by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.


Parenthetical Girls - "Don't Give Up" (Kate Bush/Peter Gabriel cover)

"They're killing us," he said, tears in his eyes. Out the window, smoke rose in plumes like the earth were a leaking balloon. Pictures rattled off the wall, in a swept pile of glassy frames, showing scenes of accomplishment and meaningless, wild glory. A servant girl, not barely a year younger than the soldier himself, felt many things as she poured two glasses of wine, from the last bottle in the case. He had asked her to join him in a drink, and despite all that was happening, all the things that were so vast and more important than love, she thought maybe this was his way of sharing his feelings. "They haven't attacked the Mission District, they haven't even been watching it," she said handing him a glass, "That means they don't know about the Secrecy." The Secrecy. What an impotent thing that was now; the forces were closing in, there would be no stopping them, no matter how surprised they might be. "Yes," he said, into his glass, where he looked and saw a little piece of cork, floating in the red. "It's not over yet, sir. Have faith." He looked at her sad apron, at her tired eyes, tired from working double shifts as a nurse in the emergency ward, and he loved her. "Yes, faith is all we have at this moment. A simple belief in the utterly unreal."

Across town, and in a different language: a meager tent sat damply in the drizzle, two men inside, talking low. Already this mission had been talked to death, but still they talked. They talked of oppression, of secret poisons in the water system, of exploding SMS bombs, of cultural persecution. A people reduced to fear and anger and retaliation. A history that would not die, that would fight for survival. Steam from the hot tea filled the air and made them sweat. The tea kettle sat on a wobbly table, on a newspaper, making a wet ring. On an unfinished crossword that had only one answer written in: "PROTEIN". One man, the older of the two, sipped his tea and shook his head, unconvinced, "I understand all that. I do. But this is not the city to capture, not like this. They are too strong, they have forces we don't yet realize." The younger man, his uniform new and beaded with droplets from the steamy air, looked deep into the eyes of the older man and gave his speech that he had given a dozen times or more before, each with its own intensity, like he were constantly rehearsing for the next time he'd perform it, "My father...was murdered...on his way home from work...for the contents of his pockets...four crown and a postage stamp. We need to finish what we've started." He looked out the slit of the tent's door, the smoke rising in plumes like the earth were a well-cooked pie, and put on his preferred capper to the speech, "They're killing us."


This song was given as part of an EP called Demos for the Dreaming for people who pre-order Privelege IV: Sympathy For Spastics which is another in their series of limited-run (and truly fantastic) EPs. As usual, they will be individually numbered in human blood.

Posted by Dan at October 14, 2011 2:43 PM

This makes me wish there was such a thing as a lomography camcorder.

Posted by Ryan at October 15, 2011 6:38 AM

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about said the gramophone
This is a daily sampler of really good songs. All tracks are posted out of love. Please go out and buy the records.

To hear a song in your browser, click the and it will begin playing. All songs are also available to download: just right-click the link and choose 'Save as...'

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Said the Gramophone launched in March 2003, and added songs in November of that year. It was one of the world's first mp3blogs.

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"And I shall watch the ferry-boats / and they'll get high on a bluer ocean / against tomorrow's sky / and I will never grow so old again."
about the authors
Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

Emma Healey writes poems and essays in Toronto. She joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. This is her website and email her here.

Jeff Miller is a Montreal-based writer and zinemaker. He is the author of Ghost Pine: All Stories True and a bunch of other stories. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Say hello on Twitter or email.

Mitz Takahashi is originally from Osaka, Japan who now lives and works as a furniture designer/maker in Montreal. English is not his first language so please forgive his glamour grammar mistakes. He is trying. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Reach him by email here.

Site design and header typography by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet. The header graphic is randomized: this one is by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet.
Dan Beirne wrote regularly for Said the Gramophone from August 2004 to December 2014. He is an actor and writer living in Toronto. Any claim he makes about his life on here is probably untrue. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.

Jordan Himelfarb wrote for Said the Gramophone from November 2004 to March 2012. He lives in Toronto. He is an opinion editor at the Toronto Star. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.
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our favourite blogs
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Back to the World
La Blogothèque
Weird Canada
Destination: Out
Endless Banquet
A Grammar (Nitsuh Abebe)
Ill Doctrine
A London Salmagundi
Words and Music
Petites planétes
Gorilla vs Bear
Silent Shout
Clouds of Evil
The Dolby Apposition
Awesome Tapes from Africa
Matana Roberts
Pitchfork Reviews Reviews
i like you [podcast]
Nicola Meighan
radiolab [podcast]
CKUT Music
plethoric pundrigrions
Wattled Smoky Honeyeater
The Clear-Minded Creative
Torture Garden
Passion of the Weiss
Juan and Only
Horses Think
White Hotel
Then Play Long (Marcello Carlin)
Uno Moralez
Coming Up For Air (Matt Forsythe)
my love for you is a stampede of horses
It's Nice That
Song, by Toad
In Focus
WTF [podcast]
The Rest is Noise (Alex Ross)
My Daguerreotype Boyfriend
The Hood Internet

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st-viateur bagel
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drawn + quarterly
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casa + sala + the hotel
blue skies turn black
montreal improv theatre
passovah productions
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yoga teacher Thea Metcalfe

Cult Montreal
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