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Album- "An Entire Wardrobe of Doubt and Uncertainty"

by the Deadfly Ensemble

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1.
Part one:  
Evenings with mother tend to be discouraging. I always end up bruised. Evenings with father frighten me. All the animals will come to see where I've been abused. With bars of fragile bone and teeth I enclose a hundred birds and beasts. We sway and swoon. At night they howl and scream at me! They would all much rather be set free beneath the dull, throbbing light of a blue-black moon."  

Part two: 
 One upon my thigh has wings! He flies and sings; his face is purple. Watch me twist my mouth in pain; I've sat upon some beast again. Twice since Thursday, I've sat bleeding out upon the back step, reading. Apparently I have the only broken-skin menagerie. Eyes and gills distinguish certain crimson epidermal oceans. Sunlight on my skin is dim and withered; in my zoo it's night.  There's a flock upon my back, their beaks are long and cruel and black. They preen and flap with ruined capillaries; yes, there's blood, in fact. One around my throat makes sound. He screams against gray, early morning. Red and bending, never ending... He's some sort of snake, I've found.   And eight legged toads and lambies in rows and pink-kitten circles of lilies and roses... An ant-farm awry under lavender skies... all of this smeared on my thin-beaten skin.
2.
One We laugh when midsummer’s here, we flit beneath the green leaves of the deep, dark forest without fear. We step upon the brown and frowning rocks, for William’s near! Chorus Me and she are holding hands. To kiss among the trees we linger… Me and she hear William and his laughter’s bright orange salamanders… Bright orange salamanders… Two We unfurl at Williamsound, the nutmeg breath of sleeping squirrels and harvest mouse blinks are his words. He squeezes shipwreck tales past smiling sap and barkskin scales. Three We are found, the light is bound away! His hands have clearly shown the tracks of beetles not yet grown! He turns his face of moss and lichen layers not yet lost…
3.
One Father Kelly argues capably; he quantifies the flames of hell. But I’m a young man not immune to winter’s fingers and perfume. Cider, wood smoke, blanketed lanes, black-capped chaplains chatter in the treetops; laughing in the boughs they preach a way of mischief this December day. Two Sullen orchards frosted, glowering, horses shod with soot and lost but glowing embers, old November chimneys breathing blackened breath. Shiny noses, reddened cheeks, buttered rum and laden mantelpieces act like creases in a well-worn tavern yuletide grin. Three Dusk induces shops of cinnamon, clockwork mice and gaily-colored cloth to burst with heady flights of boisterous, bounding, bloodstained light. Snowflakes shine like retinal haloes! Church bells all but mute, yet I tiptoe, slipping past the headstones into the woods where a pretty girl promised me that she would! Four Gifts and forfeits, coy and ribbon-bound, given, coaxed, unwrapped, surrendered. Hearts are leaking, spirits set on wreaking chaos-love duets. Suppertime, eggnog, pipes alight! A song in the lungs of mortal merriment! These are days unbent with cheer; the animated deathtime of the year!
4.
They crept on hinged legs and suction cup toe-touch, leaving like dew drops their itch and infection. Even Anopheles hastens for distance, losing an arm outstretched, keeping her burden. They were a sound that grew quiet and then found looking-glass ladies and children with scabies. We are the monsters who smile after crib-death. We are the grace for the clinically dead. We love the hiding guns, we hate the iron lung. We go fast on black ice, we are a million flies. We love the hiding guns, we hate the iron lung. We go fast on black ice, we are a million flies. Their eyes were compound, imagine their seething... Hands like a scavenger; instantly curious. Even Hippocrates humored finality; he heard the fly-sound and then learned antithesis. Dead in the parlor with dust like a membrane, fly friends are dreaming of wings and antennae. And when the family gathers to stare, lights are turned low for the pink-painted cheekbones...
5.
I wear a nose and goodness knows I’m smart. I walk undersea, lunglessly. I pretend to writhe and seethe. I count every time I shout. I waste away once per day. I avoid the stars (and planes and cars). I talk upside down. Her evening gown is on the ground! I instruct anatomy.
