We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Republic of the Weird

by Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      €10 EUR  or more

     

  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Beautiful gatefold card case, with artwork featuring an original painting by Tamara Gangnus, sleeve design by Rebecca Gangnus.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Republic of the Weird via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 5 days
    edition of 250 

      €10 EUR or more 

     

1.
Come in that wind will skin ye Here’s codeine get it in ye A hit of sweet Virginia Will pacify the nerves I’ll start the clock, sit you down We’ll get you processed in no time Never mind that screaming sound It’s probably, I dunno, a bird But while I’m the mayor of this town Children we won’t steer you wrong Come all you daughters, all you sons You rapparees, you riot girls Welcome to your Welcome to your Welcome to your world This can be your safe space this can be your happy place this is where we separate mankind from the animal charcoal from the pearl here is where you earn your wings here’s your precious, here’s your ring here is where you see the things that straighten out your curls But while I’m the mayor of this town Children we won’t steer you wrong Come all you daughters, all you sons You rapparees, you riot girls Welcome to your Welcome to your Welcome to your world This is where we buckle up This is where we suckle up This is where we pucker up Daddy watch me twirl The price of your admission To existence is attrition This condition we call human With which all of us are girdled But while I’m the mayor of this town Children we won’t steer you wrong Come all you daughters, all you sons You rapparees, you riot girls Welcome to your Welcome to your Welcome to your world And if by pricking of the thumbs You sense a wickedness to come Hold your nerve, banish misfortune Sing your hurdy-gurdy songs For when all the battle’s lost and won we’ll gather children once again In thunder, lightning and in rain When all this hurly burly’s done When by the pricking of your thumbs Something wicked this way comes
2.
It’s quiet here especially at night but the light, the air, is clear and if you listen you might hear transmitted by the breeze birds complete their sequences of melodies something they haven't done in twenty-five or thirty years even the birds are hardcore here in this republic of the weird The game is on, the wren is staking out his territory threatening war on anything or anyone who dares to breach perimeter everyone is paranoid everyone's unsure it’s been like this, my brother since you up and disappeared leaving us to gorge ourselves on monkey nuts and beer here in this republic of the weird The future is there is no future anymore there's only here where we’re confined inside our cells thrown back on ourselves here in this republic of the weird So maybe this is how it ends not with cataclysm but with birdsong – see them soar in murmuration see them disappear into the upper air go back inside and lock the door, put out the fire, douse the candles, take your blanket, climb the stairs and say a prayer for all that you hold dear in this republic of the weird The future is there is no future anymore there's only here where we’re confined inside our cells thrown back on ourselves here in this republic of the weird
3.
Look outside, the sky’s declining shut that door and draw the blinds and find that vial of Vicodin and get your head up hold that line The battery's dead, don't bother trying pass me down that jug of lye I'm tired and wired all the time and get your head up, hold that line Look online, there's cities frying everything we've planted’s dying there’s a god but he ain’t benign and get your head up hold that line I'm coming kid, throw me a bone no suicides in a combat zone don't move a thing ‘til I get home and get your head up, hold that line Hold that line – it'll all be fine you'll be alright kid, calm down, breathe in even though this tide is rising even though the vice is tightening bite until your knuckles whiten get your head up, hold that line Fix your hair, straighten your tie and take this shot of iodine and pass me on that flask of wine and get your head up, hold that line listen kid this compact’s binding now is not the time for crying to love your life is not a crime and get your head up, hold that line Hold that line – it'll all be fine you'll be alright kid, calm down, breathe in even though this tide is rising even though the vice is tightening bite until your knuckles whiten get your head up, hold that line
4.
Dopamine 02:47
I sold them my blood they put me on hold my blood was no good they wanted my gold I bought back the blood and then I was told they wanted more blood they put me on hold this stuff is so good the taste is insane we're starved and we're craving it all of the time you hate it, you love it enslaved by the worm ashamed of it, maimed by it, can’t take the pain They put me on hold I bartered my heart to pay off the blood I parted with to buy back the gold to farm out more blood my blood was no good they put me on hold this stuff is so good the taste is insane we're starved and we're craving it all of the time the need feeds the need the shame makes more shame The brain is a reptile the slave runs the game And this is the wound and this is the brand the bank account, fingerprint retina, hand the voice in your head, the things the voice said the part of you, heart of you that wants you dead this stuff is so good the taste is insane we're starved and we're craving it all of the time the need feeds the need the shame makes more shame the brain is a reptile the slave runs the game machines crunch the numbers numbers, machines the one and the zero the dope and the meme And this is the hit you asked us for it it’s what you wanted, man this is the hit
