----------------------------------------------------------------- Strange Brotherhood / New Model Army ----------------------------------------------------------------- We decided to record this album without a record company in order to feel totally free, both creatively and financially. No visits from anxious A&R men saying "but where’s the hit single?" No cries of "you’re over budget!" Actually we did go overbudget, but it was all our own savings. It did feel right, though, to be working from outside the business’. songwriting. One of our strengths is that our songs are written in a myriad of different ways: from a band jam, from a singer/songwriter approach, from a completed piece of music written by a member of the band awaiting lyrics, from a lyrical idea, from a guitar or keys or bass riff, from a drum beat. There is no formula or one over-dominant idea about how the music should be: all songs have an organic life and we try hard not to repeat the same ideas over and over again. There was, however, on this album, a lot of tension between the studio/purely musical approach and the fact that we were already playing quite a number of songs live and had to make them work in a band setting. In NMA gigs and solo shows, we have played something like thirty brand new songs in the last three years, some of which may never be heard again. If there was a problem and an overall reason for taking so long with this album, it was that we had too many songs and ideas. recording. As with the writing, we have no set way of recording. Some tracks are built up layer by layer and some recorded simply as a live band in a studio. Strangely, it’s often difficult to tell which was which. Most music (and almost all rock music) that is done to a metronome has a superficially attractive quality that soon wears off the more you listen. Ultimately it feels dead. So we very rarely use click tracks. We all have ideas, often contradictory, always too many... and we all play guitar in completely different ways. To begin with, we believed, in the spirit of independence, that we could produce the album ourselves. If we’d continued down that path, we’d still be in the studio. In the end we used some material from that period and brought in Simon Dawson to "stay on our case" and get the thing done. Additional recording towards the end of the project was done by our mad Montenegran friend, Mike Gregovic. We kept moving from studio to studio, from the poshness of Jacobs, to the tranquility of Monnow Valley, to primitive Foel, on top of the plateau of mid-Wales with Hale Bopp bright in the sky above us and finally back to the Motorhouse, a strange artists’ retreat near Middlesborough, where we built a basic studio set up and mowed the sculpture field to play football. This, and getting different people to mix, means that there’s lots of different sounds on the album, which, to us, makes it more interesting. However, we did find ourselves rewriting songs to fit different moods as our surroundings and the seasons changed. tensions. It would be an understatement to say that there are tensions within NMA. We are all fairly tense people desperately trying to express something and we are all very different - hence the album title. This is not unusual in creatively interesting bands. What is probably more unusual was the night we sat and tried to think of an album (any album in the history of music) that we all unreservedly loved, and we couldn’t think of one that we all have in common.... a Strange Brotherhood indeed. To some of us, music is a constant companion, a backdrop to our lives; to others it is the centre-piece, but guarded and not visited very often. Perhaps that is why NMA makes music which is not quite like anything else. This album doesn’t FEEL like any other music that is around at the moment and that, in itself, is a good reason for having made it. licensing. After we finished the album, we had to decide what to do with it. Obviously, it is on our own (Attack Attack) label. Rather than sign a worldwide deal, we’ve decided to licence it for distribution to companies that show a definite understanding of what we are. In mainland Europe, it will be distributed by EMI Germany - partly because out of all the deals we’ve had in the past, they have been the most supportive. Also it keeps our back catalogue together for future projects (live albums etc). In Britain, the Americas and the rest of the world, no final decision has yet been made.... selections. From the 25-or-so tracks we recorded, we had to make a basic selection. Our original intention was to make a double album, selling for the price of a single album. However it is completely impossible to dictate pricing to record shops and we were presented with the fact that they’d charge £19 - £22, which we really didn’t want. Also, none of us could think of a double album that wouldn’t have been musically better as a single (with the possible exception of Quadrophenia). The final selection for an hour of music was obviously a compromise between what we all wanted. Of course we didn’t agree on what are the best tracks... many of the tracks not selected will come out on EPs this year and may be collected together in the future. Many people think that our B-sides are always better than the A-sides. Perhaps we’ll keep that tradition. and. And what does it all add up to? When an album leaves our hands and arrives in people’s homes and cars and walkmans, we loose all control over what they hear... what they love, what they hate, what they understand in certain lyrics, what they feel.... maybe just that a lot of passion and belief went into the record and we hope that reaches out. ----------------------------------------------------------------- STRANGE BROTHERHOOD Release date - 6th April 1998 WONDERFUL WAY TO GO WHITES OF THEIR EYES AIMLESS DESIRE OVER THE WIRE QUEEN OF MY HEART GIGABYTE WARS KILLING NO PAIN HEADLIGHTS BIG BLUE LONG GOODBYE LULLABY ----------------------------------------------------------------- Wonderful Way To Go The wolf he howls, howls up at the moon, out on the steps beneath my hotel room. Was in the woods behind this little town we went flying up through the silhouette trees, then crashing down colours brighter than I've ever seen. More wired than I've ever been - and the faces turn to stone . . . On through the gates again - what a wonderful way to go . . . What a wonderful way to go. Tell me your story, tell me no lies; we touch each other - but only with our eyes. Some kind of game, to play with desire; it's just beneath the skin that I'm alive. . . Colours brighter than I've ever seen - more wired than I've ever been . . . And the faces turn to stone - on through the gates again; what a wonderful way to go - what a wonderful way to go . . . Tonight the moon she lays a silver path across the blackened sea, I'm swimming out against the tide, the waves are breaking over me; and deep beneath the waters in the darkness I can hear her as she calls for me to come. . . The wolf he howls, howls up at the moon; some day coming - some day soon . . . Onto his shoulder, to carry me home; flying up through the silhouette trees and we'll be gone . . . Colours brighter than I've ever seen - more wired than I've ever been; And all the faces turn to stone - on through the gates again . . . What a wonderful way to go - what a wonderful way to go . