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released August 6, 2016

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optiphonal wonder machine San Francisco, California

Based in the San Francisco Bay Area, Optiphonal Wonder Machine is an audiovisual, synthpop and improvisation band. Drawing inspiration from post-punk, Appalachian folk music, experimental improvisation, mythology, and science fiction; OWM uses live video processing, songs, and improvisation for our performances. ... more

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Track Name: Under The Skin
Don’t feel the wind
Don’t feel the cold
Just see you when
You walk alone
You walk alone

An improvised exercise
A predatory love turning
Turning prey and loneliness
No one prays for loneliness

Nothing
Nothing makes me feel
Nothing
Nothing makes me feel like you

I stole this from you
And how it shapes me anyway
All the ways they see me
All the ways I look

No one here seems to be
only trying to survive
They’re all pulling me in
Inside, under the skin

Nothing
Nothing makes me feel
Nothing
Nothing makes me feel like you

And all your rituals
Mindless, primitive,
animal
But under
Under the skin
is you despite me
And under
Under everything
what was only imaginary

Nothing
Nothing makes me feel
Nothing
Nothing makes me feel like you
Track Name: The Man Who Fell To Earth
The man who fell to earth
fell to a lonely place
a conquered abandoned west
for a lonely man from space

He could have most anything
But freedom or home
Icarus’ cry
Cares nothing for your view of the sky

Oh, you’ve so far to go
Years in this guise
And no way
to let them know
You’re still alive
And no way to say
to them you’re okay

So let’s settle down
in a house by a lake
while we wait for the day
we don’t have to pretend

And while she ponders God
I’ll watch tv
And try to remember
A time when water
Was worth more than
The right view of the sky

Oh, you’ve so far to go
Years in this guise
And no way
to let them know
You’re alive
And no way to say
to them you’re okay
Track Name: Merry Go Round
Strange strange morning tide
lick the shore
kill the night
break the dawn
in sunless fight
Tungsten light
leeches the dogstar of her sky

Small small under sky
skip sidewalk cracks
spit, and gum-rounds
Dripping wet
she goes inside,
the dogstar by her side

And I’m old and I’m old
and like a merry-go-round
And there’s no one else here
but Al'shira’s hound
sitting sideways on the Northern Line

Sing sing for your supper
What is dragged from the sea
is dragged from the sky
What is dragged from the sky
is dragged out of time
robbing the dogstar of her goodbyes

Hot heat of the underground summer
How can you explain
what you’ve lost in one Sothic year
She could hunt howl or wait
but there’s no point in begging
for deity’s fodder

And I’m old and I’m old
and like a merry-go-round
And there’s no one else left
but Alshire’s hound
getting nowhere on the Northern Line

Sometimes the city’s on fire
We go up for the flames
bathe in the burning
take what is ours
burnt offerings from forgotten
human promises

And I’m old and I’m old
and like a merry-go-round
And there’s no one else left
but Alshere’s hound
getting nowhere on the Northern Line.

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