Songs From the Back of Your Mind

by Out of Dust

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Edgy and elastic, from elements of hard bop and drum & bass to world music- Out of Dust brings you improvised free jazz/dark jazz. Spoken word and movie sound track noir, popping drums, and grinding bass under woven horns.

credits

released February 18, 2015

Garry Lindon (fretless bass), Mark Elshout (trumpet, saxophone), Jesse Forest (guitar), James Barrett (trumpet, flugel horn, recorder, melodica) Eric Wiegmann (drums) Peter Ramos (poetry) ***Album art: M.V. Lindon***

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From Out Of Dust Osaka, Japan

Garry Lindon (fretless bass)
Mark Elshout (trumpet, saxophone, clarinet, trombone, frenchhorn) Vladimir Jocic (guitar,
Jesse Forest (guitar)
Eric Wiegmann (drums)

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Track Name: Sleeping Man Part I
Night Gown
by Peter Ramos
“Ethics is metaphysically prior to ontology”—E. Levinas


The sleeping man hears two voices: one,
small and calling from a great depth.
What the sleeping man once did
to rise among the working
and thinking does him no good. Now
the voice returns,
warbling,

as under water. His rain spirit
come again,
ignorant, insistent.
Its wish—
sink down to moss. Rock.
To origins of salt. His mother

used to take him from sleep
like this. He’d cling and cling.
She pulled him through, wrenching him
out of that lovely dark deep.

The sleeping man, waking, listens
to both voices. Uneasy,
he rises in a day
filled with prickly light.
Track Name: Against the Glass
Pornography
by Peter Ramos


The hornet crawls in
through the open window.

I’m always home. All day
it skitters and knocks

beneath a bright ceiling
until the fountain stops

falling or I quit
trying to word it.
Track Name: Sleeping Man Radio Remix
Night Gown
“Ethics is metaphysically prior to ontology”—E. Levinas

by Peter Ramos


The sleeping man hears two voices: one,
small and calling from a great depth.
What the sleeping man once did
to rise among the working
and thinking does him no good. Now
the voice returns,
warbling,

as under water. His rain spirit
come again,
ignorant, insistent.
Its wish—
sink down to moss. Rock.
To origins of salt. His mother

used to take him from sleep
like this. He’d cling and cling.
She pulled him through, wrenching him
out of that lovely dark deep.

The sleeping man, waking, listens
to both voices. Uneasy,
he rises in a day
filled with prickly light.