DRKMTR

by DRKMTR

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.
    Purchasable with gift card

      name your price

     

  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Beautiful gatefold card CD case with embossed DRKMTR logo, fastenend with ribbon. Fold out A3 lyric sheet featuring artwork by Andy Garside.

    Includes unlimited streaming of DRKMTR via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days

      £7 GBP or more 

     

  • Beautiful handmade book of poetry by DRKMTR's Sophie McKeand. Some of the poems featured in the book can be heard on the DRKMTR album where Prophecy's lyrical themes continue to be explored.

    Includes unlimited streaming of DRKMTR via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days

      £6 GBP or more 

     

  • Poster/Print

    A3 High quality printed DRKMTR Poster featuring artwork by Andy Garside.
    ships out within 3 days

      £4.50 GBP or more 

     

  • Get everything!

    For the bargain price of £12.50 you get: DRKMTR Album in beautiful handmade cover, handmade book 'Prophecy' by Sophie McKeand, high quality A3 DRKMTR poster with artwork by Andy Garside, and an immediate download of the DRKMTR album.

    Bargain!

    Includes unlimited streaming of DRKMTR via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days

      £12.50 GBP or more 

     

1.
tides (part 2) change is here and who knew? (when nobody could have known) and who saw? (when nobody could see) and whose testimony will be read when the light goes out? (I keep no records) the brightness scalds retina a memory in defiance of death (when nothing escapes) is this the last are these the last here are the last days embraces not great enough (could anything have been great enough?) to hold steady these souls when the wave of change swallows engulfs devours I would have told you (if I’d have known) I could have held you (if I knew) I should have felt the tides ebb and fade ebb and fade ebb and fade away and all the money in the world cannot buy and all the tea in china cannot replace what was there is not there no longer here swept out from under the carpet and into the long dark night satisfaction for the dissatisfied soul - embrace change open the floodgates drown (washed clean) to be and to never be (although stillness can be found in the heart of a lake) oh to be a lake of such tiny proportions a raindrop a penny raining unspoken for each emotion (and thought) greater than the “storm in a teacup” - how presumptuous how preposterous (when the moon shone I knew better) anger does not hold me regret does not cloak me memories do not choke me but change calls me into the dawn where once you held me where once you knew me where once you saved me could I lie here and stay forever?
2.
03:23
deep I have tried to write you - failed time and again to capture your depth your essence the way in which you move now fluid now enraged now hypnotic there is electricity - the likes of which I cannot fathom in darkness that swells primordial - I would be lost in you I marvel at those who are found in you but I would be lost I would talk moonshine become intoxicated bask in your shallows surf thoughts that froth over cresting waves embrace the lie that is the warmth of you you call and I dive through surreal sink into profane disperse in profound undercurrents words cannot embody you understandings glance or are drained of light before dawning - unplumbed you remain deep and I - an empty shell beached like so many masquerading voices that whisper your name
3.
03:41
unknown I read you turn leaves into actions and alchemy devour poetry and sermons philosophy, objections your moon-solid-certainty pulls tides as thoughts hauled through depths the vision - vermillion across oceans is that you do not know you do not know that “simple truths seem to change”* because in knowing this your pen would weep and in seeing this your mind would empty and in learning this your books would burn I would learn everything anew - a baby discovering the first dawn and sunset “and what I assume you shall assume for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you”** bubbles burst surface and rain subtle illumination on mountains the world over yet no mountain claims ‘this is my rain’ and no oceans say ‘these are my tears’ I return to the written word - fluster that knowledge encoded might unravel undo thoughts but I sink to the ocean’s floor where veins pulse ribbons or constellations or ribbons or constellations not yet known (the tree falling in the forest is still felt by the trees) I read when the very act of reading feels treasonous I write “be careful in valuing words”* (remember to leave no trace) * Lao-Tzu **Walt Whitman
4.
Dark Matter/White Noise the shaman walks through worlds unseen by the naked eye she journeys with feet rooted she folds time and the fires burn and the rivers run her imagination holds the gateway to galaxies - she will tell you that fairies live that the underworld is real she knows the truth of Dark Matter ……………………….. she speaks white noise she speaks a voice existing as trees rustle as water falls as the un-tuned radio as the rising of the moon as the earth travelling (at 67,000 miles per hour) whispers white noise the expanse between existences the sound of Nothing, of death. open your mouth - it fills the space before you speak it is the language of atoms vibrating the voice of the universe the resonance of gods a non-existence, erasing all life… …as the wind devours mountains white noise she speaks white noise
5.
the wild hunt stories spoken wheel’s spokes shuttle’s tales woven throats the wild hunt - and omens roll ominous and wilderness and wild-in-this the wild hunts she hunts wilder now stronger now gaining momentum now tearing the walls down smashing the throne thrashing around presage precede predict and not prevail over the wild whose eyes are open whose children are eaten whose dead are lanterns or fountains of youth when the wild hunts for you and when the hunt calls you and when change strips you and false prophets speak for you and the pale horse stands before you speaking in tongues breathing from broken lungs spoken in stories the wheel spoke in myth and fable and legend she hunts for you wilder now stronger now gaining momentum now tearing the walls down smashing the throne thrashing around presage precede predict and not prevail over the wild whose eyes are open whose children are eaten whose dead are lanterns or fountains of youth the spokes hold the spoken told the speechless wheels grind words find words define worlds and reinvent the wheel as the world turns as worms turn stories unlearned and prophecies burned when the wild hunts for you and when the hunt calls you and when change strips you and false prophets speak for you and the pale horse stands before you speaking in tongues breathing from broken lungs spoken in stories the wheel spoke in myth and fable and legend the story spoke in fable and myth and legend the wild hunts she hunts for you the wild hunt
