Get all 6 Patio Gas releases available on Bandcamp and save 15%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of When It Gets Dark, Digging your own grave., Digging Your Own Grave, The Landlord, Going Backwards, and Fully Introspective: Love, Truth, Happiness.
1. |
Going Backwards
03:52
|
|||
|
Sitting on a train, going backwards, out of town,
All the crowd, a sea of people, glare at all those sitting down.
But I’m looking out the window, to where the meadow meets the sky,
Asking does it really matter if I live or if I die?
Consuming propaganda, screen locked to the left,
Thinking of ideas which in days I'll be bereft.
Perhaps it might be troubling letting lies beneath my skin,
If they were not all my friends, or the lies that I believe in.
Are you really unemployed if there’s never any jobs?
The man behind The Times turns his head and slowly sobs.
He’ll be getting off at Bramhall, you can see it in his shoes.
I’ll be getting off soon after but the seat’s not mine to lose.
Touch down into Stoke Town in a taxi heading west,
I have never felt at ease in a scene of such unrest.
There’s a chill within the air, as the evening settles down,
Now I’m sitting on the settee going backwards, out of town.
Liberate me from these fields,
Take me right into your arms,
Welcome me in with your loving embrace as you take me right into your arms.
The meeting was better in the absence of the brief,
The poet, once again, beaten by the thief.
My greeting had the heart but in all it lacked belief,
I give into everything and get it all except relief.
Boxed up in the box room, for 27 weeks,
Gave the searcher his directions unto everything he seeks.
Ask if you’d be wearing creases in the corners of your cheeks,
If you just got told to shut up every time you went to speak.
Does a dream become a nightmare if your idling never ends?
AI customer assistants have become my only friends.
I am searching now for something to rectify my suffering.
Sat here going round and round, my laptop slowly buffering.
Liberate me from these fields,
Take me right into your arms,
Welcome me in with your loving embrace as you take me right into your arms.
The meeting was better in the absence of the brief,
The poet, once again, beaten by the thief.
My greeting had the heart but in all it lacked belief,
I give into everything and get it all except relief.
|
||||
2. |
Ticking Clock
03:06
|
|||
|
I'm working on a concept album,
About three lads, all life-long friends,
But before their story's even started,
You're told how it will end.
The same cruel fate, that not one chose,
Called before the curtains close.
So let's get to meet them, before we leave them,
Drowning in their woes.
There's baggy Gary, brother's Larry,
You cannot keep him down.
And Barry's 'stache sustains a rash,
Masking a dwelling frown.
And Harry's me, clever you see,
Semi-autobiography.
Toiling, turning, never learning,
In absence of an actuary.
"Actually I think you'll find,
Been done before, mate, 2005."
Weird one that one, int'it Clive,
Almost as though we're all alive.
Clinging to a spinning rock,
Counting down a ticking clock,
Always bitter and offended,
Desperate just to be remembered.
Blinders broken, words are spoken,
That I will soon regret.
Moving targets hit the hardest,
Always below the belt.
My pen moves at a snails pace,
But I am going to win this race.
I've fired the gun and given chase,
I'm shedding skin and losing face.
I'm clinging to a spinning rock,
I'm counting down a ticking clock,
I'm always bitter and offended,
Desperate just to be remembered.
|
||||
3. |
A Passive Existence
03:52
|
|||
|
Driving past Birmingham makes me want to scream,
I see an apparition in the glare on my windscreen.
4 roads lead to your door.
My ship wreck washed up on your shore.
Playing the politics of the middle lane,
Take speeding a danger but make it mundane.
Lord willing, I will make this distance.
Is this a passive existence?
I want to surrender my mind to the void,
If this is existing then it's something I'll avoid.
And if it is not now then when will it be?
Hear me when I say that I want to be free.
You say you just need to nip into Boots,
I follow down the perfume aisle in faithful pursuit.
20 minutes for only one item?
2 lovers go in search of excitement.
Gazing at displays of sex toys and pheromones,
Made up of ivory, snakes blood and monkey bones.
Lord willing, I don't need assistance.
Is this a passive existence?
I want to surrender my mind to the void,
If this is existing then it's something I'll avoid.
And if it is not now then when will it be?
Hear me when I say that I want to be free.
