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Marillion: Fugazi

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s

Artist: Marillion
Title: Fugazi
Released: 1984
Label: EMI Records
Time: 46:47
Producer(s): Nick Tauber
Appears with: Fish
Category: Pop/Rock
Rating: ********.. (8/10)
Media type: CD
Purchase date:  1995.03.08
Price in €: 12,99
Web address: www.marillion.com

 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Assassing (Dick/Kelly) - 7:01
[2] Punch & Judy (Dick/Kelly) - 3:18
[3] Jigsaw (Dick/Kelly) - 6:46
[4] Emerald Lies (Dick/Kelly) - 5:08
[5] She Chameleon (Dick/Kelly) - 6:53
[6] Incubus (Dick/Kelly) - 8:30
[7] Fugazi (Dick/Kelly) - 8:02

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


Fish (aka. Derek William Dick) - Vocals, Cover Art Concept
Mark Kelly - Keyboards
Ian Mosley - Percussion, Drums
Steve Rothery - Guitar, Photography
Pete Trewavas - Bass

Linda Pyke - Vocals, Background Vocals
Chris Karen - Percussion

Stephen Chase - Assistant Engineer
Simon Hanhart - Engineer, Mixing
Dave Meegan - Assistant Engineer
Peter Mew - Digital Remastering
Tony Phillips - Assistant Engineer
Mark Wilkinson - Liner Notes, Photography, Illustrations, Cover Design
Julie Hazelwood - Artwork
Nigel Reeve - Project Coordinator
Chris Hedge - Remixing

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


Fugazi ist neben "Clutching at Straws" und "Misplaced Childhood" eine der drei grossen Marillion-CDs. Hervorragend umgesetzte, melodische Stuecke mit anspruchsvollen Texten, typischer Fish am Mikro und saubere Gitarrensoli werden von kunstvoll gewebten Synthis untermalt. Fuer diese CD sollte man sich Zeit und eine gute Stereoanlage nehmen, anschalten und geniessen!



Gut-wrenchingly powerful lyrics and dynamic prog-rock performance make this a classic!

Michael P. Dawson, All-Music Guide



Was Marillion mit Script For A Jester222s Tear begannen, führen sie auf Fugazi konsequent weiter: Ausufernde Songstrukturen, exzentrische, geniale Texte, komplexe Kompositionen und dabei immer noch ganz nah dran an den alten Genesis, deren Theatralik, Pathos und lyrische Raffinesse sich Marillion für die ersten beiden Alben ausborgten, um sie dann mit späteren Werken auf dem Altar des Mainstream zu opfern. Mythisch überhöht wie die Alptraumgestalt in "Incubus" oder bizarr verkleinert auf Kasperlefiguren ("Punch & Judy") schafft der Sdnger und kreative Kopf Fish mit seiner Band ein Panoptikum der Skurrilitäten und Absonderlichkeiten. Und doch ist Fugazi keine Freakshow sondern großer Zirkus mit Anspruch. In der Manege: Der klassische Narr, der tragische Held! Kraftvoll und schöpferisch wie Prometheus erbauen Marillon Klangwelten und Traumlandschaften. So schufen sie mit Script For A Jester222s Tear und Fugazi ein Opus, das nicht nur Akzente setzt, sondern einer ganzen Musikrichtung, dem Prog-Rock, neues Leben einhaucht. Das ist beseelt, visionär und ingeniös.

Dirk Ruschepaul, Amazon.de



Marillion's 1984 release Fugazi is a fine follow-up to their Script for a Jester's Tear album. Running along the same lines as their previous work, Fugazi is a concept album, something Marillion does best. Singer/songwriter Fish is top form on Fugazi. All six tracks have something special on their own, together, they make a memorable CD. "Assassing" and "Punch and Judy" are great songs in all aspects. Fugazi is a great next step for Marillion.

Tina Mrazik, All-Music Guide
 

 L y r i c s


Assassin

I am the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence.
I am the assassin, providing your nemesis.
On the sacraficial altar to success, my friend;
Unleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend;
No incantations of remorse, my friend;
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
my friend, my friend, my friend, my friend

I am the assassin, (assassin, assassin)
Who decorates the scarf with the fugi knot,
Who camouflaged emotion in the thousand-yard stare,
Who gouged the notches in the family tree,
Who hypnotized the guilt in career rhythm trance.

Assassin, assassin, assassin, assassin.
(Assassin , my friend.)

Listen as the syllables of slaughter cut with calm precision,
Patterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sew the ice incision.
Adjectives of annihilation bury the point beyond redemption,
Venomous verbs of ruthless candor plagiarize assassins' fervor.
Apocalyptic alphabet casting spell, the creed of tempered diction,
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
Assassin!

You were a sentimental mercenary in a free-fire zone,
Parading a Hollywood conscience;
You were a fashionable objector with a uniform fetish,
Pavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success.
A noncom observer, I assassin, the collector... defector.

