Get all 10 Mike Dennis releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Stop Time, Three Trees pt. 1, Edge in Wordways, Junction 29 EP, Junction 19 EP, Stuff Remixes, Smiles & Cries, Another Hour, and 2 more.
1. |
Untitled
00:56
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2. |
Alpha Mail
01:21
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Abigail and Alison aptly announced
Both Bradley's babies, blue, Bradley bounced
Couldn't carry a contract or keep kids quiet
Dad? Doubtful..doesn't divide the deep dish diet
Every eventuality ebbed eagerness
Formerly fearless found a father feverish
Good grief. Graft? And grounding?
He hadn't had a hiatus from his harem's hounding
Impishly, I iterate intimate illustrations
Joking aside – just a jog's journey from Jason
Kicking KFC and Kanchelskis for Kale?
Lager and liquor for lemonade and light ale?
Money matters more, mothers making massive missions
Nappies, nice new nest..Never! No, you're not nicking
Other options ominously open up -
Perhaps play a pretty penny in the poker pub?
Quite a quandry – quickly, quietly quit
Run to Romsford, re-register, re-sit?
Stay and suffer. Such a silly sausage, staying safe
The top target, true, too tough to take
Under ultraviolet, undone and ufcked up
Vibrations veil the vulgar...
Whereupon women will wield a waning wonder..
Xenomorphic XY's composed as Xavier
Yearn to yield as
Zygotes zip zanier.
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3. |
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What are you doing? I want you to do it again, but this time: Pull it waaaay back.
Fall too quick, fall too far
All too quick, all too far
If you've ever wondered if your grip is pretty slack
And you skip from steady – snap – to laying it on thick in a fraction of the minimum attack
Jump up here with me, we can look out and spot the signs from a perch
A high hide. You'll think my family's Addams and Eve'd happily pass 'cause you see – the fact is: I lurch
Let's say the pace is gentle, hastened when embracing,
Semblance of something great and tender, gracious, then I'm racing
Chasing down the why's, searching for the where's, looking up the what's,
tearing up the ties, clarifying, tying up the knots
It's a system that I'm stricken with, a panic-driven rhythm
And I'd manage abolition if I could say: STOP!
Nights and days off, I scribble with a vision of atonement
Wondering where my time alone went
Lurching in? It's so dense, makes no sense
Appropo, left solo with a potent opponent
One set to throw me to the brink post-haste
Lonely as I think po-faced:
She's like vodka – au fait with no taste
But she didn't know me, if I'd blinked: no case
Should go let it go, course I'm not stupid, I'm speedy
Plus so cool, it's cruel this madness sees me seedy and needy
Proceeding's a dream on a soft cloud, floating, when your ocean is liquid
with no little bits in. My momentum is staggered.
These broken ellipses make me..
Fall too quick, fall too far
All too quick, all too far
Gotta have it, gotta keep it, gotta grab at it
Lotta madness, if it's sweet, I'll take a stab at it
Force of habit, not a secret, every man's at it
Sorta bad, it's irredeemable, this black magic
Look to church on a search for stability
Buddha's on the same circuit – no Nativity
So's Vishnu, Krishna, L Ron,
World of Warcraft, church with the bells on the ankles.
So alert to the smells of abandon, I should remain sheltered and amble.
Well-wishers thankful – 'cause whenever they see me gelled with a handful, I'm held in a strangle-hold,
bringing up Mum and Dad like a role-reversal...
while a colder person bowls me over with no rehearsal...
“Can't you find...some...middle ground?”
I try to play it cool and hold myself back.
I need the help of forty horses, all working as a pack.
A JCB with caterpillar tracks, head gasket still in tact.
Have a bit of that, that'll kill the transmission, man, I'm rapping iller facts and the traction didn't grasp.
I'm sorry darling. If it's too much, then you'd better let me know quick.
Inevitably, this man that you came with might not be the one that you wanna go with.
He came in swinging, calm, composed and serene.
Now he's chomping at the bit, straining at the leash, picking at the seams,
raging at machines, sniffing out and chasing down the dreams.
Fall too quick, fall too far
All too quick, all too far
I'm pulling it back..?
Not that much! Can't you find...some...middle
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4. |
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The night is still. The cold tap drips.
Empty bags of chips. Brandy nips.
Everybody is asleep but one.
Cheeky brush-tailed fellow raiding bins 'til the Sun comes up.