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Whites Of Their Eyes Raised in the fields in the back of beyond, hauled into position as the prodigal son, I was not Abel - I was a Cain; the kind you find a use for every now and again. I can't abide what things have become, they think that you're simple, they think that I'm dumb . . . You want to know one thing I advise? Shoot when you see the whites of their eyes. They'll come to you in the perfect disguise clock you too late, with a squeal of surprise . . . shoot when you see the whites - the whites of their eyes. The wolfchild smiles in the shallowest dreams and you don't know just what it means . . . Hey diddle diddle, what on earth can it be? You ain't going to get any answers from me . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Aimless Desire I was working shift on the six o'clock, quiet in the pale dawn. Found a bird caught in the machinery - set it free and watched it go . . . Quit the job that very day, and flew into the sky just following after this aimless desire, the awful desire, the aimless desire, worthless desire. Now I've found causes and I've found families, but nothing ever lasts; I've known people I'd die for - if only they had asked. Where I'm from is not my home, and neither's where I'm bound; Just following after this aimless desire - worthless desire . . . So tonight, beneath the bridge where the fires burn, God . . . take the freedom back, deliver me from the aimless desire, the worthless desire . . . And chimera she waits, and I have still got this hole in me; still got this hole inside of me . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Over The Wire Behind all the rusting cranes, in the lengthening shadows of the Empire days there's a world that waits, but it's not needed . . . In the teeming rows behind the goal yelling for blood on the pitch below; where does all the passion go when it's not needed? Over the wire, and into the darkness . . . Come evangelists of the Grand New Age proclaiming the future that they stole, condemning the things they can't control - just like the priests before; and now I can hear them call the ghosts of the 1914-18 war . . . Where do all the innocents go when they're not needed? Over the wire and into the darkness . . . And the dawn it will come like blood across the sky, Not the way that you think, not the way that you dream . . . In the silence of God, in the fullness of time, like blood across the sky - the dawn it will come - the dawn it will come . . . All still, like the pitshafts and the two-mile-down where they buried their hearts; where does all the loyalty go when it's not needed? In the plastic seats behind the goal yelling for blood on the pitch below; where does all the passion go when it's not needed? Over the wire and into the darkness . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Queen Of My Heart To the Queen of my Heart, from the King of Nowhere . . . I have watched you arming, and how you wave your sword in the air; always fighting the shadows as they move behind you, and the beating wings that hover around you . . . To the queen of my heart, from the king of nowhere . . . It's a shallow sky that holds us in; you can reach right out and touch the edge with just one outstretched hand and feel the dark come closing in. And there's nowhere far enough away from here; the ringing ears and the closing air, and the cities and deserts all beat the same; the radio waves crackle and phase, the satellites spinning slowly round. The radar towers search and call to the Queen of my Heart, from the King of Nowhere . . . This is the great world calling to the last crusader; the rush of the lifeblood coming out of the sunrise . . . And you're the Queen of my Heart . . . and I'm the King of Nowhere. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Gigabyte Wars Well, you never grow up, you just get older, carrying all the familiar burdens with you, walking back on the hometown streets on a night devoid of stars. No one ever said it was going to be just, you really ought to know by now how She's all red in tooth and claw; after all, weren't you the one screaming for more? In the gigabyte wars - round and round we go, beneath the vapour trails - tangled up inside in a web of lies, hostages of fortune and savage tales. Well, you entered stage in blood and pain, gulped for air and then you cried out - this is just the way it comes; that's Stupid Questions again . . . It's not the things that you fear that come to get you, But all the things you don't expect, face down in the drowning pool of unfulfilled desire, in the gigabyte wars . . . Then comes the rain - just seems to make the night grow hotter, we listen to the drops as they clatter on the roofs of the cars; sometimes it seems like you're going to suffocate in this conspiracy of noise - but though the ties they stretch to break-point, still they hold, still they hold, and blood runs still in crimson streams and dries like the earth - but still they hold. In the gigabyte wars, once we were lost, then we were found; once we were found - then we were lost again. Get real, if a real exists - there's nothing more than this, Strung out on nothingness . