Released in 1992 on Complacency. A very strange album, even for these guys. The cover and insert art looks like the disturbed product of a schizophrenic, which pretty accurately captures the feel of the music on the disc.
Notes:
recorded july 16-18, 1991 in the Pete WAY room, Chicago, Illinois
mixed upstairs on Thursday... on the fourth day we rested
all songs engineered and mixed by Phil COLLINS--well, except
Playschool--which was recorded June 28, 1991 and produced by Phil
COLLINS and Norm BIAS
all remixes (1992) by Cheer-COLLINS
Personnel:
Thymme JONES - drums & vocals, piano & trumpet
Jeff LIBERSHER - guitars
Phil BONNET - guitars & vocals
ALSO Janie BOUZEK (vocals on Sick & Props)
Bing Crosby does not appear
ABE & BONO do
additional lyrics by Scott RUTLEDGE, Jim BANKS, Jim DRUMMOND
cover art by Linda WILEY
special thanks to: Scott PROCHASKA (guitars and resolution) Scot ASHLEY
(the only bass I don't own) Brad SCHLUETER (the usual) Neil JENSEN (PR)
Mike GREENLEES (drumshit) Brad WOOD (megaphone) Joe MAYDAK (magnetics)
Janie BOUZEK was NOT the dumb ask.
1. So Sorry About China
2. The Butterfly Effect
3. I Feel Sick
4. When Clowns Go Bad
5. People Are Props
6. Head of Gumby
7. Playschool
8. Big Secret Airshow
9. Ignorance Moving Sideways
10. Flies in the Amber
SO SORRY ABOUT CHINA outside my window, it rains and snows and shits upon the only world i've ever known analysis is an envious rage and only leads to reactionary haste innocence, such a dangerous ploy... light the fire, stoke the flame ash to ash, the tension burns a cancelled czech, a last refrain i tell myself never, never, never again experience is a limited feast and poisonousin society released atrophy, and ambition gone sour a prophecy of regret tomorrow
I FEEL SICK everything is happening all of the time and it's always happening all around me like bees buzzing in my head pollenating my brain this busyness is killing me nothing could be simpler nothing would be fine but nothing's always nowhere to be found when you need it
WHEN CLOWNS GO BAD you sure got livin' down so why don't you come on with me why don't you come on down where all the good breeds' breedin's done we're all gettin' down below the ground it's a pencil sharpened mascara lifeline journey it's a mexican chihuahua it's a french poodle and an irish wolf houd it's domestication world 'round so come on with me a down, down and the parents beggin' for scraps to fall and the babies pumpin' iron paws to god, sayin', "come on down" it's below the ground it's a rodeio of created neurotic animal sound so come on down it's thousands of years of groomin' and bondage it's below the ground it's below underbelly of your own renown so come on down a down, down livin' down, down down livin' down, down down livin' down, down down so i'll do you while you lick the ground so i'll do you while you lick the ground it's below the underbelly of your own renown so i'll do you while you lick the ground so i'll do you while you lick the ground and we'll get livin' down
PEOPLE ARE PROPS turn up the anesthetic, the microdot beat -- can't stand the heat nor the rhythm of the real world as close to catatonic one dares to become one dares to be numb and oblivious to the real world people are props, they don't do anything they just sit there and look like that (look like what?) don't look like much people are props, they don't do anything they just sit there and look like that (look like what?) looks not like much turn up the filter the prescribed feed the want or a need to be apart from the real world this close to a question one dares to be dumb never dares to become a part of the real world continued antiseptic there's no need to fear there's no need to hear the sounds of the real world don't mind the smell from the left of the screen and your spouse's scream it's only the real world
HEAD OF GUMBY don't get me wrong i'm not waiting for an answer i'm simply holding on looking for reaction i need a ground on which to span my narrow bridges built of hearsay, prejudice, deception i need a target and you're looking quite concentric i need a pick me up i find it in resentment it really doesn't matter if it seems a bit unjust it's just a part of me, a policy of categories in which i place myself, control of my surroundings don't tell me what i do isn't what is best for you i'm only doing what society would want me to it's not that simply jsut look at your reflection tell me what you saw, was it free from imperfection? you must be dead if you think we are polar opposites
PLAYSCHOOL we'll make up a story and we'll be in it we'll play at being and thus become we'll say we're titles and wave them around we'll wear costumes and makeup and make strange sounds you'll diagnose her weakness, play doctor she'll needle your neuroses and play mom we'll show and tell and then we'll kiss and tell we'll play school and then work for Playskool(r) and Mattel(r) we will learn to fill decades with this then our long dead mothers will call us home if this is fun why's it so endless? if we're so happy why do we feel alone? we will play house with appliances and we will play board games with bank accounts you be the banker collecting my stubs i'll read the funny pages tell you your ideals they drew the lines gave us the marker color by number life by formula stay in the lines away from the edges don't imagine just take dictation
BIG SECRET AIRSHOW look at all the little secrets all wrapped up like imported chocolate encased in wax and broken glass shattered on the floor if one gets out the others follow beneath your skin infected thorough though fatal not the little fascists surely tip the score
IGNORANCE MOVING SIDEWAYS it hurts then it dies then it grows a new face it fears then it hates then it closes its eyes it points then it kills then it washes its hands it deceives then it takes control then it buys a new soul it conforms then it snaps then it clings to the past it cracks then it crumbles
FLIES IN THE AMBER i know you look at me and say i ain't changed but it's all really relative isn't it? this little gathering is a symptom of your success but to me it looks like failure regardless of the circumstance you bagged your trophies and you nailed them to your wall still you play so innocent, reticent i look around me and you know what i see? you're just flies in the amber waiting for the specialist to catalogue and number and chloroform the ambience i know you take me out to show to your friends isn't it exotic all the places we've been? but the viewing's so much better from where i am sitting although a bit monotonous cliches disguised as nothing less the air is stagnant with the odor of the past wouldn't it be wonderful if we had i wonder if you can perceive my disgust at the flies in the amber they're just waiting to be catalogued analyzed and shut away fossilized reconnaissance