Soulcoalblack (Limited Edition Vinyl)


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E Beaulieu
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E Beaulieu An absolute work of art. Deep


'slowburnblue' was never to be a 'fixed' set, but a constant flow of ideas in progress. sure, a set of constants - tropes of guitar, vocals, fractured beats, deep dark electronica, droneworks - but in ever-changing flux. this, then, is 'soulcoalblack', on limited edition vinyl.

'Soulcoalblack' holds murky stories of unborn mutant dreamers, A-bomb pariahs and dying hollywood tarzans, cursed guitars (and the riffs they play) and doomed rockstars, pornstars haunted by the ghost of Big John Holmes, beautiful yet strangely detached vivisectionists, car-crash fetishists and predatory homophobic psycho truckers. and 'z', always 'z'. the viral cross-fertilisation of narrative is key here. just who (or what) the he'll is 'z'?

'soulcoalblack' is a dark headfuck of an album, thematically and sonically. the soundtrack to the moral disintegration of a planet. a collapsing audio pallette that fuses glitchy industrial, krautrock, drunken orchestras, electronics, acoustica, broken ballads on broken pianos, psych-prog, fractured beats, bass and bad bad acid. not an easy ride. here, we are mainly off-road, on uncharted territory, and there be demons. described, by those in the know, as "sensuously disturbing (and, indeed, disturbingly sensual)" and "deliciously deranged". Sleep well, my lovelies.


released December 8, 2014



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“...brave and uncompromising”
(Bill Nelson)

“...really good shit that brings back fond memories of places I’ve never been, which is something interesting music always should do...”

"the bones of burroughs & rhinehart, ground up and snorted...these are 'songs' but not as we know 'em..."

"...deliciously deranged..."

... more

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Track Name: 'z' {The Nada Song}
june 3rd.
rainy saturday.
i think i heard him in a sidewalk cafe
ordering cheese and bread and strong coffee
reading old echoes, taking shade.

maybe he took a pristine handkerchief
the one that mom embroidered 'Z'
dab the froth from his wild moustache
then tucked it back against his breast

perhaps a song for this dead dreamer
maybe a wish to have never been born
test mannequins around my father
to share his stories from the war.

undress me
in haze of swelling rape-fields
should have told me you loved me while you could
strung poppy-chains for long-lost daughters
finger-painted me
moon-drawn blood.
Track Name: Bunny Girl
dusk builds
night shift
park the car for
more of this

...check my face
security pass
i'll cross the grass reception

trust builds
short shrift
mark the cards for
those on my list

i hesitate
say a prayer
check my post
expect the worst

...turning the ignition

as a child i dreamt of healing
labcoat kills that feeling.

automated latte
don't eat much
twenty minutes break
i'll just retouch

in the ladies mirror
lips dressed red
for the sidelong glance of the
department head

probably wasn't smart enough
to make it through pre-med
"a chronically ambitious girl"
as mother always said

29 is failing
wonder why that is
nothing in the bloodsteam
a flawed analysis?

29 is twitching
making tiny cries
but her bunny lips are pretty
and that blue brings out her eyes

dawn breaks
kool aid in styrofoam
to eat off my face

29 is dreaming...
Track Name: Black Pop Caucasian Vampire Blues
so they lead me to the room
tell me my name is mud
i have to stay here
but i want to go back
i want it all to stop.

cold, monroe wall.
i'm his, i'm her's, i'm yours
chocolate for our rose
in the black pop light
they hold my hand
mumble prayers
i shouldn't know.

they're the vampyre
holding the time-line
blood murmur'd half-moons, now
they don't touch me
they are done with me, and
only my shadows
cast over the gollywog.

the warm descent into stillness.
ancient hands reaching from the past
levelled by concrete
i guess i'm
Track Name: Celebration of Wounds
in a vaccuum of silence
where we coupled to perfection
the skingraft between us
crossed the white-line
to deformity
the blur of asphalt
moving closer
as always.

in celebration
of wounds.

cars in collision
cages in motion
moving along invisible trajectories.
line from A to B
at a tangent from the bend
the flightpath
of the
cinderella slipper.

in celebration
of wounds.

news broke on the radio (celebration)
panic in the motorcade (celebration)
love hate blood cum
an emblem on the dash (celebration)
impaled and crowned with thorns
saw my face in the rearview.


then, we're flailing in mid-air
all of this has been planned
caught halfway
hollywood and babel
locked in sex+flesh+metal
i hound you to the tunnel
through a cracked lens
the moment of impact.
fingers fumble at the doorcatch
punching out the glitter glass.

like the blood
upon the face
of a

and, i felt something strange
as i clambered from the wreckage
the wreckage
Track Name: Fag Trucker
i dream, awake,
through sodium night
pissing in sodden lay-bys

i wait for signals
dally for signs

I hate myself inside

urging diesel power
these lines
flashing spokes
on left hand side
stopping distance at fifty five?
we collide.

tacho taking all this down
the flash of fear
the crunching sound.
engine idling
walk back
over old ground

it's all on camera,
you just there,
the pieces of your
fetish chair.
the divot of your matted hair
i despair

as i cradled his head
there was something he said
under his breath.
Track Name: 'z' {The Shiva Palimpsest}
glass and steel
and isotopes,
a veil drawn on the city
by Little Boy.
from clear blue sky
the rainbow flash
so pretty.

but stop.
nothing's reading
the hibakusha stone.
at peace
in the garden
so far away from home.
the Shiva Palimpsest
is etched
onto her bones.
Track Name: Black Guitar (Last Piano version)
from a distance i watched. i was born.
yet unformed of the devil tree.
i live
...a black guitar

i can perpetuate your youth.
i will show you love.
just touch my strings.
play me, jim
a black guitar

let the feedback rage
in the quiet of your room
it’s part of me now, the darkness of you:
in the shape
a strat.

yeah, a black guitar.
Track Name: Dead Riff
the dead riff sparks off life
a burning room
in the high-rise.

black cell
random targets
random shots in the crowd.

lost chords
in red square.
your voice is right outside my door
nearly time
to take the short walk
to the guillotine of whores.

piped dead riffs
from the green room
so near, yet
thankfully so far.
the distance,
you put between us, and
the dead riffs.
the dead riffs.

on the ward, they fossilise
dead riffs play outside these doors.
in the war, they drop like flies
see how best friends die
on the monitors.

the passage
fade to x-ray
the exit seems so far away
don't each much in the coffee shop
it all just tastes, of
rockland dust.

dead riffs
always circling.

it's a crime
to steal such time
who's got the right to play god?
sing me a song
one last song
the slash of light, on
the cardiograph, before
Track Name: 'z' {The Last Ghost Story}
i think it's october
but i can't be sure
each day is greyer
than those gone before.

god never spoke
told no stories at all
soon all the trees in the world
will fall.

i created my ghosts
from drinking the rain
i choke back the tears, but
they come all the same...

through gauze, the world seeps
in colour and bloom
load that last shell
i had saved
just for you.