Then, minutes before the dawn chorus,
a car rumbles to the kerb, the driver's parking's flawless.
A tall, slender figure emerges,
unlocks the front door – dithers – then surges through.
Weary from hours of grungey labour,
he's faced with revelations of his chums' behaviour.
There, amidst a chaos of displacement,
he hunts down sustenance, tired and impatient.
The grey, tiled floor is speckled with sauces.
Each splatter shackled to pepper, ground and coarse bits.
The table's strewn with flotsam and jetsam.
If this was a party, was clearly a not-to-forget one.
He flops, unaffected by the turmoil thus far,
makes his bed on the settee, analysing the hutzbah.
The tap drips, a dopey kitten mews.
He coughs and looks down at his old, flea-bitten shoes.
His eyes dart to the work-top and stop with a start -
Oh, be still his ever-beating heart!
Where once was a bare, clear side...
Now a box of Omega-3 fishfingers resides.
What makes matters worse is how empty the box is
and to top it off, our man knows they were his.
Now he's rushing, teaming with a pen in his hand.
There's nothing he can't passively-aggressively demand
and as he reads it back once, please allow a little quote:
“Hi guys, look – I'm sorry for another note...”
Cause he's a note, note-leaver
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either
He's a note, note-leaver
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either
The crazed scribbling completed
Note-leaver, still fuming, finds his energy depleted.
It's getting light and any sensible man
would cut his losses, rip it up and go to bed.
But no – see, our hero's not opposed to threats
and overhead, the joker slept and knows he's met his match when this is over-read
and read over...'cause this note takes time to get through, I mean:
Why use ten words when a hundred will do?!
He doesn't give a fuck and neither do they.
He's the un-assuming, literary Kaiser Sosa -
Pissed off – not afraid to say it silently
You're locked in the jaws of this wordsmith with lion's teeth.
Now he's flagging, valiant, with a pen still in hand.
There's nothing he can't passively-aggressively demand
and as he reads it back again, please allow another quote, it goes:
“You'll never stop me writing these notes.”
He leaves a note, he leaves a note, he leaves a note...
Cause he's a note, note-leaver.
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either.
He's a note, note-leaver.
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either.
(MC Ca$hback)
Hey man, hope you had a good night last night? Sounded like you did.
Well, I didn't. I didn't sleep a wink!
So next time you have a party, don't be such a jerk.
Spare a thought for others, some of us have to work
OK, sorry. Sorry to be a bore
but in future, please – just close your bedroom door.
It's not so much the volume, it's the bass that sounds so loud
it vibrates my whole room, so if you could just turn it down?
And while I'm at it – are you hording all the mugs?
I tried to make a tea this morning and couldn't find a cup
and when you do arise from bed sometime this afternoon,
find and read this note on the door of your room,
head in to the kitchen, huffing and puffing like you do,
fill up the kettle and make yourself a brew -
I'm sure you're feeling rubbish and I know it really sucks
but if you can find the time – Do the washing up!
Cause he's a note, note-leaver.
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either.
He's a note, note-leaver.
He doesn't give a fuck – and they don't either
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5. |
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I work in a bar, regulars slumped against the sticky wooden surface
Drunks yelling abuse 'cause of booze they couldn't purchase
90% white male environment
I have to listen to their views and use restraint to hide dissent
Spent years dealing with similar situations
Even with my friends' clumsy, unsubtle discriminations
So it's no surprise to me, I feel scared
When my stepdad walks to the bar, unprepared
See, he was born in Pakistan, they couldn't match this man
Yet I spy glares of disgust 'cause their skin doesn't match his tan
How fucking irrational to judge someone by skin colour
To categorise, when not once in their lives have they chatted or vibed with one of..
This race - It's an utter disgrace to humanity
That in 2012 you continue with racist profanity
And I don't care what history they base this on
I just want all these fucking racists gone
You see, I made this song thinking I know where it springs from -
The zenophobia inherent in this multicultural kingdon
I could do nothing but look to our elders,
knowing pointing fingers gets you as far as a trip back to your shell does
and my little sister's beautiful – skin of a coffee tone.
If she suffers abuse, my retribution's swift and I'll offer blows.
We've got to educate the school kids
or they'll go into the world with attitudes just as foolish.
I want to make an appeal to my peers
Yo, form your own opinions and don't endorse racist ideas
and to the 14 year olds acting hateful now -
When was the last time a Paki stole your paper round?
