Door Frames

by Pete Yelding

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about

Doorframes is an 8-track album on which each track is paired with a particular space or environment, either due to having a physical influence on the track’s conception, a shared aesthetic or specific subject matter associated with that space. The title of the album is important as it highlights the relationship between the songs and these spaces; looking in through a doorframe at a space is passive, you are looking in, absorbing a segment and being affected by it, but your experience has no impact on that space itself. Furthermore, this passive involvement will lead to contextual assumptions based on specific details drawn from experience of that space.

credits

released May 1, 2012

PINKHAUS RECORDS

All lyrics and music written and scored by Pete Yelding


Clarinet parts: Jack McNeill, Andrew Hopper, Michael Webb
Contrabassoon: Kathryn Harris
Trumpet: Catherine Knight
Trombone: Will Rumney
Tuba: Andy Johnson
Percussion: Doug Ward
Harp: Kinga Was
Piano: Vicky Bonham
Guitar and Voice: Pete Yelding
Violin I: Simon Goff
Violin II: Charlie Heys
Viola: Vicky Strudwick
Cello: Isaac Collier, Pete Yelding
Double Bass: Alexia Barbera

Recording, editing, mixing: Luke Morrish-Thomas
Mastering: David Mitson

Illustration: Jane Bottomley

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about

Pete Yelding London, UK

Pete is currently based in London. His main instruments are Cello, Voice and Sitar.

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Track Name: You Are An Engineer
Building bridges from blocks.
Concrete squares metal bars.

Setting the holes in the rocks
In which roots are planted to grow
Upwards and outwards.

Nuggets of bricks and boulders
Cut roughly rugged to size,
Transported one day by rollers
Now trucks and lorries from big sandy quarries
And mines.
Track Name: Food For The Flies
Slow down slow down, don’t take the adverts in.
We will end up duped
Into active laziness.
What a bore what a bore they say.

Watch the world fall around us like walls of a time bomb
Ticking in front of our eyes.
Play with the screen and be actively idle,
Make food for the flies.

Fat boys and girls on their new fitness program wait for their next TV fix.
Constantly told that the mind’s over rated, wait for that button to press.
Wait for them to break out that soft subtle game cell,
They will know what’s best.

Watch the world fall around us like walls of a time bomb
Ticking in front of our eyes.
Play with the screens and be actively idle. Make food for the flies.
Track Name: Back To The Drawing Board
Structure cannot stand without foundations.
My house had to build its own.
Inside it was beautiful,
Outside it was homely.
Then when came the one and only
Wolf at the door

To make my wall’s crumble,
To blow my house down,
My little pig was rumbled
But I won’t leave town.

Back to the drawing board
With nothing but a crayon.
Study all the past designs
And build it up once more.

These walls will never crumble.
This house won’t blow down.
I will never be rumbled
But may choose to leave town.
Track Name: Fog Swallows
Two people sharing their palms make two
Backs as out rolls the tide.
Cold air that’s cushioned by mist,
twists round the boat
On which one will reside.
Palms start to loosen and words whispered
Slowly assure
That the silhouettes they knew
Still stand there and smile.
But a half whole droplet still forms
In the lower lip of their eyes.

A wooden boat pulls away
Ripples in Waves,
As his face firmly fixed
Doesn’t drop its gaze
At the figure standing ashore.
She stares back softly one more time
Before cloud envelops his arms.
His body becomes a shadow.
He will remain her silhouette.
Belonging now to the fog.
Track Name: Tubes
Not another queue for
The oyster only buffet
With no edible food.
Time rushes by but still does not move.

Eaten by the barriers.
Swallowed by the tubes.

Elbows and knees pointing
Suit cases, shoes, ties breach
Tempo is key, eyes red
Running allowed, stay left
Fresh dirty breeze, draughts blow
Increasing speed, and flow
Run to the doors, open
Falling inside composed.

Busy stop station no
Room to sit down, fists clench
Moving again, rumbling
Commuters now stand up
Fingering book, quite keen
To take a seat, kick back
Passengers leave, you see
Chance to relax, and day dream.

Now I must go get out
My fucking way you cunt
Elbows and knees dig in
People are mean leaving
Run up the stairs, get out
Spat out the front, we’re free.
Track Name: Dust Settles
Air cold as stones
Hangs dank and low.
Bare bricked four walls
Chapped cut and cracked,
But still it holds.

Powdered beams eroded forms
Dance like wood snow flakes.
Fall down slowly to fill slots
Where tiles break.

Grand metal skirts
Hang oddly poised.
Ring ready ropes
Pulled taught and clung.
Pulled taught and clung.
Pulled struck and rung.

Ferrous forms are oxidised
In the heavy air.
Resonance not optimised
But never lost.
But never lost.
Track Name: Tissue
Take the white sheet softly
Hold it light in your hand.
The softest drop of water
Could break its sweet design.

Such a delicate construction.
So simple and so pretty.
Yet we still use it to wipe our arse.
It stands on the front line for us.

The softest of things
Have the ugliest jobs.
It only exists for dirt,
Gunge, urine spills and snot.
Track Name: Doors And Lids
Doors close, doors open
Doors close, doors open.

They exist to allow us to see,
They exist to allow us to not.

Lids close, lids open
Lids close, lids open.

They exist to allow us to drink,
They exist to allow us to not.
And doors exist to allow us to see,
Doors exist to allow us to not.
Lids exist to allow us to drink.
Doors exist to allow us to see
And they exist to allow us to not.
They exist to allow us to not.