Sleeve notes for the 12 notes CD album

Musicians and instruments

BoneSonic: Guitar, banjo, synth, piano, saxophone, drums, backing vocals

ScouseOwl: Synth, piano, vocals

From the banks of the blue Mersey the whiff of a smell you vaguely recall, a trace of nostalgia...it's not what it used to be and now and again in a dream, when I jump, what does it mean ?

No moment has meaning, each moment leads to a moment, phasing and pulsing , flowing through thousands of hours online and the amorphousblobwebsphere has melted the features on my face...And how do I express what I feel in this shoppingopolis...?...football, shopping, nostalgia...it is what it used to be...for the blue-noses it is what it used to be, except for those with a memory and more of the nostalgia bug mutating into an emotional rush...a scrag-end neck of lamb, the recipe for Scouse your nan taught you...

And now the sounds, the flapping of an angel's broken wings, searching for the Melody on the streets in the Pool of life...because it's the sounds we have in the gardens, in the walks, yes the music of course...I've trained my brain on the bus and the train into town, for the sounds and smells, I've trained my brain with a dopamine reward...and words are dangerous, is that why you close the libraries and burn the books ?

Crashing Irish Sea shanties into English folk, by the kirk, by the scriptures, in the temples and testaments you know less and less about more...there's a black hole near the sun, that's where we go when we are done...free from the threat of the Big Black Mariah...and we sing because it is awkward every time we speak...singing all the wrong songs, making the wrong mistakes, in reverse and when you say you'll follow me and you don't...we knew something about everything but now that moment has gone and turned into a nostalgia-perfume-melody sampled in the diymusic studio and distorted into another song lasting three minutes and thirty seconds...stop flogging your song, it's far too long.

...the starlings are sucking salt from scars, the scars of another defeat, another day in the Pool of Life another reason to capture and crystallise the energy of hope from the banks of the blue Mersey...there is no royal in our blue Mersey...and in the gardens, pick up the mess left by your dog...the time has come to lose it, I'm losing it, but not my dreams, share my dreams, the first words a human spoke has led us to here and now and the time has come...there is no royal in our blue Mersey...it's time to choose...and you are not choosing, the dodo meditating on the nature of time..free pianos, free guitars, modern dance on the streets to express how you feel...you may be pinned against the Palace walls...get off your knees...I hear them knocking on your door...you celebrate with your next permutation of imaginary numbers at the edge of your anxiety...and you are left with 12 notes.