When I was at secondary school, my maths teacher once replied to a question she was asked by a pupil by telling him the answer was unknowable; "I mean, how long is a piece of string?" she said.  I shot my hand up, and offered "It's twice as long from the middle to the end Miss".  Cue one weeks detention for being a smart arse.


In all fairness, the girl I wrote this song about was right to give me the heave ho.  I was a far too needy twenty one year old, and probably not easy to live with.  They say knowing you're an arsehole is the first step.



When we recorded this there was three of us and we went by the name "Ginger Breadman".  Ginger played the bass and sang too.  We really wanted him to play on the rest of the album too but he had other musical commitments.  We changed the name to Ginger, Bread, and the Man when we discovered an unknown rapper was already using it, and later to "Bread and the Man" once Ginger confirmed he couldn't play with us anymore.​  


As for the song, lullabies is meant both as a noun and a verb i.e. rumblestrip sends you to sleep.  The idea behind it is that people can get accustomed to the sound of an alarm so much that it is taken as a normal set of affairs, and, by its repetitious nature, has a soporific effect.  People anaesthetized by the media ignore the warnings.  To that end this song is any and all combinations of the political, ecological, physiological, and spiritual.

This started out life much differently to how it ended up.  It wasn't supposed to be a toetapper but that's what it mutated into.   When we were touting for money to make the album we put up a version of Man playing it on a webcam.  We haven't got round to putting a video with the album version on it so this demo will have to do for the moment.

​This features Norman Mineta's unused testimony to the 911 commission, part of an interview of Richard Gage, the head of Architects and Engineers for 911 Truth, and Bread reading a quotation of Antonio Gramsci.  


​If there's one single thing people need to wake up to, it is this.  911 was an inside job!

Hoping to go into a studio to record the rest of the album, we joined a crowdfunding site to raise the money.  Our facebook page had a hundred and fifty odd members and we foolishly thought that two thirds of them would at least stump up a tenner.  After three months of begging we raised 330€ and nowhere near the sum we needed.  I was gutted and could feel the schadenfreude intercontinentally.   Already I felt that the larger part of my friends were more concerned with sharing pictures of their pets than anything with any social consequence.  We thought however that our conspiracy-lite title track would have gotten shared more by mates.  That's when we wrote "Crusoe".  We had the music for years but it had no lyric.  It wrote itself fairly quickly thereafter although the first draft had far more vitriol ("Fuck this job with no point, fuck monotonous grind..." you get the idea).


We met up in Paris for a week to record the rest of the album either in the flat we were staying in or the rehearsal rooms at the bottom of our road.  On the last day we left the flat and had a walk around the alentours.  ​At the foot of the Sacre Coeur was a roundabout where we filmed for the "Crusoe" video.

This is another metaphorical one like "Rumblestrip".  He says it's raining, they say it's not.  He points out the proof of it, they deny it.  Bit like when debating 911 or any other so called conspiracy.  Ana kindly sang for us on this.

AKA: "The Christmas Single" This was one of the songs we did from scratch in Paris.  We've got nothing against God, if she exists, it's religious dogma and the accompanying begging that gets our goat.  

This song isn't about nothing, it's about the concept of "nothing".  In the beginning there was nothing, then, without any catalyst, there was everything.  Hmmm.  That's a lot of everything.  Also quantum science and anthropic principles seem to make our place in the universe as observers more important than previously thought.; a universe who's matter is largely comprised of nothing.  Now listen to it again.

Once we'd finished "Rumblestrip" we wanted to do an album themed around the "real conditions of our existence" as Marx would've put it, and seeing as we're in our forties, we're no strangers to the theme album.  We got this one done in our own homes, sending files to and fro.  Our friend Ruth did the opening "terms and conditions apply" as well as the weather forecast on "Umbrella".