Phallus Dei

One main version:

* (1981): Only Dreaming (3:27), Chemical Playschool Volume 1 (5:01), Ancient Daze CD (3:15), Ancient Daze CD-R (3:18)

A solid song that alternates between chugging verses and quiet choruses. It sounds like there may have been a slight feedback problem on April's mic.

The "Only Dreaming" mix contains the longest intro lead-in, while the "Ancient Daze" mix cuts out the first two bars entirely (the CD mix cuts in abruptly, what the CD-R mix fades in quickly). All mixes contain a tape glitch during the "rancid rotting hands" section, though the glitch is much worse in "Ancient Daze," lasting several seconds. Have the masters deteriorated that much?

Instruments: Keyboard plays a jaunty bassline; single pattern on a drum machine; choppy organ chords that turn into a music box melody during the choruses; Ka-spel vocals with plate reverb, alternating with quiet April White choruses; subtle extended keyboard chords modulated periodically; soulful noodling guitar.

Suffix:

On "Chemical Playschool" this is followed by 1:43 of a nameless, totally distinct track consisting of a low-pitched drone and occasional high-pitched swooping pulses. There's a quiet snippet of backward vocals at the end.

What It's About:

The strangely alliterative (and often nonsensical) story of a woman -- perhaps a nun -- being raped. She distracts herself with thoughts of happier times. In the end, Biblical figures show their disapproval of the situation.

Lyrics (adapted from the Cloud-Zero archive):

Pulses pounding, lungs collapse
in sheets of sewer breath.
Firing sweat stains steam saliva,
seeds of sudden death.
Seeping through the ventilator,
up the fire escape.
In a line, spirits whisper,
"Season's right for rape."

(I will think of England,
of trees in summertime.
Of leafy lanes, of daisy chains,
of Grandad's rhubarb wine.)

Run Christina, hide Christina,
sneak inside this shoe.
A pair of rancid rotten hands
are wringing just for you.
But android armies armed with H-bombs
couldn't save you now.
Best to just lie back and wait,
and contemplate your vow.

(I will think of England,
preparing for this trial.
I'll raise my veil, I'll bite my nails,
I'll grimace when he smiles.)

Shrivel, shimmer, sliding, shooting,
sinking to the ground.
Seedy 3D Polaroids
can twist it round and round.
It twined, entwined in twilight tango
turning in the fire.
Pressing, pushing past the limit,
expand and then expire.

(I will think of England,
of trees in summertime.
Of leafy lanes, of daisy chains,
of Grandad's rhubarb wine.)

Peter puked, tore a curtain,
dipped his eyes and cried.
Pilate pondered on his pipe,
politely turned aside.
And at the door stood John the Baptist,
head beneath one arm,
spitting oaths, splitting fingers,
sounding the alarm.

Why you should care:

One of the few songs in which Edward shares the vocal duties.