Death of a personality cult leader

Some of Greville and the Tombstones works are simple alt-gothic romances, some trying to solidify alt-gothic fears into something understandable. Most are personal favourites of the band.

This one? This one, I'm not sure. I think this one will be benefiting from a writer's alt-gothic commentary.

But it is certainly a Greville and the Tombstones song.

So I really hope you like it!











This is our new track. This is:

Death of a Personality Cult Leader

Temperance is scraping the gristle,

Wooden spoon judders over gum flesh.

Eyes are brittle.

Hardened by all the things they’ve laid gaze upon.

But not insensitive enough not to notice how

Youth smoulders into something older,

Flat smoke dries the fruit,

An acrid shrove

Wear your robes of high grandeur,

Personality cult leader.

After all, it’s your skin.

Thread your gold letters too,

Sew them in.

Impress the chosen few.

You gargle with the blood of followers,

You bathe in freshly dug grave dirt.

My and my, and you’re pretty.

“Listen to how important I am with my noise!”

Give me attention!

The validation!

Appraiser of piety!

“I render those sick, and enjoy the withering!”

I exist, don't deny it!

Spent life in a temple to greatness.

Death is a box.

And this, don't doubt it!

A verdict on devoutness projected on a chamber wall!

A verdict against this personality cult laid gaze upon.

Not ever insensitive enough not to notice how:

Candles burn fast in a cold standing draft

Bitter warmth of the hollow,

And goddamn, you’re pretty

Greville's terror-ific party hits!

It is the season of Halloween, and everyone in their gothic mansions all over town are gathering together for parties. But what to put on the auto-side change tape deck in the 2nd reception room? Let the Greville Tombs' Alternative Spooky Party Mix Tape be your spirit DJ!

1. Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven. Read by Vincent Poe




2. The Season of the Witch, Donovan




3. You're a vampire, One Eyed Doll




4. Guilt, Those Poor Bastards




5. No Time, The Heavy




6.Crazy in Love (Fifty Shades), Beyoncé




7. Blank Space, Taylor Swift



8. Zombie, Jamie T.




9. Sympathy for the Devil, Guns n' Roses




17. Right Red Hand, Nick Cave and the Badseeds




10. Rachel Brooke, The Black Bird




11. Bones, The Killers




12. Setting Sun, The Chemical Brothers




13. Ava Adore, Smashing Pumpkins




14. Bela Lugosi's Dead (cover), CHVRCHES




15. Mogwai fear Satan (live), Mogwai




16. Hellhound on my Trail, Robert Johnson




17. She Wolf, Shakira




18. Souljacker Part II, The Eels

COMPUSERVE poem for a fibre optic person

Greville and the Tombstones are not known for the modern style, but this track has been heavily influenced by my reading of works of the young poets of these days. They are so damn cool and produce poetry with aching, razor titles.

Read some Clementine von Radics.

My belief is that this track by Greville and the Tombstones remains very much waiting for you at the alt-gothic crypt, so don’t worry. Greville and the Tombstones still travel to their gigs by black carriage. (#therearenogigs)

But... the whole lyric can be put in a “tweet”, or printed out on a t-shirt in Comic Sans on a very reasonable student budget to wear at lectures, and it would make a perfect tattoo to impress a sweetheart.

It’s a desperate plea to someone in a void of disconsolation.


It's titled:
COMPUSERVE poem for a fibre optic person

  NevR… do n’t go…

Eve N in the terrors

All will be well … B well

…;

Seven deadly sorrows

This the Greville and the Tombstones Led Zeppelin moment. The epic, mystic and puzzle of imagery. And like Zeppelin, this is a rock out number of sweat and head thrown back passion. But more like Greville and the Tombstones it should be imagined as a slow paced, slide guitar number, where the performer sways and occasionally stretches an arm out.

It is an attempt at the Sublime.

I hope the fans like it.

#thereisnoband
#therearefans

This is:
Seven Deadly Sorrows

With the chill of morning

Sorrow scented on the breeze

It razed my weary life

Like a sting

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

It beats its wings of oil

Drips on me

 

The glimpsed blade

When love was crucified

The haunted arch

When nerves untied

The whetstone

When sharp faith had died

The poison court

When my guilty body tried

The monk’s rope

When my sin was hung

The wooden door

When my chorus sung

The shimmer girl

When my eyes were young

 

But still it didn’t help me

The preacher had condemned me

To seven deadly sorrows

Like a plague

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

Each gaunt agony

Drips on me

 

The city like a cemetery

Undead all digging themselves

I see a girl, a coven of sorrows

I say "What's your name, Girl?"

