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Outside Broadcast

by David McCooey

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1.
AM 02:01
A.M. Newspapers make their way from the industry of night. A car clears its throat of predawn dew. The house on the hill overlooking the river: its single light burning like a tragedy. Mirrors slowly avail themselves of the appearance of things. Wakefulness moves its incremental way through bedrooms. The morning broadcasts on short wave to birds, the bright receivers of their predetermined souls.
2.
Another Dream Outside, trees roar at the wind, which paws at the windows. An ancient rain makes its long applause upon the cat-slide roof. Inside, where shadow is housed, a gas heater gives its free translation of a record at the end of its groove. The night kitchen is silent with possibility, its knives orderly and grave. From a hallway comes the epileptic sound of someone asleep. In the cupboard of dreams there is a witch and a goose. They have devised weather, the stillness of houses, and those hours where light roams, giant and rational.
3.
Darkness Speaks None of it is true: I am neither malevolent nor mystical. You have nothing to fear; I am the one who makes things terribly bright and dramatic when they need to be. Like when I spill myself a little at sunset. Night after night you dream of me. One day you will wake up properly, and there I will be, at last. Your new and endless climate. Don’t look at me; I don’t compose any kindertotenlieder.
4.
Heaven 03:04
Heaven In heaven, everyone speaks the same language. In heaven, everyone thinks in the numerology of music, and can apprehend each drop of water in a rain cloud. In heaven, everyone has lost their names, and pronouns scatter from angels’ heels, like light in a dusty hallway. Heaven is the loneliest place, like a sea or cyan-blue sky. There are no mirrors, books, or diaries. There is no hunger, no spit, or tears of laughter. In heaven, memory is forgotten, like every reason that anyone might have had for wanting to be there.
5.
Evening 02:34
Evening Blue twilight is the heir of colour. Godless, this suburban night is almost heavenly. We are justified by love; each day a room we home to.
6.
Collective Hypnosis (Found South American Poem) The well-known hypnotist presents a surprising show with the concept “when you want to, you can”. He promises to meet up again with his father on a stage after 8 years. Spectator will be able to “test” different exercises in person: organic domination with high voltage current, animal fascination, heart-lung domination (the pool of death), bed of nails and collective hypnosis are some of the situations of this show.
7.
Illness 02:23
Illness The world runs through a processor called my body which is stuck on a strange setting that makes everything shimmer shimmer like my rabbit heart shivering inside waiting for the big dog. Outside the birds in surround sound are soundness itself my nose is nothing like a beak but paracetamol keeps away fever in another half-forgotten miracle of modernity. Nevertheless my hands prick like the Middle Ages and I must learn the tradition of patience as I sit inside this morning light sent an instant ago by that giant of health the sun.
8.
Migration 03:43
Migration Houses contract in the night, and relax in the ivory morning. The roots of plants travel through the secret world of earth. Brilliant parrots colonise the foreign trees of winter. Each Wednesday morning rubbish is collected by the noise of trucks. People walk or run past windows, from one part of an hour to another. Throughout the day, rooms are occupied and then left, like memories. A child’s goldfish migrates from one piece of food to another. The river at the end of the road, and everything thrown into it, makes its way to the coast, where the sea unravels into rain clouds. Rain flushes out suburban cats and the sound of metal roofs. At night, headlights measure walls, and citizens fall into their sleep as the moon moves across the sky, or the sky moves across the moon.
9.
The Field 02:41
The Field Something makes the sound of an iron hinge Long ago rusted and now beyond caring. It may be birds or a distant wind-mill Or a withered fence with frantic wiring, Or a hinge which was left to itself And now, like a bell, calls lonely things To grind themselves upon the wind And whittle to nothing our human songs.
10.
This Voice 02:52
This Voice It goes without saying that it sounds like your voice. But is it yours? And if not yours, then whose? It could be the voice-over in a film; not a war movie, but a tale of childhood and disillusion that begins and ends not with voices, but with insects starting up at night, phantom traffic, and the honk of a distant goods train.
11.
Car 02:22
Car A car on a country road; horizon everywhere you look. Inside the car, a twelve-year-old boy and his parents. Three immigrants. Sunday and the 1970s are coming to an end, miles from anywhere. The winter sun, on one side of the sky, squanders its light on the darkness at the other side of the sky. The boy looks out the window of his parents’ Hillman Hunter. His father drives towards the clouds.
12.
(Weldon Kees) Everything is ominous. -- Another ordered loneliness. -- The future is fatal. -- Even the open field, a labyrinth. -- The afternoon idly flicks through the pages of itself. -- A list of names: good news, or bad? -- The long silence of rooms. -- History with its morphine headache. -- The anonymous rain falling on motels. -- The atrocities played under flickering streetlights. -- The cars parked under melodramatic weather. -- Finally, every future is fatal.
13.
Sleep 02:10
Sleep Sometimes sleep is a mansion; sometimes a hole you pull over yourself.

about

This album of 'poetry soundtracks' (original music, sound design, and poetry), by the musician and prize-winning poet David McCooey, calls to mind the tradition of Laurie Anderson and Brian Eno's Drums Between the Bells. The marriage of spoken-word and music in Outside Broadcast produces new haunting soundscapes and textures, equally of interest for followers of electronic and avant-garde music, and spoken word poetry.

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released August 1, 2013

Written, performed, recorded, and mixed by David McCooey
Mastered by Don Bartley at Benchmark Mastering

Cover art: Michele Burder, ‘Encoded Landscape Princes Highway’, oil on linen

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David McCooey Geelong, Australia

David McCooey is an Australian composer, musician, and writer.

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