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1.
Screech Orchestra is it true? Screech Orchestra in chaos invites you Screech Orchestra gona take Screech Orchestra is mistake Screech Orchestra is on her way Screech Orchestra play night and day Screech Orchestra finds your beat Screech Orchestra likes to cheat Screech Orchestra Screech Orchestra Screech Orchestra Screech Orchestra have no clue Screech Orchestra gonna brake on through Screech Orchestra play some noise Screech Orchestra like beastie boys Screech Orchestra is on her way Screech Orchestra play night and day Screech Orchestra finds your beat Screech Orchestra likes to cheat Screech Orchestra Screech Orchestra Screech Orchestra ************************* Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra je mogoče Škrip Orkestra kaos hoče Škrip Orkestra je napaka Škrip Orkestra je mala spaka Škrip Orkestra po celem svetu Škrip Orkestra vsak dan v letu Škripa skače in vrešči Ritam svoj ves čas lovi Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra je igranje Škrip Orkestra je malo sranje Škrip Orkestra opozarja Škrip Orkestra vam ustvarja Škrip tabujev in zrcal Škrip mehurčkov in bodal Škripa ugaja in ječi In se ti na glas smeji Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra Škrip Orkestra
2.
LITTLE APPLE MEN There lived a girl as merry as can be But her father was very loathsome, you see She made him an apple treat for memory. Little apple men Inside them she put to be sharp razors you see Little apple men Yeah yeah yeah (ache ache ache) Little creatures I make! Yeah yeah yeah, (ache ache ache) not one is a fake! Ten little fingers Ears, eyes and nose Mouth, knees and shoulders And ten little toes. Razors in fingers Ears, eyes and nose Razors in shoulders Mouth, knees and toes. Daddy, keep them forever This sweet memory of me wherever Daddy, don't ever eat them Not even in days of mayhem. But father devoured The whole of the apple-lot Daddy, why did you eat them? Red grin on his face Cool as a razor Buried in the ground daddy will lay. Alone in her bedroom little girl rests Night shadows whisper: sleep tight, sleep tight Through the door enters a wicked army of men. Little apple men, Little apple men, Little apple men “you killed our brothers we want revenge we’ll cut your throat and make your life end.” Across my chest to my mouth walks the army of men coming as they please I can no longer breathe. Now the cute little dead girl lies in her deathbed. Red grin on her face Cool as a razor Young, sweet, and brimming with blood.
3.
When You're Happy in Hamelin At the end of the world there is a place At the end of the world there is a place Forgotten, full of unhappy people At the end of the world there is a place From the houses comes a nasty smell From the houses comes a nasty smell Whispers are heard behind closed doors From the houses comes a nasty smell The damp from the river is spreading all around (The river damp is in the air?) The damp from the river is spreading all around Not everyone will make it through the night The damp from the river is spreading all around The sound of a whistle is getting near The sound of a whistle is getting near Blown by the master of all the children The sound of a whistle is getting near Laughter in the streets, not mine, not yours Laughter in the streets, not mine, not yours The rats rule the place tonight Red eyes, tail dragging on the ground The children are scared to the bone The children are scared to the bone Their laughter has crumbled into dust The children are scared to the bone At the end of the world The girl is suffering At the end of the world The boy is scared At the end of the world Daddy's little girl At the end of the world Brothers in blood At the end of the world There is a place
4.
Brata 06:02
Brothers Two brothers, there once were two brothers, the tortured one and the happy one, one was locked up at all times, the other got all that he wanted. Two parents, there once were two parents who decided, to raise their children differently, than most people do. They locked one boy up, and spoiled the other tortured the one loved the other. When the loved boy was growing he liked to write stories about bunnies and birds and angels all his young years. Then suddenly through the wall he began to hear drilling, punching, moaning breaking, scratching, suffering. He asked his mother – mummy what is it I hear through the nights and mother said – sonny dear, it's just dreams – don't you worry. The stories became darker still and weirder, stranger, better, more concise, that he wrote during waking nights. But all of a sudden he decides to go into the room where the sounds come from keeping him awake all nights the strange moans keep coming. Here, the story splits into two and it's up to you to decide, what's true and what never happens except