The New Album

by Pete Um

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      £4 GBP


  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Warm on the heels of the critically-acknowledged Nochexxx-curated Greatest Hits 10” Can't Get Started comes a full-length 12” vinyl oddity from Cambridge's Pete Um. This time it's a reissue of some old news from 2003, The New Album CD-R redux, in an almost pointlessly limited edition of 100. This is the birth of modern Um, with the sufferheaded voice in stark digital settings and gaffered samples, now expertly remastered for vinyl.

    Contains sleevenotes/lyric insert, custom-made tricky stickered frontage, hand-bodged hole-flap and heavily sexy PVC sleevery. Whole thing cost a bloody fortune :)

    Includes unlimited streaming of The New Album via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days
    edition of 100 

      £13.99 GBP


I can’t be fooking harrissed I’m going to live in Paris Take LSD Write poetry And bollocks to me marriage… I am a grown man Me too Yet I am frightened Me too The day is very dark Evening is coming Today I’m OK The sun is shining All we are is flesh & bone Pressure sounds Let the pressure drop Right on pops Little communist gift token Something to do while you’re smoking All we are is flesh & bone Spandex index Heavy metal blunder Carrot juice and quiet For yesterday’s demon-chaser All we are is flesh & bone You paint your name on everything Yet still no-one knows who you are Bantam phantom The kids don’t know You don’t check for the pickneys All we are is flesh & bone Squalor scholar Art Mullah Omar Final reckoning preceded By innumerable others All we are is flesh & bone I’m bored of this apocalypse I’m always off my bleeding tits Red milk for you’s inside all this Caned Christ on the crucifix All we are is flesh & bone Waiting for that crucial fix Smiles weakly at the Roman soldiers “Alright lads” All we are is flesh & bone Help me cross the road! Bughouse… You’re insane I bet you think this song is about you You’re insane I bet you think this song is about you Don’t you? Don’t you? Baby? Last night I had a little dream An old man called me “dude” I’d moved out of his way for him For fear of seeming rude “Thanks” he said, by way of thanks To which he added: “dude” It seemed a bit unlikely But it did make me feel good.
It's a kind of ugly town makes you wanna burn it down it's a kind of prison camp the kids can't get their skateboard ramp colleges and tourists traps local scene is kinda crap makes you want to slag the place makes you want a change of pace One day I'm gonna buy this town One day I'm gonna buy this town One day I'm gonna buy this town And put it in my shoe.
This isn't a cheap can of lager It's sunglasses for the visionary East river saint don't paint me in faint don't make me out black don't send me back I'm caned in the dark I need an afternoon walk I need a helluva lot We need a serious talk I know what I'm doing At least in this sense It's just the rest of the stuff It's why I had to get bent It's hard to be smart There's no reason to work The view is enough The truth hurts Sloppy christ Take-away rice It's not bad It's not nice.
Which bit of your body needs to be sorted out? Your head your mind your face Aint right Your legs Don't work Dole legs shoes shirk bludger feet benefit check On the street with the other state wrecks Alcohol Season ticket Even you know it's mentalistic Come on Come on Come on Come on
Speculation Says I'm myself But you dont know I came here Just a little while ago You think your finger Is accurate But there are things your digit didn't consider.
Who does he think he is? Corporeal soul doctor Coming in deathways Singing it live Infinite freakouts You know you know There's no end You played yourself Synthetic attack mode Cultural breaker's yard I love my good friends In my life there's nothing left It's just a Juju train In my life there's nothing left Who does he think he is? What do you know of the railways were you not apprehended at Guildford Station? Caught out lying by The Inspector Sent into panics And forced to write letters of sorryness? What do you know of Juju & the Black Railways?
There is a Black Part Of Me There is a little black part of me Technical! Wack-Michael! Chubby boy who grew up to be a terrorist Bonobo chimps. There is a little black part of me Oh Um I forged my chains I fried my brains I pull two ways My heart's a stray I live for nought I feel too short this thing I caught What hath God wrought? Oh Um. Ho hum There is a black part My loop is snapped my girfriend's back I need a slap My music's crap The dogs of war Have done their chores Now they lie upon the floor Licking at their aching paws There is in fact a tiny part of me which does not belong A merest sliver of blackness lodged somewhere non-specific and untraceable And yet I believe the sum of its effects are undeniable I may seem so good and white but I am really a sort of improbable Guildford Yellowman Whose course is directed by an unquestionably black centre It is a shame. I hate this weather.
All human races are indigenous to this planet, save one: the Scots. The ancestors of the Scottish people arrived by the astral travel eqivalent of the rowing boat many millenia ago, and to this day are still struggling to adapt to our atmosphere. This problem is exacerbated by the fact that they are almost universally unaware of their distant origins. And yet, they sense instinctively that they do not belong. Many feel lost, and confused,and experience a thirst that cannot be slaked. So, the next time you encounter a red-headed man in the street, call upon your reserves of tolerance, and though his ways may seem wild and untamed to you, address him with these calming words in his all-but forgotten alien tongue: "You fuzza buzza. You fachin fuzza buzza."
