TheDialekt

TheDialekt

BandPop

Live, The Dialekt deploy a neat 'diamond formation' on stage, ensuring there are no gaps through which their unique brand of unnecessarily catchy synth-laden guitar pop can escape. The lyrics sit perfectly on a line between laugh-out-loud funny and contemplatively beautiful.

Biography

:WHAT IT IS WE DO::

On a bad day, we moan about the dark; hunger for hunger; discuss, at length, the brunette from the cafe; come to no conclusions; fail to keep our chops up, as Randy would have it; break strings but not hearts; argue with a keyboard part; lose the argument; procrastinate until night fall; repeat.

On a good day, we tear things apart; laugh about language; find a spark for the gas heater; make a racket and then re-string it; agree that swearing is both big and clever; graft;laugh; make stuff up; talk to the brunette from the cafe; decide that it's a really great tune; make people giggle as if they' ve done something naughty; animate; put it all back together.

So turn up the stereo and get ready to smile. The Dialekt have suffered for your enjoyment.

::WHERE WE COME FROM::

The Dialekt firmly believe in that old saying, "Contentment is the enemy of invention." Which is why four different people from London, Wales, Swabia
and Seattle moved to Berlin, one of Europe's poorest and coldest cities, to make music. Being perverse is more important than being comfortable. Or warm.
Everything slows down in the cold - water, libidos, atoms. Everything apart from the desire to make great music.

Lyrics

What we wanted

Written By: Barnaby Pole

I don't wanna hear of abstract imagery
the puddles on my kitchen floor seem real to me

But it's what we wanted
it's what we wanted
and we've only got ourselves to blame
we've got the guns but not the aim

In lingerie and loafers let us take to the bars
we swapped the au natrelle look for these push-up bras

But it's what we wanted, it's what we wanted
communication without moving makes
our hate-filled double bellies ache
we can drink for fun but the drinks are no great shakes

I'm sorry, I mean it
I acted like a twat but
I don't find it easy to have to take things back so
I'm sorry, I mean it, the knives are out for me
but she never attempted such an apology
and that's why we want her dead

We can deconstruct, violence errupts around
corrupted sounds from nowhere
yeah it got us nowhere
we can play our clashing chords,
get out our swords to watch DVDs of Traci Lords
but nowhere, yeah it got us nowhere
and we can't complain...

The aliens are coming so let's go get the guns
shooting things that don't exist is how we get our fun

But it's what we wanted, it's what we wanted
communication without moving means
we lose our lives but keep our dreams

With desperation in our eyes let's storm the stage
yes we are her children and we're coming of age

But it's what we wanted, it's what we wanted
communication without moving lets
us pine for what the others get
and the hole in our hearts is a big regret

I'm sorry, I mean it, I acted like a twat
but I don't find it easy to have to take things back so
I'm sorry, I mean it, the knives are out for me
but she never attempted to turn apology
and that's why we want her dead

we can deconstruct, violence errupts around
corrupted sounds from nowhere
yeah it got us nowhere

CU next tuesday

Written By: Barnaby Pole


Lyrics für "C U Next Tuesday"
There are two types of people in the world
Those who think that it
Is divisible by two
And those who know that’s utter shit
We pointed all this out to him
He didn’t care a bit.

The tattoos on his front eight teeth
Spelt out ‘love’ and ‘hate’
One day he got punched in the mouth
And now he’s lost the ‘H’
“Love ate what?” I asked him
He replied “let’s make a date”.

So we’ll see you next Tuesday.

“You’re either with us or against us
Go to heaven or to hell,”
He said. Then hid behind his flag
Big thinking doesn’t sell
Postmodernism is just another
Word he couldn’t spell.

Some people think he doesn’t know
What’s right and what is wrong
But I know he knows we know
He knows what’s going on
But no-one would have cared
Had text slang not come along.

So we’ll see you next Tuesday.

And we’ll be together come what may
But you might have to put up with some grey
We’ll stand in the firing-line
And dream.
Dream.
Dream about a totally different world.

We’ll see you next Tuesday.

Get along with me

Written By: Barnaby Pole


Lyrics für "Get Along With Me"
Take the night train to paris, turn the lights off so I can't be seen
And let the words of Oscar Wilde explain why she is getting rid of me.

If each man kills the things he loves
Then I'd normally be contemplating suicide
I just don't love myself enough
To offer you my last remaining sigh

So get along with me
The atmosphere is like the windy out of season beaches down at
Clacton-upon-Sea
We must enjoy what empty spaces help us understand
Of beauty.

