Nobody Wants To Be You

by Tomás Ford

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about

My first album, recorded both solo and in the home studios of various collaborators (Roly Skender, Lo-Key Fu, Mark Kingston, Shane Adamczak and an unreleased track with Audio Cephlon) in 2006.

My songwriting at the time was torn between a kind of housebound suburban paranoia at one end and a juvenile sense of humour. The ten tracks combine electronic music, pop songs and spoken word for an eclectic, unpredictable ride that's nonetheless still best taken as a whole album.

There is a super secret bonus track included if you purchase the entire album.

For more information, blog, video and facebook/twitter/myspace links, head to www.tomasford.com

credits

released May 27, 2006

All tracks © tomás ford 2006.
Recorded and mixed entirely by Ford at home, except... 2. WHITE HAZE (Ford), 2006. Guitar sampled from playing by Mark Kingston. Additional vocal recording and mixing completed at Sound Mine Studios by Tomás Ford and Lee Buddle. 3. LETTERS OF COMPLAINT (Ford/Kingston) & 4. DOMESTIC UTOPIA (Ford/Kingston) Recorded, mixed,
mastered & co-Produced by Ford, Mark Kingston, Leon Ewing & Rob Grant at Home and at Poonshead, Australia. 5. POSTAL AID PACKAGE FROM MUM (Ford) Bass performed and recorded by Shane Adamczak on his 4-track. 9. LOUDSPEEKA (Ford/Hotrod) Recorded and Remixed by Josh McAulilffe and Ford around an original demo by ford. 10. BIG NIGHT OUT IN ROCKINGHAM (Ford) drum loops and additional mixing by lo-key fu. 1, 6, 7 & 8 are all written by (Ford) by the way. Album mastered by Adrian Sardi at The Vault. Spastic photoshop cd artwork by Tomás Ford. Special limited edition artwork with the fabric and cool shit by Liz Ford with assistance from Eleesha, Joe and obviously Tomás’ sorry arse. Why are we still in the
third person when i’ve established that it is/was me doing the cover art? Cover self portrait by Tomás Ford. Photos here & on the back of the cd by Finbar Walsh. Interior sleeve photo by eleesha ford.

license

tags

Track Name: Electricity Solo
The electricity coils zap blue every time a droplet of moisture hits
There's mist
Mist is gallons of water suspended across cubic meters
The zap is a constant crackle
Constant electric blue
It's not an ugly colour
But it's too close:
The stobing pole would hit my house
wires zapping, electrifying the tin roof
and therefore everything else.
I stop leaning against the flyscreen.
There's no way I could take that amount of electricity.
The moisture makes my skin clammy
gallons of water
suspended
constant electric
mist conducts electricity
zap
crackle
I should call Western Power.
Going in for a closer look,
The hairs on my arm stand on end
I'm sure if I was five years old and living at home, Dad would tell me this is normal in mist
If I was living at home these days Dad would probably expect me to have grown out of this by now
Dad probably does expect I've grown out of this by now

Western Power Hotline: Freecall 1800 622 008
* Faulty street lights * Termite damage to power poles

Nothing about constant electric blue.
Dad would tell me this is normal.
But would he then hold my hand a little tighter
And walk a little faster?
There's mist
If I called Western Power they would tell me this is normal in mist
The hairs on my arm stand on end when I get near it
I should call Western Power
I don't want to die a freak death

1800 622 008

They send someone out to tell me this is normal
in a fatherly tone.
Track Name: White Haze
Smell steaming karri leaves
Lost by lonely trees
Forest never grieves

Feel no flames licking here
No pain could get near
Just glowing white air

White haze surrounding me
And it's affecting me
A tranquility

Someone's burning off the scrub
Someone's making sure it's safe
Someone's whiting out the fear
Someone's letting me breathe clear

Psychopath sedated
But functionally
Reassuringly

Float, smother the tension
Clear dangerous objects
My dangerous subjects

White haze surrounding me
And it's affecting me
A tranquility

Someone's burning off the scrub
Someone's making sure it's safe
Someone's whiting out the fear
Someone's letting me breathe clear
Someone's burning off the scrub
Someone's making sure it's safe
Someone's whiting out the fear
Someone's letting me breathe clear
Someone's burning off the scrub
Someone's making sure it's safe
Someone's whiting out the fear
Someone's letting me breathe clear

...So clear
Track Name: Letters Of Complaint
1:30: a woman shoots her husband
2:15: the police arrive
3:30: they find a corpse laid on the couch
and take their leave at 3:35