5.
Man and woman drinking sake man and woman sipping tea we are besotted, we are happy but in seven days I leave you say, you’re almost handsome but you’ll never leave your wife for me I say, you’re awful pretty, but it grieves me to concede we know that when we’re put to it we’ll grit our teeth, roll up our sleeves and drive back to departures man and woman, drinking sake, man and woman, sipping tea considering the agony of the leaves. You’ve got Ronnie Spector eyeliner and Chrissie’s leather jeans your beauty is a ballbreaker the aperture does not deceive the thought of you with someone else near makes my eyeballs bleed with everything you love it brings some shit you’ve got to grieve such are the terms of this engagement this the warp, and this the weave of men and women drinking sake men and women sipping tea considering the agony of the leaves And in that teashop, main street, Royal Oak in Oakland County in the state of Michigan, USA, I say, ‘Hey Sparky don’t come apart on me here Sparky, use my sleeve’ you say, ‘Why did you come here Irishman, aw Irishman, just leave, you people speak in riddles, you flatter to deceive you saw upon your fiddles you cut everything with irony’ ‘That’s how we speak, Miss Michigan don’t let it queer how you perceive – a man and woman, drinking sake, man and woman sipping tea the one who stays the one who leaves the one beloved, one bereaved considering the agony of the leaves.’
6.
Well the devil says drink up your fill the angel says you’ve had enough that jackdaw on my windowsill is acting kind of suave he says there is no hell below nor no reward above I don’t know but I’ve been told that hatred’s just a different kind of love You used to say I was your saviour but now you’re kind of vague it's time to call the lawyers I’ll see you in the Hague we’ll replay every depraved act your mother never conceived of then make up for it in the sack where hatred’s just a bitter kind of love I heard Leonard speak about the venom in the antidote that voice gets any deeper man we're gonna need a stethoscope Mary Margaret moves her fingers like they’re made of nervous birds and you, you are the closest thing, to a song I never heard Some treat the courtship as a fist some a rubber glove some will kill you with a kiss once was a time I liked it rough some say love is a sickness but sickness is subjective friction can be blissful if your hatred’s just a disappointed love True love is impersonal this I know for sure true love is impersonal impersonal is pure. true love is impersonal simple as a psalm true love is impersonal it doesn’t give a damn Gainsbourg whispers fables of the year of love, the soixante-neuf Jackie hams up Amsterdam the heart goes boom, the wheels come off Nina sings Wild is the Wind man I don’t have the words and you, you are the closest thing to a song I never heard Is this ballistic missiles coming in or are they flocks of doves there’s a million ways to kill, you said hold that thought, now codladh samh some men they will use the quill others prefer the Molotov that jackdaw on my window sill says hatred’s just a blinded kind of love Chavela Vargas fill her lungs and a nightingale comes out her throat that song gets any rawer man we’re gonna need a shot of dope Mahalia wails, a siren luring sailors overboard and you, you are the closest thing to a song I never heard
7.
There were six of us on mission bivouacked outside of Schull we ate from our provision we drank more than our fill we set off in the evening when the kestrel finds its kill we did what any soldier will when we came upon that hill We branded all their cattle we put on ladies' frills we threw dice for their chattels and took apart their stills, unmanacled their slaves and set ablaze the fields they tilled we must've been three-quarter crazed when we came upon that hill Some said we lost our reason on account of all the pills court martial termed it treason and sharpened up their quills threatening to requisition every nickel, every bill took note of our position when we came upon that hill Some say the truth’s immutable others, something you distil to a narrative you can live with its quintessence, if you will there's a skill, you live with it I guess you know the drill I hear it yet, the kestrel when we came upon that hill Brother if I'm straight with you I weary of this hell mother I bear no hate for you nor avarice, nor ill but I was not cut out for the plough nor born to dark satanic mills and I can't recall that day at Schull nor details yet deposed in full I can't recall that day in Schull if I killed or I was killed when we came up on that hill, captain we came upon that hill
8.
Federal Hall 07:05
