Soul Music From the Heart

by Barcode Biopsy

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Originally recorded in 1996, mixed down in 1999 on to only a handful of CDRs, salvaged & put online in 2013.

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released August 6, 2013




Barcode Biopsy Bradford, UK

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Track Name: Barcode Biopsy / Disconnection
BARCODE BIOPSY. We make noise, why do we, why do we make noise? we’ll scan our barcodes, and what do you see? BIOLOGY, BIOGRAPHY, IDENTITY, BIOPSY? These are unclassified, noises and choices, just listen to our voices. Our music and our message is great mate, our egos inflate. WE’RE SO PUNK, LOUDER, HARDER, FASTER…

DISCONNECTION. Inactivity, and stagnancy. Is pessimism all that’s left of me? I’ve broken my mould. Now my life has no shape. Defensive inidividuality, for individualities sake. I CAN SEE ALTERNATIVES, WITHIN THE ALTERNATIVES. IT’S EASY TO BE DIFFERENT, UNLESS YOUR DIFFERENCE IS NOT THE SAME. Envy the one’s who fit in, as I condemn their conformities. The selfishness within, wants to change their priorities. I’m so desperate to find my own way, I’VE BECOME A CLICHÉ. It breaks my spirit. Does no-one notice my mark? How would you tell, when I’m lurking in the dark? Who’d want to know me? Afraid I’ll find out who doesn’t. Must find other open minds. Perhaps it’s mine that isn’t. NEED SELF CONFIDENCE TO BREACH THE SOCIAL CIRCLE. BEFORE SELF LOATHING CLOSES THE VICIOUS CIRCLE. I’ve stalled my motor won’t start. Nothing is fun, can’t get up off my arse. But I must confide, I’ve barely tried. WHEN YOU’VE NO PRIDE, IT’S JUST EASIER TO HIDE.
Track Name: Waste
WASTE. If it’s not up to date, throw it away, paid the bills, now its shopping day. Disposable income, worked hard for your pay. WHO WANTS TO BE AN ECONOMIC CASTAWAY? Information transmission. You’re selling me… DECEPTION; Advertising satisfaction. You’re selling me… DISTRACTION; and the endless extraction, you’re selling me… DESTRUCTION. Are you wasting your talents? Are you wasting your time? Buy lifestyle fillers, from the cause of your strife. YOU’LL BE HUMAN DEBRIS, IF THEY HAVE TO TELL YOU TWICE. Just keep your brain numb. To industrial defecations price. I can live on a waste heap, as long as the boardrooms not kneedeep. Poison our bodies while we’re cheap. Recycling only idea’s… the profits are reaped. I’D CALL IT ROTTEN, BUT ROTTING RECYCLES LIFE. I’D CALL IT SHIT, BUT SHIT CAN FERTILIZE. It’s all such a fuckin waste; Human beings or, biological resource. Oil for the machine. Auditors running costs. Throw away workforce, Can’t afford your throw away products. DON’T FULFIFF OUR NEEDS, JUST FILL FULL THE LANDFILL. If it’s not up to date, just throw it away, cash for the boss on shopping day. I won’t buy their shit or work for their pay. I PREFER TO BE AN ECONOMIC CASTAWAY. YOU CAN THROW ME AWAY, I WON’T GO AWAY.
Track Name: Piggies
PIGGIES. I still remember, the bridge at Westminster. That spanned the gulf BETWEEN THE MULTITUDES AND THE SEAT OF POWER, others shared my fantasy they’d listen in their ivory towers. While our comrades the socialist revolutionary elite, played their power games, like shepherds with a flock of unruly sheep, we were herded like cattle into a corner, BY THE UNIFORMS KEEPING PUBLIC ORDER. Nowhere left to turn, we decided to rest our legs, as the front sat down, the horses flew over our heads. As the state took control of events in front of me, IT NAILED SHUT THE COFFIN OF MY POLITICAL NAIVETY. There’s an unruly minority, sparking the rioting, and starting the violence, FROM BEYOND THE LAW. Pick up a huddle, ones that don’t struggle, give the reprobates, all the abuse you’re trained to use. Take no lip, as you throw them in the van. Keep up the quotas, IT APPEALS TO THE VOTERS. They’re there every demo. Organised in the front line and directed, down the party line, with home office strings. Loudhailer from an armoured car, stop chanting. FREEDOM OF SPEECH? And disperse, FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT. Penned in all around, demostrators are so violent, with a plackard on a stick, HORSES, VANS, SHIELDS AND BATONS CRACK DEMOCRACY’S WHIP. This little piggy went