5:30: the sun is nearly rising
by 6 it's risen and it's overhead
beneath it, suburbs become your cancer
expanding, wasted and dead

why don't you kill yourself and all your childeren?
if you don't do it, who will then?
why don't you kill yourself and do it in style?
everybody wants to see a corpse with a smile!
you have a mandate

out by the river, a five story penis
fucking the sky from below
the pavement is cracking under vacuous teenagers
losers with nowhere to go

up in your nest, you're the lord mayor of all you survey
and half of that is on fire
screw them all over, go somewhere with taste
let's face it, the revenue has gotta be higher

why don't you kill yourself and all your childeren?
if you don't do it, who will then?
why don't you kill yourself and do it in style?
everybody wants to see a corpse with a smile!
you have a mandate

do magic baby!
do your magic!!

hour by hour, your arteries are hardening
your dentist says your brushing technique is bad
today tonight keeps telling you your hair product will kill you
run around the corner!
mutilate your dad!
all your children!

why don't you kill yourself and all your childeren?
if you don't do it, who will then?
why don't you kill yourself and do it in style?
everybody wants to see a corpse with a smile!
you have a mandate
why don't you kill yourself and all your childeren?
if you don't do it, who will then? (you have a mandate)
why don't you kill yourself and do it in style? (oh-oh)
everybody wants to see a corpse with a smile! (you have a mandate)
you have a mandate

(two man orgasmic climax using harmonica and synth knobs)
Track Name: Domestic Utopia
I leave the shower
Steam softens the chill
There was hot water
And no water bill

Look at the handrail
Suppress joyful howl
For lying in wait there
Is a fresh clean towel

Oh joy!
Oh rapture!

Domestic utopia
I think I finally understand
The joy in simplicity
My life is absolutely grand

I choose a cereal
I take all morning
So many to choose from
And none are boring

Fetch a cup of tea
It's rubbish night tonight
Somehow it's out already
And it didn't cause a fight

Oh joy!
Oh rapture!

Domestic utopia
I think I finally understand
The joy in simplicity
My life is absolutely grand

(sung as a round:)
Fetch a cup of tea!
And life is grand!
There's a warm blue towel!
Soft in your hand!

Tonight, I will go home
And dream of all of this
Alone in my squalor
I crave domestic bliss

One day
I'll capture

Domestic utopia
Track Name: Postal Aid Package From Mum
Postal aid package from Mum
Glorified cleansed memories from passed time, victoriously escaped from three weeks ago
Forget about rent and food and phone and power and girls and cleaning and bus timetables and job seeking
Roll up, starving children! One night only! Starry-eyed sentiment! Affection!
I sit on my already stained couch and remember
No trade-off between lunch and bus fare and the prospect of going out this weekend
No no lift home at Desperate 12:30 AM and the people I was chatting to to get a lift home from tell me they live nowhere near.
Look: there’s some tea in there. Earl grey, but I’ll take what I’m given.
No aimless wandering around Fremantle because Centrelink stuffed up my payment and I spent my last dollar to get to their office and now I can’t get home.
A car that I can borrow.
Look at that little box of stuff: how’d she manage to pack a whole security blanket into one post-it pack?

Postal aid package from Mum
There’s even a letter.
She cared enough to put a letter in. An ironic smile full of self-pity sneaks onto my face.
The soft paper is folded in two halves like outstretched arms telling me to remember
cuddling up to Mum on the sofa as a kid
more than just verbal contact with the person who wants me to succeed most and thinks that I can.
She put in a photo. I touch it. More tactile than any human contact I’ve had since I moved over here.
I put the note next to my answering machine so I can notice it when I notice the lack of messages.
She rings sometimes but I need to get a call from someone in the Perth metropolitan area. More than once a week.
I can’t afford a frame so I rest the photo in between the ugly old phone and my broken ceramic lamp.

Postal aid package from Mum
“$50 is for a hair cut and coffee or even something more fun”
Maybe I’ll fix the television aerial. Make it snow less inside.
I’ll use it this weekend to go out and strike up conversations with complete strangers/new friends
Out of lack of choice I’m an optimist so I choose to believe the latter
It was unwise to not move into a share house with people but I’ll find a job soon. Remember
it’s a city: there’s lots of opportunities for able bodied, young, fit, clever people in the city
$50 is a lottery’s worth. How did she get it?
There’s some canned food. Should do me a few more nights, three days until dole day.
Some chocolate too. I wish I could share it. Chocolate is no good unless you share it. A hug?
I reach over to grab it to eat it to make myself feel better but knock over and break the third cheap glass of a box of six.
Track Name: Broken Toys
I don't know why I always break my toys.
It's not like I can afford to replace them.
Track Name: One Size Fits Most
Everyone I know lives in large, well kept houses.
I never thought I'd want that kind of security.
I never thought I'd want to join my trapped high school mates,
working to keep a roof over my head and feed my family.

If anyone who lives around me hears this tune, please hum it, get it stuck in your head to remind you every minute of how much I hate you.