So you resigned yourself to failure, my friend,
And I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend,
To eradicate the problem, my friend,
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
within the voice, within the voice,
within the voice.

And what do you call assassins who accuse assassins, anyway...
My friend?


Punch & Judy

Punch, Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy.
Washing machine, pinstripe dream stripped the gloss from a beauty queen.
Punch and Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy.
Found our nest in the Daily Express, met the Vicar in a holy vest.
Punch and Judy, Punch and Judy.
Brought up the children, Church of E, now I vegetate with a color TV.
Worst ever thing that happened to me, oh for D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Oh Judy!

Whatever happened to pillow fights?
Whatever happened to jeans so tight? Friday nights?
Whatever happened to Lover's lane?
Whatever happened to passion games? Sunday walks in the pouring rain?

Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch.
Curling tongs, mogadons,
I got a headache baby, don't take so long.

Single beds, middle age dread, losing the war in the waistlands spread.
Who left the cap off the toothpaste tube, who forgot to flush the loo?
Leave your sweaty socks outside the door,
don't walk across my polished floor, Oh Judy!

Whatever happened to morning smiles?
Whatever happened to wicked wiles? permissive styles?
Whatever happened to twinkling eyes?
Whatever happened to hard fast drives? compliments on unnatural size?

Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch and Judy,
Punch, Punch, Punch.

Propping up a bar, family car, sweating out a mortgage as a balding clerk.
Punch and Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy
World War Three, suburbanshee, just slip her these pills and I'll be free.
No more Judy, Judy, Judy no more.
Goodbye Judy!


Jigsaw

We are jigsaw pieces aligned on the perimeter edge,
Intelocked through a missing piece.
We are Renaissance children becalmed beneath the bridge of sighs,
Forever throwing firebrands at the stonework.
We are Siamese children related by the heart,
Bleeding from the surgery of initial confrontation,
Holding the word scalpels on trembling lips.


 Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye.
 Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why.
 Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today,
 The problems always seem to be, we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet.

 This is the ricochet...

Drowning Tequila sunsets, stowaways on midnight ships,
Refugees of romance plead asylum from the real.
Scrambling distress signals on random frequencies,
Forever repatriated on guilt laden morning planes.
We are pilots of passion sweating the flight on course
To another summit conference, another breakfast time divorce,
Screaming out a ceasefire, snowblind in an avalanche zone.


 Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye.
 Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why.
 Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today,
 The problems always seem to be, we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet.

 This is the ricochet...

Are we trigger happy, happy, happy?
Russian roulette in the waiting room,
Empty chambers embracing the end.
Puzzled visions haunt the ripples of a trevi moon,
Dream coins for the fountain or to cover your eyes.
We reached ignition point from the sparks of pleasantries,
We sensed the smoke advancing from horizons,
You must have known that I was planning, considering an escape.

 Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye, say goodbye.
 Stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why.
 Yesterday starts tomorrow, tomorrow starts today,
 And the problems always seem to be,
 we're picking up the pieces on the ricochet.

This is the ricochet,
I'll be seeing you again on the ricochet,
Will you show me the pieces next time on the ricochet, (ricochet)
I'll be seeing you again on the ricochet,

There's a problem, there's a ricochet, (ricochet)


Emerald Lies

To be the prince of possession, in the gallery of contempt.
Suffering your indiscrete discretions, and you ask me to relent.
As you accumulate flirtations, with the calculated calmness of the whore.
(Of the whore)

I am the harlequin, with diamonded costume dripping shades of green,
I am the harlequin, sense strangers violate my sanctuary, prowl my dreams.
(My dreams)
And their my dreams.
(Their my dreams!)

Plundering your diaries, I'll steal your thought's. (thoughts)
Ravaging your letters, unearth your plots. (plots)
Innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence, innocence.

To don the robes of Torquemada, to resurrect the Inquisition,
And in that tortured subtle manner inflict questions within questions,
within questions.
Looking in shades of green through shades of blue;
I trust you trusting me to mistrust you.

Through the silk-cut haze to the smeared mascara,
A forty-watt sun on a courtroom drama.

And the coffee stains gather till the pale kimono,
Set the wedding rings dancing on the cold linoleum.
This is innocence.

And accusation's moths that circle around the light,
they char their wings in spiral senseless, suicidal flight.
You pack our world within a suitcase, hot tears melt this icy palace,
and dissolve a crystal swallowed by the night.
Looking in shades of green through shades of blue,
Looking in shades of green through shades of blue.
These shades of blue, of blue...


She Chameleon

Sheltering her ego on the edge of the floodlight's arc,
She'll contemplate seduction, calculate the catch.
When she moved her presence speared me,
When she spoke her words ensnared me.
Watch the lizard, watch the lizard,
Watch the lizard with the crimson veil.

