by blue odeur

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Arsenic 05:02
I can see what you did no waiting for the verdict to run bay bay Even though the half of it is politics it's necessary lately Bleeding through the cotton pads blue tears for fears, bravery You and me and the devil make three, she forgave me Foolish plays denial games of oaths all men must die, they say Lay your bones on the alabaster stones, lay lady lay the greatest fools know they're fools, forgive me Dont you know thats the secret, maybe <i>'That, of course, is the great secret of the successful fool – that they are no fool at all.' </i> A rhizome reaction rhinestoned into glass eyes, you A mirror inside a mirror's side, me too A puncti to a heavy sigh, may the devil bleed thee Pyrite pastimes piece perspective, glazed Polished in the way snow shines, fazed A late bloom harbouring a black hole, Arsenic in a bulky tree Some for you, and some for me Some for you, and some for me
Fabrege 02:52
Jeramy is right when he calls us a colossal misunderstanding Synthetic pig skin stretching over a fabrege chasis If handled improperly, Humpty Dumpty could make a cameo While cops in camo pants delight in our spilled treasures Like a child discovering a geode And we writhe in pieces, Unable to discern intense pleasure From overwhelming pain Unable to put ourselves Back together again
Hey Matteo, wherever you go, I'll be watching you. Hey Laura, wherever you are, I'll be with you, too. Hey hey hey, Mackenzie Cruse, wherever you go girl, Wherever you are, I'll be with you, too. Hey world, wherever you go, I'll be with you, too. You don't have me yet, but I have you I know all the rules I know all the laws Physics and chemistry and capitalist too Federal and municipal and loophole too, I know all the rules. The law I'll be watching you watching me watching you I'll be watching you watching me watching you Like a mirror with a mirror in its teeth in a two-way mirror room --are you comfortable with this? I'm comfortable because I'm a cop I know what is and what is not Hey why you walking why you walking why you walking away from me Why you walking why you walking why you walking away from me... ...come back?
We took the safe way, Hedging bets at stop lights, Heckling at the very, very pregnant Pre-pubescent silence With shaky steps down the frozen food isle, Angles calculated, proximity an issue, Even then I could feel the temperature drop near your shoulders Shrugging off slices of slices of passive agressive cuisine I saw it flare up when I asked to use baby basil; My darling Bartleby, of course you would prefer not. So, stuffing feta, we signal a retreat to starchy shell, Ignoring the flare of your nostrils, Flooding instead tear ducts with bad jokes, Clouding your judgement enough to pilfer a glance: I haven't heard your smile in decades. Haven't on the walk, haven't in the park, haven't at dusk, haven't in the nicotine rush Nor within this flood of your bone prints, Stored safe-a-way in my skin.
Quand je vais au supermarché Il y a une chienne à coté Qui a besoin de votre amour Qui a besoin de votre adoration Quand je me coucher au lit De hors, la milieu du nuit Il y a une chienne à coté Qui a besoin de m'adoration Quand je suis au coin de la rue Je pense que la chienne m'a volée Une pièce de mon identité J'ai besoin de votre amour J'ai besoin de votre adoration.
The macroscopic is the third removed Is the microscopic Insignificance Peeled from the bottom Of your shoe Is the smug laugh of disappointment Ha ha ha That those in power don’t even know what to do Other than gain, which in turn, Means losing too. Is the negotiation of the new, And not the forgetting of the old So much as learning wounds from scar tissue If it tingles, check for mold Especially as it de-recomposes In fits of disruption What to do what to do what do What to do what to do what do Hello? Who’s calling? Dna collection services? You want my dna? That’s not how you spell my… wait who are you? Why are you being so aggressive on the phone? Can you tell me what this is about? hell o? Hello? Hello this message is for laura bardsley, this is jhfsjkjks from djhsjknnaa collectionsnh services, ihfishfif you could give us a call back at 1800, 1800, 1800, jjdgjkhgsjhsjkh, pop!
If I beg the question, use conclusion as premise, Will my reasoning be circular and will it eat itself? Where is the beginning, and where is the end? Did I come in through the out door Or am I a back door man instead? From repetition signifies that it has been extensively discussed Until nobody really cares anymore From silence, from authority, Will my attributes leak falsities? Are you irrelevant? Do I appeal to you? Unqualified? Do I appeal to you? Biased? Do I appeal to you? Fabricated? Do I appeal to you? Do I appeal to you? Do I? The flaw is failing to account for natural fluctuations. Please.
Nachbar Gott 03:12
Neighbour god, What do you fear? Is it you or is it me? Neighbour god, What's happy taste like? Is it sweet or is it salty? Neighbour god, What's your content? Did who made the lamb make thee? Neighbour god, What do you know? Who framed thy fearful symmetry? Neighbour god, What do you believe in? Is it yourself or another deity? Neighbour god, What's your position? Is it oppression or solidarity? Neighbour god, What's your principle paradox, Is it to be or not to be? Neighbour god, What's your secret? Are you nobody just like me? Are you nobody? Are you nobody? Are you nobody just like me? Are you nobody? Nobody just like me.
Atease 02:17
WRITTEN BY TRENT REZNOR: You let me violate you You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you You let me complicate you Help me I broke apart my insides Help me I've got no soul to sell Help me The only thing that works for me Help me get away from myself I want to fuck you like an animal I want to feel you from the inside I want to fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to god You can have my isolation You can have the hate that it brings You can have my absence of faith You can have my everything Help me Tear down my reason Help me It's your sex I can smell Help me You make me perfect Help me become somebody else I want to fuck you like an animal I want to feel you from the inside I want to fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to god whisper:: Through every forest above the trees Within my stomach scraped off my knees I drink the honey inside your hive You are the reason I stay alive
Nice Girls 04:15
Maybe it just started happening, or maybe it's been happening my whole life and I just can't remember...I don't know. Is it a pattern? If we're supposed to find patterns in ourselves and fix them, but we're also supposed to have confidence in who we are... What do I do? You know, I'm all for self-improvement, and I'm also hoping that other people are also all for self-improvement, but then there's this other part of me that's like "just let them be them, because you're doing you, and they're doing them, and they're not doing you, and you're not doing...them. Maybe you did, once, but, uh,... Nice girls don't really Finish. We kinda don't, uh, get a chance. And it's true, you know, we don't have to be nice, but if being nice is our moral compass, and without a moral compass we'd have nothing to live for, and there's no point anyways, so, uh... Maybe you wanna talk about it later? We could watch a movie, or play chess... And we can be friends. Ambiguous Friends.


