Buttery Love
The Buttery Love self-titled debut album.
From this...
To this...
Well, it's been a long process, one that has gone from being frog marched out of the grade four choir, to playing live on stage with Roy and HG, to ten years year in the wilderness, a rebirth and now, this.
I hope you enjoy listening to the album.
Now it's time for some banter, some real fucking banter.
Here are some of the things that I like about the Buttery Love recordings.
Everyone in the band is a deeply beautiful person. They are unique, generous, fun to be around and possess a technical wizardry and musical sensitivity that has profoundly effected the shape of the songs and the success of the recording, it has been a sacred honour to spend time with them.
You don't have to be Stevie Wonder or Kevin Parker or Prince to create something cool. Small things can be amazing. It helps to surround yourself with talented people, they get the magic flowing. But if you concentrate then you can find talent and uniqueness everywhere and in everybody. The herd is large, all people can contribute something and when these somethings are added together they can equal a whole lot of buttery goodness, yum.
Things can take a long time. It's devastating when there is no resonance to something that comes straight from your emotional heart and you may think that it constitutes failure but it doesn't. Every day you are here, every person you meet and every thing you experience can help you connect with and understand the universe. Despair and loss can be overwhelming but don't give up, don't stop dreaming. It may take years and years and years and it may never happen but don't stop trying.
A collection of songs recorded by Buttery Love during the spring 2019 to the autumn 2020.
Buttery songs
Listen to and read.
Fags Booze and Fucking
I love orang-utans, green corduroy and Leonard Cohen. Not to mention bums, tits and willies yeah
And I love the way you smile, English sheep and Oscar Wilde
Not to mention pain, fear and loathing yeah
Oh I meant to say loving.
And I love Hal Hartley, THC and black coffee
Not to mention fags booze fucking
Oh I meant to say loving.
And I love those lazy days, where I go out of my mind, trying to find
The daisies yeah, that grow in head so like four leaf clovers.
And, of course, I love Boston (for more information please refer to Stupid Dogs.)
Forget
Yesterday on the back of a tired envelope I found a poem written not so long ago. Well I couldn't say exactly what I meant by it, it seems to me that I am simply starting to forget.
Now, I don't want to forget.
I'm sailing from an island and for a while I can swim ashore but then there is no going back, the only thing I can do is look from a distance and think of what was then and what is now and what was left in between.
Centre of your pain
Shadows move strangely in my doorway, I feel ghost are living in my home. Someone cries as they pass across my threshold, simple words that echo in my mind.
And I feel footsteps walk beside me, something strange, a presence in the gloom, sometimes I no longer recognise you but sadly I'm the centre of your pain.
And here I am, yes here I am at the centre of your pain.
All the people we know I swear I do not know them and all the places we went, I swear I've never been there, I've forgotten it all.
And ghosts are such bitter bed companions so again I lie sleeplessly alone, understanding doesn't make things any better and sadly I'm the centre of your pain.
And here I am, yes here I am at the centre of your pain.
As dawn approaches something moves, light is filtering on the room, it's strangely cold in this room I cannot look in your direction I sit and stare at the wall trying not to tremble and here I am, here I am at the centre of your pain.
All the gifts you gave me are gone, broken by reckless hands or lost under the weight of belonging. Even so, I still think of you, of you.
There's something about you and me, we get more like 'Sports on a Sunday', the bigger, the faster, the best, still leaves me hollow in my chest. Maybe I'm jealous about, life and how you're working it out and I'm just suck deeper in and I can't help but grin as I'm sucked deeper in, I can't help but grin and bare it all.
Sunday
Sports
The walk from King street to the Dog House usually took twenty minutes and Lucy Was An Engine had a gig to play.
As the slow darkness descended so did a song.
Captured in a moment.
It is useful to walk alone and at the end of our travels it is also goodl to have someone who can take care and chronicle our journey.
Dear John
John when they find me will you do this for me
close my eyes pull down the blinds
I’ve seen the years and I know their weight well
and I don’t know how long I can survive.
John tell them I was always like this.
I'll follow you underground.
Navigate the honeycomb.
A memory.
.
.
.
.
Splinter
Clattering cups and chatter surreal, nothing is quite normal this early so we talk about football and lovers, not that we know much about either.
Breakfast buffet at the casino, frequented rarely, in a time when the morning were usually reserved for others.
Old men and others.
.
.
Forever More
The old letters I just stopped reading were enough to send my mind reeling, forgotten times.
And maybe I'm just sentimental about a misguided handful of forgotten lines.
Is it all back-dated? Even so, I think I've just started bringing you to mind, back to my mind.
You like stupid dogs and sad movies, peoples faces and cold weather and you liked talking on until morning think we could be forever.
It was very late when they returned from the mountain.
Snow on the bonnet of the car.
I didn't go but was there when they returned.
She always had cold hands.
Were we ever so young?
Now I know dogs aren't stupid.
Now I know how precious our time was.
Were we all ever so young?
The Sun for Sorrow
The sky is closing in,
only mad dogs and Englishmen,
would go out tonight,
but they've all sadly died.
The Sun for Sorrow
We
were
the
kings
of
the
world,
of
our
small
world
Buttery Love Vinyl
Buttery Love TShirt
Deluxe gatefold, 180gm yellow vinyl and a four page inner booklet. Strictly limited to one hundred individually numbered copies. Order now for shipment on January 1st 2021 (yeah, f**k 2020.)
All sales will go towards the production of the second Buttery Love LP, 'One of the Missing Many.'
Anyone who purchase the first album will get preference for all future releases.
Please note the differing postage options.
The t-shirts are printed in batches on top quality, light weight cotton AS Maple/Staple t-shirts. The next print run will be on November 1st 2020.
Please check the right gender/size when ordering, these deets can be found on the AS website .
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