in the little boys head. According to version one all he finds is mother and father laughing, faking the sounds all along, with drill and a whistle and moaning. This story finishes years later, when the boy, now a man, returns, a successful writer to his old home, and turns the stinking bedding. He finds his brother there, o, brother of mine rotting, dead, a body the tender bones all cracked up, all of his skin badly burnt. In tiny fist does the brother clench, the best story of all time the writer can’t ever write something is good, he collapses in front of his rival. Two brothers, there once were two brothers, the tortured one and the happy one, one died for the other, the other lost all he had had. The second version is even worse, more horrible than the first one he catches his mother and father at work, and the brother is only half-dead. So that very same night, as they fall asleep, the brother creeps into their bedroom covers their faces with pillows smothers them dead. Two brothers, there still are two brothers, but now their parents are dead, a shovel sang songs above them the ground closed up all around them. ******************************************* Brata (dva) Brata, bila sta dva brata, ta mučeni in ta vesel, je eden zaprt bil za vrata, drug vse, kar je hotel, je imel. Dva starša, bila sta dva starša, ki odločila sta se, da vzgajat je treba drugače, kot to večina počne. Sta enega fanta zaprla, ta drucga razvajat sta šla enega vse dni trpiiiinčilaaa drucga ljubila-la-la. Ko ljubljeni fant je odraščal zgodbe je pisal rad o zajčkih in ptičkih in aaaangelih vso svojo rosno pomlad. A sčasoma preko stene je sliiiišaaatiii začel, vrtanje, luknjanje, stokanje, lomljenje, praskanje, gnev. Vprašal je mamo – maaamiicaa, kaj slišim to jaz vse noči, mama je rekla – sinko zlat, to sanjaš le, le brez skrbi. Kljub temu so zgodbe postajale njegove temnejše vse, čudne močnejše vse, boljše, izpiljene ki pisal jih je noči budne. Lepega dne pa odpravi se v sobo, s katere ga zvoki preganjajo v temi vseee noči ne dajo mu spat čudni stoki. Tu zgodba na dvoje se razdeli odločit se morate sami, kaj res je in kaj se sploh ne zgodi, razen v fantkovi glavi. Po verziji ena tam najde le očeta in mamo smejoča, ki zvoke poooneeveeerjata, z vrtalko, piščalko in stokom. Ta zgodba zaključi se leta kasneje, ko fantič, zdaj moški se vrne, uspešen pisatelj v rodni svoj dom, blazino smrdljivo obrne. Tam brata zagleda, o bratec moj, strohnelega, mrtvega, truplo, drobne koščice polomljene, vsako ped kože ocvrto. V rokici drobni stiska brat, zgodbo najboljšo vseh časov, da take srečni spisat ne zna, se zgrudi pred tem, kar je našel. (dva) Brata, bila sta dva brata, ta mučeni in ta vesel, je eden umrl za drugega, drug zgubil je vse, kar je imel. A druga različica strašnejša je, grozljivejša še od prve očeta in mamo ujame na delu, a brat je še le na pol mrtev. Zato tisto noč, ko se spravita spat. se v spalnico njuno brat splazi z blazinama skrije jima obraz z blazinama ju zadavi. Dva brata, še vedno dva brata le starša zdaj mrtva sta nad njima je pela lopata nad njima zaprla se tla.
5.
A girl who believed she was Jesus Once upon a time there lived a little girl, Who was quite quite determined she was the second coming of the Lord Jesus Christ: Hi, I am the Lord Jesus Christ. She'd wear a little beard and would go around in sandals, Walking amongst the poor and the homeless, Loving lepers, healing drug-addicts, sSering drunks, washing beggars. She wanted to save everyone, Went about blessing everything. And so she was never home, As there is too much woe in this world. 6 years she had, for 6 year she believed, for 3 days she suffered, for 6 years and 3 days she lived. One night, the little girl slipped out yet again, And for two horrifying days Her parents could find neither hide nor hair of her, Until they received a distraught call from a priest they didn't know, saying: Hello, I am a distraught priest. You'd better come down to church. Your daughter's here giving us a lot of shit. It was cute at first but now it's really getting irritating. AMEN. Her parents, relieved that she was alive and well, Sped downtown to pick her up, But in their haste they careened into an oncoming meat truck, Were beheaded and died. The little girl was informed of the news, She cried a single tear, and not a single tear more. She was shipped of by the state to live in a forest With some abusive foster parents, Who hadn't informed the state that they were abusive on the form; Who hated religion, who hated Jesus, Who hated anybody, in fact, who didn't hate anybody, And who, as would follow, hated the little girl. She'd receive a beating When she insisted on attending church of a Sunday, For arriving late home, For sharing her food with the hungry, For praying, For cheering up the ugly kids, For wandering about looking