Get all 7 Genghis Cardigan releases available on Bandcamp and save 50%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Juan Carlos 1984, Reverse Dumptruck, Idiots San Savant (Second XI), The F'Art of the Deal, Genghis is My Vaccine, What the Hipsters Leave Behind, and Well Done Finland, Well Done!.
1. |
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those I love can be found amongst the everyday,
the times I live in have been known to cut a swathe,
but what I give far away from the beck and call
this lesser known me remains to see
there’s no rough elegance in the way that we love
and those we trust have been lost to the daily toil,
only living on in the minds of friend and foe
when those I trust can’t be heard above the lies
these lives we live at the cost of those who die
no more to give the only light has burnt away
this lesser known me, will be all that remains
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2. |
Aftersmell
03:01
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take away the challenge, leave me the rest,
for the complete opposite reasons I’m feeling fragile again
although it’s a confusion of honesty fucking me over
there’s no safety in the knowing, the prediction coming true
and even if this is a ___ that lingers in the aftersmell
it’s no less a sadness, an understanding frustration,
an exceeded quota long before hate scrolls my way
another night of patronising those cheap magazines
as the t.v screen gives way to valium half-watching –
black’n’white re-runs of subscriptions as yet another
‘surrogate sunset’ fades over all that went so wrong
sunday’s reserved for dreaming up a new excuse,
monday thru’ friday for refinement, and after
saturday spent attempting sex in a hopeless situation
I phoned up ___ to ask him what went so wrong
it lingers in the aftersmell, it’s no less a sadness,
an understanding frustration, an exceeded quota
cut limbs are the aftersmell, a single act of madness,
an understanding frustration, an exceeded quota
long before hate scrolls my way:
aftersmell
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3. |
The Scandinavianist
01:06
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lindell, sejer, veum, hole, erlender, morck, fors
flawed protagonists suffering through interminable winters
and tales of forests full of little girls’ remains -
hypnotically soundtracked by sigur ros or slowblow
new nordic cuisine, books on how to be danish,
a year in the year of the scandinavianist
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4. |
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I’ve spent the last five years writing obscurist fucking poetry
I’m not complaining, just wanted someone else to know
impolite conversations gather momentum, I no longer care
for my sensitivity and yet do I articulate, do I articulate
or amble along in the shadow of the disquieting man -
this trying man by and by left winded out of reach of …
inundated with nervousness a memory snores just to my right,
I can’t remove myself and panic through and through,
without a sound on which to mitigate curiosity bent on
reconstruction of a catch phrase fumbled ’n’ left winded
out of reach of some disquieting man -
this trying man by and by left winded out of reach of ...
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5. |
Smaller Than Tassie
03:25
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catriona’s a junkie popping pills she’s an art school graduate
dan’s there, all valium thrills in love with her public displays
searching pockets at dawn hoping for treasures to pawn
hoping for treasures to pawn
who was changed and who was dead?
deranged and stained in red
dan doesn’t know art but he loves paul simon,
such feelings, such feelings, such feelings of dread
demanding memories of unhooked bras, opera singers bathing alone
weekends labouring through sbs to satisfy clique fed demands
sabotaging fish fingers to see dan awaken to a nasty surprise
as close as bob got to paradise
who was changed and who was dead?
deranged and stained in red
dan doesn’t know art but he loves paul simon,
such feelings, such feelings, such feelings of dread
impressed upon bob from an early age
librarians remain mostly unwed
to him life’s a pastoral setting by little ted
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6. |
Drift In
02:51
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why do you steal away these words that I write
and store them away as if they were your own,
you’ve left me with a single, empty sheet,
returning my letters you drift in and out of frame
asking me to match all the faces with the names
you’re begging forgiveness for crimes of apathy
but I think that you’ve asked for too much before,
and what have you contributed to my life that, sadly girl,
you don’t already know? don’t already own?
drift in, drift on, drift out. each kiss you give spins me around
drift out, drift in, drift on. I’m an afterthought that won’t be rewound
you abuse my lines to supplement your identity
but when I dream the truth is just as it seems.
like a lonely boy, like a revolving door. drift in, drift on, drift out
I’m a lonely boy, you’re a revolving fucking door.
you know how I drift on, when you drift in,
now watch me drift out
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7. |
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met a man in a laundrette gift shop,
he swore the things he said were true -
haunting tales of anal bleaching out in the suburbs
gangs of buck-toothed facebook freaks sporting signed Eddie Maguire masks, stump fucking two-dollar shop King Kong piñatas
and they say, and they say, and they say ...
I’m not racist, some of my best friends are
casually racist, some of my best friends ...
in desperate times they fall for disparate pleasures
a rising tide of prancing feaux-ties all vying for tax exempt status
bears all the hallmarks of another inner city wife-swabbing craze
where patrioticons emerge from mancaves
with alarming levels of testicular anger ,
seven degrees of separation from the king maker to king hitter
and they say, and they say, and they say ...
I’m not racist, some of my best friends are;
old school mates I haven’t seen in years, the pretty girls
I used to fancy who have really let themselves go,
home alone while hubbie’s out reading meters,
the fucker sticking up lost-dog posters and
everyone waiting in line at the rose tattoo revival staring
daggers at the boutique bigots drinking ‘locally sourced’
almond milk with their cunting burgers;
all circle-hating to photos of Andrew Bolt
licking his own fair skinned balls
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8. |
Cardigan Street
03:41
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Alcoholics wander up to where we sit, they’re loitering with intellect over a gentile thoroughfare, rising ‘library-quiet’ northward bound.
Marcel wanders far away from the birds eye view
down cardigan street they wander to the grassy isle,
with plastics and liquids that they make -
a mist creeps in from far beyond, spot lights on a wall,
babies cry while baby sitters sleep
across the grassy divide, cardigan street,
like a disjointed time line it comes into being,
where the dirt and concrete mix, cardigan street
it’s a cocked leg of a road where none should be
occasionally they’d lose their temper in moments of exuberance
though they rarely took stock of their neighbours,
they didn’t even know their names
a car with a girl inside it with a bang the streetscape consolidates, upholstery remains, no signature, forged
down cardigan street they wander to the grassy isle,
with plastics and liquids that they make -
a mist creeps in from far beyond, spot lights on a wall,
babies cry while baby sitters sleep
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9. |
Es Sobre Ti
01:26
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un famoso gato ladrón en su lecho de muerte
ceniciento y lúgubre, la reclinación final,
lágrimas caen; oscuridad; que es sobre ti
su hija no va a seguir en silencio sus pasos
prefiriendo seguir una carrera como un gato jardinero
lágrimas caen; oscuridad; que es sobre ti
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Genghis Cardigan Adelaide, Australia
Incoherent mumblings, yahtzee and pennywart juice - the back, sack and crack of our times.
Save the
regurgitated rice pudding that projectiles out of your mouth while listening and we’ll refund your body weight in ricen. Genghis Cardigan, semi-professionally easing lockdowns since 2004.
... more
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