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Velvet Underground - I'm Sticking With You

When I saw the photo of the boy and his stick insect, that Velvet Underground song came into my head: 'I'm sticking with you'. I knew I needed some glue sticks to complete the scene. I didn't know where I was going to find pictures of glue. I thought that I was going to have to resort to accepting junk mail in the letterbox and pray that there would be a Big W 'Back to school' catalogue inside. My friend who works at an art store came through for me after I asked her if she had any pamphlets showcasing glue. She gave me two copies of an annual ordering book of art supplies. The glue sticks are also a nod to analogue collage.

Velvet Underground - I'm Sticking With You

The beating of heavy sticks upon the doors, the smashing in of the windows, glass and wire-work giving way at every volley, and the yelling of the mob, made a deafening uproar, during which the old surgeon calmly began returning his favourite operating knives to their purple velvet-lined cases, locking them up carefully, as he turned to Horace North, who stood beside him, and said, with a smile:

But it was very nearly the same. The ostrich plumes of sable hue were common to all ranks, and the velvet and silk palls and carriages that were used for the higher magnates one year, descended to the second place a year or so later, and then came into country use. It was only a question of freshness, and what could that matter when the eyes of the mourners were so veiled with tears that they could not tell the new from the old?

Here he paused and listened, but all was perfectly still, and, running his hand along the tops of the pews, he went slowly on till he reached the screen, where he hesitated for a few moments, and then littering a low chuckle, that sounded like that of a cuckoo over a caterpillar feast, he turned aside, mounted the stairs, and seated himself in the pulpit, where he made himself comfortable with the big purple velvet cushion, and waited patiently for what was to come.

North obeyed in a dreamy way, apparently not knowing what he did; and as Moredock dragged out the old coffin, with its tattered velvet and tarnished ornamentations, he took the handle at the far end, and it was lifted down into the sawdust.

No doubt the pointed political beat-downs will elicit nods of approval in left-of-center college towns like Madison, but the fact is BSR aren't just about sticking it to the man. They have real chemistry, and at their best they move well beyond their Deadhead sources. That's never more evident than on the cyclical, ever-climaxing instrumental "Out @ 11," a trippy slice of neo-jam effusion that brings Allman-style double guitar leads together with woozy synth filigree and pulsing trance-rock beats. The extended track doesn't go on forever here, but it certainly could. Hey, if the drugs were right, I'm sure no one would complain. 041b061a72

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