..:: audio-music dot info ::..


Main Page      The Desert Island      Copyright Notice
 Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk Ll Mm Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz


Peter Hammill: The Noise

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Fie! Records
Released: 1993.03.01
Time:
 43:15
Category: Progressive Rock
Producer(s): Peter Hammill
Rating:
Media type: CD
Web address: www.sofasound.com
Appears with: Van der Graaf Generator, David Jackson
Purchase date: 2012
Price in €: 1,00





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] A Kick to Kill the Kiss (P.Hammill) - 4:10
[2] Like a Shot, the Entertainer (P.Hammill) - 5:12
[3] The Noise (P.Hammill) - 6:12
[4] Celebrity Kissing (P.Hammill) - 4:33
[5] Where the Mouth IS (P.Hammill) - 5:34
[6] The Great European Department Store (P.Hammill) - 4:58
[7] Planet Coventry (P.Hammill) - 4:02
[8] Primo on the Parapet (P.Hammill) - 8:38

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


Peter Hammill – Vocals, Guitar, Keyboards, Producer
Manny Elias – Drums
Nic Potter – Bass
John Ellis – Guitar
David Jackson – Saxophone, Flute

Paul Ridout - Cover Design
Gail Force - Management

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1993 CD FIE! Records - FIE 1104 (UK)
2002 CD FIE! Records - Remastered

Recorded in January - September 1992.



Loud, powerful and energetic music, balanced by poetical and clever lyrics. "The Entertainer" is an immediate success while "The Noise" is a prime example of Hammill's style of rhythmic and arrhythmic rock. A stab-in-the-back for the materialistic '90s society is cleverly disguised in the almost-pop "Great European Department Store," and the Finale -- the slowly building, haunting "Primo on the Parapet" -- reminds us to remember the past. Another unforgettable collection from Mr. Hammill.

Ali Sinclair - All Music Guide



Obviously not one of the "BeCalm" series of releases. In fact, rather horribly punwise, number one of the "A Loud" series. Hammill with guitar and most of the K Group being what passes for loud and brash when you are basically a composer of introspective music. I am compelled to say that this is far inferior to the previous similar efforts around the K group period. Much of it is so untainted with any of Hammill's flavour that it could, except for the voice, be any number of rather insipid ageing writers trying and failing to capture past energy by succumbing to its most obvious method of expression. Bluesy one minute then canned pop the next, I was disappointed. Having said this, some parts are quite effective: the K Group still know how to perform. Like a Shot, the Entertainer is quite a decent track mainly due to the vocal rhythms. The whole album is almost redeemed by the last track Primo on the Parapet. Hammill refers to the guitar line for this as "a real find". Regardless, it is put to exhaustive use: possibly a little too exhaustive. It moves into an entertaining odd time signature which offsets the fact that it is basically a simple powerchord progression. The beginning acoustic section is very worthy with some nice development. To be honest, the track does sound like a reworking of the title track of Patience somewhat. It is nice however and makes this track stands out on the album. I wonder if this is due to the quality of the other material though...?

© 1996 Phil Kime



The Noise is an album by the English singer and songwriter Peter Hammill. As the title implies, the album is a collection of uptempo rock songs, in sharp contrast to Hammill's previous album, Fireships, which consisted mainly of ballads. The album was announced on its sleeve as "Number 1 in the A Loud series" (Fireships had similarly been labelled as "Number 1 in the BeCalm series"). At the time, Hammill intended these labels to continue, and to separate his loud and quiet songs between different albums. The idea did not, however, continue beyond these two albums. The song "Primo on the Parapet" is a tribute to the writer and Holocaust survivor Primo Levi, and has been performed many times by Hammill in concert.

Wikipedia.org



"Auf seinem zwanzigsten Album 'The Noise' läßt Peter Hammill mit kompletter Band - natürlich in- klusive der alten Van Der Graaf-Mistreiter David Jackson und Nic Potter sowie dem Gi- tarristen John Ellis von der K-Group - richtig rockende Songs hören: eine echte Überraschung. 'The Noise' ist die kalte und erfrischende Dusche nach einem zu langen, träge machenden heißen Bad."

M. Ballauff - HiFiVision 8/93
 

 L y r i c s


A KICK TO KILL THE KISS

He'd like you to call him lucky,
the original self-made man;
no sense of wide-screen vision,
no gender strangeness he can understand.
        
Roll on the old, old story,
you can call it original sin;
yeh, stamp that one in his passport,
paste it and colour it in.
        
Colour in a history of pride and prejudice;
what he wants is mystery, but what he gets is this:
a kick to kill the kiss.
        
He thinks it fair competition,
somehow having and eating the cake,
when the women are in their bodies
and the men are all over the place.
        