to the demo, this little piggy drives the van, this little piggy has his baton, this little piggy has his fun, and this little piggy went smash crack wallop bang. CHAOS, CONFUSION, HEADS CRACKED, BODIES TRAMPLED. Can you tell me what’s the charge then? To walk in a crowd, ABH? To talk out loud, GBH? THE BOYS IN BLUE SAW IT WAS YOU. These little piggies went to the court room, these little piggies swapped their notes, these little piggies put on a show. Mr plod on the box, official statement, Press can’t wait. Home affairs, whip up some hate. Cheers all round for a job well done. Didn’t see yourself then on the News at Ten, mr piggy in every violent scene. Paying your dues in a room with no view for a crime that could never of been. HAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA THAT’S THE SOUND OF PIGGIES ALL THE WAY UP THE RANKS, ANOTHER CASE IS CLOSED…
Track Name: Apathy
APATHY. A roll call of emotions, COMPASSION, EMPATHY, SYMPATHY, LOYALTY. Do I see them around me? Hypothetical feelings, never venturing contact. Proud to be different, for differences sake. Proud of the actions, deny the inaction. Are the words I sing, class warrior rhetoric? Do they mean anymore than News-at-Ten soundbite platitudes? Why do I perceive so many barriers, FASHIONS, STEREOTYPED MUSIC, NARCOTIC PREFERENCES, ALL MY PETTY DISTASTES. To the shared experience, which I keep hoping will, destroy the isolation, of mistrust. What am I outside? Outside the other outcasts? Oh to be part of the unified struggle. When did I become a recluse? Perhaps if I find a purpose, ARTIST, MUSICIAN, WORKER, FIGHTER. But I know I won’t, until I destroy, part of my own mind, cobwebbed corners of my subconscious mind, apathy makes me stop. HELP ME, WHEN THE, APATHY, MAKES ME, STOP. These are the things that I need, SELF ESTEEM, SELF CONFIDENCE, MOTIVATION, ANGER. To make the jump from, the comforts I knew and life as I know it, to the freedom I crave. I’m not looking to the mainstream for my rewards, AND I’M NOT WAITING TO SEE, IT I WAS WRONG ALL ALONG ABOUT THE AFTERLIFE. The bit of my head that’s writing this song, wants to overcome what’s holding me back. The biggest frustration is my own impatience, hope I can change before I get old. SO TO WHOEVER IT MAY CONCERN, Push me, I want to be of use somewhere, putting to use the skills I’ve pick up. Push me, personal contact is both the inspiration and the reward. Push me, I’ve got thoughts in my head, thoughts in my head. THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD are nothing but words…
Track Name: Diversity
DIVERSITY. Biodiversity ensures, survival of ecosystems, Could civilization end, if the status quo had no rival? LESS FOR THE MORE, MORE FOR THE FEW. That’s the few that make the decisions, set the income, set the spending, set the trends, set the agenda. AN IN-BRED SOCIETY, FOR ME AND FOR YOU. Tory conservative, labour conservative, liberal conservative, green conservative. Power structure conservation, middle-class conversation. WORKING CLASS ALIENATION. Let Darwin bear witness to diversity’s fitness. Tolerating differences, but not the cruelty, and not the greed, and not the hypocrisy, and not the illusions. HEAR EVERY VOICE, NO MORE.

HOBSON’S CHOICE. You too can know the satisfaction of work, holidays abroad and driving that shiny Merc. We’ll show you your ideal life with statistical facts. We’ll even help you with your Income Tax. An ideal life gets closer on Election day. THE FEEL GOOD FACTOR IS ONLY A VOTE AWAY. Would the lefties and the unemployed, please keep down the noise. While the Leader explains the meaning of choice, how a cross on paper gives you a choice. DO YOU FEEL GOOD NOW? We’ll get the Poor up off their arse, more nurses when work breaks your back, we’ll even teach your kids to behave in class. DO YOU FEEL GOOD NOW? To keep you safe we’ll keep an eye on you, special powers for the Boys in Blue. DO YOU FEEL GOOD NOW? Parliamentary stagnation, sub-culture extinction. So democratic selection, KILLS SOCIETY’S EVOLUTION. Survival of the fittest, or should that read richest? ROOT OF SOCIETY’S SICKNESS. When money insanity dies, survivors will reel with surprise, THEY’LL BE NO ALTERNATIVES, WHEN THE OUTCASTS ARE DEAD AND GONE…