I wanna mop cold sick off my kitchen floor,
I wanna fall on the pavement out the taxi door,
And if you like those I've got a thousand more,
A thousand more, A thousand more.
Please lord, grant me forgiveness.
I want to live a passive existence.
Like everything slowly revolving round a windmill,
All those north of Watford, we are going onto landfill.
A playing field built on a mountain,
Spare us a drop from your lucrative fountain.
At least this is earnest, at least we'll have earnt it,
I hope it's all worth it, I hope we deserve it.
Lord willing, we will make this distance.
Is this a passive existence?
I want to surrender my mind to the void,
If this is existing then it's something I'll avoid.
And if it is not now then when will it be?
Hear me when I say that I want to be free.
This is a business, this isn't an art piece,
Here marks the death of another release.
Your life slowly passing you by.
You're all spent when you're 25.
Make more money on Pinterest than we're getting from interest.
TikTok's the way if your dignities recessed.
Please Lord, favour persistence.
Is this a passive existence?
I want to surrender my mind to the void,
If this is existing then it's something I'll avoid.
And if it is not now then when will it be?
Hear me when I say that I want to be free.
I would drink hot piss through a plastic straw,
I would eat my breakfast off the bathroom floor,
And if you like those I've got a thousand more,
A thousand more, A thousand more.
Please lord, grant me forgiveness.
I want to live a passive existence.
|
||||
4. |
Barely Afloat
03:51
|
|||
|
There's nothing cool about being poor,
Unless you styled it on a thrift shop floor.
Tattered tops won't get you places,
If you're not wearing Gucci Trainers.
There's no rewards for being honest,
I feel denied a life that my tragedy promised.
Watching thieves, charlatans, liars, actors,
Cry suffering from scenes of happy ever after.
You sing about grim futures hidden deep inside a book,
I can show you those, you can come and take a look.
You sing about grim futures, you sing about a book,
You never let them know you're as boring as you look.
We're all in the same race on different boats,
We're going down fast, barely afloat.
Bailing out water, sinking down deep,
Tipped by the waves of a Thames bound fleet.
Not enough to sound good, not enough to be sound,
Nose tipped south, pointed firmly at the ground.
Not enough to sound good, not enough to be sound,
There's a day for going places but it never comes around.
The fountain abounding will surely run out,
If the sun on our backs, never burns out,
Never gives in, never gives up,
If they poison the water, if they smash all the cups.
|
||||
5. |
Reflex 20's
04:53
|
|||
|
I have sat in pubs, I have sat in bars,
I have lay in the gutter looking at the stars.
But no constellation shines as bright,
As a Reflex 80's on a Saturday night.
Back again, here for your sins,
No trouble ever getting in,
Discard discord entering,
Discount drinks for you and when,
The Reflex drops they fill the floor,
Unfolding here, a social war,
In the nave, you take your perch,
Pink drink spikers lean and lurch,
At mums who up and leave their children,
For metro men who lay it on them.
Past the welcome walls from which neon gleams,
Glare plastic telly's showing bygone scenes.
The Queen in China, Charles marries Di,
Maccies first Drive-Thru, Thatcher's Third Reich.
And through my hazy, brazen brain rot,
I sit up straight and take a shot,
Pour port into WKD blue,
Start to think this next bit through.
Will we still be here at 65,
Elixir keeping us alive,
Transfixed on plastic telly screens,
Remembering this current scene.
Blinded by a faded light,
In a Reflex 20's some Saturday night.
In sight again of so much hate,
Would I start to dance or just dissociate.
Your past presented there on a plate,
The right decisions, there too late.
Will I feel better but ungrateful,
If my life is finally stable,
The world ahs not yet ceased to be,
Its citizens are finally free.
Nothing more to moan about,
A life of ease, without a doubt.
Will we raise our sons and daughters,
Fleeing from the rising waters.
Watching woods and moors still burning,
Terrified but never learning.
Our whole world hanging by a thread,
Bringing out our daily dead.
Forced to face up to the facts,
Surrendering our artefacts.
And when we fail our final task,
Will we hear our children ask:
"What did you do about the plague?
What did you do about the war?
What did you do to help the planet?
What did you do to help the poor?
Did you kick off morning sheets to go and meet them in the streets?