What he wants is Paradise, of which he has no clue.
What he wants: Oblivion. ("...Baby, all I want is you.")
What he wants and what he needs are very different tricks....
Got some strange philosophy through going for
that dictionary tic
and the kick of kiss-me-quick.
        
A kick to kill the kiss
and he says
"Baby, all I want is you."


LIKE A SHOT, THE ENTERTAINER

Like a shot from the barrel of a smoking gun he's not,
still he aims for adoration.
On the spot where the kettle has been called black by the pot
he awaits his true vocation.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street,
what you got is the secret that he'd trade his soul to keep.
Like a shot he will tell you all his stories -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
        
Like a shot of the elixir of youth your trade in stock,
both a curse and a protection;
like a shot, in like Flynn, he'll tie his tongue up in a knot
to profess his true affection.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
you're so hot that he turns to tango every time you meet.
Like a shot he'll be thrown upon your mercy -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
        
Entertain the entertainer....
        
Like a shot, like a paparazzo picture gone to pot
his decay bears no reversal;
on the rocks he will take his medicine straight
but this is not, I repeat not, dress rehearsal.
You're so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
X the spot where he hopes he'll always fall upon his feet.
What a shock when he stumbles in the spotlight -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
        
Let's talk about something else; let's talk about us;
let's talk about egocentricity; let's talk about keeping it up.
        
You're so hot, eggs are frying where you walk upon the street;
what you got is the secret that he'd trade his soul to keep.
Like a shot he'll regale you with his stories -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
Like a shot he'll be thrown upon your mercy -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
What a shock when he stumbles in the spotlight -
is that what entertains the entertainer?
        
Let's talk about something else; let's talk about us;
let's talk about egocentricity; let's talk about keeping it up.


THE NOISE

I loved the Noise,
electric breath;
Noise filled the emptiness,
roared in the emptiness.
        
A noise to strip the paper clean off the wall,
a noise to crack the masonry like a breaking-ball,
the cutting edge of sonic, the wave that never breaks
and the heart and soul are pumping
me awake, me awake, me awake.
        
I loved the Noise,
shake to the core;
that's what the Noise is for.
        
Nothing came of nothing except what was left behind
in the barrage of the bombard, under organ grind.
I'm caught there in the moment, bug-eyed overnight drive
and the heart and soul are pumping
me alive, me alive, me alive, me alive.
        
And in the rush of the silence with my arms
wrapped round me warm
I'm holding breath, impatient
for the dark before the dawn....
Just at the crack of daylight
that'll be the curtain torn,
that'll be the ground in a forewarning murmur
of the Noise, of the storm.
        
I loved the Noise,
electric breath,
Noise filled the emptiness;
I loved the Noise,
I loved the heat -
pump-pulse that priming beat.
        
A statement of intention, an elemental plan -
the Noise is in the temple, the Noise is out of hand;
the needle on the end stop, crescendo in the choir...
yes, and the heart and soul are pumping
me on fire, me on fire, me on fire, me on fire.
        
I loved the Noise,
I've drunk my fill;
the Noise is with me still.
I loved the Noise
though now it's gone
some glorious echoes of the Noise still linger on.
        
Power on.


CELEBRITY KISSING

Celebrity kissing, this has got to stop;
yeh, they're swarming like flies,
they're like bees around the honeypot.
Celebrity kissing, will it never end?
Well, you know and I know this is only pretence....
        
You give it all you've got in radiance on the podium,
manicured fingers grip the figurine.
You taught us all you knew in missionary position;
throw your arms around your latest scene,
it could have been celebrity kissing....
This has got to stop:
yeh, they're swarming like flies,
they're like bees around the honey;
you were wonderful, darling, does it never end?
Well, you know and I know this is only pretence.
        
They saw you coming for a thousand miles,
knew something wicked by the pricking of the thumbs;
they can't believe this cheek you're turning is your better side;
I think they preferred it when you acted young and dumb.
        
So you take it to the limit,
take it from the top,
shake it till it's broken,
does the penny never drop?
        
Celebrity kissing, this has got to stop:
yeh, they're swarming like flies,
they're like bees around the honey.
You were wonderful, darling, does it never end?
Oh, you know and I know this is only pretence....
        
Oh, look out. Oh, yeh, will the penny drop?
Some kind of madness in characterization,
some kind of method in your made-up face;
you got your wake-up call, your open invitation,
you get to party in the pagan place.
        
This is only pretence.
Cut and print, cut that kiss, cut....and print:
this is only pretence.


WHERE THE MOUTH IS

Money where the mouth is, pennies on the eyes.
Times are hard and you find that you're in trouble
but it's hard to sympathize.
You talk up quite a story, you blow the bubble well.
Money where the mouth is, silver-tongue the sell.
        
Put up or shut up.
Cut price or cut-up.
Put up or shut up.
        
