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wabi sabi bruto bruta

by Nicholas Allbrook

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guest
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guest thank you for this, amazing, it takes me to my house in the mountains but more propheticly, world of wizards, love and music
ladonz
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ladonz I'm always asking to myself how does his mind work to arrive building a world like this. His music is something rare and precious, once you let it in, you won't be the same person. Nique changed my vision, my perceptions, my soul, and this album is the third confirmation I had about it. The greatest artist on Earth. Favorite track: Piece of Mind.
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ah , yes . why wabi_sabi sounded so familiar. I have the September 1960 copy of House Beautiful ( from being a huge Russel Wright fan ) ... and shibui to you Master Nicholas A. mercury.lcs.mit.edu/~jnc/nontech/wabisabi.html new.uniquejapan.com/ikebana/shibui/
croey
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croey this song made me cry in a really good way. truly an amazing artist Favorite track: Parody Of A Sharehouse.
H.
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H. Nick is becoming such a beautiful wizard in the studio. I absolutely love this album. Also love the super 'metal' cover.
barbamusic
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barbamusic This is brilliant. Allbrook’s songwriting is genius! Favorite track: Maybelline.
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1.
Morning Tink 03:16
2.
3.
4.
The Baby 02:49
5.
Maybelline 03:29
6.
St. Pete 04:09
7.
8.
9.
10.
Transperth 02:38

about

WABI-SABI-BRUTO-BRUTA
Introduction by Peter Bibby

Once, I turned to dust. I had been making curtains out of sticks, laying wooden bricks with reusable bostik adhesive and dressing myself in tropical rags for colour as well as comfort, but never for long. I stopped letting things get permanent ever since I learnt that nothing lasts forever, except forever. I was a cheap man in an expensive world and I was starting to wear it on the flakes of my cold dry skin. 

I worked in the waterproofing industry. Ironically I hadn't worked in weeks due to heavy rain. I always loved water until I got into the waterproofing business. One drop can infiltrate a weeks work and slowly contaminate years of work, reducing structural integrity down to rust and leaky misery. A wet reminder of how futile the efforts of mankind are in the face of nature and time. 

One rare winters day the sun came out and I found myself on the roof of some old pub somewhere in the richer suburbs between a Swan and an Indian, sealing the gaps, smearing grey membrane, waging war against the weather, absorbing any moisture that dared show it's damp face. The day felt long, I grew heavy as it grew late. A corner of me fell away, wet, waterlogged flesh, too soggy to hold onto my dry bones any longer. It hit the roof like a tragedy and washed my work away, down through the cracks, into the pub, into Big Jim's $17 afternoon lager,  all through Petrol Percy's $12 cranberry soda. Fate Susan's timing couldn't have been worse as her $38 special steak meal arrived on her table only to become consumed by an ocean of chemicals, roof minerals and 150 years of pub muck leaked quick through four stories of deteriorated piss soaked building. An hour earlier they had praised my efforts, adoring my careful attention. One quick bit of bodily decay had them spitting and cursing, wishing for pitchforks but feeling dinner forks would do just fine. It was game over for me as I made my escape back home, coming to terms with reality, saying farewell to my tools, my boots, my harness, my purpose.

I started listening to MUSIC when I got back home and I decided to fire up again, regain my pride and work ethic through authentic house chores: dishes, laundry, sweeping, all that good stuff I had forgotten about in the haze fighting water. I put on my favourite Bruce Springsteen track "Born In The Usa" (growing up in Western Australia I had always dreamnt of being an American) and to my great surprise, as the final notes began to fade away Bruce kept singing, warm and husky, delivering me this mantra:

"WABI SABI BRUTO BRUTA WABI SABI BRUTO BRUTA WABI SABI BRUTO BRUTA WABI SABI BRUTO BRUTA WABI SABI BRUTO BRUTA....." 

over and over again. Slowly his voice floated away and was replaced with a side of Bruce I had never heard. It was music so gorgeous and soft and harsh and dirty and it dragged me to my kitchen. I put the sink plug in it's place and turned the tap to full release, facing my downfall, willingly coming face to face with the enemy, charged by Bruce Springsteen's brand new music.

At first my dishes seemed like ordinary dishes, coupla bits, coupla bobs, but they had been busy forming an unusual build up of muck that looked like ancient forest made of pork leftovers, the type that only elbow soap can combat. The music playing around me seemed to seep into my skin and out of the pores of my elbow a foamy substance started frothing out, a strong odour of fresh, disinfectious cleanliness oozed into my nostrils and gave me the strength of seventy bulls. The dishes quivered in my presence and submitted to my power, left sparkling clean gasping for air on the drying rack as I piled them up one by one. They knew doom had come to kiss them on their greasy lips and before long I was the clear victor. I pulled the plug and watched the filthy dish water suck away down the drain as “Wabi-sabi-bruto-bruta” continued to caress my ears. Like a continuous dicking, as in, constant in, no out, no reverse, all forth and no back, . Dick is a bad example, more like breath constantly exhaling, never inhaling but never needing to, the opposite of a vacuum cleaner, something like a garden blower but sounds nicer and smells less like 2 stroke, like a strong wind. Either way, I felt gorgeous and mighty as I watched with pure ecstasy the dishwater fleeing down the drain, to a place of no consequence to me, where Big Jim has no right to prod me with cutlery. A single tear fell from my eye followed the last of that dishwater down to oblivion and as it disappeared I kissed the bottom of the empty sink knowing more than ever that there was no other way anything could be. 