for the lepers, For sobering the drunks, For washing the beggars, And yet she always forgave them all. One day she met a blind man begging by the roadside, She mixed a little of her spittle In the dust and rubbed it over his eyes to revive them, But he was angry and reported her to the police. When her foster parents got her back from the police station they said to her: So you want to be just like Jesus, do you? And she said: Finally you fucking get it! And they stared at her for a while. And then it started. They embedded in her head a crown of thorns. Then they beat her with a cat o'nine tail till she bled. Do you still want to be like Jesus? And, through her tears, she said, 'Yes, I do,' and forgave them. So they made her carry a heavy wooden cross Around the sitting room a hundred times, Until her legs buckled and her shins broke: I am the Lord Jesus Christ, she kept maintaining. All right, we'll nail you to a cross, then Knock, knock, knock ... Nailed to the cross she bore it all, While her parents watched television, And when all the good programs were over, They sharpened a spear and they said to her: Do you still want to be like Jesus? No, I don't want to be like Jesus ... I fucking am Jesus! And her parents stuck the spear in her side, And they left her there to die, and they went to bed. She waited till morning to forgive them, And that she did when they woke up. The angry parents brought a coffin made of glass: If you are Jesus, you'll survive, if you are Jesus, you'll rise in three days' time. And the little girl thought about it for a while, And she smiled to herself and whispered: Exactly. Exactly. In a grave made of glass the girl awaits, Inside, there is just enough room for her and three days' worth of air. Three days later the blind man from the police station walks by, And being quite quite blind sees and hears No Jesus No girl, No Christ, No nothing.
6.
Napaka 02:45
MISTAKE fatal mistake typical mistake private mistake certified mistake genetic mistake production mistake cerebral mistake systemic mistake relative mistake strategic mistake utter mistake mistake in judgment cardiac mistake linguistic mistake serial mistake browser mistake everything is a mistake of situation caused by a lack of concentration for their own mistakes nobody cares but for each one you make they'll make you... the world, a mistake of civilisation happiness, a mistake of frustration order, a mistake of chaos diamonds are a mistake stars are cosmical mistakes white, a mistake of the color spectrum bubble, a mistake in the shampoo bass, a mistake of the guitar mistake number 268 mistake that I want 2 make mistake number 149 mistake you are a part of mankind! god is a human mistake apple is a heavenly mistake bread is a sweet pie mistake water is a wine mistake clothes are fashionable mistakes flying, Peter Pan's mistake Hollywood is a Bollywood mistake righteousness, Robin Hood's mistake mistake number 268 mistake that I want 2 make mistake number 149 mistake you are a part of mankind! Kamchatka is a mistake of geography dance, a stillness mistake music, a mistake of silence nah nah is no mistake logic is a cerebral mistake cheese is a dairy mistake life is a terminal mistake nah nah is no mistake everything is a mistake of situation caused by a lack of concentration for their own mistakes nobody cares but for the each one you make they'll make you... mistake number 869...
7.
ABCD-arijum 02:26
ABCD A is for Ana who fell down the stairs B is for Barbara assaulted by bears B is for Boris,trombone sucked him in. C is for Ciril who wasted away Č is for Črtomir thrown out of a sleigh D is for David who choked on a peach E is for Eva sucked dry by a leech F is for Fric smothered under a rug G is for Grega done in by a thug H is for Hana who drowned in a lake I is for Ira who took lye by mistake J is for Jelena who was struck with an axe K is for Klara who swallowed some tacks L is for Leja who was swept out to sea M is for Maja who died of ennui N is for Neja run through with an awl O is for Oskar trampled flat in a brawl P is for Pavle who sank in a mire R is for Rok consumed by a fire S is for Simona who perished of fits Š is for Špela who flew into bits T is for Tito who slipped down a drain U is for Urška squashed under a train V is for Vanja embedded in ice Z is for Zrinka devoured by mice Ž is for Žak who drank too much gin Thus ends the alphabet – the quire is done in. A B C Č D E F G H I J K L L M N O P R S Š T U V Z Ž Thus ends the alphabet – the little child is dead.
8.
Poustr 05:28
