Cover | Concept | Lyrics

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Cover | Concept | Lyrics


In 1997 Mycle Heupel -The NAKED DRUMMER- started a series of concerts in NYC which he called CONCERT 17. For the first time he played according to the principles of Momentum Arts: at any given time a perfect work of art inhabits the human body. Its expression gets blurred and distorted solely by the inner resistance of the performer. Letting go of any resistance is the key. To track down the hidden traces or residues and to be in contact with what one is supposed to let go makes one a ĎHunter of Oneís Egoí. To be a ĎHunter of Oneís Egoí opens up the chance of letting the naked beauty show itself.

This album is dedicated to my mother, Luise Heupel.

This solo CD has instant composing for digi-piano and e-drums. All pieces are un-dubbed except the title track , which is also the only piece using words.


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Cover | Concept | Lyrics


THE NAKED DRUMMER
11/26/00 © Mycle Heupel, Barcelona

Below the floor is more . . .
All important things cannot be practiced.

Flush the blush -habits kill beauty.
Great sun, no groove:Antís rap. . .

Whatís the fun in holding back, Jack ?
No one is calling and Tech Stox are falling.
Action without erection - nice chaos
Who else than your handy would talk to you?
Silly brilliance & other strange attractors,
gestures for immediate refund.
Play with your handy instead?
Confidential fake:pose-behave-pose!

Nice groove he said before hitting the tree
too big for one . . .
2310
2/3 might get your attention.

How many paradogs are you feeding?
Before the wall: have fun while you run.
Most wanted: unexpected insights.
"Donít slump or Iíll hit you!"

Schoenbergs private groove:
well-designed but who cares?
"And even the French were there!"
"Does THAT really smell good??"

Chatting away, sweetie, just chatting away . . .
From behind shyness..
that look needs a safety handle!
Sweet little 69.

Follow the flock to the end of the clock.
Thereís nothing you can do she said and died.
. . and the plane crashed without hurry . . .

No time, No space: Who?
Jack the Zipper . . .
Tits & Ass Koan:
the center of a short attention span.

Who found Nobodyís body?
Meta-sexuality
permanent pregnancy-permanent birth.
There is an arrow in the air: catch it!

NO:chairís dream while hanging
POW! said the potato-cow.
Cogito, ergo boom!!
Schnuzzlebreakerís blues:
". . and the drummer, again , was a plumber . ."

Who saw my quarks?
Choose your handicap.
Primary erections,
open the bottle and let it all out!
Just hit the fucker!

'Exito' has no 'salida'.
Panic? Cancel.
Short story with cupboard & yellow flag.
Sweet quietness . . .
. .
A shitting pigeon missed my head...


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