One size fits most.
One size fits most.

Working in the hope that the kids will not be
working in the hope that the kids will not be
working in the hope that the kids will not be
working to work to work to work to work to work...

I hate the people who live in this block of units.
I don't like their sounds, their rapist conman lifestyles.
And yet, I find myself trapped in conversations with them
as if I belong here, like I'm one of them!

If anyone who lives around me hears this tune, please hum it, get it stuck in your head to remind you every minute of how much I hate you.

One size fits most.
One size fits most.
Track Name: Old People Like To Fuck
I feel like an old playcat
I'm gonna get me some of that
I feel like a million fucks

Late at night, I'll sneak out
Find some girl to sort me out
With around a million fucks

You might find it sick but it's quite true
Old people like to fuck, just like you
'Cos old people like it too

I think I've still got the charm
I've got the girls in the nursing home
Giving me about a million fucks

Listen man, don't feel so glum
Check out what Viagra's done
It gives me a million fucks

You might find it sick but it's quite true
Old people like to fuck, just like you
'Cos old people like it too

You might find it sick but it's quite true
Old people like to fuck, just like you
'Cos old people like it too
Track Name: Loudspeeka (Album Mix)
LOUDSPEEKA sends an ear bomb as a covert saw synth stab
happy sunny sound suckers steal any beat/bass candy they can grab
if they're gonna blow their ears at least the caning will come from this DJ
back at home they find their drone-laced lollies mean they can't hear each other say
"Awwww, we wanted that last tune to crystalise a never ending hoedown..."

LOUDSPEEKA sends an ear bomb as a covert saw synth stab
happy sunny sound suckers steal any beat/bass candy they can grab
if they're gonna blow their ears at least the caning will come from this DJ
"...instead our ears bleed tension in a one note whine drone breakdown..."

Booty shake that booty shake that booty booty booty cutie cutie (x3)
can you handle it can you handle it now?

BASS thru ya TWEETA
GULP by tha LITRE
there ain't no sound SWEETA
than from this loudSPEEKA
at the end of the night you leave tha DANCEFLOOR
you've caned yo'self but ya still want MORE
sudden realization as you get to tha DOOR
that yo' earz iz buzzin' coz da lobez iz SORE
PERMANENT DAMAGE
this you know iz tru
YOU CAN'T HEAR SHIT
when I talk 2 u
I tried to tell u but i can't get thru
won't be able ta sleep when u go 2 bed
all da WHEEEE WHEEEE WHEEEE fukkin' wid' yo head
addin' to da feelin' that you wish you woz dead
SHOULDA GONE 2 DA MOVIEZ INSTEAD!!!

Bleeding the tension
Bleeding the tension
Bleeding the tension
Bleeding the tension
Bleeding the tension
Bleeding the tension"

Booty shake that booty shake that booty booty booty cutie cutie (x3)
can you handle it can you handle it now?
Track Name: Big Night Out In Rockingham (Album Mix)
We sit in my lounge room.

9PM. Friday night. Bored as fuck.

There’s nothing going on.



“Where we gonna go?” “Out.”



We stand up, head to the cars.

The merits of each club are debated.

This one’s sleazy This one’s rap

This one’s tacky And that’s just crap

I think seriously on the possibility of dancing at 2AM to bootylicious, undulating, dry rooting R&B...

I stop thinking.

The general consensus is that “tacky” is the best of our four options.

Plus we know the promotions guy there, so we might be able to scab ourselves some free drinks.

We crank up the car stereo and wank our way there.



On arrival at the club we are greeted by a smiling bouncer who remembers us.

Oh shit.

We’re regulars.

I’ve never been so embarrassed.

I look around.

While I’m here, I may as well get me some sex...

Having spent the entire night in the pursuit of sexual gratification, it is somewhat disappointing to find my only offer is from a woman named Angie, who is aged at a youthful 42.

“Fuck that for a joke.”

I wish I wouldn’t take myself so literally.

Nobody ever laughs anyway.



Half way home I call Angie a taxi on my mobile and dump her at the shopping centre.

The very thought of what could have occurred sends chills up my spine.

As I drive away, she screams horrible insults at me and I think of immature comebacks I’ll never use.



I get home and wander what happened to my friends.

Probably fucking.

Fuckwits.

I open the door and switch on the light.

It doesn’t come on, and the others behave in pretty much the same way.

It’s almost as if a thief has come into the house and taken only the light bulbs.

My body, without consulting me, decides that seeing as though I’m tired,

I

may

as

well

sleep

on

the

floor.

I arrive there with a THUD.



I wake up at dawn with the sun shining through the flyscreen and right into my eyes.

There’s a puddle of saliva sticking my face to the floorboards.



I stand up and head for bed.