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I Exercised Myself to Death!

by Matt Stockl

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Ian Mitchell
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Ian Mitchell The new album is just wonderful. So lyrically sharp and the tones of the keys and lead instruments are spot on. If Bob Dylan and Alex Turner had a bastard son; it would be Matt Stockl . Tracks 1,2,3,4,6 and 9 are particularly stunning. Buy this album! Favorite track: I Exercised Myself to Death!.
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1.
Love Island 02:47
I met my baby on Love Island, all alone. Just her and me and the sound of the sea and six million folks back home. We commenced a-courting. She’s the one for me. Spray tans, romance, a concealed camera and you is all I need. We made love in the moonlight, tangled up in the sheets. The viewers went wild, the ratings sky-highed, we arrived to five million tweets. No secrets between us. No hiding place. The waves crashed down on the shores of Love Island and washed all the walls away. I met my sweetheart on Love Island by the sea. The beautiful union of two human bodies laid bare for the world to see. A gift from my girl and me.
2.
No pain, no gain Plain white protein Supplement your diet with a daily regime Bulk shake Heart break A million pills Healthy living made me ill I can’t catch my breath I exercised myself to death Too much, too young No moderation Never read the labels, never take caution Take the pharmaceuticals, build the body beautiful Dumbbell Drug hell Dying in a stairwell Tight chest Bed rest Six months left I exercised myself to death And I ain’t workin’ out on muscle farm no more I ain’t workin’ out on muscle farm no more I ain’t gonna train I was forced to refrain by the physical pain The mass that I gained Laid down, bed bound, fused to the sheets It’s a sticky end for the fitness freak Laid down, bed bound, fused to the sheets It’s a sticky end No pain, no gain Slipped disk Back strain Pink thighs rubbing on the red raw raised veins Pump iron Kink spine Suffer on your own time Leakage Seepage Delicate shrinkage I can’t catch my breath I exercised myself to death I can’t catch my breath I exercised myself to death And I ain’t workin’ out on muscle farm no more I ain’t gonna work on muscle farm no more I ain’t gonna train I was forced to refrain by the physical pain wracking my frame Laid down, bed bound, fused to the sheets It’s a sticky end for the fitness freak Laid down, bed bound, fused to the sheets It’s a sticky end
3.
My mind’s a blank, my past is chequered Turns out what goes on tour stays on your criminal record But I’m serving my time and I beg your pardon - Back in 1971 I was nothing but soft rock, hard drugs and hard on - comfortably numb Baby, I’ve been around the block too often to soften The lower lip bitten and released Exploratory fingertips, protests unnoticed Its all in the hips By ’79 life was just long limbs, long nights, long white lines The age of consent Last of the rock and roll sexual deviants A hand creeps up your thigh Tight pants Last of the rock and roll sexual miscreants And if I’d known it was a crime chances are I’d still be right here serving my time In the showbiz suite of the H.M.P. hotel Well… It’s anyone’s guess. Last of the rock and roll sex pests And there’s a hole in this whole vibration since we found out It wasn’t rock and roll, it was molestation ’71 - long gone And there’s a hole in this whole system of classification We called it rock and roll, turns out it was molestation ’71 - long gone I’m 72 - a rock god facing the firing squad
4.
I’m no loving luddite, I always try my best to fall in line each time with the opinions expressed by the lust list columnists, the leading technophiles who feed me what I need to live in comfort and style. Who tantalise and tease me and get me in a sweat. Who work me up to climax then leave me in debt. I’m foaming. I’m yearning. I’m dangerously obsessed. I’m restless. I’m burning. I’m lusting for the next piece of sweet technology that burrows in my mind and plants a seed of longing that grows greater over time until it splits me down the middle and bursts forth on the vine: a dystopian paean to the past I’ve left behind. I’m a victim of advance. I’m the mug. I’m the mark. I’m prey to corporations operating in the dark who supply my desires and the means to fulfil the needs I never knew I had with things I never will. I’m the victim of a dream of black screens and low prices, lumbered with a number of historical devices. My home becomes a bone yard, my garage a grave of obsolete technologies no update can save. I feel my age upon me, etched into my flesh. I closed my eyes one second and I woke up in the next millennium. I think I’m past my best. I’m up to date with last year’s tech. I feel my age upon me, written on my flesh. I dropped the ball. I’m off the boil. I’m sadly out of step. I’m current as a comb-over/tape deck/ turtle neck. I’m last year’s tech.
5.
Some year’s on since I wrote that song and I long still for the day’s when violence was young. I close my eyes and I’m back again in the broken glass, in the tangle of flesh with a fist full of hair and teeth that meet in my breast. Black Friday’s not what it used to be. I can remember a time when violence was young. Black Friday’s not what it used to be. Somewhere along the line we lost what it was. I know that I’m a man out of time. I close my eyes and I’m back again in that sweet, sweating hell In the burned out shell of Asda In the ashes of them that fell. I lost a part of my heart to the bargain hunt that day. I left the whole of myself on the shelf: Heart, soul, DNA Black Friday’s not what it used to be. I can remember a time when violence was young. Black Friday’s not what it used to be. The day I shop online is the day I’m undone - All the convenience but none of the fun
6.
Phoneblind 01:42
With your blue light blazing in my eyes I am mesmerised by your beauty. With your blue light blazing in my eyes I am surprised by a sudden shocking impact as I step into the traffic. I’m phoneblind - an accident waiting to happen. I’m so much in love with you. I cannot believe I ever lived without your loving in my life. Broken ribs. Punctured lung. I sued for damages and won. I took the bastard for a ton. You’d better keep your wits about you when my baby and I come along - all blazing blue light and furious thumbs. Oh, I’m phoneblind - I only have eyes for you. I’m phoneblind. I step into the traffic.
7.
Vows 03:01
To you, my love, I solemnly swear I’ll never let another woman cut my hair The glory of my gleaming dome belongs to you alone And though objectively bereft I pledge to thee what I have left For time’s a thief but life’s a gift In return I stake my claim on your maturing thread veins Your silver streaks Your springing leaks Whatever youth remains You can keep my broken teeth: chipped enamel stripped beneath an acid bath of sweet release I know the drill I will prize you failing eyes, your pretty multiplying lines, your dress size as the numbers rise I will And oh, my sweet, I pledge to thee my alcohol dependancy My laziness, my apathy, my temper In exchange I claim your rage - Mood swings worsening with age Your questionable taste in television The silence of our sulks The woes of our lows The violence of our collisions
8.
Down at the Dream of Fair Women we made a mistake- We stayed until day break. Me and Marie on a trip to the sea in a Volkswagen Polo with P-plates. I’d just passed my test, I was shaky at best We stuck to the back roads and byways. I ran off the road. We had to be towed - Wedged in the hedges sideways. Crumbling pre-war resort Some Victorian hell Sea front/ back water hotel: Grim. Soaked to the skin We checked in without checking the intel. The place was a mess, the decor distressed The sign said the Dream of Fair Women. Memory fails me. The darkness assails me. Phosphor dot trails at the edge of my vision. And all I want is the wifi code. All I want is a tow back to the road. Dim lit plague pit Pagan retreat Grey meat, stale beer and bingeing Stains on the ceiling that drip in your drink Down at the Dream of Fair Women The pay phone was smashed They only took cash My contactless credit amounted to nothing. Unable to pay in cash for our stay We had to pay with something And all I want is the wifi code All I want is a tow back to the road But what did we get? The cannibal set The spectres The demons the drinking What did we get? On all sides beset by the dead At the Dream of Fair Women
9.
Communal Radio Workplace Grievance Squad Internal colleague station friction logged The seething resentment, the silence in the staff canteen Is bliss ‘Taste is subjective,’ they told me as they sat me down And cleaned the wounds on my hands and the blood from my brow. What can I say? I wasn’t myself that day. A switch flicked inside me. I woke with my hands pinned behind me, My cheek to the floor And a knee in my shoulder blades. Thanks to Communal Radio Workplace Grievance Squad I lost my mind but I kept my job. The workers have gone round the bend. Once again, it begins as a perk And it ends in a law suit. A minor dispute between friends escalates. I swear I won’t touch that dial again. One more inventive incentive designed to distract from the tortuous passage of time. Oh, Communal Radio Workplace Grievance Squad Restrain me. Sedate me. I feel another fit coming on...
10.
Lycra Man 03:55
Towards the waning of my third decade on earth I swelled a little round the middle, I gained a little girth I was happy with my handles but my lover never learned to love my curves I went and bought myself a suit of running clothes: elasticated leggings in a drastic shade of mauve That bound me, and contained me, and distributed the load And wicked away the wetness of my skin See sense, pedestrians These paths were paved for me ‘Cos I’m Lycra Man I’m Lycra Man I dress for speed not style I dress to luminesce Then I go glowing down those many lonely miles Between the body in my joggers And the body in my mind I’m Lycra Man I’m Lycra Man I’m brighter than the sun Tighter attire you’ve never seen It must be painted on Oh, I was born to put it on Baby, I was born to run So I bought myself a wristwatch with a vast glass glowing face To calculate my calories And regulate my pace To monitor my movements And moderate my weight In a feral fit bit shit fit I kicked the arse right out of it I smashed it I killed it I used up all my store Of violent jargonistic aggressive fitness business metaphor See sense, pedestrians I own the roads and streets ‘Cos I’m Lycra Man I’m Lycra Man Upon my mighty flanks A million rainbow rivers flow Then swell and burst their banks My body is a temple: An ageing grey expanse I’m Lycra Man I’m Lycra Man I’m brighter than the sun When I pass by, the people cry: ‘It must be painted on!’ Oh, I was born to put it on Baby, I was born to run Baby, I was born to run

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released July 28, 2019

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Matt Stockl UK

Cynical, satirical, lyrical, comical.

Daft songs. Grubby recordings.

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