Svan Darc – Purge EP

An honest and insightful review of my genius friend Dan Svarc’s EP, ‘Purge.’ It’s well worth a listen – download it for the full experience. It’s exciting stuff. Also, look out for my own vocals, sampled and imprisoned forever in Purge 3. Pleasure to be part of the project.

Yeah I Know It Sucks

Artist: Svan Darc
Title: Purge EP
keywords: electronic, gothic, noise, ambient, soundscape, Lincoln

Honest reviews are a rare kind, but when you find them; they will be here and written in all honesty. Honesty is what we are all about, and when a request comes in for a honest review, it is basically just a task like every other.

Yeah! Yeah!

Today we had such a request.. When going for the provided link my honest opinion first noticed the cover of the release.. This kind of picture is a popular one among underground releases, I can’t point fingers to all the artists that used a similar picture like this before, but there should be a couple in our database. However this might be the first time to see this image in black and white, which just might save the day for lethal honest opinion. So skipping the artwork, it’s down to…

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A window at night

 

window in the dark

 

A window is only as safe as its glass,

And it hides just as little. By this edge of your home,

You may stare out to trees, watch the day’s light pass,

As it leaves you, quite alone.

 

And a window is tangible nothing, one handprint,

One closeness of breath from revealing its mark.

By it’s half-light, you see what its silences hint,

Look out to the neighbouring dark.

 

From the window, the clearing is shadowed to sight

And its form and shape seem black in hue:

You’ll stare past trees to the death of night,

And the night stares back at you.

As I am today, so you will be tomorrow

 

As i am today pic

 

Yours are moments of the now,

Sights of a golden sun,

Songbird shadows flashing through

A May that’s just begun,

Sewn with summer’s promise to

A splendour of your own.

Mine are memories of the hour,

Of earth and mist as one,

Shadows borne on your tomorrow,

Both forged in ash and bone.

Your sunbird summer will be ours

When at last our dance is done.

 

In my hometown church in Newark-on-Trent, the church has hidden in one of its sepulchres an image of a danse macabre. The image, as above, is of a rich young prince, confronted with a contrary, meagre image of Death. It is given an epithet very popular in Middle Age artwork of this genre: As I am today, so you will be tomorrow. 

Flirtation outside cafés

 

On the terrace where I kept my seat,

As he lingered there, two fingers on the lip

Of a coffee cup, the slow game of sweet

Imagination played. Dark swathes of rogue,

Rich hair; his face a monument to his

Purpose, concentration, as he read

A novel at the café’s outside seating.

Two fingers, on the lip: a motionless

Instruction, a pose most apposite

Whilst I savoured my cigarette, some seats away.

The truth-or-dare of watching; a staring game

The rules of which we’re only now discovering.

There is no more exquisite pleasure, than

The promise of these flavours, savoured here –

That face returns: and so I place my wager

In the inhalation of smoke, and taste of coffee,

Draining my cup. I hold the moment finely,

Readying myself for our discussion.

 

 

I think we’ve all had the pleasure of seeing, entirely by chance, a beautiful person at a café. Isn’t it just divine, to waste a few minutes drinking down their image, half-flirtatiously; subtly enjoying the view? And then, of course, you go your separate ways. You finish your drink, gather your coat and continue life. This is an important a part of the process: crossing paths briefly, and enjoying that brevity. 

The Surface of Oak

 

Oak grain pic

 

The surface of oak: it is earth, haunted
by weaving years. Its fine body, branded
by the grain of its slow, considered growth,
like stretch marks of a contented mother
or the residue of the tide.

 

Beneath the bark, we keep a finer pattern
flowing through us: lines of time, binding
our knots and whorls, imperfections, souls,
so that, in cross-section, we might appear
as gods in our design.

 

A night this is, to kill a love

 

A night this is, to kill a love:

The weary stars have seen enough.

They’ve wept at how we’ve wondered here

From their fine view, so clear above.

 

Together, us: so almost-near

Beside the fire, once tender, dear.

They must be tired, to see us dance

This mortal grasping, once sincere.

 

I plead to them: But once last chance,

Please, prove our moment of romance;

Alas they know this night is our

Last to share in their expanse.

 

To kill a love: this is the hour.

So under their expanse, devour

This moment, love: this fading chance,

As starlight dies on our romance.

 

 

Don’t worry, darling. Our love is very much alive, and the stars are happy for us. Inspired by Robert Frost and Dylan Thomas. 

Blends of watercolour

 

Watercolour sea

 

As it lasted, we met: the blue entirety

Of an open sky. Our new expanse of time

Meant we could be two loves, like two distinct

Songbirds in the distance, flying apart

Together, free. We painted love like art

And overlapped like waters: we were linked

By something wide, a shade both yours and mine,

Ourselves, but drifting in our surety.

 

Perhaps the colours spilt: lost subtlety

In how we were. Eventually, I’d find

Our shared horizons distantly would shift.

We shared too much, perhaps: for every part,

And every pulse was beat from our same heart.

One cannot live by halves. So, cast adrift

As our own, we learnt to shade our own blue skies:

All that we share now, is blue entirety.

 

Inspired by Kate Bush lyrics and a good friend.