Pillowman In these flames I am reminded of a story long ago, when I was keeping to a quota taking them to the othe side. (Children.) It all starts at the beginning when I find a person, that is crying, shivering with a noose around their neck a sharp razor in their hands their heads stuck in gas ovens awaiting lighting with a rod or staring into an abyss. In these flames I am reminded of stories of a thousand men only pain and only suffering nothing merry, only worry. (All the time.) So I go back to the past find them all years before as girls and boys without any worries, happy souls still with no borders. I am soft so I can hug them a pillow, so that they may lay their heads into my soft lap a soft hand through their hair. I am a pillow, top to bottom two pillows for my hands pillow ears and pillow innards pillow eyes and pillow teeth. Take yourselves out of this world do it, children, do it, it’s time to kill yourselves so that you don’t come to harm. The pillowman will help you with it, pillowman, soft just for you, we’ll find a way to do it together so we do it properly. But what of parents, asks the child. won’t they be so very sad? It’ll look like an accident, don’t you children worry. There’s a pond with ice so thin ther a pillbox with no lid, there a busy two lane street, with an ice-cream stall accross. Here’s a bag that clenches tightly round your head so you can’t breathe, hear a plug and fork to stick in, here a bridge that wobbles so. But I did not always make it I recall a little girl who said: pillow, I’m too happy for this kind of foolery. But the next night there’s a rapping at her door – knock knock knock she says: pillow, let it go, I’ll not change my mind just so. ‘Twas no pillow, ‘twas a man, who kept coming years and years and the girl grows up a woman, takes her own life at her hand. In these flames I am reminded of this and thousands other tales my own tale I last remember, pillowman, the comforter. (Pillowman.) I sat down here at the brook, when along comes little pillow he just looked me over quick and was fast to find a cure. He spilled gas on his soft body lit a match and said to me in these flames he softly whispere soon you’ll sleep quite easily. When he disappears in these flames little pillowman – or me smiles and grins so very happy cause he rid me of my worries. (Death, sweet death.) But then I hear round me, the horror thousands and more thousands souls, screaming, suffering and groaning, live again from ‘neath the earth. Since I died as little pillow I never was the pillowman killed no children, ended no lives all of them remained alive. And these lives, we know already were just clumps of misery only suffering, sadness, worry they were better of – dead. (Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead) ******************************************** Pouštr V plamenih se spominjam davne zgodbe, vrste let, ko izpolnjeval sem kvoto spravljaj jih na drugi svet. (Otroke.) Vse prične se na pričetku ko poiščem tistega, ki se joče, ki trepeče zanko krog vratu ima ostro britev v roki stiska glavo v šporhet si tišči s štango k nebu čaka bliska ali v prepad strmi. V plamenih se spominjam zgodb teh tisočev ljudi le bolest in le trpljenje nič veselja, le skrbi. (Na obroke.) Pa se vrnem v preteklost jih poiščem leta prej, kor brezskrbne fantke, punčke, srečne duše še, brez mej. Spravite se s tega sveta, dajte deca, dajte se, čas se je ugonobiti da ne pride vam gorje. Pouštr sem od nog do glave pouštra dva sta roki dve s pouštrov ušesa, s pouštrov čreva pouštri za oči, zobe. Mehek sem, da jih objamem, pouštr, da mi polože glavo v naročje mehko mehka roka skoz lase. Pouštr vam bo tu pomagal, pouštr le za vas mehak, skupaj bomo ugotovili, kako se, da ne bo napak. Kaj pa starši, vpraša otrok, mar ne bodo žalostni? Zgledalo bo kot nesreča, nej te to nič ne skrbi. Tam je ribnik s tankim ledom, tamle škatlica tablet, tamle cesta, kjer drvijo, preko nje pa sladoled. Tu je vrečka, ki oprime glave se nadvse tesno, tu vtikač in tu pletilki, tale brv drži slabo. Vedno mi pa ni uspelo, spomnem se dekletca, ki mi je rekla: srečna pouštr sem preveč za te reči. A že drugo noč potrka ji na vrata – tok tok tok reče: pouštr, raje pusti spet odšel boš praznih rok. Ni bil pouštr, bil je moški, ki je hodil vrsto let in dekletce v punco zrase, si hiti življenje vzet. V plamenih se spominjam te in tisočero zgodb svoje se nazadnje spomnim, poušter jaz, blažilec usod. (Pouštr.) Tu na breg sem se usedel, kar prišel je pouštrček enkrat me je le pogledal in je hitro našel lek. Se polil je s kerozinom, in vžigalico prižgal v plamenih zdaj presrečen pravi, sladko boš zaspal. Ko izginja v plamenih pouštrček – jaz sam – gori vidim: srečen se nasmiha ker me rešil je skrbi. (Smrt, sladka smrt.) A tedaj zaslišim – strašno vse krog mene tisoč duš, ki kričijo in trpijo, znova žive izpod ruš. Ker kot pouštrček sem umrl pouštr nisem nikdar bil nič otrok ne ugonobil vsak od njih ostal je živ. Ta življenja pa že vemo so le skupki bolečin le trpljenja, žalost, beda, bolje jim bilo je – hin. (Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim. Mrtvim.)
9.