Or did you stay out 'till the morning, drinking 'till the light was dawning?"
|
||||
6. |
The Landlord
03:23
|
|||
|
When I grow up I want to be a landlord,
Be a criminal but keep it above board.
Soon to make a mighty hoard,
I will etch out every ethic of my own accord.
'Cause it's all part and parcel of a seedy scam,
If I could get a buy to let I wouldn't ever need a plan.
And they know they shouldn't do it but they do it 'cause they can,
'Cause the Landlord stays in bed and leaves us working for the man.
We all know you don't make your own wage,
Use our money to pay off your mortgage.
Can't fix the boiler, can't fix the pressure gauge.
But when it comes to wealth, we know you've no shortage.
The taxman takes all our dough,
And then they did up all our fields but you won't ever see them sow.
And when it doesn't rain they'll make sure that it snows,
Down on our fields so that nothing ever grows.
And if a fence falls down and there's no one there to hear it,
Is my money simply yours or you you have to try and steal it.
Of course it was all like this when we went and moved on in,
But they would try to take your soul if it was not beneath your skin.
We all know you don't make your own wage,
Use our money to pay off your mortgage.
Can't fix the boiler, can't fix the pressure gauge.
But when it comes to wealth, we know you've no shortage.
There's no problem in my life that more money wouldn't kill,
But I'm working twice as hard just to pay your bills.
Well I will beg, steal, borrow, break down and barter,
'Cause the money that you take is making me into a martyr.
|
||||
7. |
Ignorance Is Bliss
03:08
|
|||
|
Truth-seeker,
I see a picture painted only getting bleaker.
Consciousness, consciousness,
My mind's muddy, my mind is a mess.
Doomscroller,
Is life a stone they only sent to roll you?
No sleep, no sleep,
You start to weep.
I beg you tell me off the secrets that you keep.
Like when you say you know that ignorance is bliss,
Or how to catch up on the tricks that I have missed.
All that I crave is serenity and still,
I hear it going on and ringing out and it's so shrill.
Buzz words,
Grouped and blocked in fleeting herds.
Note to self, note to self,
Where's the pain in a problem not felt?
Cotton ears,
Running from reality's rational fears.
Rich man, rich man,
Share your wealth.
Prescribe for the preservation of out health.
And now I feel as though my ignorance is bliss,
I have no fear for the changes I might miss.
All that I get is more dopamine and still,
They hear it going on and ringing out yet I'm so still.
|
||||
8. |
Digging Your Own Grave
03:55
|
|||
|
Sitting down to my fifth pie and pint of the week, I realised that something must change.
There’s an unnerving feeling that you get when you know that you are digging your own grave.
Deep down in the dirt, covered in the muck. Always up to something, never up to much.
They know my name there, you know? There’s no shame in there, you know?
Is this the time to discard bases?
Lose ourselves in separate places?
Drown in seas of strangers faces?
All these changes.
And as the old gents left and they drew the curtains, suds fell flatter and I flatter still.
Past pride and dignity, there is just, still, one more bitter pill.
Deep down in the depths, I stop to catch my breath. I jump up on my feet. It is never safe to rest.
They’ve seen it all in there, you know? From brown to blue, to green to blow.
And down South’s a million miles away, from pot banks and pits and men of clay.
I fear it’s true, what they all say, “you are free to leave but you will always stay.”
Between the Oak and the Oatcake Shop, is where I stop to cut my cloth.
They say it’s true, we know it’s not, you can always twist on what you’ve got.
Gaze at moon and start to trot, to chippy’s fryers, spitting hot.
To poultry packaged perfectly, I drift across an endless sea.
|
||||
9. |
When It Gets Dark
03:14
|
|||
|
I wrote a note,
Down on my hand,
Establishing,
My evening plans.
I’ll go upstairs,
I’ll clean your room,
Make us a meal,
To see us through.
We can go for a walk through a frozen park,
Look for where the geese go when it gets dark.
Cut tight close to a dinner scene,
Even if we can’t see it, we can still eat green.
But all these talks,
They come to nothing,
And I start to feel,
As though you’re bluffing.
When I can see you there,
Battling it all beyond the stairs.
We could take our share,
Each get a portion of your despair.
I wrote these words,
Down in a book.
When this is over,
Please take a look.
Not what you need,
Or what you’re after,
But there’s space for you,
In my next chapter.