Sure, you fought the war, won my freedom and more
But your attitudes are stuck, fucking up national rapport
Passing on the spore of hate to later generations
When I'm 64...I'm still gonna be faced with a racist nation
Seen too many jeers for too many years
Too many old dears chatting shit, 'cause of long since cold fears
Supposed to see you as learned and knowledgable
when you generalise cultures because you couldn't-be-bothered-to-go
and learn the truth about the reason they chose to settle here -
Perhaps 'cause in their country, they were living in fear
and came here 'cause we're blatantly so accommodating.
I apologise to those who found bitter racists waiting.
But then again - why should I apologise for my country?
Patriotism - a hatred-ridden trait in Great Britain
Me? I represent myself, not a flag and some land.
Did you get those glares in your deck-chair getting suntanned
in Gran Canaria? I doubt it. To you, it's scarier than malaria
in a foreign area, when they take good care of ya
because you lose the excuse to rant about
the "I-tis", the "Wogs", the "Frogs" and the "Krauts".
But you're the ones who should get out, 'cause that attitude makes me sick.
It's people like you pushing us to an apocalypse.
I know we can't all just get along, so let me put it that...
We lynch the racists and spray shit on the doors of those we couldn't catch?
How's that for an idea? Extremist?
Sure, you fought the war, won my freedom and more
But your attitudes are stuck, fucking up national rapport
Passing on the spore of hate to later generations
When I'm 64...I'm still gonna be faced with a racist nation
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6. |
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A pin drops. And it sounds like...
if you could find it in this haystack – I think not
and the roar of a Formula One racetrack would replace that soon enough.
One day my little sunray, way beyond the mundane, stereocilia spring unclaimed
where they don't live to die – battered by synchronised crashes and rims and rides.
I think this is my paradise. The sound of the sea, roaring, trickling, gurgling.
A whisper, pitched to prick pinnae and the third and then the fifth and then the octave
but these shockwaves have all been murdering
'cause (Max Normal) “You...talk too loud” - in other words, if you could
realise that something being loud doesn't make it good.
But if you want to turn my tracks up, go ahead.
I promise something new on every listen, not a broken record.
My ears hate me. I could stuff them with Plaster-of-Paris and they'd still crave a breakbeat,
still fiend for screaming tones, still lust for
syncopated, structured devastation of their tiny bones
and silence roams on a quiet plain, reminding those that might attain
its light, composed, that life's pace is quite insane
and you're so difficult to track down, my friend.
But we've each got a piece of your peace at the end.
One day I'll hear silence.
Silence is golden.
One day I'll hear silence.
One day I'll hear, one day I'll hear.
If a tree falls in the forest and I'm not there to hear it, it sounds like...
Quite a mind to clear, needing lobotomisation
at the top of my game son, toppling cochleae, nascent.
Anybody can reach for the volume dial,
press their lug to the horn on a thirty k system.
First bar of your favourite song, you smile
then remember one note with no need to listen.
Hypnosis, screech-cessation, calming backdrops,
armed with tactics, increase sensations cast off.
If you're sort of wary, take my word: don't tempt fate.
This is cautionary. Let's get back to the fresh waves.
An infant giggling, carefully-chosen loving words,
the cacophonous tickle of scores of perching birds,
the wind whistling over bottle-necks and through chimes -
sonorous, inspiring clarity in skewed minds.
Cigarette butt in a beercan...
like a round of applause from a horde of miniature meerkats.
It's all now tainted with a thousand electric guitars.
I use the sound of the rain to sleep and I bet when it's dark that...
One day I'll hear silence.
Silence is golden.
One day I'll hear silence.
One day I'll hear, one day I'll hear.
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7. |
Weaponize ft. Bone
04:14
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Hand-held, long-range, close quarters.
Heads up people, now, lock up your sons and daughters.
Passed on, intercepted, misdirected, misconstrued
Miss Missile, not deflectable.
A reputable weapon, all-powerful, set to devour
a shower of sour-pusses, twenty four hours they cower
but howl for its impact, destruction and fallout -
A blissful distinction from boredom, so war's out to wage.
Keep your Tech-9's, Mac-10's, AK's,
I've got a Magnum, I'm not Ben Stiller -
You and me both – a broken army of sorts,
with token barmy resources, yup, we're stone-cold killers.
I'm shooting Cupid the first chance I get.
He's been ripping up the dance and jets
but I'll be pushing up daisies man if I had to bet
and they'd be picked for another lady – that's a promise
and not a threat and it starts off so nice.