The hours scraped by and the more filth I banished the more filth seemed to show itself, taunting me in it's various nature. It was elementary behaviour and I was wise and old. I was wise and old until I was exhausted, and then I retired. I retired face down on the carpet. I had forgotten to vacuum. My ears sniffed up the last of Bruce Springsteen's new music but not the years of shit and and matter embedded in the fur of my home's floor. Face down in that dusty moist rug I began to suffocate and sink down. The wabi sabi rinsed in and around me and out of me like I was it's chore and into the carpet it went, chewing particle by particle, beauty in an ever changing inevitability, slow brutality hungry for some breakfast.

Years passed as I moved slowly through the earth, sinking further south I eventually fell through the other side and landed face to face, stomach to stomach, slap bang on top of my old friend Nick who I hadn't seen for a long while. I kissed him and it made him uncomfortable, he asked me to get off him but I said "Not yet." 

I recall a dialogue carrying out similar to the following:

"You're hurting me a bit..." said Nick.
"I wish that wasn't the case," I replied.

"Please get off? You're sticky and heavy and you've pulled me from a dream I'd like to get back to."

"It's morning where I came from Nick, it was night when I left. Relax."

"You smell like old carpet and decay. Your skin is various shades of green. I can see moss on your tongue."

"That may be the case Nicholas but I have just heard a very lovely collection of music by The Boss, Bruce Springsteen. It gave me the strength to carry on, I came out on top before I fell to the bottom, right through the bottom, all the way through to here, skin on skin with you. Have you seen the light, Nick? Have you heard Bruce Springsteen’s record called "Wabi Sabi Bruto Bruta?"

"I have heard that record, I made it quite recently."

"You're name is not Bruce Springsteen, you are lying."

"My name may not be Bruce Springsteen but I am not a liar," Nick said, as he slipped a screen between our faces, showing me the session files.

"I can't believe it's not Bruce...." I whispered as I turned to dust out of pure disbelief. Nick sucked me up through his big gaping belly button and vomited me onto this page where you now see me in all my past, present, and ever deteriorating future. I didn't get a chance to shower before I let the man breathe. 

The moral of the story is this beautiful sonic journey is by Nicholas Allbrook, not by Bruce Springsteen.

R.I.P. BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN 1902-1948

credits

released February 7, 2019

1. Morning tink
Written by NA. Recorded at home in Fremantle and in a hotel in Jakarta by NA.
2. Peace of Mind
Written by NA. Recorded at Studio 22 in L.A. by Thomas Dolas
Drums by Joe McMurray
Piano by Thomas Dolas
3. Wabi Sabi Bruto Bruta
Recorded at home in Fremantle by N.A.
4. The Baby
Recorded at Studio 22 in L.A. by Thomas Dolas
Cello by Thomas Dolas
5. Maybelline
Recorded at home in Fremantle and Studio KP by N.A. and Ginolé Ireland
Gin did drums and synths and programming
Mixed by Ginolé
6. St. Pete
Recorded at home in Fremantle by NA and…
Drums by K.P. (recorded at Jizz Jazz Studios L.A. by Mac Demarco)
Cello by Francesca Mountfort (recorded at Smooch Records, Melbourne, by Joshua Delaney)
singing by Maud Nadal (recorded at Solaris, Paris, by Angy Lepadrix)
7. Parody of a Sharehouse
Recorded at home in Fremantle, Studio KP by NA, Ginolé Ireland and Shags
Ginolé did drums and organ.
Dedicated to Omid Masoumali
8. Over the edge, James
Written by Jamie Terry and NA.
Guitar written and recorded by Jamie Terry on his phone
Words and sings by NA in a hotel in Jakarta
Mix helped by Aden Senycia
9. Morning tink 2
Written by NA. Recorded at home in Fremantle and in a hotel in Jakarta by NA.
dedicated to my Paka
10. Transperth
Recorded at Studio 22 in L.A. by Thomas Dolas
Piano by Thomas Dolas

All tracks mixed and mastered by Aden Senycia
this wouldn't have come out if he wasn't around to make me. I was gonna throw it out. Aden also was the only person that wasn't myself who would talk to me like i was making something real. He's a genius and a friend.
thanks ican harem for brutal font
thanks george barnett for help w front cover design
thanks paka i love u
thanks youse all yr great

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Nicholas Allbrook Perth, Australia

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