6.
the storyteller’s tale here - where stories reside I am riddled a cat’s fiddle a heart thrown on the griddle hideous middle ground yawns (no longer a safe place to straddle) unravel the tales as fishbones (and whales) impale meanderings leanings, - wonderings where words crying out to be spoken are offered tokens of gratitude as the latitude of the world shifts down into the night when the poem becomes reality (and reality a poem) when the ocean becomes a fallacy according to the written words of great scientists of high stature it’s all captured and noted dissected the story is a lie used to tell the truth history is a truth that eventually becomes a lie I am the storyteller who forthwith shall speak lies create worlds unfurl as spider’s webs curl around this false heart where tiny stories reside as whispers or smoke rings and half-hidden meanings (not yet discovered and ushered out into the light) the good fight is not over my friend the long fight is still raging my friends and battle lines are drawn in time’s sands that shimmer like raindrops through grasping hands and ampersands (and ampersands) when the grand old man has died how will we remember him? cut pieces out to worship him? tear heart and lung and limb of him? a million photographs of him but none will recall and the history books will burn an inferno of wasted words forgotten forlorn - foregone conclusion but old wives’ tales and nursery rhymes superstitious whisperings and stories ringing throughout time outshine outlive the old man his cronies lost as old crones count the cost and recite recall, retell stories ushered in from the night and spoken around fires of burning books as amber leaves rise up from the ashes we mourn nothing and sing and weave and dance the soul’s creation temptation is celebrated fecund stories narrated until the dawn shatters witch’s spells and mythical creatures return once more to dwell in the forests of the storyteller’s mind until the next time…
7.
02:35
The Weed I am a weed, thriving on barren earth living in the spaces you forgot to spray with reason, and in your neatly ordered gardens I will grow as your denial digs me deeper into every furrow of thought. In undesirable places my seeds take hold, bright yellow flowers accentuate cracks in ordered minds, and you stamp on my face cover the ground, deny sunlight. But I am that thought in your head that will not go away I can wait I can wait for just one single drop of rain to fall my way and I will grow I grow with a strength, a persistence that scares you you who chooses pretty flowers to match your exciting thoughts you who tend exotic plants that wilt with the day you who digs, who toils, who gardens. I do not need you to survive when your back is turned I blossom when the water is scarce I flourish. I sit with my face to the baking sun an apparition blown apart as the earth becomes dust knowing that I will always live to see another day.
8.
07:14
for Gaia she is Gaia and from her grows everything and to her flows everything as in life as in death as in life from her cradle the wilds run riot a cacophony of colour a blossoming of sound an explosion an existence as stories twist thick vines along sodden ground as leaves or pages or leaves or pages or leaves or pages whisper words aeons lost and flowers sing the songs of the earth and trees tell the stories of healing and mountains echo the history of the stars and all are born from her and all will die with her and those who listen – hear and those who feel – know but those who watch - are blind as her story spins history as the future is rooted in time and beyond that - anarchy and from that - chaos but she is Gaia and from her grows everything and to her flows everything as in life as in death as in life From her cradle civilisations sprawl forth buildings erected languages constructed nature rejected and the tallest buildings are built and the grandest ships set sail and the largest deserts expand under the hand of the people who forgot to love the land and the flower’s stories are crushed and the trees are left soulless and the mountains are mined for the enrichment of material possessions not the treasures of the mind and the people forgot how to listen and the people unlearned how to feel and the people unravel the stories as the tale spins loose from the wheel as if Gaia did not even exist… but she is… she is Gaia and from her grows everything and to her flows everything as in life as in death as in life and from her cradle forever will spring forth life that grows from her and death that flows into her for she is earth she is Gaia she is beyond our petty wranglings above our nonsense politicking below our incessant digging she is the water that caresses us the food that nourishes us the birds that sing to us the web that binds us she is earth and we are born of earth and even our most marvellous creations will return like us to earth to dust to Gaia

about

Prophecy [conversations with my Self] was born in folded time. Wild seeds took root in thoughtbeds - ran riot over the mind to sprout the unrestrained, uncivilized, tempestuous Self. Contradictory, anarchic and prophetic, these untamed words map wilderness and visions - recreate conversations with trees and mountains dreamt at the edges of madness…

From the concepts first made manifest in Prophecy, the fledgling poetry of DRKMTR became entwined with Steve Nicholls’ deftly crafted music. Ranging from the beautifully cinematic to unashamed krautrock noise, DRKMTR is a continually evolving configuration of sound, visual art and poetry.

Fusing two contrasting philosophies, one from myths of ancient times, one from cutting-edge scientific theory, DRKMTR asks what it is we see when the lights go out? Where is the truth behind the darkness?

credits

released November 26, 2012

license

all rights reserved

tags

If you like DRKMTR, you may also like: