Strum, and strike, and sing, in tune, in joy, in love. Mark well the name. They who lift the bowing head of every grieving flower. They who coo that unvanquished animal hymn to every dog, and ox, and muskox, and muskdog. That well-shod fiefdom of unmatched capacity. That feckful gang beholden to spirit alone. If child is father to the man, then what cosmic nursery sired such pleiadic songsmiths? The trueborn enemies of all tuneless brutality. The wreckers of every false rural minstrel and showboat lout of ill-repute. The Outfit, The Outfit, The Outfit, The Outfit. The crater is rent, and surfeit chasmic beasts quake and roil in naked lust for the spoils of beauty. Who strikes the silver chord that shudders their miasmic vaults? Who heralds the balm of love? If music be the fuel of lungs then pray on this. The... more
Side A
1 Tragic Head 4:08
2 Even In The Loom Of A Caress 3:00
3 Nocturne Child 3:56
4 The Motions 4:33
5 Holy Trumpeteer 5:13
Side B
1 Animals Above Our Town 2:36
2 Tears Through A Sunrise 3:22
3 Baby If We Stick It Out 5:00
4 Still Dreaming 3:03
5 Camera Varda 2:49