about

Screech Orchestra is music, song and dance.
Screech Orchestra when asked «Is this possible?» answers «Yes, it is impossible».
Screech Orchestra believes in mistakes.
Screech Orchestra is a mistake.
Screech Orchestra is sewing machine music.
Screech Orchestra is a taboo in the mirror.
Screech Orchestra is a child without a childhood.
Screech Orchestra is a glitter melody.
Screech Orchestra is a struggle of duality against duplicity.
Screech Orchestra shoots bubbles.
Screech Orchestra dance.
Screech Orchestra recycles, creates and exemplifies
Screech Orchestra is nah, nah.
Screech Orchestra is noise pleasant and unpleasant.
Screech Orchestra follows your beat.
Screech Orchestra invites you in a chaos of screeches, screams and melodies
Screech Orchestra laughs (at you).
Screech Orchestra wants to screech all over the
world.

**********************************************

Screech Orchestra, the first original project by the actress and dancer Jelena Rusjan, is an exploration of a form of theatre where the obscure forces of violence, personal responsibility and lost childhoods face the variegated aesthetics of kitch-noir. The performance draws its inspiration from a great variety of sources, from the darkness of McDonagh's Pillowman and Andersen tales, to the playful Tim Burton, folk song and uncompromising punk. The project resulted in a musical cast unable to avoid its theatrical roots. Through stories of tormented and abused children, the performers present mainly themselves on stage.

The key feature of the Screech Orchestra is a critical relation between lighter pop patterns and serious, almost weighty, content used to establish the issue of a artist’s responsibility towards their social and cultural environment, as well as to search out the most effective forms of expression

SCREECH ORCEHSTRA are:
Jelena Rusjan , Ana Franjic, Barbara Krajnc, Andreja Kopač, Leja Jurišić, Neja Tomšić , Urška Vohar and Otar Savali

Texts by: Screech Orchestra and Jure Novak
Production: Gledališče Glej, Ljubljana
Coproduction: Mesto žensk, Ljubljana (SLO)

credits

released April 16, 2010

Screech Orchestra – »girls' gang« issues its first CD

The theatrical-musical project Screech Orchestra expands its influence by issuing its first CD!
The premiere of the play Screech Orchestra, the first one directed by Jelena Rusjan, took place in September 2009 in GLEJ theatre in Ljubljana. Although a theatre based project, Screech Orchestra features unusual musical cast, hungry not only for a theatre stage, but for a concert and a club stage as well.
The play – concert made quite a splash with its brilliant performance and distinctive directing. Screech Orchestra erases the line between theatre and concert performance. It confirms its hybrid nature over and over again with its appearance in theatres, clubs, on festivals and concerts all over ex-Yugoslavia, and the next step is the American tour in autumn.
On its first CD, Screech Orchestra plays »screech music« you haven't heard so far. The actors, performers, with no formal musical education are playing diferent instruments and different objects, offering a special audio experience, with immediacy and freshness as its main trait.
It's hard to limit the Schreech Orchestra music to one genre, so the Screech Orchestra members have a couple of suggestions:
» Noir Kitsch audio adventure taking you to the other side of nightmares«
» Music with a defect playing with human... mistakes«
»Children melodies disguised into uncompromising Screech punk«
»Lounge music from hell«

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