Years into the civil war that none declared a civil war, a rumour carries on the wind, word of a gathering, a burnt-out ballroom in the basement of the Federal Hall. From all over the state they come, huddled like cattle in the backs of tarped up flatbed trucks. Here they come, brothered by blood, by grief, bearing woes like humps upon their backs, sorrows individual and sorrows common, sorrows with no name. Up the steps and through the lobby, past the check-in desk, metal detectors, basement lifts. The door’s pulled back. There is music, light. The cones of those ole Bose speakers throb like small black hearts and overhead the silver mirror-ball spins and shimmers, spins again. Some drink, some dance, some prefer to watch. Some pair off and pull their partners close, and if you’ve credit there are rooms to let in the gutted upstairs wing, discretion guaranteed. Every soul among their number knows the score: it could all be over in the time it takes to squeeze a trigger or to thumb a detonation code, so steal a little sweetness while you can. For here is where they’ve set it down, the weight they’ve borne, the penance done, where they array their woes like tributes at a grotto, offerings to be burnt. That weight too great to carry is a cosmic sadness, vast, ineffable, that big sky sadness that laments for all things gone, of histories cancelled out, the ache of how it was before the war. All gone. But not just yet. Because the hour’s come at last. They gather at the podium, all these women, all these men, not just to witness but imprint upon their minds the image of the memory as its formed, that they may tell the many others of their witnessing. House lights dim. Drapes draw back. A beam takes form. An image of the singer, captured in his prime. He is returned, his breath revived. They hear his pick and strum. Now pass it on. And when this rite’s complete, and when that silver mirror-ball quits its spinning and the song concedes to silence and the house lights flicker on, those assembled here will drain their drinks and say goodnight and then disperse, to suit up and boot up and scatter back into a night barely lit by the fading moon, where a day will come with a pitiless sun, or maybe no sun. They’ll bear his song upon their coms, they’ll pass it on, it will become all songs, the sounds of some revival mass or chain gang holler or a widow’s cry for her lost-at-sea, the soldier’s foxhole prayer. And if you weep, well that’s all right. And if what you see here makes no sense, then ask yourself, would you truly want this mystery undone. Enough to know he sings. No difference if he takes the form of a lantern shadow show, a hologram, a shared hallucination: he is among you, you can look into his two blue eyes, eyes that bear the light of death. You can watch his bony fingers twang the strings and hear the raw song in his mouth like that of a wounded wolf. You can be mended. And if only for this hour are you consoled, if only for this hour are you mended, then this hour only it must be.
9.
Mother Computer says that in our time of dying the tiny star that is a human soul collapses and a microscopic black hole forms. Inside that void, time slows to a crawl, so slow as to be imperceptible. Our human-unit version of eternity. As I go under, daughters, place the dream machine over my skull. Use avatars to code my memories. Systems of images or sounds. My library of dreams, where I might live forever through a reconstructed past. One day, children, you’ll build your ark. Maybe you’ll leave this world and find another world to colonise. Take shelter there. Choose the most beautiful cues with which to codify your lives. Engrave your days with every act. Save everything you can. All you’ve done. All you’ve lived and all you’ve loved. All that you have borne on earth.
10.
I’m not a poet or a playwright, I make tiny marks upon the greater navigator’s chart that maps the heart though maybe there will come a day I’ll speak a melody to make a maiden or a mother smile ’til then I’ll sing a dark song or I’ll sing no song at all Townes Van Zandt swore that there’s only two songs – Zippity do dah and the blues I can’t write like Townes, I can’t even speak like Townes, but one day I’d like to flatter your vanity with a romance or a madrigal though you’d probably smell the lie, maybe it’s enough to say whatever may come down let it come down thy will be done we’ll take the two days, sing the two songs Zippity Do-Dah and the blues what would Eden be without the Fall sometimes you spin from dark yarn or spin no yarn at all Kid says to her father, father you were in the war what was it you did were you with the blues, or were you with the reds? father will not answer father will not speak of it until the day he says, Kid, it's not just what we saw but what we did this is why I take my death in daily increments this is why I smoke these cigarettes and swab the soul with alcohol sometimes you sing a dark song or sing no song at all Maybe now is not the time to write dystopian songs nihilism is a young man’s game no more Johnny Thunders, William Burroughs, Kurt Cobain we can’t afford the luxury of despair but when all you’ve got are prayers made out of bits of science fiction films and punk rock songs, when all you’ve got is a gospel composed in a foxhole you sing a dark song or sing no song at all

