It took the body parts of 7 men to make him, but only 1 woman to break his heart, made from 3 men's hearts

There is no album. But if there was then this would be the album sleeve booklet. The band hope you enjoy. There is no band. It is all pretend.

 

 

 

 Click on the tabs below to read the lyrics and see more album artwork. There are tabs.

 

 

I Aint Your Love Robot No More

Well this is something very special. Even by the standards of a blog detailing an imaginary alt-goth band's pretend songs and imbedding YouTube postcards of music, this is special.

This week I was enjoying putting words which rhymed together on a lunchtime in the office and I realised this was it - the 13th song of the album!

On second viewing, I was unsure if it should make the album. This was not the usual Greville and the Tombstones brand of alt-goth country romance to which fans are accustomed.

To be fair, looking at it a third time and if you considered some of it was marginally euphamistic, then it is potentially a song about an Ess-Eee-Ex toy not wanting to be an Ess-Eee-Ex anymore. Or Metal Mickey not wanting to be thought of a peice of meat anymore by his girl.

Pretty much not Greville and the Tombstones at all. In fact it could be seen as sleazy.

Now I don't know much about why I wrote it, but I do know I am changing my lunch treat back from a Cadbury's Twirl.

So, here it is - and it needs no introduction.

I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

You expect you can flick a switch to turn me on

I’ll run my coding, check my morals are gone

I’m your robot

As soon as I walk in through the bedroom door

Emotions of the heart dropped beside clothes on the floor

But I have some news for you

My programme breaks in two

And I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

I need the pain

The feel of guilt

I want to know I can be hurt

I can’t be your love robot

I will calculate your desires, cold touch your needs

As I connect to WI-FI, read updates to RSS feeds

Of sweet nothings

I want to believe we have a pulsating bedroom rapport

That it’s not coolant oil in pistons and circuits which pour

But my techniques are from

A Karma-Sutra CD-ROM

And I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

I need the pain

The feel of guilt

I want to know I can be hurt

I can’t be your love robot

I am incapable of not doing what you want me to

You’ve installed sub-systems to keep me true

Run command

I remember the sighs, saved them to my memory core

Love’s sweet symphony vibrato, just a statistical score

I compute a million algorithms all for your pleasure

So whose buttons are getting pressed?

When I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

I need the pain

The feel of guilt

I want to know I can be hurt

I can’t be your love robot

You turn one point four-four floppies into gigabyte hard drives

You know only for you are my magnetic tape eyes

It’s so true

Binary weeps zero add one, I sure can’t go on anymore

I need to defrag my operating system, re-set me I implore

Not just you having a good time

When you tap key Function 9

And I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

I need the pain

The feel of guilt

I want to know I can be hurt

I can’t be your love robot

You said it couldn’t be, well it can, your Robot has become man

So whose buttons are getting pressed?

When I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

I can stand up on my own two feet

Now you can’t control-alt-delete

And I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

And I Ain’t Your Love Robot No More

And with that, the album is done.

#thereisnoalbum

Musiciansirs Pt. 1

Here are some of the musicians the band enjoy listening to over in the corner, where the pool table sits unplayed, in a sticky floored, neon lit bar room. Where we are all men (and actual real band member, who is a girl) alone together. And this is simply lovely. And this too!

Musicantresses Pt. 2

These are just another selection of musicians and songs that I like and I hope you do too.





And this is very much Greville and the Tombstones type of thing.



And this:


This is one of my favourite songs - so wonderful and so dark with undercurrent:





And I know, I mean I know but - come on, what a song...

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

I had writen the title as a b-side (all title, no lyrics).
Then I thought, what would those lyrics be if I did write them?
So, if I wrote them out, these would be them.
It turned out to be very Greville and the Tombstones.
It is basically a Mills & Boon romance!
I have grown fond of this short homicidal ballad and have decided I would like to put it on the album, if one was being made.

It is...
Call Me Mad, But Can I Call You Alice?

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

It is such a darlin’ name to say

It makes me think of rose red apples

Freshly cut lawn on a late summer’s Day

Alice, Alice – I love the name

Alice, Alice– down by the tumbleweed

Alice, Alice – I am to blame

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

It is a name where I gets a thrill

It conjures up thoughts of fire-flies

And of the pretty girl I didn’t mean to kill

Alice, Alice – I love the name

Alice, Alice– down by the tumbleweed

Alice, Alice – I am to blame

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

She didn’t look anything of you

Her neck was so pale and so tender

Eyes wide open to everyone, lips full of blue

Alice, Alice – I love the name

Alice, Alice – down by the tumbleweed

Alice, Alice – I am to blame

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

Your letter writing is real neat

They found her body on the Wednesday

I gave up to the sheriff to face retribution complete

Alice, Alice – I love the name

Alice, Alice– down by the tumbleweed

Alice, Alice – I am to blame

Call me mad, but can I call you Alice?

Thanks for your regular mail

But I can’t see me ever wedding you

Alice, I ain’t ever getting out this lowly county jail

#thereisnoband #thereisbandmerch

Greville and the Tombstones are so alt-goth they don't exist. There is literally: No Band.

Then I invented #rockcraftsaturday last Saturday when I put on a rock t-shirt and took out 4 coloured felt-tips and invited great friend of the band, craft genius and resident Greville and the Tombstones' artist @jaffne round.

So!

Encouraged by @warriorgrrl and inspired by her utterly fab gloom-pop She Makes War merchandise, here now is the first foray and range of Greville and the Tombstone band merchandise.

Because - and I cannot stress this enough - what is more alt-goth than having actual home-spun merch for an imaginary alt-goth band?

How about a Greville and the Tombstone designed plectrum?

 

None of these have never strummed a guitar. And you can take that guarantee to the Bank. How the bank teller will react to you telling them this, I cannot guarantee.

 

I would like to say I could see the band throwing them out to the enraptured audience, but as we do not do gigs I have not tried throwing genuine Greville and the Tombstones plectrums at anything resembling an audience yet, but when I do, I am sure it will be a delight for the bus passengers on my morning bus commute.

 

How about a some Greville and the Tombstone @jaffne original hand drawn art for any wall in the home?

 

 

Seriously, how cool and alt-goth is that?

 

Finally, how about something for the mantelpiece or office desk?

 

The picture on the kids FIMO mini-kit I bought suggested we could make a sheep

 

And this is, almost certainly, only the beginning. I will post more merch as it is created.

 

Fans should look out on Twitter for future #rockcraftsaturday news on more merch.

 

 

 

 

 

 



This Perfect Solar Storm

Happy Valentines! Yes my dears, Ol' Greville and the Tombstones have the love bug today. And there aint none inoculation.

After the last release which was - and let's call a spade a shitting spade here - shitting dark, love has come to brighten up our day. After the darkness, the light is always the brightest. Sometimes to dangerous levels of brightness. And this love song, I hoped to be the ballad on the album (usual disclaimers), was to be that brightest of things - a dangerous love song.
However, I suspect it may have gone well, a bit wrong, a bit,  you know, Coldplay. Ah well. At least there are no plans to ever record this shambles of schmaltz. Unlike Coldplay. So really, 1-0 Greville and the Tombstones there.

Anyway, I do hope you read this over the candlelit table for two.

Greville and the Tomsbstones presents...


This perfect solar storm

Hair of wild sun flares

Eyes of piercing sky stares

Body over men will war

I have seen her

So many times before

She speaks so softly in E minor chord

Plays a room like pieces on a chessboard

A fire line smile flashes across the dark sky

The sky splinters down

Around where I lie

Tonight air is thunder torn

And I find myself wanting her to keep me warm

In this perfect solar storm

Always, in this perfect solar storm

I’ll stay, in this perfect solar storm

Never go away, in this perfect solar storm

Motives shine bright

Easy to be blinded by her light

Not brushed by the fire

Just trust me

You’re burned on a pyre

You’re but a sacrifice met on the altar

A trophy tribute placed gratefully on her

A fire line smile flashes across the dark sky

The sky splinters down

Around where I lie

Tonight air is thunder torn

And I find myself wanting her to keep me warm

In this perfect solar storm

Always, in this perfect solar storm

I’ll stay, in this perfect solar storm

Never go away, in this perfect solar storm

She’s blazing so hot

For all the things she hasn’t got

To the bone she’s bad

No man minds

Experiences they have had

They lie down prone at her feet gladly

In the temple of this sun goddess deity

A fire line smile flashes across the dark sky

The sky splinters down

Around where I lie

Tonight air is thunder torn

And I find myself wanting her to keep me warm

In this perfect solar storm

Always, in this perfect solar storm

I’ll stay, in this perfect solar storm

Never go away, in this perfect solar storm

I try to keep my distance

Not to be struck by insistence

Path of least resistance

I earth myself

Despite the beat’s persistence

I won’t accept a dance with her tonight

My soul lives in the dark, dies from her sight

She moves with grace

As if she own us and this place

She sways in my direction

I steal myself

How can I resist such perfection?

She makes me think I am the only one

I know I am the lonely one, ashes in her Sun

In this perfect solar storm

Always, in this perfect solar storm

I’ll stay, in this perfect solar storm

Never go away, in this perfect solar storm

And I find myself wanting her to keep me warm

In this perfect solar storm

Ooh, ooh, Ooh-Ooh, Ooh, ooh, Ooh-Ooh

A fire line smile flashes across the dark sky

The sky splinters down

Around where I lie

Tonight air is thunder torn

And I find myself wanting her to keep me warm

In this perfect solar storm

In this perfect solar storm

 

I Don’t Want to Go Off to the Land Of Nod

Hey guys!
If I was recording an alt-gothic album this would be the lyrics for a song on it.
They would be inspired by the arty-doodles of @QuirkyJoe_
They would have this review by @jaffne:
"I am awfully concerned by this...all my childhood sweet dreams and lullabies, twisted! I fear I shall never sleep again! It's like Bucks Fizz's Land of Make Believe, but with a serial killer lurking even more menacingly! *weeps*"

Yip - this would be it, alright:

I Don’t Want to Go Off to the Land Of Nod

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod,

That’s where the monsters are

They creep, wait and chase me far

If they catch me,

My bones will be gnawed

At dusk I hear the death rattle windows,

World full of creaks and wheeze

Rain drips slow from misery trees

Night winds gust

With malignant blows

Sleep is out where Alien pessimism goes

They stare at me with objective eyes

They experiment to weigh out lives

Then fly away sadly,

In blue Martian UFO’s

No I don’t want to go to the land of Nod

The land of Nod is reached only by some

A Time split alternate universe

A poisoned fog, an evil drawn hearse

It is the landscape

Where the creatures run

When I sleep deepest I talk to the Dead

Past time Folks come to me

I say my peace to set them all free

To non-listening,

Ghosting Extants in my head

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod

Please don’t take me there,

Place of dark shadow being’s lair

Where nothing is

Without Sense of odd

Night light of the light house, lead me to the shore,

I have had enough of crashing on the rocks

I don’t let the Sandman get too close

Sits in a tower block with a gun

He takes pot-shots at me for fun

Drinking nightcaps

In bloody nightclothes

When I close both eyes I see my dream

She’s lovely, stung lipped and fair

But she’s a soulless nightmare

Just a chemical mix

Of orange and green

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod

All things in my skull reside here

Everything I suppress in fear

Expressions of all

The ways I am flawed

No I don’t want to go to the land of Nod

Night light of the light house! Sweep weak light around!

I have had enough of falling on the rocks

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod

That’s where the monsters are

Lurking in labyrinths most bizarre

Razor walls slashed

Nights’ grey fabric clawed

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod

That’s where the monsters are

They creep, wait and chase me far

If they catch me,

My bones will be gnawed

I don’t want to go off to the land of Nod,

I’ll take pills, sup caffeine too

I’ll transfuse all my sleep into you

If they catch you,

Your bones will be gnawed

I won’t go back to the land of Nod

….

….

Dictaphone’s choppy, cracklingly muffled recording:

[Sexy psychiatrist lady voice] So what was it this time?

[Greville Tombs] Paper dinosaurs and goblin zombie wars. Doctor, what does it mean?

[Sexy psychiatrist lady voice] I can’t tell you, we are both in your dream

But, of course, there is no album - so none of this technically ever really happened.

Hobotalk!

This a fabulous live version of a song which is one of my all time favourites. A lovely thing to listen to when it is late in the night and the cold is starting to encroach at the edges. Hobotalk were a band I heard only a little about and I went straight out and got their album, Beauty In Madness from the local record shop next to the student union. I can't think how my life would have been without it.

Nuclear Fall out

The more I think on, the better this song fits as an end of album track.

One can properly go to town on it, with a 3 or 4 minute instrumental at the end fading into static, scuzz and looping feedback. You know, in your mind.

By my reckoning, I have only 3 more songs to go before this album is complete with its 13 tracks.

You know, for all this is clearly all nonsense, and potentially a form of psychosis, I can’t help but begin thinking as long as I don’t muck it all up with a couple of really awful ones or ones which start to not relate to my fans' alt-gothic lives, like if I was to sing about how much my bling weighs and how many women I own, this must surely be looking like one of the best non-existent albums ever to be not recorded!

Oh! And just like that, another song title has just come into my head!
My bling be so heavy (but not as heavy as all my ladies’ titties put together)

It’s good because it uses parenthesis cleverly.

Anyway, back to this song, what will be the final track on the album (always remember, there is no album):

Nuclear Fall out

Tonight,

Tonight,

Tonight,

Tonight I don’t recognise your face

The expression is all out of place

I can feel all my bones, organs and veins

Wish I was metal ‘n’ cogs, wouldn’t feel our pains

Wanting to move, I am numb

Wanting to speak, I am dumb

Whatever all said and done is now out

Gone have the chances to swing and to shout

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

Love replaced by hotter emotion

Minds whirr off in splendid slow-motion

Once we washed in pure soft sunshine

Clock’s minute hand now stuck at fifty-nine

Wanting to see, I am blind

Wanting the lost, I can’t find

Used to be the dance not the contest bout

Now we’re trying to win by 10 count knockout

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

We are down on our knees

We don’t heed our own pleas

Holding on broken and battered by blame

Ghosts of us destined to repeat all the same

Fond memories now are hard

We tend to visit their graveyard

We take others there for morbid days out

But at dusk gates close and we are locked out

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

We are in our own nuclear winter

So cold that heart beats will splinter

Nothing worth saying; nothing to mention

Strangling freezing iced droplets of tension

We used to find ways to forgive

Now we hate even at all that we live

Through the window we have an infatuation

With people uncontaminated by our radiation

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

We both know what this is about,

It’s a nuclear fallout

From our shelters we walk out,

To a silent fade-out

Take it away brain…