6.
One She stirs a cauldron in fingers of sun that are coming undone. Intrepid insects play in the gaps of shadow and summer dust. But raindrops would leak through the cottage skin of thatch and straw. “Oh, beetles, please staunch those wounds in the roof ‘ere the rainy clouds gather!” Two She sees half-bugs tumbling down, bitten and chewed upon! She chides and scolds him, his mouth full of carapace, antennae and wings! Her voice is music! He hugs himself blue and laughs his way down to her. She says that he’ll do; she needed some meat to throw in the stew! Cariadoc “Oh, no! We taste so horrible! But then, we could be mutton-chops! Or what if we left your supper simmering here? It would stay warm and we could run with the deer! Oh, no! You need to do your chores! But then, you could be five years old… A kiss on your lips will make you tiny and free! You can scream like a gale in the forest with me! We can scare farmers and frogs half to death! And splash in the streams until we’re well out of breath!” Three Fingers of moonlight… wizened and gray, she takes up the cauldron spoon…
7.
One Gas lamp gone, I stumble, sneeze, the dust in darkness makes me wheeze and fidgets in my fingers flipping files that start with “F” I’ll set alight. Refrain Ha’penny gone from a threepenny purse! No room for rum when taxes come first! Alfreds and Davids and titles and writs yanked from their holes and rendered to bits! I’ll burn the Lord Mayor asleep in his bed If he’s dreaming my name as a number, instead! I’m well done with fines; I’ll no longer be traced! My own, and all “F"s in town hall are erased! Two Mrs. Fisk is now a maiden. Mary Fenton not deceased. And Arthur Fuller’s fortune’s bound for probate lest he file a brand new will. Three Sunlight wipes the sleep from cobblestones. I tumble ditchwards, laughing. Next time taxes come around, I’ll tip my hat and drink three penn’orth rum.
8.
One Tom flew, Tom flew, and Nick was flying, too! Far away, night and gray, and they’d been gone for days. Down in town, their mum made sounds and their eyes were glazed and round! Chorus “We could go back, but we’re still secret! We don’t need our hats because it’s not chilly! We could hold hands but it’s not scary!” Two In the dust, spiders rush and their fingers lose their touch. On the floor, behind the door in that nightshirt they abhor! Mum tried, mum cried… she thinks her boys have died! Three Mum is bound to pay a hundred pounds, and yet, they shall remain unfound. No man in medicine can bring them back again… But then she recalls her uncle Paul, who used to stare at walls! Thrilling Climax “From under the clouds, there booms a basso song, it tells us, ‘Don’t fuss!’ So we make haste to the desert waste. He’s floating there! ‘Don’t be scared!’ He scowls and says that we are almost dead! ‘You must return! You have to learn!’” Happily Ever After Now they blink! Tom and Nick think their mum is so, so pretty! “Don’t cry! We’re hungry! Now let’s stand! That’s better! Now let’s clap our hands!”
9.
One I can’t get this knot… is it two loops or three? Is it “down through the hole” then “thrice round the tree”? My boots are on tight. I’ve got kid gloves to spare… But my breeches and braces are draped on the chair. Chorus One This necktie’s all wrinkled! My hat is unfound! My walking stick’s broken! My vest’s on the ground! Two I noticed red stains at half past the hour. With tardiness certain, my outlook was dour. A shirt in that state is a shameful display… (But with waistcoat in place it might do for the day.) Chorus Two But a collar so covered in filth should be burned! One’s standing in social milieu is concerned! I never thought dressing could cause so much grief! When I’m dead or asleep it will be a relief!
10.
One I… I found… I… I saw… We watched me… We asked me who… Chorus One …my watch upon the lawn. …my hat just beyond. …go by sideways; we looked away. …I am. Please call me something. Two He stood low… He won’t look… They don’t ask… They don’t like that John… Chorus Two …like a naked shrub among tall trees. …against my face; his eyes skid on pavement. …after nondescript, atonal trench coats. …can’t quite remember why…it was something. John fall apart John Please call me John fall apart John Please call me
11.
12.
And his tears mingled with the still waters of the peat bog... 

 "I brought you something darling!"  

And he saw clay fingers protruding from the mud! 

