Middle Mass -
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Middle Mass - |
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MIDDLE MASS [top of page]
The evil is not in extremes
Summer close season
The boy is like a tape loop
Not much contact
This boy is like a tape loop
Come into the back room Brian
Note: This song is apparently about Marc Riley. Riley had spent the previous summer staying in London at a flat in Denmark Street (the UK's "Tin Pan Alley") with Mike Gaines, a budding songwriter and notorious heroin addict. For a few months there was talk of Gaines and Riley forming their own group, or at least writing and selling their own songs. Smith got wind of this and there was a bit of a showdown - Smith taking the piss out of Riley for allegedly experimenting with harder drugs, messing about with "proper" tunes and hanging around with a loser like Gaines. Riley retorted by calling Smith a "misanthropic old git", which amused Smith as Riley said it more than once ("like a tape loop"), obviously pleased as punch with the new word he'd learned. "Soft
mitts" refers to Riley's ineffectuality as a fighter. [Analysis by Fallnet's Paul Saxton]
AN OLDER LOVER ETC. [top of page]
You'd better take an older lover x 6
To take an older lover
You'd better take a younger lover
Dear girls
You'd better take an older lover
You'd better take a younger lover
Doctor Annabel lies!
PROLE ART THREAT [top of page]
Pink press threat!
MAN WITH CHIP: I'm riding third class on a one-class train.
I'm a pink prole threat.
GENT IN SAFE-HOUSE: Get out the pink press threat file
MAN WITH CHIP: It's de-louse, safe-house time
GENT IN SAFE-HOUSE: It's a new prole art threat
NARRATOR: Then the clan began
Scene: Safe-house Give them nail files, soon
(ALL: Everybody hears the hum at 3:00 a.m.)
But in the safehouse, it's not around
GENT: Get out and apply the wet lib file
MAN WITH CHIP, That clan has gotten away with 100 years
FIT AND WORKING AGAIN [top of page]
I'm fit and working again
I'm fit and working again
I used to hang like a chandelier
I'm fit and working, dear
Opinion is at most
Sat opposite a freak on a train
I'm fit and working again
And I feel like Alan Minter [1]
Cause I'm fit and working again...
Note: [1] Alan Minter is a British boxing champion
SLATES, SLAGS ETC. [top of page]
Here's the definitive rant
And slates, break hard, break hardly
Okay mates
How would you describe the slates?
LEAVE THE CAPITOL [top of page]
The tables covered in beer
Then you know in your brain
Then you know you must leave the capitol
It will not drag me down
Hotel maids smile in unison
I laughed at the great God Pan
LEAVE THE CAPTIOL
Pan resides in welsh green masquerades
It's in the aftermath
The middle mass
After the fact
Vulturous in the aftermath
A quiet dope and cider man
But during the season
Hard drug and cider mates
The boy is like a uh-uh
Drinking, the men wait
They are set at nought
Because cripple states a holy state
Because cripple states a holy state
The Werhmacht never got in here
The Werhmacht never got in here
The Werhmacht never got in here
The Werhmacht never got in here
Thought it took us six years
The werhmacht never got in here
And living here you whisper, bub
And living here you whisper, bub!
And he has soft mitts
But he's the last domain
Of a very black, back room brain
He learned a word today
The word's misanthropy
And he's running to and from
The cats from tin pan alley
And he's running with and from
The cats from tin pan alley
And going down the alley
Take the cats from the alley
Up to them
The alley's full of cats from tin pan
And meet
The middle mass
The middle mass
Vulturous in the aftermath
Middle mass
ADDENDUM 2004: After the above "analysis" was repeated by Mick Middles in his book on The Fall, it came to light that the story had been a complete fabrication all along. But rather a clever one! [editor]
You'll soon get tired of her
Get ready for old stories
Of teenage sex
From the early sixties
Under cover
Behind office desks
Old divorces
Children's faces
You'd better take a younger lover
Or take an older lover
You'll soon get tired of her
(She'll shag you out on the table)
Doctor Annabel lies!
Doctor Annabel lies!
Doctor Annabel lies!