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Killing It was summer when they finally came, the law of force and line upon line of machine upon machine, back into the greenwood, closer to the heart of things we go - beneath the wires stretched against the sky, spitting out in desperation - stop the killing . . . The wind blows down from St George's Hill through to Stanworth Woods, and to the East, on this grey and pallid dawn the lights from the rigs blinking out across the poisoned sea, a little group of ships floating out to meet the coming storm sailing on in desperation - stop the killing . . . Raised and bound upon the land, and the everlasting whispers in diamond through the trees, in the breath of Eden . . . Innocent still the faith we hold - our time will come . . . That which walks the corridors of power is a virus that mutates; immune to all resistance, and every turn of history . . . And all that's left for us is marking crosses upon doors, and scrawling in the golden sand before each tide comes rolling in; screaming out in desperation - stop the killing . . . Holding on, and out, forever . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- No Pain Across the town on the other hill, your lights glow from a different world. You always found a place to hide - nails and cross to lay beside; with all the ghosts that we denied. Now, in rippled arcs across the sky the great white birds of winter fly, and the wheel turns, and people change - scattered ashes to the wind. And there's no pain, there's no pain, there's no pain . . . A dry river in the blazing sun . . . Your parched face and your calloused hands, Behind us, lie the arid lands . . . To say too much - well, it was not our way, and in the end there wasn't much to say; the scars are healed now anyway . . . and there's no pain. . . a dry river in the blazing sun . . . And Abraham rose, took his only son, and knife and tinder in his hand, and setting out across the desert and up into the scrubland hills, he bound the boy Isaac to the stone, raised the blade and waited for the miracle. But the wind blows silent across the dead and empty hills, dead, like the god that never came; like your face, the day that you turned away. . . And there's no pain . . . a dry river in the blazing sun . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Headlights Lit up like a Christmas tree, the oil refinery glows in the night; and down by the shoreline the seagulls fly white, against the black. The great moon riding shotgun - rolling out across the veil of clouds, and you were small, and lying awake listening to the noises in the house. With the best of them you ran, like all of us, in our season . . . Casting memory aside - your history, all forgotten; driven onwards through the years in love with each distraction. But all the while, the past is close behind; like headlights on your tail . . . headlights on your tail . . . Your pulse is beating faster now, like a bird flying hard against the wind; trying to understand all the crazed compulsions that you feel. And all the little jealousies and betrayals, they echo in the dark; and somewhere back through it all, the key is still turning in the lock. Now the ghosts that you have laid, they all come out to greet you; the knowledge that you've gained - well, none of this protects you. You've been so very far, still peace will not embrace you, for all the while the past is close behind. Like headlights on your tail . . . headlights on your tail . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Big Blue So let us sing of what remains, there shall be stillness in our hearts; There shall be a sweetness in our lives, bye and bye. There's a beach I know at the edge of the world, mist rising up from the breaking waves towards the cliffs, as green as god. We'll be flying for the sake of flying - singing for the sake of singing, looking back down on the lonely world . . . Dive . . . dive . . . diving down . . . Into the big blue we shall lose ourselves, gone are the doubts and the fear of falling - hate is a curse lifted from our shoulders, we never meant it in the way they thought . . . If we hold our nerve, they will travel right over us; they'll be going so fast they will never even notice us. We'll be flying for the sake of flying - singing for the sake of singing, looking back down on the lonely world. . . Dive . . . dive . . . dive . . . Into the big blue we shall lose ourselves . . . Time to die, and die, and die again; doors closing in empty houses; time to roll, and roll, and roll again - and all I hear is the diesel roaring. Just like a people put to flight, all blown out in the endless duststorms, into the West and the rolling hills, to dive, dive, dive again and Into the big blue we shall lose ourselves . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Long Goodbye Holed up in your little room, we talk for hour on empty hour, pacing up and down between the walls that we have built ourselves. No more with the long goodbye, I can't stand another tear; I won't wait for the bell to toll - straight on for the days ahead, straight on for the days ahead . . . You act as drowning, letting go the fingers one by one. Come on, there's life beyond the tomb that we have built ourselves; no more with the long goodbye . . . We don't even dare to look each other in the eyes, or say whatever's on our minds . . . These crushing moments show the kind of people we've become, seal betrayal with a kiss - and let it all be over, finished, done . . . It feels so good to kill the beast that stood between the truth and I Make it quick and make it clean and let the blood run down No more with the long goodbye... ----------------------------------------------------------------- Lullaby So where do we begin? It must be thirty-five years . . . You've the breath of my mother, the life of a stranger; and there's so much to tell - so much I need to know. All of the stories, and reasons . . . But your face I remember, and your breath I remember . . Take me in your arms, take me in your arms . . . So go out tonight and look up at the stars, the light that you see is as old as I am. And that's what I see, when I gaze in your eyes . . . Loving a ghost lost in confusion of time - but our love remains through these brightest hours. And my secret world . . . And your face I remember - and your breath I remember . . . Take me in your arms, take me in your arms . . . ----------------------------------------------------------------- Feedback, corrections and more lyrics welcome - please mail to s_bohn@ira.uka.de or jjbohn@netscape.net!!! Check out HTTP://LISTEN.TO/NEWMODELARMY!!! ----------------------------------------------------------------- ©1998 New Model Army. All rights reserved. Published by Attack Attack Music/Warner Chappell Music