Tyre Fire

by The Wind-up Birds

supported by
Don Lolo
Don Lolo thumbnail
Don Lolo Deux excellent morceaux, mais ils sont tous deux présent dans l'album the land, donc cet EP présente à ce jour moins d'intérêt. Favorite track: There Won't Always Be an England.
/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      £1.38 GBP

     

  • ships out within 3 days

      £3.50 GBP

     

  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 12 The Wind-up Birds releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of The Right, The Gristle, Poor Music, Acting Thick for Money (volume 2), The Mild Awards, The Land, Cross Country, Working Christmas Day, and 4 more. , and , .

      £13.96 GBP or more (40% OFF)

     

1.
04:44
2.

about

"a raw, caustically passionate clatter with Fall overtones ... further listening reveals less often cited but still more than worthwhile reference points. Fans of mid-90s smart shambles Animals That Swim definitely need to look this way." Sweeping the Nation

"If John Peel were still alive then the Wind-Up Birds would be his new favourite band." - The Devil Has the Best Tuna

"A bit like a Northern take on Art Brut but obviously far less shit, Leodensians The Wind-Up Birds whirl through the sedated scourge that is their hometown's music scene. Bizarrely, as The Night Soil bursts into effervescent action with a recklessly bruising Manics bass line thoughts scurry back to the jaunty DIY wiry guitars of Peel-approved punksters I, Ludicrous and their heinously neglected snarly sneer at the pretense that's pegged back the Brit capital for decades. Pertaining to a somewhat ramshackle ethic, similar to Teeside truants The Chapman Family and sounding somewhere along the lines of The Wedding Present reeling from backhanded backstreet ADHD pills, they're quite something." - Dots and Dashes

"Is it any good? Very." - Unpeeled

"Little slices of English life finger drawn before last orders as things evolve, lightened of language and consumed in the tales... two fine fine songs, alive with it all and more" - Single of the Week, The Organ

"Stark, intense and with lyrics that’ll bring you to your knees before clobbering you over the head repeatedly." Subba-Cultcha

"Notable for the sharp, contemporary kitchen-sink lyricism of frontman Paul Ackroyd - an evocative recountment of doomed luv and subsequent stalking, backed by a driving slice of post-Libs indie rock. Ackroyd's deadpan vocal delivery is particularly effective here as his gently increasing urgency nicely supports the sense of urban claustrophobia created by the song's narrative. There Won't Always Be an England' is a prescient dissection of nationalism and the way in which it is commonly assumed that everyone gives a fuck about the fortunes of the England football team." Mudkiss

credits

released April 26, 2010

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

The Wind-up Birds Leeds

NEW EP - The Right

Available NOW - wow

contact / help

Contact The Wind-up Birds

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Track Name: Tyre Fire
No one can help when she feels insignificant
She lost some fingers in an industrial accident
She met a man, he was transparent

After a time his eyes did wander
He sidled away, another absconder
He said he was bored, she admired his candour

So won’t you give me summat so I can sleep
‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up
All night vigils at the window
I can’t see you through all the smoke though

They kept in touch, the occasional email
He dropped hints about his luck with females
It made him look like an imbecile

After six months he had a change of heart
Wanted to try and go back to the start
Ashamed to say that she just might

So won’t you give me something so I can sleep
‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up
All night vigils at the window
I can’t see you through all the smoke though
Yeah, it was a body blow
I can’t see you through all this smoke though

In the end she told him to shove it
(Not in person, she couldn’t face that…)
It felt good but it was fleeting

He would mooch around outside her work
Among her friends it was a standing joke
But to her it wasn’t that funny

So won’t you give me something so I can sleep
‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up
All night vigils at the window
I can’t see you through all the smoke though
Yeah, it was a body blow
I can’t see you through all this smoke though

Through the window she can see black smoke
And in the shadows this idiot bloke
In a leather coat outside her work

She used to like the twinkle in his eye
No she can’t think why
He’s like the photo on the cover
Of one of those macho gangster books

And the fact that people find it funny
And are probably speaking behind her back
Makes it almost unbearable
Her privacy is the only thing she has ever valued

And it tires her out
And she can’t sleep
And she varies her route home
And she lingers in the light
And sometimes she’ll stay in when she wants to go out
And sometimes she’ll stay in when she wants to go out

It’s the third day of the tyre fire
“Keep your windows closed”
Is it safe out on the street?
No one really knows

Fire engines dance through a crowded street of clones
Capturing the flames on their camera phones
Calendar and Look North compete for the view
The kids clown in the background like they’re supposed to

Once you’ve seen the smoke you can’t avert your eyes
Cars pull over, gawping in lay-bys
Something ancient stirs in your insides
Primitive man in the cave where he hides

Tears evaporating, pure heat stings your face
Overwhelming helplessness puts you in your place

Your history means nothing
Consumed by the flames
Lightened of your language
Deprived of all your names
Track Name: There Won't Always Be an England
I have, it seems, committed a crime
I didn’t cry tears for this country of mine
Some rich blokes in a sporting arena
Got beat by some other blokes, hungrier and leaner

Then a bloke on a bar stool; his life in tatters
Squealing into his pint, as if it all matters
He’s torn off his top so his arms are on view
And his tattoo says, “English, through and through”

All I said was, “I’m not that bothered…”
He leaps from his stool; his mates all hovered
He gives me a potted history then
I show some sense and I fail to correct him

He mentions some wars and some of his heroes
I nod along…they mean nothing to me though
He makes factual errors based on our borders
And he finger-draws a map as they call in last orders

Then he turns his attention to racial matters
To my shames I say nowt ‘cause I think that he’ll twat us
And I head for the door with his voice in my ears
An unbearable echo of his unfounded fears

In my head, a better man than me, by far
Turns on his heels and he steams back to the bar
Drags the man from his barstool by his hair
Pulls him away from his mates with reasonable care

And he finds a quiet corner by the glass bottle bins
And he quietly proceeds to explain a few things
Such as: the borders of England adapting through time
And the invading forces that diluted his bloodline

And the noblemen’s deals to pay off their debts
That lead in to decisions affecting us yet
And the rich men laughing at his patriotism
That keeps him hemmed in, as sure as a prison

Then look into the future; his dreams are a mess
Like any invention overtaken by progress
A relic from the past, hidden from view
His England evolved into something brand new