A bulbous perennial herb blooms in a fog.
Covertly unsure and therefore inklingly afraid, their anticipation drawing on the past for guidance (but using tricks as old as consciousness itself), strangers pass a screen.
On it, self-reliance plays self-loathing in a chess game, and a deeper blue falls on Garry Kasparov. He's fazed, and willingly follows with us the deep synth trails.
We ignore a diagnosis of hyper tension linked to synthetic understanding.
With the controlled confusion of Delta 5 coming home to the disarrayed living arrangements of Mars and DNA, we pass Talking Heads, chattering on as their rose quartz glares with refracted police lights.
The graffiti echoes in the underpass:

blue is the odeur, gray is the sky, shoulders to boulder, we argue to qualify but to walk away can also serve to edify.

Mounting the tracks, ascending waves of processed memories caterwaul disjointed beats, interrupted regularly by echoes of desperation.
Here, the poet grows vulnerable.
The melancholy interplay of Am and E underlie her poem, with a string section taking over the melody and complimenting the vocal timbre's transition into clarity.
For a moment, the fog clears, and the sun prevails with its Midas touch.
Outside the supermarket a bad bitch dog-eyes, begs, and finally overtakes another bad bitch. At this point, it's unsure where one begins and the other ends; the guitar pulls us further and further down until the brink of insanity strikes, and with it the melody comes back, insinuating a return to mania.
A woodblock, a tongue-click, and an inconsistent shaker walk into an insignificant bar, and meet the poet nursing her wounds through song. Self-doubt still creeps in through the smash of the resonated kicks, but the poet is persistent.
A collect call leads to confusion, but the keys have a resolving melody, as though it isn't necessary to dwell on these matters.
Rejuvenated, she mounts a streetlamp and shouts:
"Regular Arguments is a call to arms; to arm ourselves with logic and to distinguish fallacious arguments in an age where they appear every second in every twitter thread, every comment thread, and in the most dangerous political arguments."
Retreating into self-reflection after her performance, the poet consults the book of hours, wandering like her bass line, looking for answers from a neighbour god.
Atease eagerly eased elongates distresses astutely appeased or displeased, unsure because it's a tease at ease.
Imitation is often said to be the highest form of flattery.
The poet, frustrated and obsessed, fiercely humps her bass guitar as she attempts to swallow the microphone whole.
In the mirror, she gets closer to god.
The end?
Another pit stop.
You know nice girls never really finish, and bad bitches get what they want.

Terrific Kids 006

All songs excluding Closer N' Closer (NIN) written by Blue Odeur.
"Comfortable Cop" and "Je Ne Crois Pas Mon Corps" recorded and mixed by Tyler Fitzmaurice at Hotel2Tango in Tio'tia:ke/Montréal. Mastered by Greg Debicki.
On these tracks we have the pleasure of Matteo Ciambella on percussion, Laura Donohue on guitar and synth, Greg Debicki on guitar, and Laura Bardsley on bass and vocals.
On "Fabrege" we have the pleasure of Laura Donohue on keys and Matteo Ciambella on percussion.
All other songs produced, recorded, and mastered by lbardsley at Studio Banane Geante in Tio'tia:ke/Montréal, with the exception of "Nice Girls" which was recorded with a Yamaha PSS-7 in the kitchen.

This project was funded in part by FACTOR, the Government of Canada and Canada's private radio broadcasters.


released November 26, 2018

Big thanks to Terrific Kids for putting Hyacinth out!

Many thanks to Decent Club for being there when no one else was.
What is Decent Club, you ask?

Maybe the true Decent Club are the friends we've made along the way ;)


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blue odeur Montreal, Québec

the best soy latte that you ever had and me

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