Paul pro své fanoušky přichystal několik nečekaných překvapení, jeho práce s hlasem je obdivuhodná. Vyzkoušel prakticky všechny odstíny svého hlasu , není to black metal, všechno není smrtelně vážné, fanoušci to jistě ocení, znovu- je to album pro všechny, kteří se otevřou hudbě, textům a je to možná více než kdy jindy, přístupné všem.
Recorded today with Paul Speckmann and sound engineer Pavel Hlavica on session in Studio Shaark , great experience today for me and…and something very special and exceptional has happened, but about that next time, who wants to come in for a while and see how Paul Speckmann is working on recording a new album, this is maybe three minutes but … it’s hours of his hard work, You are welcome!
Tady Ti posílám zvukový dárek…učím se stříhat slova, pořád a znova, nahrál jsem teď v noci pro Tebe text Amstrongovi písně ,, What a wonderful world „, vystřihl z nich a uložil jednu sloku , kde jsou slova :
..protože se mi Louis plete do života…proč ne ?
Proč Ti nemůžu poslat tohle, proč bych nemohl , i když to asi nikdy neuslyšíš…posílám Ti …pár slov.
…ve Studio Shaark dnes nahrával tři songy do svého nového projektu.
Znovu jsem se mohl spolu s ním a zvukovým inženýrem Pavlem Hlavicou ponořit do oceánu slov, nápadů, melodií a mysli, znovu se potápět zvukem ke dnu a lovit perly, dnes to bylo obzvláště vyjímečné.
Nahrávaly se tři songy.
První, Sick carnival je velmi netradiční, plný překvapení, v jednom momentě to bylo jako by spolu s námi ve studiu byla smečka vrčících ďáblů!
U nahrávání druhého songu, zatím bez názvu , bylo vidět jak se pomalu vyvíjí a mění…až pět zvukových stop Paulova hlasu zcela proměnilo samotnou hudbu, Paul zmáčkl pěst a najednou byl z kousku uhlí diamant.
Gratuluji Paulovi k dobře odvedené práci, One man army bojuje do posledního dechu, nevzdává se!
In the distance a lamp on the shore.
/ old navy/
in the distance a lamp on the shore
on the distance the lamp is lit.
through the fog through the heavy rain
in the distance the lamp is lit.
so rudder twist, old bro
rudder twist, you're here for it!
when you hear it crackling
when you hear the curse
all of us
all of us
not for a long time
a Pavlovi ze Studia Shaark http://www.shaark.cz/ za to, že mne naučil JAK stříhat zvuk, když jsem ho mohl pozorovat při práci.
Snad se Ti ,,Ostrov Mnoha Jazyků“ bude líbit.
…and lyrics in english for my friends in distant countries, you know , its for you too, thanks.
An Island of Many Languages.
Lived on the Island of Many Languages,
through and through crucified,
hidden in the leaf,
with a secret passion for wood,
laughed for a while, cried for a while,
with a secret passion for nails,
before the waves of green flooded him again
cruel disillusionment under the guise of masculinity on the cross of the Island of Many Languages,
lost in Never and Nowhere,
time was just in the eye blink,
the nails are rusted, the wood is embraced by a worm,
he was suddenly a disappointed romantic
fell into various traps in the garden,
on the Island of Many Languages,
plaiting parrots shouted his name and he was
lonely intoxicated by the endless echo,
when I inscribed in Your body with my tongue,
the most beautiful alphabet.
Put him in a shallow grave.
put him down
to a shallow grave
dusty dogs feel easy prey
put him down
to a shallow grave
under the sky swept by the painter's brush into red
put ME down
to a shallow grave
Soft words about the end.
You're hovering over an ice field,
silent scars cut into the body of the snow
I haven't known you in a long time,
blood drew soft words in the snow
about the end,
suddenly You are everywhere
and the story begins.
from the ,, Dinner at Minski´s and other poems / 2O16 /
The baby from behind the oven.
/according to an old Irish legend /
The baby from behind the oven,
the baby is not mine
the baby from behind the oven,
teeth of appreciation
which Devil exchanged you for me,
which Goblin took the handle
and a little elf behind the furnace,
didn't even dare with fear .
Fourth from left is my daughter, Klára. Photographed 13.12.2019.
Today is Lucie, December 13th.
today is the feast of Lucy and whoever rises on a chair will see his future
Today is Lucie and she balances stretching out looking out
eyebrows small cute plush pieces of each other
right hand obscuring the sun looking out for your future and
did you see me standing in that chair?
was i anyone else
Dinner at Minski´s.
She put her hand under the table on my thigh,
still looking in front of her, talking to someone opposite,
I didn't know him.
the burnt meat of an Ethiopian tiger on plates,
we both observe ourselves in the attitude of Aphrodite,
We watch the sweet asses are presented to the golden rain
I will use seven or eight tablespoons
servants bring on polished trays swallowing in Italian.
She put her hand under the top floor narrowing it down,
it was a penguin's claw slowly sliding it inside,
a salivating search inside the chest pressed against the lungs
She ran over the ribs, the grooves of her spine
it vibrated between a fan of air bubbles
there was nothing
suddenly, buch buch buch
not mine came up in the sky,
emerged from a hole in the moon from the veins of blood spewing blood,
stripes of earth in shades of steamed sweater
the clay grave is an indifferent time around
it just fails,
pieces of green flag torn in the morning
walled together in a narrow dream of exorcising the devil
Minski is coming.
Opens his mouth bites pieces of torso ,
asks what it is time ?
impersonal connection caress leaning against the metal wall of the toilet
She withdrew her soaked hand I opened my mouth
let everything be scanned,
that real sorrow deep down when it then rushes to the surface tears you to pieces,
feast of worms in the endless footsteps of the goddess of war,
the squeal of little pigs somewhere in the distance
under the sky obsessed with the farting of thunder.
And she covered my eyes with the same palm,
I was just another run
for dinner at Minski´s.
/from ,,Dinner at Minski´s and other poems ", 2016/
The sweetest of You.
Someone raided the patisserie!
/ BANG BANG /
Desserts run out and people crouch,
under glass hatches
on porcelain trays,
not eating on the plates next to it
pierced with forks,
someone raided the patisserie
is that You,
the sweetheart rolls under the oncoming car,
a little further on the ground icing from the pinwheel,
the lady was adamant,
someone raided the patisserie,
he fired five shots into the cream cake
and when left
whistled softly under the beard,
/ whistle whistle /
which he didn't even have.
Torches are burning and gunmen are pulling the catapult back.
The torches are burning and the cave continues,
You press your hand against her wall,
in thousands of years, someone will put their modern palm on and feel nothing,
dry double strips of skin
ten fingers wide and almost two meters long,
the torches are burning and the creature is climbing the vertebrae inside,
from the stomach through the heart to her head
where it explodes
the other world opens the soul shatters
to all other universes
gunmen pull the catapult back.
The walls stretch
as far as the eye can see.
Squeezed pear juice
it drips down from the kitchen counter and that's how it ends.
and like this,
Send the message. / For You /
Send the message like a black bowler , hat of the night,
send it to the air of your imagination,
let it fly like a bullet fired into a body on the shore,
send it like a battered Victorian hat,
on the head of a guy with a white beard on the far side of the Ganges,
dark place on the other bank of the river
all of us,
put your head against the bottom of the boat
with a slap on the forehead on a cool bamboo mat,
send the message like a hat,
you have a dead atmospheric fox around your neck
double deoxyribonucleic acid band ten atoms wide
and almost two meters long.
-Ááááá.-I stretch and say just carelessly:
-You are BEAUTIFUL-