She crucified my heart in the depths of a satin grave,
As I lay in sweating monologue I sensed the lovelight fade.
Within the spiral of the cigarette,
You betrayed your bedside etiquette.
I saw the lizard, I saw the lizard,
I touched the lizard with the crimson veil.

I've seen a different doorway shut a million times before,
Smilng she-chameleons, smiling vinyl whores.

They know what they want, they sing your name and glide between the sheets,
I never say no, in the chemical glow we'll let our bodies meet.

So was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, just another fuck,
 I said,
Loving just for laughs, carnal autograph, lying on a lizard's bed.
So was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, just another fuck? I bled,
Degraded and alone, raped and still forlorn, betrayed on a lizard's bed.
We chameleon, we chameleon, we (oui!)


Incubus

When footlights dim in reverence to prescient passion,
forewarned my audience leaves the stage, floating ahead,
perfumed shift, within the stammering silence.
The face that launched a thousand frames,
Betrayed by a porcelain tear, a stained career.

You've played this scene before, you've played this scene before.
I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I.
I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction, reaction.

The darkroom unleashes imagination, in pornographic images in
Which you will always be the star. (Be the star).
Untouchable, unapproachable.
Constant in the darkness, in the darkness.
Nursing an erection, a misplaced reaction,
With no flower to place before this gravestone.
And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin,
but that would only be developing the negative view.
And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic color, the public act.
Let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk,
let the cats walk.

I've played, this scene before, I've played, this scene before.
I, the mote in your eye, I, I, I.
I, the mote in your eye, a misplaced reaction, satisfaction.

(A debilitating speck of doubt that came from absolutely nowhere.)

You can't brush me under the carpet, you can't hide me under the stairs.
The custodian of your private fears, your leading actor of yesteryear,
Who, as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity,
Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity.
You, who I directed with a lover's will, you who I let hypnotize the lens,
You who I let bathe in the spotlight's glare,
You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask,
Just like a greasepaint mask.

But now I'm the snake in the grass.
The ghost of film reels past.
And the producer of your nightmare,
And the performance has just begun, Its just begun.
(It's just begun)

Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets,
As you stutter, paralyzed, with rabbit's eyes.
Searing the shadows, flooding the wings,
to pluck elusive salvation from the understudy's lips.
Retrieve the soliloquy, maintain the obituary.
My cue line in the last act, and you'll wait in silent solitude,
Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt,
waiting for the prompt.
Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt,
waiting for the prompt.

You've played this scene before.


Fugazi

Vodka intimate, an affair with isolation in a blackheath cell,
Extinguishing the fires in a private hell,
Provoking the heartache to renew the license.
Of a bleeding heart poet in a fragile capsule,
Propping up the crust of the glitter conscience.
Wrappped in the christening shard of a hangover,
baptized in tears from the real, tears from the real...

Drowning in the liquid seas on the picadilly line, rat-race,
scuttling through the damp electric labyrinth.

(Caress Ophelia's hand with breaststroke ambition,
The albatross courtship marrytime tradition.)

Sheathed with the walkman wear the halo of distortion,
aural contraceptive aborting pregnant conversation.

(But she turned the harpoon and it pierced my heart,
she hung herself around my neck.)

>From the Time-Life guardians in their conscience bubbles,
safe and dry in my sea of troubles.
Nine to Fives, with suitable ties,
While I'm cast adrift as their sideshow, (sideshow),
peepshow, (peepshow), stereo hero,
becalm, bestill, bewitch, drowning, drowning in the real...

The thief of Bagdad hides in Islington now,
praying deportation for his sacred cow.
A legacy of romance from a twilight world,
the dowry of a relative mystery girl.

A Vietnamese flower, a dockland union,
a mistress of release from a magazine's thighs.
This magdalene contracts more than favours,
the feeding hands of western promise hold her by the throat.

A son of the swastika of 45,' parading a peroxide standard.
Graffitti disciples conjure testaments of hatred.
Aerosol wands whisper where the searchlights trim the barbed wire hedges.
This is Brixton chess,

A knight for embankments - folds his newspaper castle,
a creature of habit, begs the boatman's coin,
He'll fade with old soldiers - in the grease stained roll call,
linger with the heartburn of good friday's last supper.

Son watches father scan obituary columns,
in search of absent school friends.
While his generation digests high-fiber ignorance,
cowering behind curtains and the taped up, painted windows.
Decriminalized genocide, provided door to door Belsens.
Pandora's box of holocausts,
gracefully cruising satellite infested heavens,
Waiting, wait..waiting the season of the button,
the penultimate migration,
Radioactive perfumes for the fashionably,
for the terminally insane ... insane
Do do do do do do you realize,
Do do do do do do you realize,
Do do do do do do you realize,
This world is totally fugazi!

Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries,
where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary.

Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries,
where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary.

Where are the prophets, where are the visionaries,
where are the poets, to breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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