about

Republic of the Weird is the second album from Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance, the eight-piece ensemble based in Wexford, Ireland, led by writer and musician Peter Murphy. It’s the follow-up to their hugely acclaimed eponymous debut, released in 2020.

The new album’s ten tracks were co-produced by Peter, Dan Comerford and Johnny Fox, written throughout 2020 and 2021, and recorded in Rosslare Strand in the autumn of '21, shortly after the band’s sojourn with the Culture Ireland-supported Here/There art exhibition to Wuppertal and Berlin. The album was mixed by Johnny the following spring, with additional production and co-writing by Kilmore duo Basciville on ‘This Is Not Your Love Song’.

If Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance was a head-on collision between post-punk, performance-poetry and ambient atmospheres, this new album integrates orchestral elements, using analogue synthesizers, multi-tracked violin and choral parts alongside the band’s trademark noise guitar and propulsive rhythms. Thematically, the tracks range from sinister carnival calls (‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’) to eruptions of anger and compassion (‘Hold That Line’), existential bewilderment (the title track), songs of lost love (‘The Agony of the Leaves’), trauma and war (‘Upon That Hill’, ‘Federal Hall’).

“Republic of the Weird refers to the state we’ve been living in for the past five or six years,” Peter says. “It’s about what happens when a generation of people who grew up on punk and electronic music, on dark sci-fi and speculative books and films, wake up one day to realise that their world has started to look like a present-day dystopia. But the feeling is strangely hopeful and inspiring too. We’re proud of the sound and the spirit of this record. It’s an album about future shock, but also hope and resilience.”

linktr.ee/cursedmurphy

credits

released November 4, 2022

Produced by Peter Murphy, Dan Comerford and Johnny Fox, except 6 produced by Peter Murphy and Basciville
Recorded, engineered and mixed by Johnny Fox, except for 6, recorded and engineered by Basciville, mixed by Johnny Fox
Recorded at Johnny Fox’s studio, Rosslare Strand, except for 6, recorded at Kilmore Quay.
Mastered by Fergal Davis

Peter Murphy – voice, drum loops
Dan Comerford – electric guitar, acoustic guitar, bass, keyboards, vocals
Johnny Fox – electric guitar, keyboards, drum loops, vocals
Rebecca Gangnus – percussion, voice
Jasmin Gangnus – violin, vocals
Tamara Gangnus – percussion, voice
Paul Bryan – snare drum, cymbals, percussion, voice
Marc Hillis – drums
With
Cillian Byrne – electric guitar, bass, keyboards, programming, vocals
Lorcan Byrne – drums, keyboards, programming, vocals

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance Wexford, Ireland

An eight-piece head-on collision between post-punk poetry, noise-rock and ambient atmospheres. Based in Wexford, Ireland.

contact / help

Contact Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Report this album or account

If you like Cursed Murphy Versus the Resistance, you may also like: