcracker. I had to take her to the land of sweets…to find her true lover…
Mice, mice everywhere, rats and vermin everywhere armed to teeth with fangs sabres flashing bear, armed to the fangs with sabres slashing through the air. I had to take her to the land of sweets…to find her true lover…
Track Name: 1997
No more we will speak
we will speak no more
As if the sea is frozen
And the land lined by no tundra
As if spider's web is broken
and raven's mask has fallen
the beetle, our food stolen
1997 - worlds beginning and ending
In 1997 our hearts in frost
Frost in our hearts in 1997
As if the thaw has flooded
Sirenik by Siberian snows
As if tales of ravens and foxes
lie forgotten in boxes
Or mouthed only by others
No longer our mothers
In 1997…
Sleep, Vyie
Sleep, Vyie, and the pea pod contains me before collapsing beneath me till I'm meeting the unmasking raven questioning how a woman fell through where his pod grew Raven flies for days and then feeds me with berries before scattering seeds and moulding clay into all species crafting your father for comforting me moulding your father for comforting me Raven is making you father out of clay just for comforting me…
Sleep, Vyie, sleep - sleep and Shleep in 1997 Shleep
We live by the raven and die by his laws, hunting only whatever he allows till spider knits new tundra summer after summer though the sea is cruel from the beginning - man crafted from clay and woman grows for five days till her feet pierce the pod and she speaks to the world but never more in Sirenik...

In 1997
as new lovers are meeting by the sea, new lovers are meeting by the sea, though never more in Sirenk…
SLEEP, Vyie, SLEEP!
Track Name: Yorkshire Curses Essex
Whilst Minna Bernays speed-bumps-over Freud's cadaver – cruising for Bea Miles and equality,
warring crooks and cops straddle cockless corpses – spermatozoa only for each other to see,
but with Sada's blade in waiting to gift each a slice of his quarry
and Bill Chidley's nuts gyrating beneath lactating wheels of a passing lorry;
Dawkin's cerebral accident drives God to feckless pilgrims scrounging from Oxford to Social Media
and we reincarnate Biria, resting navigator, through stars above the fucked-up frosts beyond Siberia.

Sometimes, earnest verses bleeding from my complacent lips, I think we're walking on their graves.
I think we're waltzing on their graves
Here I go again

We can make Shrinks shoot cops backwards in Godless seas of phallic ice
By milking deceased tongues and barring extinct speakers from paradise.
Witness Bernays in intergalactic trysts with Byria in some canoe or other;
Any amorous narrator will suffice - animal, vegetable or nymphomaniacal mother...

Sometimes, turgid verses leaking from my plagiarising lungs, I think I'm stomping on their graves
I think we're digging-up their graves; I THINK WE’RE FUCKING ON THEIR GRAVES…
Here we go again

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