You raced before
It's been done
Tripped and stepped on
You'd better take an older lover
Or take a younger monster
But deserve better
You'd better take a younger lover
You'll miss your older lover
Her love was like your Mother's
With added attractions
You'd better take a younger lover x 4
You'd better take an older lover
You'd better take an older lover
You'd better take a younger lover
Doctor Annabel lies!
Doctor Annabel lies!
Doctor Annabel lies!
On the colour page
French fries spread on her face
On the future autolytic enzyme son
I'm cranked at nought like a wimpey crane.
and Brrrptzzap* the subject. (* = scrambled)
(now v. bitter) When I get to the safe house
Hanging rhyme
Hang this crummy blitz trad. by its neck
Pink press threat
I escaped the pink prole effect
It's recluse, safehouse time
Agenda Item One
GENT AND STAFF- And looking at this agenda, we have a bit of
now revealed a problem here
to be m.i.9 Get out the pink press threat file
New prole art threat the subject
It's safehouse, safehouse time
Pink press threat
Vs. this new prole art threat
Safehouse, safehouse tone
dissipated and knacked, of sheer brilliance
at home, video reach, --Up till now
stereo bog etc.
Walk down the road in the sun
I make a path through a forty strong gang
My sick, think I've seen the tail end
I'm fit and working again
My lungs encrusted in blood
But the flex is now cut clear
Took me ten years to write this song
I'm fit and working again
I used to think this bog was the domain
One stimulus reason
If you've got the most
With the true precis
Analysis is academic
Some thoughts can get nauseous.
Warts on his head and chin
Boy, was I getting so vain
I saw the recession around Victoria Station
Gimme the sun.
I'm fit and working again
I just ate eight sheets of blotting paper
And I chucked out the Alka Seltzer
Don't you know that was the tail end.
Slates drive me bats
Therefore I say hey slates give us a break
Male slags, slags slates and tapes
Everything's strained by the States
They are the grey ones of our state I relate
Male slags....
Break the slates for Christ's sake
Male slags...
Male slags, knock over your drink
Pay for correct amount spilt
Male slags...
Remember slates are always outta date
In the fine light of day they have to face
Well I can't give a definition
The consequences of their plagiarisation
Male slags
With greedy bastard scrubbed hands
Kill jokes join gangs
Kill the safety in our lands
Male slags...
In the cold nearly old ska Jamaican dawn
Dead publisher's sons
Material hardship pawns
The Beat, Wah! Heat
Male slags...
(Dog bites the dicks that feeds it)
Male slags...
Academic male slags
Ream off names of books and bands
Kill cultural interest in our land
Male slates
With creaky pants and scrubbed hands
Let's get onto the valley of weights
The valley of weights is the valley
Where they cast off the weights
And became trite, uptight
Deaf and bereft
A liberty mess
Female slates
Make pins of your whims
Break your balls , suck your thoughts
Rip off bands
With stuck up hair and new shitty pants
New beatniks with hoop shirts
Big priest - give us a break
Help me to fight the slates
Male slags....
Don't start improvising for Christ's sake
They are the grey ones of the state I relate
Everythings strained by the states
The valley of weights
Okay mates
Showbiz whines, minute detail
Its a hand on the shoulder in Leicester Square
Its vaudeville pub back room dusty pictures of
White frocked girls and music teachers
The beds too clean
The waters poison for the system
LEAVE THE CAPITOL!
EXIT THIS ROMAN SHELL!
Then you know you must leave the capitol
Straight home (x3)
One room, one room
Then you know in your brain
You know in your brain
LEAVE THE CAPITOL!
EXIT THIS ROMAN SHELL!
Straight home (x3)
Then you know in your brain
You know in your brain
Leave The Capitol!
Then you know you must leave the capitol
I will leave this ten times town
I will leave this fucking dump
One room, one room
Then you know in your brain
You know in your brain
LEAVE THE CAPITOL
EXIT THIS ROMAN SHELL
Then you know you must leave the capitol
I didnae, I didnae
I laughed at the great god Pan
I didnae, I didnae, I didnae, I didnae
EXIT THE ROMAN SHELL
Then you know you must leave the capitol
On welsh cat caravans
But the monty
Hides in curtains
Grey blackish cream
All the paintings you recall
All the side stepped cars
All the brutish laughs
From the flat and the wild dog downstairs