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Årabrot

by ÅRABROT

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1.
Under a dying olympic flame They dance gaily around yonder maypole They hammer nails to the cross And the blood on the floor is yours You may put me in a barrel, roll my skull down the hill Tar and feather for the non-conformist The blood on the floor is yours I hoist my half-dead wife Hold her tightly in my arms I dream I kill her for my own concerns The blood on the floor is really mine Protrusive eyes, a fixed gaze I arose in a haze To open for my very lover Hands dripping Fingers flowing Under a dying olympic flame Life revolves around yonder maypole The gates will never really open And the blood on the floor is yours She’ll wail hysterical orgasms And laugh at tormentor’s scourge Chains and fetters for the formalist The blood on the floor is yours In beautifully groomed gardens The gates of life opens upon death A monstrous and hideous passing The blood on the floor is really mine
2.
First stone for ... Second stone for ... Third stone for ... Fourth stone for the defile Fifth stone for ... Sixth stone for ... Seventh stone for ... At the heap of the defile I’m throwing rocks at the devil, seven for each pillar
3.
Nuns run with naked children, flags in hand Red and black, half-and-half Waving and shouting at religion, crusaders of the demagogue, Who roam and pillage, spread open the land and dream only of death Do not pronounce the name Do not Do not pronounce the name Nuns run with veils torn open Big, red flags waving , ripped apart by bitter winds, Half-and-half, the chastity of their beliefs turned to religious rancour, Their skin now expose a bleeding eruption the eyes watching wet from tears Blood calls for more blood down on your knees down the sanguinary mouth calls for more blood bloody eyes covered bloody eyes calls for more blood spread your arms spread your legs Kill whom you jolly well please
4.
On demand, dum da di da Of the statue deity, dum da di da The young poet and a mirror linked To the hallway of aqueous phantasms Four doors, dum da di da All locked for lunacy, dum da di da The poet squint his eye through the keyhole One more time for the death of the Mexican One more time for the shadows on the walls One more time for the tinkling-bell child Spinning by the bed of the unmanly One more time the gun to his head One more time, dum da di da For the assassination, dum da di da The spinning hallucinatory imagery By the aerialist by the bed of the epicene One more time, the master’s choice The gun put to his laurel crown We are born with a wound, born with a wound Wound of separation Close the gap On demand, dum da di da Of the master, dum da di da The poet plashes through the mirror To the hallway of aqueous phantasms One more time, the master’s choice The gun put to his filthy wreath We are born with a wound, born with a wound Wound of separation Close the gap
5.
Dedication 01:52
I've dedicated my self to many a woman Shirley Temple, Lee Miller in Hitler's bathtub Louise Brooks, Brooke with the cat Agatha ... Or was it Golgatha? Never did I dedicate my funeral like Desnos Never did I dedicate my death like Rigaut So I dedicate my demise to you I dedicate my death to you First time I died was back in 2001. I swirled my drink too close to see that what was doing on Second time was the year 2006. I made a mistake and, god, I had to pay for it Third time 2009 all innocence had deteriorated and all left was murder pure murder, pure death, pure dedication
6.
Blood on Bunny, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned Bunny spread open, you dirty bastard Bunny denies being the Christ but the blood will be on her own head Blood on Bunny, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned She’ll die for your sins, you dirty bastard Bunny denies being the Christ but the blood will be on her own head Come away, my lover The blood will be on her own head
7.
Blessed be you, that have brought me these ways Blessed be you, as I’m kneeling at the altar, Blessed be you, without which I would not be Blessed be you, formed in beauty Blessed be you, I won’t utter the name
8.
The naked behind the starry skies is pouring water from the urns I wink, I blink, I close my eyes, connivance at full swing The Phoenician angels might bring hope and renewal for a bitter loss But if you sing the praise of love you sing the praise of death Hey, I traverse, I correlate The horns of the devil grow I grow, I the sycophant The horns of the devil grow No love without the taste of death, I was an intern at Hell-Salpêtrière I got my taste of love confused and was well received in hysteria’s bed The hysteria divine, its desires, it captivates, the madmen and flagellants It’s mythical and it’s erotic, the horns of the devil grow Hey, I traverse, I correlate The horns of the devil grow I grow, the non-entity The horns of the devil grow I sweat, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo I cry, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo I spit, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo I retch, I traverse the inside to the outside of the body, it’s taboo Hell, I traverse, I correlate I got the stye in the eye I grow, the parasite The horns of the devil grow
9.
He finished his book cause the sun didn't set The stifling heat gone, under Arabic veils Her naked sex, a breath of cool air He was warned: if she strips naked there She'll lull out a devastating storm But he worshipped her apropos of nothing. She was idolized, let her hair fall down Slipped out of a batiste dress, she undressed At the first gate the crown At the second gate the necklace At the third gate her earrings At the fourth gate her ornaments At the fifth gate the belt At the sixth gate the bracelets & at the seventh gate the girdle She entered naked into his secret, not known Nor seen And not meant To be known Nor seen Now no more a wonderful mirage Safe in his mind's eye Grisly, she pivoted and spat back Kill me with your own hands I want your fingers round my throat See the jugular vein throb See the white foam at my innocent lips Kill me if you hate me, but do it right She couldn't help but sink in the sandy mire Terror-stricken by a boundless void Gazing out with blank wet orbs Admitting the loss of a beloved Not known Nor seen
10.
Mænads 05:55
Let’s raise our glasses to the mænads The drunken, raving ones Who in intoxicated exaltation Will hunt you down Who will howl and bellow Who will let you taste their naked flesh Under fawn fox skins and with thieves’ cant Wrap their snakes around They lick the honey-trickle From vine-clad long sticks Let’s propose a toast to substitutes and prostitutes Those who lay naked spread on panther skin After the maniacal revelling and raging hysteria And feats of madness and loud bang of drums And crashing of cymbals, sparagmos and omophagia Praise the rapture of these rites You’ll find yourselves within a droning frenzy You’ll find yourselves engirdled by moist, damp bodies Of the women of the Amphissa Whose mouths are greedy with blood A drop of blood on carnal lips Are licked with an ivy-poisoned tongue Wild, lively eyes project venereal ardour And what will you do? You will raise your glass for good health Pour me some more! As I slide my fingertip down the rima vulva As I suck milk from phantom breasts Lap wine from Earth’s womb While serpents glide through sweat In a ritualistic movement Let’s raise our glasses to these nurses And praise their mere existence To the mountains! To the mountains!

