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Rating: It's hard to be an artist. I have so much to give, but no one notices how much I'm worth. How unique, extraordinary I am. My masterpieces lie in the attic. I've done everything: I've participated in village exhibitions, I've offered a nice saint to the priest, I've talked to furniture stores: no one wants my paintings.
It's hard to be an artist. Not just for me, mind you. Even for the Legendary Pink Dots art is a rose full of thorns. Imagine: the young girls from Colombia, Taiwan, and Macau wonder what their Gracious Roasted Penguins eat for breakfast. And there are about half a million records worldwide under the name Legitimate Roman Hams (a brand of guarantee in itself), full of naive instant psychedelia. Additionally, three books, one in English, one in Czech, and one in French, have already been written on the Lethargic Snoring Smurfs and the implications of lyrics like:
“Sometimes (my invisible friend) takes me to a place where everyone accepts me and where I am happy. I remove this bronze mask from my face and finally lift my head. But (the baddies) always arrive and make fun of me. My friend backs down and doesn't utter a word. Again, I am down”.
Blessed innocence! For the Freckled Blackheads, today is February 8,245, 1969, and Pink Floyd eavesdropped on “See Emily play” from the walls of the studio where the Light Pink Pinot were rehearsing. It's hard to be an artist: nineteen albums credited to the Legionary Rolling Balls and not a mention in the Rock Encyclopedias, not a citation in the placement lists, nothing even in the mail-order catalogs. Yet their somewhat enchanted, somewhat dazed quest, is much more integral than many guardians of contemporary taste.
The music of the Boiled Roast Beef Meatballs has the genuine taste of rustic underground, seeing is believing. It's hard to be an artist. Me? I paint flowers. I like flowers as much as the Sauce-less High Schoolers like Pink Floyd. Me... not me? The Licentious Pig Pickups? Well, the Fuzzy Pink Birds chirp pastoral songs with titles like “Friend”, “Remember Me This Way” and “Keep Going Until Tomorrow”, and play a light-drug psychedelia like “A Velvet Resurrection” and “This Monocle is King”: just what you and I like.
I wonder why critics haven't noticed them yet. It's hard, it's hard to be an artist.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 Citadel (06:32)
Blacklights, corridors of power, lost without a map
We skipped the tripwires, searched for hours, tiptoed through the traps
We slipped through empty rooms with white walls, crystal chandeliers
Carpets we could drown in, bells ringing in my ears.
We slipped through borders, skipped the lasers, murmurring a code
We'd wade through holes, we dodged patrols,
we swam through sewers, walked on coals
Climbed the scaffold. Hell, they even left the rope.
We saw our spinning friends descend, tortured.
[live version: swinging friends descend, choked.]
Through passages we danced, we glanced at fat men smoking fat cigars
Who spun their webs on screens, threw telegrams in trays
Candy soldiers raised the table, wearing labels, muttered curses,
Hung the [sheep's heads], naked from their collars to their
Blessed cotton socks
Every handshake gave a shock, a buzz, a charge
We saw them stab the stars with sugar knives
Then they fell in heaps of lard
We watched but kept on moving higher
Through a hall of 2-way mirrors I spied a boy-scout shackled to a chair
Could hear the wood snap in the [...] made a parting in his hair
Still he dared to [bait] his master 'till the red wheel rolled from room to room
We padded past his tomb, kicked the door down
The door that said `No Entry'
In the lift, we flicked a switch and flew to floor 6666...
No one stood there waiting. No gaurd stood in our path.
There was just a window wide open and a note pinned to the chair.
It said, ``Welcome, friends, you've passed the test.
I'm glad that you could make it.
From here you'll watch the world go by and doesn't it look sad?
So Come to Daddy!''
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