We turn it into a weapon.
Weaponize.
We turn love into a, we turn love into a weapon.
Weaponize.
Click-clack, click-clack. Bang, bang, bang.
Watch out for the ricochet.
Targeting system is off-line, ambient temperature rising.
One million hits a day.
Primary function destruction, this heater's enterprising.
Watch out for the ricochet.
Targeting system is off-line, ambient temperature rising.
One million hits a day.
Primary function destruction, this heater's enterprising.
(Bone)
Running and gunning and..
And running and gunning and humming and coming at ya,
crosshairs on your stature,
a moving target that I'm eager to capture.
Please...do me a favour D, break it down to just the keys.
Don't mean to stress you right but recognize they weaponized the weed
and I've been smoking since Wednesday last week
I'm Man-at-Arms, I'm Flashheart,
at the Battle of the Sexes vanguard flashing a PhG
Her name was Chai, like the tea-brew.
Maybe a little bit Asian, maybe a little bit hebrew.
Molotov cocktease, chemise to her knees, a little bit see through,
straight to the breast display unit aka the BDU,
pats me down for my piece and she finds it.
Subliminal women'll mix sex & violence,
criminal-minded,
I can strip one down and rebuild it blinded
and cuffed, some sort of goddamn love-sexy McGuiver
and stuff, a sniper of love, towering over this eyeful
(chik-chik)
Thats the sound as I chamber another round
into my single-barrel, pump action yoghurt rifle.
Its a game of risk -
Shoot my bolt too early and she'll sink my battleships
so I slip hot sex hollowtips into pink pistol grips.
Thats a sweet fit,
shoot my game with a double tap,
reload and aim, its what you call a wrap -
Dont start none with this marksman.
It was a citizens arrest and her crime was arson
on the dancefloor dressed to kill bouncing on my johnson.
Come on son, I had to draw down.
She's hot as weapons grade plutonium bound for Iran.
Flashing her guns, flapping her gums and smashing on sons,
friendly fire for hire, weapon of mass desire, strapped for action she comes...weaponized.
We turn it into a weapon.
Weaponize.
We turn love into a, we turn love into a weapon.
Weaponize.
Click-clack, click-clack. Bang, bang, bang.
“You boys are disgusting!”
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8. |
Mattress
00:22
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9. |
Musings ft. DJ Buckwilde
02:14
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Look, I don't care how much you spit in front of me.
I won't think you're hard until you're punching me.
I keep my own counsel, keep myself company.
Still I keep finding at night they might run from me.
And I don't care if you don't like my attitude,
it's just that when you smile at people, people smile back at you.
It's not quantum physics, is it?
Man, I'm sure you've written lyrics that explicitly figure out this is cricket.
I'm clearly not up on the lingo – by jingo,
no chap-hop exponent would count me among his kinfolk.
But when I'm washing dishes and I hear a kick, hat, snare,
I'm zipped back there to where it lit that flare.
Now I suppose I'm acting the part of a rapper
but I know I'm more adept than all of these goons and slappers
and if I see another freestyle video
where he's rapping something written, I think I'm gonna blow.
What's so special about you? Go on, do tell me?
I've heard all those songs before and not even heard your LP.
Welsh, see, it's in my blood to create song
looking down my nose like I'm chugging on a bong.
I watched Canibus battling Dizaster,
thought “basically, this guy's just chattering much faster.”
If white people had wanted to rob the soul
and replace it with technicalities, we've just about won gold!
I've got a job and a roof over my head
and I know that I'm luckier than the end of a rabbit's leg.
It's much to do with outlook – look, how are you helping this progress
if all you do is shout and grumble loud 'cause you're a bit depressed?
You've got to take it all with a pinch of salt.
Maybe add a squeeze of lemon and a drink? I'm thinking: halt.
It's certainly not all doom and gloom
in this backroom you might think I assumed a tomb.
You've got MC's like Lowkey, Klumzy Tung, Respek BA.
Around the way, people like Q-Tip, Common, Kanye.
Hip hop to me's now nothing more than a tempo
but when you intellectualise it, just don't go forgetting them.
There's always been the glamour and the posturing and violence,
ostentacious diamonds, the cost of private islands,
but now I'm fairly sure and you can quote it as I've told ya -
Hip hop's not getting worse, fact is: we are getting older.
Stop right there – if you ask me?