about

The Norwegian Grammy winning noise-metal-punks in Arabrot are ready to present their sixth album. The self-titled release is scheduled for a world wide release through Fysisk Format the 19th of August.

The album follows the bands greatest success, Solar Anus from 2011. This release had a power which surprised many of Arabrots fans - suddenly biblio-pornographic lyrics had become popular culture, as had Steve Albinis sparse production techinque. Solar Anus featured on many best-of-the-year-lists, and it received widespread good reviews:
"As unsettling as a thunderstorm approaching a medieval battle" 8/10 NME

"One of Europe's best heavy rock bands" 5/5 The Stool Pigeon

While writing the new album, singer and guitarist Kjetil Nernes inhabited an old abandoned church just across the border in Sweden, in a pastoral countryside where time has stood still for generations. His view of Oslo had started to mirror that of Knut Hamsun: "Oslo's a weird place. Always an omnipresent notion of some unresolved deed cramping one's shoulders, bolts of nervousness creeping down the spine, Ray Bans in the Easter morning sun belly full of coffee, shivering cold nights under the full moon dizzy from litres of red-wine ending another tedious twelve hour recording session. Shaky hands and a sweaty back"

The album features a widened family of Arabrot-collaborators, most notably Emil Nikolaisen (Serena Maneesh/4AD) who in addition to recording and mixing the album, also plays bass and does backup vocals. Nernes recalls: "Emil spending hours and hours crawling and creeping under the skin of the sonic texture. Each and every note turned and twisted, each and every riff wound and yanked. Digging deeper and deeper into the dark surge. Indulging, revelling till his head is spinning, his eyes wet and dreary. Exulting in Tourette's-like howls and shrieks, puffing a small cigar, conjuring up a pure magical momentum. It might be the clammy sensation of Oslo's Youngstorget area which really brings out that extra spark, the crazed passion, the enigmatic touch of danger. The heartbeat which is Arabrot."

The recording session itself was almost a contradiction to the rabid mixing process - set prices and clear working conditions for professional musicians. Basic riffs, percussion and vocals were laid before Norwegian experimental music stalwarts Lasse Marhaug and Erland Dahlen added their musical substance to the mix. A sudden visit by by Laura Pleasants of Kylesa resulted in guest vocals on Arrabal's dream.

While the lyrics on the 2010 release "REVENGE" were a revenge fantasy dedicated to a certain someone, and "Solar Anus" and "Mæsscr" told stories of the human beast, this album revolves around breaking away from city life and the feeling of social asphyxiation invoked by them. Nernes has revealed that much of the inspiration for the lyrics has been found in early 20th century surrealists like Georges Bataille and Robert Desnos, mixed with a fascination for the mythologies of ancient greece and the Old Testament.

Artwork by Johannes Høie.
Mastered by Jason Ward at Chicago Mastering.

Arabrot is supported by Fund for Performing Arts and The Art Council of Norway

credits

released August 16, 2013

Kjetil Nernes -vocals, EGCs, organs and synths
Emil Nikolaisen - bass, background vocals, loops, electronics and synths
David Park - drums
Lasse Marhaug - pure noise
Erland Dahlen - percussion, numerous vile machines
Karin Park - piano
Laura Pleasants - vocals on Arrabal's Dream
Jan Sjönneby - Trumpet on Drawing Down The Moon
Resident tm - voice on Drawing Down The Moon and Ha-Satan Deofol

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ÅRABROT Haugesund, Norway

Årabrot is Kjetil “Tall Man” Nernes and Karin “Dark Diva” Park. They live in the countryside with their two children in an old church. Rock’n roll is their religion.

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