by Drew Worthley

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(Chasing the wind)
Che Guevara is on my coaster He’s wreathed in gold stars His revolution’s a sad face Now he wonders how the hell he wound up here There’s a toucan sat on my mouse-mat He’s carrying Guinness but Looking over his shoulder For the blue skies that once were his home Bone China Saviour Jesus is on my teacup Pierced hands they hold my whisky So I’ll cradle my Bone China Saviour The Holy Pope is praying faithfully Caught between the clear Perspex and a magnet As he ponders now the purgatory of my fridge Sipping at memory Savouring melancholy Tasting the flecks of my history
Daemon 03:37
Stones rise high, climbing from the earth A hewn embrace of metamorphic love Ageless home of Holy Rome enthralled By monstrous charms, intoxicating power I want to be your daemon Want to be your daemon Wrap myself around your heart tonight Silken mouth, drink deep from the well Banners fly, and rally round my spell Still small voice of sanity resiled To Hades’ song enflaming your black mind With golden arms and scarlet tongue I find myself inside these words You lay back down, I steal your soul (An eagle soars through red skies)
Dunstan and the Saints sanctify your name Kentish Ragstone grey, guards your heart and marks your fame Wellclose Square your thegn, Johnson’s Lock checks the pulse in your vein Ossulstone a Hundred strong could not withstand (the pain) But who cares for you now? A blitzed and battered kingdom pining for redemption Your scars could be beautiful But when will that be? (Say the bells of Stepney) Compulsory disdain wipes your Georgian slate Tarnished jewels once great are swept away in brutal concrete wakes Towers rise to reign, hamlets sprawl through your Victorian graves Wilton’s Hall remains in grandeur bruised (and brave) Here’s a candle now to lift your head And a candle now to light you to bed
Stumbling down roads of broken truth, I’m tripping on brittle proofs The soles of my old shoes are wearing through The air tastes thin kissing this palimpsest skin Of a shucked out soul To walk upon the water was all I ever wanted With fire on my tongue from hymns of old But lonely is the alter where siren songs are chanted Now I’m searching for the shore See this erudite edifice persist with atrophied emotion From an age where I couldn’t breathe and I wouldn’t yield but I could not run Now even though a host of holy ghosts is haunting me I’m a shucked out soul I don’t know how Don’t know how I’m gonna stand The burning pyre hides a cloud My weeping eyes are seeking for a hand
Flood of Red 04:25
I am the doubt of Thomas I'm the finger in the wound I am Indiana Jones with no Short Round to help And I'm trapped in the Temple of Doom I am Saint John of the Cross In his darkening night of dread I've the stark bloodshot eyes of the lonely and lost And I can't seem to get out of bed I'm struggling to get out of bed But the broken bread and the flood of red In silver cup won't lift me up, fill me up The broken bread and the flood of red In silver cup won't|might lift me up But I'll drink it down still Yes I'll drink it down still Speak my holy verse So that Adam's curse Might lift from me now I am the heir of Jonah And I'm still stuck inside that fish I've misplaced my strength, my honour, my love And I'm striving not to forget this Still I grasp the husk of my fervour Like a suitcase stained with time Oh it's torn up and tattered and splattered with hope And my faith is spilling out of the sides Yes my faith is spilling out of the sides
The Salem sun is setting down on the forest line Where tangled roots of foolish youth are sprawling around my mind Now my weary sin finds its reckoning in the shrieking skin of a child’s whim With the kingdom’s keys jangling over me round the hanging tree The world goes mad, yes the world goes mad And the devil’s on my back Judges gather names, stoke, fan the flames at the vestry door Now vengeance reigns and grudges claim their victims, settling sacred scores So the fire burns yes the fire burns, and I hear the dark boot of Lucifer Truth is cracked and strapped back on the rack, oh my time is coming soon The world’s gone mad, yes the world’s gone mad I’ve given my soul, given my all won’t you leave me my name? If it’s all the same, please leave me my name (My heart is riven)
Far beyond this darkling plain lurk new myths of limitless gain Abandoned lands of milk and honey cede to fiscal reign We bow to derivative calves forged in oil-fuelled furnaces Graphs of bovine gold keep growing, gorging slowly on our swollen GDP our credit histories these toxic equities Sponsoring prime-time tragedy Splendid shards of glass and steel pierce these skies with monochrome fealty 'Beauty so old and so new' accrues the tarnished hue of greed So we serve the corporate need, blessing bonds with quantitative ease These hedged inequities keep growing, gorging on our swollen GDP Our credit histories these toxic equities Sponsoring prime-time tragedy JM Keynes where are you now? JM Keynes where are you now? In the wilderness with your locusts and honey, Jonny where are you? Oh Jonny Keynes, how we need you now Because we are the dying breed, caught between the Sound and the Fury Numinous insolvency casts us to mammon's tawdry schemes We strut and we fret and we rage, sell out our hour upon this stage Worshipping new days of trade, desperate for the memories to fade Of our hopes and our dreams And our tragic histories Our decaying philosophies We're trying to buy back our dignity
340 is coming up slow now the numbers are scrolling and tumbling round in their black surround as I wonder how many wickets are down Late back home, awake in the steel glow my mum sits in the small hours with remote control and an emery board reading 124 before the lights go out I’m on hold, where am I to go? I’m on hold but still I try to Press red for love Yellow for courage Blue for my sadness 401 is promising sunshine But these cathode rays won’t brighten my mind So I’ll step outside, set the pixels aside Leave Bamber behind Now the test-card’s torn, my signal’s on the wane Transmission shutdown means I’ll never go back again That entropic heart is but a fragment of my past Now Manhattan dreams are broadcast live Manhattan dreams light up my sky
We are born dead, ceased to be sons of living fathers Content with the taste of sin and with shame Dancing with dread in a bourgeois dream I’m lost and I’m found fracturing underground All the glory that you are is but dust of dying stars Princes and knaves fault cowardice for good sense and wisdom We find comfort in deceiving ourselves Crumbling malaise is our vaudeville doom (For sin and for shame) Not sinner nor saint (Deceiving ourselves) Not hero nor rogue
Angel Wharf 05:26
Silence strays across the pages of my memory Mantras melt clamouring voices of the mind Wooden beads and simple pleas Strip the flesh from my aching bones Midnight wanes, I pace the riverway Breathe again Breathe again Distant sighs of cars ghost by through tarmac arteries, and serenade the moonlight's chaines upon the Thames, Delivering me from pilgrim dreams of Totnes shops I stop drop to roll Wipe sands of time from heavy eyes I'm alive I’m alive Homeward bound, my peace is found down in the undertow Angel Wharf marks journey's end and my repose Orion stands with outstretched hands His shield raised to fend off the dawn At my door new mornings call I’m reborn I’m reborn  