All you've really done is make this thoroughly nasty
and no-one here wants to hear that.
Let's turn the clock a few years back.
Stop right there – if you ask me?
All you've really done is make hip hop nasty
and no-one here wants to hear that.
Let's turn the clock a few years back.
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10. |
Take Your Card ft. Amy D
03:04
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Free your mind and redefine, it's legal and toward
like your VISA, plying D's design – repeat, rewind, record.
It's evil science, peep as I am deepening your corpse
in a shit creek of I.O.Us and crucifying your rewards
such as jeans and sneakers, sweets and meat you eat to start the day off,
each appliance Ebay-buying, weeks and nights to pay off.
Your needs'll find no meaning, I'm concrete with my relay-off.
I'm the cash machine behind the street with my display off,
keeping my own finder's fee, for each I fine a traitor,
griming up the streets with tiny sheets and piles of paper,
discreetly binding guys to me, wise to the caper -
my supplies might placate her, she just might fellate him later.
Sweetie pie, got an eagle eye, see me shining brashly,
seek and find my easy from your seat when hiring taxis,
demonise with no reprieval – I've seen the eyes of needles squeezed
by my easel, realise people, please...
Take your card and your cash will follow.
If I eat it up, you might need to borrow.
Take your card and your cash will follow.
I'm not thinking about tomorrow.
See, I don't mean to be mean, I'm the cash machine, know what I mean? Got the green and the scene and the..
You see, I hold your cash. Your soul is balderdash without your folded stash.
I hold you fast, cold and overcast, stuck in your culture clash,
evolve a rash, mould, your overdraft is a swollen gash,
revolver blast – Bing, Crosby's Still and someone's stolen Nash.
As your molars gnash, I'm international and wholly rational,
new location of the solar tolls on polar caps.
The role of fashion merely rolling cash in back into my holy cache
and notice that tonight I've blown up so much action.
Some bloke goes to bash me, don't look at him – over fast
because I'm golden-cast so patrol dash to solve the clash,
cajole doley to mash or casserole in the hole for lashing out
and what about that Lady Sovereign? Sold to Dash?!
At the polls, what I extoll consoles the classes.
I'm post-bowler hats and controlled moustaches.
So to the bold and brassic Coca-Cola Motorola masses,
I'll be waiting when your loan from home splashes...down.
Take your card and your cash will follow.
If I eat it up, you might need to borrow.
Take your card and your cash will follow.
I'm not thinking about tomorrow.
See, I don't mean to be mean, I'm the cash machine, know what I mean? Got the green and the scene and the..
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11. |
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It's killing me to hold this grudge
but I see you in those dreams
and I'll never speak to you again.
No, I'll never speak to you again.
It's too much to carry with me
and she's so beautiful...
I still smile.
Yes, I still smile.
Lips crack. Eyes twitch.
Impact. Seismic.
Blinded. Bliss.
You won't ever rock a smile like this. You can't ever rock a smile like this.
Cheekbones. Eyebrows.
Slowly. Find out.
Is it foolish to resist?
You won't ever rock a smile like this. You can't ever rock a smile like this.
By the day. Better.
Find a way. Home.
Low cost. High risk.
You won't ever rock a smile like this. You can't ever rock a smile like this.
You and me. Never.
Some mistake there.
Parting's sweet kiss.
You won't ever rock a smile like this. You can't ever rock a smile like this.
I still smile.
Yes, I still smile.
Oh god, don't tell me she's had the best of me, the best of me.
She can't have had the best of me, the best of me.
I still smile.
Yes, I still smile.
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12. |
She Doesn't Want Me
04:06
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It's the most that I can do to be the best that I can be.
Well, she's all I've ever wanted but she doesn't want me.
You played me
and now I'm flipping off my lid – despite everything I did, I never touched you.
Oh baby.
You know, we nearly had a kid but all you wanted was rid of me so fuck you.
Titillate me.
I remember how you'd tease, whisper please, go weak in the knees, rough too.
So shady
but it was just the summer breeze. You fell in love with being free. What were you up to?
We went dancing.
I bought some shoes with flat soles, went to that creepy fucker's house to learn some new steps.
Second-to-none romancing.
I never knew love that cold – whatever I'd do it always seemed useless.
Embarrassing
that I let you take me so low, like I'm Leia in the Millennium Falcon.
Bada boom bada bing.
'spose you got me, nice one, good joke. I need a bath and some talcum.
If you know the one I loved, then you're as gifted.