I can see you standing there,
Still waiting for the world to care,
No life that’s lived is ever fair,
We’re here to help you from your chair,
Detach yourself from dangerous views,
Don’t ever let your bad thoughts choose,
So grab your coat, put on your shoes.
We can go for a walk through a frozen park,
Look for where the geese go when it gets dark.
Cut tight close to a dinner scene,
Even if we can’t see it, we can still eat green.
Tonight we can watch your favourite movie,
Fantastic Mr Fox, on a beaten up blu-ray.
Go to the pub and make a start,
On getting out of here and looking at art.
|
||||
10. |
||||
|
Every time I hear that La’s album it takes me straight back to that day in mid-May when I walked all the way to the big Tesco’s on my mission to get the big shop. I remember buying so much beer that you had to come and meet me on your way back from the post office just to carry all the bags. This wasn’t something you were very impressed by at the time, but you came regardless - moaning all the way back. I recall the fear and apprehension we both shared at the thought of being seen, young and smiling, as cars passed us down the street.
I was so scared to be stopped and quizzed as to the essential purpose of my journey, 3 miles down the road and when that car stopped and asked us for directions I froze in fear - the fear soon dissipating as my lips learned to talk to strangers again. We were fugitives in possession of fruit, veg, eager to give off the impression that it was always, only, ever, the next street over and we’d be home.
When we got home we drank ice cold Frülis, sat on the square foot of concrete porch outside the front door, playing tunes out of the window of my room downstairs. By this time, I’d gotten changed into your cow print cycling shorts, to escape the chafing confinement of my jeans - sweaty from our trip. I was petrified that one of the mountain bike mounted dealers would notice them on their rounds and give me stick - but they were never anything but professionals.
I remember sucking half a bottle of fermented raspberry out of the manky carpet, when I spilled it, rushing back into the living room, laptop in hand, ready to show you what it was that I’d been working on. I much preferred the taste of those summer fruits to those of the mulled wine that we stained our teeth and glassware with, in late December.
Those glasses soon cracked, and the sticky, matte, red stains sat appreciating value like a Rothko, soaking in the sink for weeks. In a strange way, I much preferred that day in mid-May to that of the one in late December. I don’t fear freedom, but I feel a great nostalgia for that place and time in which I believed myself to be caged. And I will never forget how we built a commune, in a red brick terrace, on a dead-end street.
It’s hard to be optimistic, with morning skies so grey. When it feels like things get harder almost every single day. If I ever saw a good one, it reflected in your gaze - pushing past the darkness, cutting through the haze. And I hate saying ‘if’ where it used to be ‘when’, a plan sketched in pencil, once written in pen. And all those special days, that seem to fall on Sunday, lost in a month of never ending Mondays.
May the road rise to meet you my friend. Sing into the void. Roll your stone up that hill, again. Be lucky.
|
||||
Patio Gas England, UK
In the broad church of post-punk, Patio Gas explore influences of dance music and garage psychedelia, layering swirling guitar lines over heavy electronic beats.
If you like Patio Gas, you may also like:
A 4 Letter Word
by The Shop Window
supported by 4 fans who also own “Digging your own grave.”
No second album issues here. The Shoppies kick on from their stunning debut and add some psychedelic tones and up the overall production quality. there's magic in this jangle pop. Congratulations lads. 🥳🥳🥳🥳
go to album
supported by 4 fans who also own “Digging your own grave.”
Fantastic blend of classic british songwriting craft and 60s harmonies. Avoiding the trap of Dad Rock and showing there is life in guitar music beyond the noisy youngsters.
go to album
supported by 4 fans who also own “Digging your own grave.”
go to album
Frantic Semantic EP
by Grow Rich
Fuzzy and swirling shoegaze soundscapes from Indonesia full of emotion and DIY spirit.
go to album
Former pageant queen Caroline Weinroth takes aim at the competitive world of Miss America with this bouncy, grungy power-pop EP.
go to album
Ephedrine EP
by Canadian Invasion
A trio of sunny, orchestral alt-rock songs from this Philadelphia group get a reissue 16 years after they were recorded.
go to album
More Than Human
by Lines of Flight
supported by 4 fans who also own “Digging your own grave.”
Brilliant EP form Leeds' finest synth based dreampop duo. Not a duff track here
go to album