"It’s one of the albums of the year without doubt, as its charm and downright insubordinate addictiveness shines through on each and every one of Crucible’s eleven tracks. 8.5/10"
Louder Than War

“Makes you want to just stop everything and simply listen.”

“His songwriting is a type that breaks down many boundaries” BaebelMusic

“The East Londoner plays well, a sort of retro pop made new again.”
Glacially Musical


released September 24, 2015

All songs written by Drew Worthley
except #2,3,5 & 10; lyrics by Drew Worthley, music by Drew Worthley and Phil Wilkinson

Drew Worthley: Vocals, Guitars, Banjo, Piano, Synth, Organ, Programming, Trumpet
Phil Wilkinson: Drums, Percussion, Piano, Synth, Organ, Programming, BVs
Jon Kensington: Bass
Nigel Waddington: Flugelhorn and Trumpet
Harry Napier: Cello

Produced by Phil Wilkinson and Drew Worthley
Recorded & Mixed by Dave Izumi at Echo Zoo Studios
Mastered at Hungry Bear Mastering
Additional Recording/Prelude/Tasty Niblets at Phil’s house & Drew’s house

Design, Images and Layout by Darren Harvey-Regan
except ‘Icon’ by Drew Worthley

I hold gratitude in abundance for all the good people without whose generosity, grace and giftings this record could not have come to be. Peace and love to you all. Especial thanks to the wonderful legend of a human being that is Phil Wilkinson. This great rumbustification of ours has been a pleasure.

© & ℗ 2015 Drew Worthley


all rights reserved



Drew Worthley UK

Crafter of a curious blend of cerebral indie-pop with a twist of lyrical Americana. Newly released sophomore record 'CRUCIBLE' has been acclaimed by Louder Than War as 'one of the albums of the year without doubt.' The 'blisfully atypical' collection of songs have been receiving regular airplay on BBC 6 Music, BBC London and BBC Introducing, ... more

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