Some kill their love with lust, some do it with their hands of gold
'though sex is complicated there were certainly orgasms involved.

If each man kills the things he loves
Then I'd normally be contemplating suicide
I just don't love myself enough
To offer you my last remaining sigh.

I don't need to know that I am a super guy
I've known myself longer than you
You don't need to show me circumstance caught your eye
You did what you wanted to do
And the cowards used kisses then blew
Away the cobwebs, there to keep my thoughts from getting way too Deacon Blue.

So get along with me.

Excited no more

Written By: Barnaby Pole


Lyrics für "Excited No More"
Something has been missing
From a life that's just spent pissing it away
I have been wishing
But i do not know what for.
I could ask the shooting stars,
Ambassadors and commissars,
Drunk old men in country bars
But no one knows a cure.

I pick up girls aged twenty-one
I've seen the clouds reveal the sun
My friends all love me, i am sure.
So tell me why can't I get excited no more?

The decapitation of the queen
The biggest J I've ever seen
The perfect blend of brown and green
Teeth grind to the jaw.
The smell of spring-time flowers
Summer sun with whisky sours
Silver service, golden showers
Sweating booze from every pore

I pick up girls aged twenty-one
I've seen the clouds reveal the sun
My friends all love me i am sure.
So tell me why can't I get excited no more?

This poor old man looks like he's out of luck
By day he takes his photos and by night he cannot get it up
The girls he photographs are whack
Her two fried eggs and wicket grass
Ensure her arse gets on the rack.
He says to himself:

Why can't I get excited no more?
Why can't I get excited no more?
It's cos I, I am already dead
There's nothing to live for when life only happens in your...

This poor young boy can never open his eyes
The billboard girls are everywhere, they're ruining his big surprise
And when she gets back to his house
His brewer's droop's so bad
It's like he's necked a pint of Famous Grouse.
He says to himself:

Why can't I get excited no more?
Why can't I get excited no more?
It's cos I, I am already dead
There's nothing to live for When live only happens in your
Yes it's all in your head.

Why can't i get excited
Why can't i get excited
Why can't i get excited
Why can't i get...

Discography

::GET ALONG WITH ... THE DIALEKT EP:: 2008

We would throroughly recommend listening to our new EP, 'Get along with ... TheDialekt', just uploaded to myspace.com/thedialekt, if you can answer 'yes' to the majority of these criteria:

1. You believe, or perhaps know, that Margaret Thatcher is a witch. A nasty one, probably from the West, who continues to disrespect the British people by not topping herself, preferrably with a rifle, on live national television. Or at least apologising for being a witch (like, "Sorry everyone, I really am, but it was kind of your fault for electing me three times in a row, innit?"). This is the supposition of track one. Natasha Kaplinsky will get the same treatment on our next EP.

2. You agree that sometimes - irrespective of how many things are, on paper, great - life can be a bit shit. It's impossible to tire of using the English football team for all it analogous worth, because the English football team is life. I know, weird, but you look at it and go, yeah, that's great and that's great and he's a real looker, and then it just fizzles out like the last, luke-warm drips of your pre-bedtime piddle. And then it gets flushed away. The only thing I can think of in life that consistently delivers, that is never disappointing and always makes me happy, is a pair of naked breasts. If you're in any way with me on this one, make a bee-line for track two.

3. You have, at some point in your life, been royally fucked over by someone you really wanted to be with. The great thing about writing 'shit, she doesn't want me' songs is that everyone knows that feeling. If you don't know that feeling, don't listen to track three. Go out and live a little instead. You're probably too smug and self-satisfied to enjoy pop music anyway. Git. Incidentally, an appreciation of the (let's be honest, fairly hit-and-miss) poetry of Oscar Wilde will massively enhance your enjoyment of track three. A bit like a pair of 3D glasses would at a funfair.

Go give it a listen, people, without forgetting to swing by thedialekt.com for an extra helping of pop-pudding. We'll be pressing it up into CDs at some point in the future, and might even make it (I just can't get to grips with this word) downloadable for a short time, so watch this space. Through 3D glasses.

::[CU] NEXT TUESDAY EP:: 2007

Discover why relationships can be such fickle things, learn that the world is no longer a black and white film, ponder the link between hormones and religion, enjoy some frankly impressive stereo keyboard noises, jump up and down, spot the missing gism and inexplicably feel better about yourself. All in a shade over ten minutes.