A New Phase of Tox

by Kitz Willman

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02:34
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about

a new phase of tox

an album of necessity, a new phase of tox arose when separated from comfort. disconnected from the arm rest and the water tap. hunched over, unable to hotkey, travelling to stationary after stationary, what else to do but continue spilling?

improvisation is fundamental to this project. planning around blueprints around demos around streaming services gets stale. is stale. a new phase of tox about where music needn't be. a new phase of tox about the same old shit. a new phase of tox about the value of an artist. a new phase of tox about what it means to mean. to middle. to average. to age appropriate questions of gratitude, sanctity. a rag in the gas tank of a cop cruiser. sampling self. returning, or rather, visiting for the first time with my own self. how do i sound spoken?

take with this your daily fly.
and zipper.
and pucker.
and breach-buying drapes.
we step on worry like grapes.
it take tiiiiiiiime.

i have a photo of a piano chord chart favourited on my tellular phone. i have only had a saxophone touch my lips when spring turned to summer and summer faded into the fall. archived recordings. archive recording. permission seekers sitting in the bleachers. a new phase of tox about what it means to concoct. to culd. to spill like honey jars, sharding slowly. patient.

a new phase of whatever the skull companies don't want. don't find intrinsically tied to numbers on their rectangle in only certain apps. to pale blue lips. to numb the noses of baby birds who are patient, resting.

again, it take time.

the first time i ever held a bandura, i was sitting by a fireplace somewhere in between Banduristan and Kolonianada. far from any anthropology conference, the secrets spilled out. i was briefly detained before being resurrected in the same place as my dad's dad's mother which is to say my grandpa's mother which is to say my great grandmother which is to exclaim "why?!" but sounding more like sheho. it take time to accustomize to chuzyna, lest we assimilate first or claw back against tombstone erosion. but we never bury near water. we always bury near water. we never burn a body. we always burn a body.

i manufacture and sell weapons.

cops are those who
carve out people’s souls
causing only painful shrieks
condemning our peaceful streets
curing only profit saliva
to
cull or proliferate sanctity
and
colonially officiate peaceless settlements
demoted, internal ends
piled into graves speedily
definitely
indubitably excellent!!

i do not appreciate police or policing. and i certainly won't ask permission to say so. why would i ask for anything less than eradication of the law? of the colonial laws? of academic hazing? of the concocted imaginary of trespass? of anything declared popely by Tommaso Parentucelli? of some guy who say colonialism and slavery are ill and i wear a big hat born by shades of smoke so let that be that? of disciplinary thought? of newspapers owned by forceful decision-makers peddling rags of war? i contest. i do not accept the corporations born of anything authorized by militarized police, north, west, royal, canadian, or otherwise. i do not accept the myths of nation or a corporation depicted as person.

self-recorded, self-produced, self-released, it's a new phase of tox about improvisational freestyle music and the goals of algorithmic taste.
you cannot stream forever. lockbox token breach.

weapons sell and manufacture i.

///////////////

credits

released November 26, 2019

Kitz Willman - saxophone, bandura, guitar, piano, drums, synthesizers, vocals, voice, sampling, lyrics, poetry, field recordings, art design, archival searches, and any & all additional instrumentation.

recorded in:
Saskatoon, Saskatchewan
Kingston, Ontario
Toronto, Ontario
Ottawa, Ontario
Sydney, Nova Scotia
Cheticamp, Nova Scotia
Longueuil, Quebec

banned era records

*track 13 lyrics written by Jeremy Gara, Regine Chassagne, Richard R. Parry, Tim Kingsbury, William Butler, and Win Butler.

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all rights reserved

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about

Kitz Willman Kingston, Ontario

producer/rapper from Treaty 6 Saskatoon currently in Kingston.

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Track Name: My Body is a Cage
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head
I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

My body is a,
My body is a cage
We take what we're given
Just because you've forgotten
That don't mean you're forgiven
I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There's no one in sight
I'm living in an age
That laughs when I'm dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me
My mind holds the key

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
Set my body free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free

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