Money where the mouth is, will there be just desserts?
White-collar crime - yeah, the summing-up
will reckon surely nobody got hurt.
Hey, offer jam tomorrow - the cash will do quite well.
With your fair shares for all, try to practice what you preach
when they ring that Lutine bell.
Hey, put your money where your mouth is
and hope the money talk will spring you from the cell.
        
We've heard the empty promises, the barely veiled threats;
we've yet to see the colour of the money now -
we've yet to see it....
Oh, but we'll get to see it, you bet.
        
Put up or shut up.
Cut price or cut-up.
Put the money where the mouth is.
        
Yeh, you copped for quite a lot, but everything you got
fell off the back end of the yacht.
You did your best to grease the machinery,
you shut us out of the talking shop:
the desks are empty when the buck full stops.
Hey, you put your money
where your mouth was not.
You put your money where your mouth was not.
        
Well, put the money where the mouth is,
snuffling in the trough.
Yeh, put your money where your mouth is,
with the pigs in the trough.
        
Where the mouth is,
where the mouth is.


THE GREAT EUROPEAN DEPT. STORE

It's a triumph, material triumph,
mass consumption and conformity.
Down in hardware the shelves are stacked up
with the latest line in luxury.
The perfume counter has make-up ladies
all immaculately make-believe;
they sell you lifestyle package
and you'd better buy
because you're never going to leave.
        
Nations of shoppers consume in a frenzy
the security of branded names;
they're fighting in the food hall
for exotic vegetables and fruit, eco-friendly game.
It doesn't matter which currency you use
becasue they're all exactly the same.
        
And it's all on offer, everything's on offer,
multi-national door-to-door
in the Great European Department Store.
        
It's on offer, it's all on offer, you can pack it flat to take away:
Scottish heather to Spanish leather,
German turniip to Dutch weather-vane.
If you've got the money the door's wide open,
they are only here to pamper you.
The ethnic art room has plundered several continents
to decorate your living room.
It doesn't matter which credit card you use
or if you even sign your real name
because they're all exactly the same.
        
And it's all on offer, guaranteed natural, quality control assured
in the Great European Department Store.
Hey, let's shop; let's go!
        
In the Great European Department Store....
        
Ooh, the shopping's something shocking now;
ooh, will the shopping never stop
in the Great European Department Store?


PLANET COVENTRY

You find you're standing alone - not so splendid, isolation.
In the Green Room the talk is all of righteous indignation
and you might as well have landed
in some strange and distant galaxy.
The rules are unspoken on the Planet Coventry.
        
What reaction can you gauge, naked on the stage?
        
The gravity's not so great, but the atmosphere's chilling;
you made some serious mistakes
the day you pushed yourself for the grilling;
and the jigsaw pieces - take a look - a jumble of asymmetry.
All the corners are cut on the Planet Coventry.
        
Out of order, out of reach,
briefless on the beach;
no reaction you can guage,
only silence from the front row,
silence from the back row,
silence and you're naked on the stage....
wake up.
        
You dreamed you'd no need of dreams: that's an alien situation.
In the Glasshouse the mimers mill in dangerous mutation
and you might as well have landed in a different reality.
The rules are all broken on the Planet Coventry.
        
Out of order, out of reach, briefless on the beach;
one more punter for the chop, dried up in the dock;
headless chicken, total block, tongue a Gordian knot;
no reaction on this page,
only silence from the front row, slience from the back row,
silence from the prompter, silence all the rage -
only silence and you're naked on the stage.
        
You wake up, and you're naked on the stage.


PRIMO ON THE PARAPET

He crawled on hallowed ground without a map;
he walks on hollow legs, leaving no footprint;
drifts like a ghost through the quarters of lost desire,
breathing underwater,
still running through the fire.
        
Four horsemen drive the coach of Holocaust home
and with what sense of history do we view our bright new world,
with the video nasty blasting through the set
of our next door neighbour?
Do we learn to forget? Do we learn just to forget?
        
And raw barbarity sleeps, spore in soil?
No-one an innocent, no-one entirely immune.
Still we wait for a saviour, there are no saints as yet.
Just the guilt of survival,
we learn to forget.
        
The blindest eye is turned on the beast we clothe,
drab in the uniform of silent acquiescence.
So I'll raise this toast to Primo, climbing up upon the parapet
with one final word of caution:
we must learn not to forget.
        
There's pain in remembrance,
but we must learn not to forget.
        
Here's a toast to Primo,
let's learn not to forget.
Here's a toast to Primo,
forgive but don't forget.
Here's a toast to Primo,
let's learn not to forget.
        
One last word of caution
from the very rim of the parapet.
One last word in remembrance...
we must learn not to forget.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


Currently no Samples available!