Fixes me

She says "Seven Deadly Sorrows"

 

The sombre rook, the dreary spectre

The widow with her chain

The bound book and the divination rod

My medium, my mistress

She was seven deadly sorrows

And I met her on a morning

And no more

 

Life is a lonesome act

And I must die alone so soon

I won’t carry seven sorrows

But they’ll pass by my unkempt tomb

Unknown

And will not stir the bone

 

But it still didn’t help me

Words engraved will aye be

To seven deadly sorrows

Like a curse

 

My heart holds the pain

Of seven deadly sorrows

Tears of peacock ink

Drips on me

 

The crawling sunrise, silent cloister
Prayers all gone cold

Doomed echo cries down damned crypt

My nurse, my tormentor

She was seven deadly sorrows

And I met her on a morning

And no more

 

Round behind the church

In summer and in autumn time

The graveyard is so colourful

Seven shades of perfect deadly vines

Of sorrow

Wild do the flowers grow

 

And no more

And no more

My sorrow filled life

 

 

 

 

Monster

I began to write about melancholy, and I recognised parts of grief and then I saw sex take a shape as I kept writing.
These, in a way, are monsters.

In the end, I've no idea what monster I've incanted.

This is the Greville and the Tombstones song, Monster.

Monster

The stars have no will for me

I’ll not set on the

Moonbeam sea

As long as you lay beneath

Yeah, know this

As long as you are under me

I will struggle to slip

Constantly

Under receding tides

Manifest night, undulating me

It licks, blinds and

Chokes me

The scent of ash and lead

Yeah, you are this

Cut, apply the good lobotomy

Anguish, jagged dread

Leaves me

Under receding tides

Gasper of burning dust

Feeder of the moribund page

Sinkhole of

Atrophy

Black silk of the mind

My fucking destroyer

Delicate monster

Arcing, blossoming electricity

I’ll bide as I shiver

Uncontrollably

At dark storms in a bell-jar

Yeah, I know this

As long as you wrap ‘round me

Bones, flesh, skin will

Choke me

Under receding tides

The magnificent teardrop

Wow! The weather has been amazing this week. It is full of shine! It is tattoos of birds exposed, wings spread to collar bones, talons clutching at ribs, kind of weather.

It's as hot as the girl with black eyeliner who doesn't know you exist.

A few years back Greville and the Tombstones wrote what was the alt-gothic summer anthem of the year. No One Hates Me More Than Me. This recent weather has been the inspiration to write the second great summer alt-gothic anthem.

This is the bangin' boss tune the alt-gothic kids will be drinking to at evening BBQ's and in the Magaluf this summer. Almost certainly. If someone puts a bloc rockin beat to it on a Casio.

This is:

The Magnificent Teardrop

Slipping down the face

Of loss

It becomes grief

Of hurt

It becomes torture

Of God

It becomes a thief

Trailing down a cheek

Of a girl

It becomes glass

Of a boy

It becomes sand

Of youth

A charm in the past

And you know

I see it magnified

In a teardrop

Clear, as a mountaintop

A diamond in the sunrise

Light’s reflection in the night

Falling from the face

Of remorse

It becomes pity

Of regret

Water’s quiet edge

Of faith

It becomes a cage

And you know

I see it magnified

In a teardrop

A focus on your beauty

Cross-hairs track

So slowly

Down wet skin

So gently

Golden angel’s breath

So coldly

On the winter moor

Hospital Radio (screen shot version)

It's perhaps not a surprise that Greville and the Tombstones was always going to go a bit Radiohead.

Radiohead's musical journey is rather like losing one's mind, after all.

Releasing tracks unconnected to albums.
Using scuzzy-dialled-up electronic technology.
Talk of a Japanese market only EP.

All pure Radiohead. And now, at least for a time, Greville and the Tombstones. Without the Japanese market only, fan coveted EP.

Here is a screen shot version release of Hospital Radio.

With the 2nd album still to be released, I truly hope this will become a #grevilleandthetombstones fan favourite in the live canon set. It might even make it onto a future album. Or EP.

Oh, there is no Japanese market only EP.