She's the grace to leave you powerless and lifted.
It's the most that I can do to be the best that I can be.
Well, she's all I've ever wanted but she doesn't want me.
It's all a laugh.
We try and try but know we're lucky just to end up not dying in a car crash.
Give me your autograph
as the last to ever do this – make a relationship feel just like a car crash.
Since you're the last,
I apologise to every girl I've ever treated badly like they're listening.
It's all come back...
Still can't say your name.
When you look back in the forties in your palace that your parents built you from scratch.
It's a crying shame.
Know you turned away my tenderness and patience because then you didn't want that.
I'll play the games
because I'm driven by biology, the same as him and her – I'm only human.
But show restraint -
You might hear it in my music and the proof is in the pudding, I'm a new man.
If you know the one I loved, then you're as gifted.
She's the grace to leave you powerless and lifted.
It's the most that I can do to be the best that I can be.
Well, she's all I've ever wanted but she doesn't want me.
Hmm hmm hmm hmm.
Hah hah hah hah.
If you know the one I loved, then you're as gifted.
She's the grace to leave you powerless and lifted.
It's the most that I can do to be the best that I can be.
Well, she's all I've ever wanted but she doesn't want me.
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13. |
Lurch (Castro Remix)
03:18
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14. |
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15. |
For Nadia (the live cut)
04:35
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You're the most delicate little thing in my life. Now, I see you stranded.
They couldn't have done better if they'd planned it.
Praying you stay playing, blissfully unaware
'cause words to this effect, I've never had them prepared.
Nadia's scared, uneasy, not an easy Big Brother to win.
Like Sinatra, I've got you under my skin
wondering: is this fate changeable?
'Cause I'd strain the full array of conveyance available if it's changeable.
But it's beyond my control and it's gathering steam,
not heard your Dad and Mum scream since your pattering feet began on the scene
bringing joy to all
and joining all the points up before you crawled, bawled
or even called for milk
and, seeing as this orb is filled with all sorts of filth,
I was hoping it would grant you safe passage
or, at least, stay placid until teenage passes.
This is sicker than payback is.
I have to watch you draw nearer to the day that is coming up to knock you.
Wish it was not due – but what can I do
apart from keep smiling? Your needs, I'll provide you.
Any needs, I'll provide you.
Any needs, I'll provide you.
Nadia, don't feel sad.
I know it's not nice between your Mum and your Dad.
But rest assured darling – it'll get better.
People tell me I shouldn't write letters.
Nadia, don't feel sad.
I know it's not nice between your Mum and your Dad.
But rest assured darling – it'll get better.
People tell me I shouldn't write letters.
Parental guidance slides to parental subsidance
and I can't recline while you're sitting in silence.
Another lamb to the slaughter. You're a daughter of kings
like Heulwen in the Lord of the Rings.
We watch it together as a measure of fantasy,
only cross the road when you extend your hand to me.
I'll take you anywhere away from this
flux of shits and fucks – we'll go feed the ducks.
See, it's just no good – thought my home held the model for peace.
You laugh at the duck's waddle.
An asian man and a white woman fight to the
flagrant stance of the hype and it's spiteful as they advance.
Ceasefire's a mile off.
Each tired speech riles and my smile's lost.
This beautiful little person is suffering.
Six years old and she's already toughening.
I'm stammering, stuttering, hamming up jokes
that I've scraped and saved to distract you from your folks.
Give a bit of help to get you started on a book
'cause I really can't handle that helpless look.
Nadia, don't feel sad.
I know it's not nice between your Mum and your Dad.
But rest assured darling – it'll get better.
People tell me I shouldn't write letters.
Nadia, don't feel sad.
I know it's not nice between your Mum and your Dad.
But rest assured darling – it'll get better.
People tell me I shouldn't write letters.
|
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Mike Dennis UK
Pre-orders for my 2024 album, Stop Time, are NOW LIVE!
Mike Dennis is a classically-trained
violinist and poet whose boyhood love of Run DMC, Beastie Boys and Gangstarr led him to create a unique kind of string-heavy hip hop music he refers to as Violinica.
You won't have seen an artist like this before.
... more
Mike Dennis recommends:
My friend Mirna Stanich's beautiful work.
go to album
Pinpoint production from a good friend of mine based in Bristol, featuring a collaboration we did together. Really awesome music.
go to album
You can't ask more from an MC than this. Plus the beats are all brooding, moving and different-sounding.
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