 "I love you still!" 
One
 "My love liked to ride, so I'm giving her a horse's head. The rest is made of wood, but it hardly matters, 'cause she's dead! My love took her tea from a light-blue china service, and so that got buried first so she could calm herself in case of nervousness.” 
 Two 
"My love wore her hair in a darling mess of golden braids... To help her under there, I'm sending down one of her maids. And my love had an eye for cameos and feathers for lapels. I don't have those, but I have a lot of pretty silver bells."
13.
(The shocking revelation, as it was recorded during the inquest for his mother.) I want to be with tea with honey… That drink makes me scream. I don’t have any friends. When I itch, bugs fall out. When I'm alone black water gets me WET! (Watch him kill a cow with a baseball bat!) Yesterday I saw a plant red-bleeding on the concrete. I like to be with tea with honey…
14.

about

Dark Culture webzine (USA)
review by Cinka

"I have in my possession the premiere release of The Deadfly Ensemble’s An Entire Wardrobe of Doubt and Uncertainty. I was, of course, the last person to receive it. Like the last person picked for teams in Dodge Ball. Still, it’s better late than never and better than not being picked at all.

Deadfly Ensemble goes where no Cinema Strange has gone before. It is a collection of thoughts and dreams, nightmares and sounds. Less rock and more art, it’s a musical look inside the gurgling mind of Luc Lanthier. The difference is, you either get it or you don’t. Chances are, if you’re reading this review, you already get it and probably already have it.

The Deadfly Ensemble is Luc Lanthier’s gift. As they say, art is perspective. What is beautiful to one person, is hideous to another. Sometimes it’s both. Sometimes it’s poetry. On the track “A Million Flies” Luc’s voice is echoed and duplicated and re-recorded over…one might imagine that the homeless man on the bus bench hears something similar. When he talks to himself, he’s responding to this song. I’ve often wondered if perhaps Luc has managed to tap into the dark recesses of his mind, scraping off the black and setting it to music.

This album, while the heart beats of Luc Lanthier, is a collaboration of artists including Andi Sex Gang. For years, Cinema Strange has been compared to Sex Gang Children, so it seems only fitting that Luc could work with Andi. While the entire album is divine, the closing song “Kriminaltango”, (a German Schlager song, duetted with Sex Gang) is the shining example, the apple of this CD’s eye.

There’s no doubt that Luc’s skills as a musician have blossomed. You get the impression that he isn’t trying to be anything, he just is. The true artists are nothing more than the sum of their art. The sum of Luc’s art is boundless and infinite. He’s tapped into something here. It goes beyond experimental art music and into the stuff of drama and tragedy, minstrels and death, poetry and song. Planned or not, it’s sublime.

This 2 CD release comes with what is being called a “Behind-The-Scenes Featurette”. A separate CD that is meant to be akin to a radio drama. It’s about an hour long and I listened to about 15 minutes straight and scanned the rest. I actually think I’m missing something. There are various voices in the background including Luc and Andi Sex Gang. Several vocal tracks are laid over one another and I couldn’t separate the voices to acquire a single, uniform, theme. I imagine that Luc and company are listening to the album and commenting on their ideas, the production, etc. It just came off as garbled mess. At first I thought it was a DVD, but it’s just an audio track. The audio itself lapses into audible and inaudible. Rather than commentary, it appears to be just a bunch of guys talking. Perhaps like the album itself, the commentary is an exercise in the strange. I guess if you’re into that, it’s cool.

Commentary aside, this has got to be my favorite release of the year. Instances of German film noir mixed in with Weimar era cabaret, dance delicately with the incalculable twists and turns of insanity. It’s a beautiful thing.

More appropriately, the Deadfly Ensemble are Luc Lanthier and James Powell, with studio production by Ashkelon Sain (previously Trance to the Sun) with guest appearance by Andi Sex Gang.

This CD is available direct from the artist via their website."

credits

released January 1, 2006

Produced by Lucas Lanthier, Bonzo von Ecke and Ashkelon Sain

Recorded and engineered by Lucas Lanthier and Bonzo von Ecke at Armada Haus in Ventura, CA except for tracks 1, 12 and 13 which were recorded and Engineered at Floodzone Cave Machine in Portland, OR by Ashkelon Sain

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Lucas Lanthier Vienna, Austria

Digital discography for Cinema Strange, the Deadfly Ensemble, and Lucas Lanthier. (Chronological; newest at the top)

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