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Strange Time

by MF Tomlinson

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1.
If God exists it seems the world is really ending The sky is red with flame and now there is a plague I’m still completely stunned, when you said this year would be different I should have asked you what that meant Somehow the days dripped into weeks, slipped into seasons But in here it’s like it’s twilight all the time Now that the city is oh so quiet And the sirens fill the air with a bitter cry It’s a Strange Time Now I'm locked down in my home Just scrolling on my phone I’m trying to fathom the tragedy now and hereafter Everybody’s been saying how they need to take a break We got more than we bargained for this time It’s a Strange Time It ain't play time Locked down in my home Practicing the saxophone The neighbours ain't happy but then again who’s really happy? Now’s the time to do all the things that you’ve been putting off Like pray to your maker that everything will be alright It is peaceful and uneasy in the evening I lean out my window sill and sip my glass of wine Now all of the towns and the cities are oh so quiet Can you feel us all looking up at that distant sky? In a Strange Time It ain't play time
2.
Spring 06:46
Sun you rose up early this morning Rose so much higher than you usually do I just stared out my window, looking at you Spring was here again And there was nothing I could do A bird on a feather flew The world belonged to itself again It was the happiest feeling I’d known for days To know that when we are gone the world belongs to itself again Have you ever been in an empty room? It’s very still I could not say that of the real world The lions took back Trafalgar Square And dolphins leapt free of the Thames just outside the Tate The tigers of America all played on the planes The alligators of New York All crawled out of the drains Only the pigeons complained About the lack of canapés It was the happiest feeling I’d known for days To know that when we are gone the world belongs to itself again Have you ever been in an empty room? It’s very still I could not say that of the real world
3.
At the end of a long day Begins another day At the end of a long list Begins another list And all the things you said you was gonna do Just keep on catching up to you And getting in the way Of that one thing you really wanna do I wake with the bakers and go haunting the arches The ghosts there encounter a struggling artist Tipping the bums and the pigeons with rye Cos you can’t take it with you so I wave them goodbye And I watch them take off Hope they come down easy And the angels are already gone Gone from this place Driven out of the city I heard that might be the case Driven out of the city Even further than Margate Driven away At the end of a long day It’s just gone lunch At the edges of a conversation Your fantasy may be fed If not the busman could help you beat your escape Down to Limehouse at a breakneck pace Slipping through the cracks in the rain Trying to resist The unspeakable emptiness That taps with its bony fingers through its ragged cloak Tap, tap, tapping on your shoulder And taunting you to turn around It’s ready with the net At the end of a long day We have each other At the end of a long winding staircase There are the covers that cover my body but not my toes I lie very still And try not to wriggle At the end of a long night I hope everything’s gonna be alright
4.
She goes to Newington Green to fetch rhubarb and clementines At the table a feast With all the things your eyes have been Dreaming of eating That flicker on your lips and you’re still alone At this time of the year Them Apples are hard to find Form a line down the street And mind your Qs and Ps And where you cough and you sneeze Move along, stay away or I’ll get the police! All the world was in my eyes I didn’t see you passing by And so everyday was the same You know inside the museum infinity’s kept in exile Did you hear the Venetians didn’t go green Now the fishes are nipping at their knees Isn’t that funny oh isn’t it a scream Ti hee hee hee Books rattle in their shelves trying to save themselves from the fire Sticking notes down your sleeve Written in Bangladeshi Saying come save us, come help me! S.O.S can you hear us on the high street? I saw a statue begging with its body bare I had to leave it standing there And so every day was the same Guru said to free your mind It'll help you work the overtime And so everyday was the same Talk to me world… Talk to me world, why won’t you talk to me? Tell me everything Talk to me world, why won’t you talk to me? Tell me everything that’s going on Looking out from deep inside I began to realise Flowers blooming in my hand A window to the universe Opening up, showing me everything I stared endlessly at a screen Like a rock, or a stone, or a slate, or a skull And so everyday was the same She goes to Newington Green to fetch brimstone and nightshade now (Laughter) We don't talk about monsters cos we know they listen out Oh aren’t you sweet All the things that we see You do not need to speak We thought you knew we see everything Even when we’re really here, half of us hangs in the air Even when we’re fast asleep, somewhere we labour in the deep Even when we’re all alone, something stares back on us all And so everyday was the same Why won't you talk to me? Tell me everything... Talk to me world, why won’t you talk to me? Tell me everything Talk to me world, why won’t you talk to me? Tell me everything that’s going on
5.
Baby’s been gone, too long The day’s growing short The winter’s coming on And baby’s been gone too long La la la, la la When the cat’s away It all goes to the dogs The mice come to play It’s no fun at all When baby’s been gone too long When your baby’s been gone and you wish that they wasn’t Things just tend to go from bad to worst Not sure what’s coming next but I bet it’s gonna hurt When your baby’s been gone and you wish that they weren’t It’s the same old song I hear you yawning, I know you’re bored Still it pours out of me, adding nothing to the world Sticky as oil Pulling creatures underneath the waves Burning holes in the sky, starting wars and just generally Fucking up your day - still I implore Do not stop me if you’ve heard this one before My baby’s been gone When the cat’s away The wolves come to the door The mice turn and say "Hey man, These ain't our friends... they must be yours." And the angel in palm of your hand says "This time man I’ve done all I can But I really do understand your baby’s been gone." La la la, la la When your baby’s been gone and you wish that they wasn’t Things just tend to go from bad to bleak If you didn’t think that love could bring you to your knees This kind of shit’s gonna make you believe When baby comes home well I’ll be overjoyed Hug and hold her never let her leave Raise a glass to the moon and say a prayer for the lovers When your baby’s been gone and you wish that they wasn’t
6.
Ran into bad luck Lost count at three Now I’m running in the park Instead of on a wheel Can’t help but hoping Even when I’m low Giving me the same old feeling I've had for so long I don’t go to parties Or stay out late But I’m starting early though So it’s kind of the same Now my clothes don’t fit right I’m getting fat and old Still I got that same old feeling I had for so long Easter’s coming I know Takes me by surprise - another year gone Still I got that same old feeling I had for so long Winter’s coming I know It’s coming around, so hold on Soon you’ll find that same old feeling And you had it all along You’ll find me writing And drinking gin And reading ghost stories And sleeping in And freaking out And laying low Leads me to that same old feeling I ain't felt in so long Sent straight from hell was A very long year Lost some special people They’ll always be near Gonna make em proud though I know this for sure It’s giving me a brave new feeling I ain’t ever felt before Thursday, 8pm I know It’ll take me by surprise - out on my run Listen to the whole world breaking into a round of applause Winter’s coming I know It’s coming around, but hold on Soon you’ll find that same old feeling And you had it all along Soon you'll find that same old feeling

about

MF Tomlinson’s debut album Strange Time is born from the liminal space that we’ve been living in, his candid poetry and expansive sonic caress capturing a true-life portrait of a world in turmoil – the personal mental strains, global political reckonings, and, most of all, humanity’s ability to connect and survive through it all. Strange Time boasts a rich tapestry of brass, woodwinds, strings, and more, with half the songs stretching languorously and naturally beyond the five minute mark, gently drawing you into the album’s current. Trading files back and forth between the cast of players, with some remote recordings coming from overseas and even far-flung continents, Strange Time’s composition is a testament to artistic and human connection in a time of forced separation.

9/10 - Gigwise

8/10 - Northern Transmissions

★★★★ - Mojo Magazine

'Strange Time' is his broadest, most in-depth document yet, one that represents a surge in creative energy - Clash

Slow-burning traction tied to light acoustic brushes, subtle keys and smouldering sax interludes... Tomlinson confronts the hum drum with ennui, rather than sugar-coated escapism - Line of Best Fit

credits

released April 9, 2021

All songs produced by MF Tomlinson and Arie van der Poel except for A Long Day produced by MF Tomlinson, Arie van der Poel and Viljam Nybacka. Mixed by Arie van der Poel. Mastered by Syd Kemp.

All songs written by MF Tomlinson except for † Them Apples written by MF Tomlinson and Viljam Nybacka

Recorded at home and at Kluster Rooms with Chris Smith, Ariesound Studios with Arie van der Poel, Rainy Studios and at Vacant TV Studios with Euan Hinshelwood and Richard Ian James in London, UK

Featuring performances from
MF Tomlinson: Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar, Synthesisers, Saxophone
Joe Connor: Pianet, Clarinet, Bass Guitar
Viljam Nybacka: Bass Guitar, Organ
Marcus Hamblett: Flugelhorn, Trumpet
Connie Chatwin: Backing Vocals
Fifi Homan: Cello
Ami Koda: Flute, Backing Vocals
Gail Tasker: Flute
Ed Grimshaw: Drums
Yiğit Bülbül: Percussion
Ben Manning: Double Bass
Electric Guitar: Angus James

Cover Art by Chiara Baima Poma
Sleeve Design by Tomas Jefanovas
Photography by Emily Underhill

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about

MF Tomlinson London, UK

An eclectic singer/songwriter “who seems to use music as a means to excavate within the soul” - Clash. Primarily a storyteller, MF Tomlinson negotiates styles as varied as acid folk, soul, alt country & chamber pop to create a singular presence. He achieves this genre fluidity with the help of a close-knit group of collaborators he calls “the MFs, because they’re all very talented motherfuckers.” ... more

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