BLUEBOTTLE KISS

Title: Patient
Label: Citadel (Australia)
Catalogue No: (citcd546)
Format: CD (album)
Released: April 1999
Price: $ 22.00

Since their noisy embryonic beginnings in 1993, Bluebottle Kiss have continued to relentlessly forge their own musical path with a stubborn tenacity and enduring sense of self belief. Non stop touring and supports to bands as disparate as Beck, 3Ds and silverchair has helped developed quite a cult fan base nationally in Australia and won over many critics.

Track Listing: (43:52 m:s)

1. Return To The City Of Folded Arms (J Hutchings) (2:57 m:s)
2. Smother It In Honey (J Hutchings) (4:32 m:s)
3. Girl Genius (J Hutchings) (3:13 m:s)
4. Homeless Blueless (J Hutchings) (7:18 m:s)
5. Running Around The White Picket Fence (J Hutchings) (4:00 m:s)
6. Matrimony (J Hutchings) (3:24 m:s)
7. Give Up The Ghost (Hutchings/S Hutchings) (4:04 m:s)
8. Six Wheels (J Hutchings) (3:29 m:s)
9. Maps To Help You Lose Your Way (J Hutchings) (6:59 m:s)
10. Paddock Blues (J Hutchings) (3:56 m:s)

The Musicians:

Technical Details:

Track By Track:

When the ferris wheel stops there is nothing but the desire for it to start again. Take a wheel off the tricycle and watch it throw sparks as you levitate down the pacific with your grazed elbow.

Too much honey and you're sick, just enough and you forget who you are. Here's where the strings come in, nothing to do with 9½ weeks.

The small world becomes her antfarm. More and more buttons to press till the machine collapses in a fit of smoke and hysterics. I stole the chorus off my sister's piano music.

The boy comes to. It's all white, all around me white it's all white. Cold, uncomfortable, he misses the warmth and familiarity there existed inside. Wooden chairs, tables, toys. Here well, where do you start? A navigationary nightmare. Forty days and forty nights of white. But then, the water always seems warmer on cold days. Once you're in there's no comfortable return. Homeless begins to equal blueless and once you come to shore it just isn't so important any more.

As human airports some of our radars are better than others. Bermuda triangles, skewed signals, missed flights, sleepy executions.

A bedroom song stolen from it's parent and placed on Broadway. It's comforting to know the percussive distance of domesticity goes on. Still, walking home, dark, suburban streets unowned is a percentage of paradise. Lawrencian slow carnage.

Your first bicycle ride and your whole body is immediately involved in a warfare. Your feet and the pedals, gravity, the seat. One day you become the bike, seamless like a bird that never thinks about flying. Problem is you never find the flight again like a big sleep.

Like driving in a fast car; everything that goes past no longer holds anything only the sensation and velocity at which you're travelling.

Somebody gave me a hard time suggesting morbidity in the title. Don't you think it's clever? Funny even? Some relationships you can't define, some desires never leave you alone and you're left staring at some kind of fishtank. It's nice sometimes but ultimately especially for other people... sad. A very unmathematical song, like most of them.

This was written very fast, kind of self perpetuating. It was only afterward that the disconnection of the character reminded me of a person I know who would often spent their nights in paddocks. Hence the title.