Call it a trip You can call it a bag You look after him while I quickly have a fag Got to the Co-op & get yourself some beer But you'd better do his bum before you leave here. Oh yes & we need wipes, and yoghurts and that thing That we've both learned not to mention Lest it sets him off again It's an average day in our tiny pink flat And it's the last day of summer But who cares about that? Who cares about that?
With your simple face you don't understand How I need to be hurt But you do it anyway Normal pain-freaks hold me in awe They bow down next to me, on the floor They look at me sideways, and say “respect” But even they don't know I'm the Super Wretch Yeah hit me. Hit me again...
Disappointment man Can I call you Mac the man? That homie McDuff Wants to get fucked See the fucking wood Like the witches said it would That Mrs Macbeth got the fuck and kiss of death Turn hellhound turn turn me on A Filipino Scot got a Rolex watch Got a gardening shear cos we're doing it here The gang are the king's pages With one or two lines I ain't very good But I'll wait for my time Turn hellhound turn Turn me on Such a long time ago An elephant shaped cake Two sets of twins with the same initials Suzie dead of cancer Eddie had thick lips The black witch never showed My mum became a white witch We did it in a dusty footy pitch I was on the mic, promising a fight Southern Africa, 1979 Swapo guerillas & black mambas I shot myself in the foot What was the real danger? How should I have taken care of myself? How should I have been cared for?
You know when you're there and you're with a young woman if you're a young man or indeed if you're any type of person that wants to be sat with a young woman or indeed a young man. Well anyway, its a summer evening and your sat there and the air is filled with the sense of romantic possibility and nature is humming with her own cosmic beauty. This time is the best time of your life, it may feel excruciating, but, the sense of possibility is the most beautiful thing that reality has to offer, that's my theory.
Bad boy, you force yourself To new inspirations Bleed yourself, like a fucked up girl or a suicide, you write your wrongs But you, have a right, to be wrong if it isn't worth a fight If it keeps you awake at night Cos you might as well sleep thru some of this slow distaster For if youve got the balls to turn this thing around You'd better get some kip Cos it's a big day tomorrow Yes it's a big day tomorrow Silent maids in the mains Electric women tape record All my genius, chop my penis Is it evil? I don't know.
You never know How hard it is for me to say You'll never know, how delicate my ancestry And there are things That simply must be never said So mark my words, You'll never get the truth from me. The whole of Dixie is rotten. A long time A long time ago you know I said that I I said that I would tell the truth my real life, would be the subject of my art Indivisible, And now I realize I can't The whole of Dixie is rotten.
Driver down Couldn't find you in the hole Reggae theif the man that does the things to geese PC crash every fucking day Nobody helps me anyway I'm lost in the details of my life Sound suck, water drown, I'm going down.
I was so hungover, I walked out of the supermarket with my basket Are you afraid to make a false start Are you afraid to hear a Frenchman fart? Are you afraid to go that far Before you dare to speak to me Are you prepared to make a statement? Would you ever like to speak? I'm just a real human man I am not the king of beats. I was so hungover, I walked out of the supermarket with my basket
Pregnancy on myself I'm a real soul-driver Can't get enough Take me home One for the money two for the show three to get ready and four to go home five for democracy six for sex What has become of us? What the hell's next? Race under seige See under fucked Up on our hind legs And down on our luck Meteorites come fall from the sky Mash up the Earth no-one left to ask why Dog in a jumpsuit Spinning in space Bury your bone In a different place Christ on a bicycle Man on the moon Streets full of people Me in my room Don't want for company Beg for a crutch Put on a mask And the fucker got stuck Grin for posterity Weep for the past Hold out your hand To get up off your arse. One for the money Two for the show Three to get ready And four to go home I think when I talk. And you clink when you walk. I try to be morally sound Is that why you put everybody down? I can see the invisible. Is that why your face looks funny?
You Maybe Understand? Day by day Hour by hour Peace in my head Is all of your house This document software's Freaking me out These people have jobs and cars and lives And I'm just a storybook/character/lie You maybe understand? Warranty void if you peel back the song There's nothing in here That's right or wrong Inside the faction we're helluva close The words are the water The mouth is the hose You maybe understand They made me understand
Let Them Guess Themselves To Death Ooh, don't let 'em smile at you Don't let them know ya Let them guess themselves to death Ooh, don't let them take you away Don't let them know ya Let them guess themselves to death Ooh don't let them smile at you Don't let let them know ya Let them guess themselves to death


released June 19, 2012


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Pete Um Cambridge, UK

"A master of the miniature electro-acoustic song-poem, a form he has more or less invented and crystallised himself, his work displays a sardonic wit combined with a healthy misanthropy, in marvellous micro-collages of voice, instruments, samples, and electronics."

-Ergo Phizmiz
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