Please enjoy Hospital Radio (screen shot version) :

Coffin Blues (screen shot version)

Here is a little treat for Greville and the Tombstones fans (#therearenofans ... no, wait... that's not right).

This is the screen shot version of...

The Coffin Blues

#thereisnoband

Love is only true to its maker

This was a strange bringing of life to a lyric. First it was never meant to exist.

I had thought the album track listing was complete.

It turns out I had one more thing to say about love.

Then I had the lyrics before the title. That never happened before. I'm no Brad Roberts.

In fact the title was the last and most difficult aspect. But the lyrics were there so needed a title - so they got one.

This song is probably about as dense and creepy as I want my 2nd album with it's pop/rock altgoth sound (y'know, for the kids) to go.

So just as well it is the last one for the album.

I do hope you like it. And accept the title.

Here is
Love Is Only True To Its Maker:

I want love that breaks her

I want love that blinds her

I want love that compels her

 

But my love is Briareos’ sea off Heaven’s shore

But my love is the night time wood in twilight glow

But my love is copper lights hung from a fairground show

But my love is of moonlit gravestone cast shadow

 

My love is not enough for her

And I cannot make it any stronger

 

I need love that cherishes her

I need love that can keep her

I need love that I weep for her

 

But my love is presence of pale candle smoke

But my love is a gemstone laced with extra choke

But my love is light cut prism imprisoned under the cloak

But my love is merely a darkly thrown vow I invoke

 

Mould grows where my love goes

Bitter sting is the flame in icicle froze

My Love is only a truth it’s maker knows

 

My love is not enough for her

And I cannot make it any stronger

 

I have love weakened for her

I have love mortally for her

I have love confined for her

 

Oh! My love is a turret chamber room walled-in

Oh! My love is silent, damp, maddeningly entombed in

Oh! My love does lurk, waits, howls where it is found in

Oh! Perished, putrid, crumbling de-composition

 

My love is not enough for her

And I cannot take this any longer

 

Leave to me my walled-in love

Listen rattles, chains my love

Living ache I feel my love

Bleed Pretty

It is valentines day. The day when love is heart shaped.

Greville And The Tombstones is always about love and, if it existed as a band, it would be the Valentine's Ball band of choice, y'know, for the kids.

Also, as my darling @greebstreebling says: "It wouldn't be Valentine's Day without some dark devotional from you"

So here it is... a new track for my valentine.

It's called Bleed Pretty and is about love. It's a little too sugar sweet, but that's OK today.
We can be sugar sweet today.





Bleed Pretty :

My heart fell rotten from out of me.

Bruised, you picked it up.

You said it was easy for you to love.

You saw a heart for loss and ache from above.

You put my heart back in me

So I could bleed pretty.

My heart beats weak.

Shivers in night shade.

Fearful of a midnight pull.

Trembles with what it can feel.

Love’s edge is serrated

You keep your love sharpened

Because I bleed pretty.

My heart, my very heart.
The more you touch it, the more you possess it.

My heart breaks down.

You slice and expose it.

Peel it strip it.

You will always mend it

Taking care to stich it up so again you can break it

Over n’ over: repair to rip it.

All so I can bleed pretty.

I bleed easy.

I bleed easy for you.

You find the bloodletting pretty.

I bleed far too pretty

~ fin ~

Baby Satan!

This is a typical song for what would be the 2nd album, if there was one. This is Disco-alt-goth-pop. Clearly.

It is probably most likely a "track 5" for the album, if you know what I mean...



















Baby Satan!:

Yeah

The Devils’ best trick sold to us

Is we turn wise instead of dust

In tomorrow we can always trust

Yeah, Yeah

Now the Devil’s great disguise

Is being what you can fantasise

With desperation in demon eyes

Yeah,

Sinners aint winners

So that’s I guess why I’m sayin’

I’m losing this game I’m playin’

… with my Baby, Satan!

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

My Baby, Satan is a preacher

Tells you true, you can reach her

Sincere as a church school teacher

Prayin'... Baby Satan!

Go-go! Go-go demon!

Cotton-candy round finger spun

Eyes so wide, voice pure as a nun

Body forged to tempt a son-of-a-gun

I Don’t Deserve This!

Baby Satan’s here and says I do

And I keep on agreein’

...with My Baby, Satan!

I Don’t Deserve This!

Baby Satan’s here and says I do

And I keep on bein’

...with My Baby, Satan!