Peter Gutteridge from Naïve by PGX

I first heard his name in the bottom of a tugboat in Wellington
Where a rock star so slim he bent in the wind was recording an album
He put on some music while tuning his amps
And the sound that crawled out was ma-ma-ma magic.
It was spun from hypnotic madness
It was rhythmic dirty and tragic
Had the knowledge that comes from sadness but still sounded fresh
My heart had been caught it took off with abandon
Eyes glowed like a bull seeing red
Asked what it was, and he said,
“Peter Gutteridge"

A few days later I was on tour with the band
You wanna come? He asked. Cause we got room in the van
Fuck yes I did, 'cause they were headed to Dunedin
Where liquid handcuffs had chained all the mamamamama musicians And the best lived in a villa at the bottom of a valley
As far from London and Berlin as you can get
We took to its back streets on acid, on prowl for the missing legend, saying “Come out come out, Peter Gutteridge!”

The smoke still curls up from pavements black
At times I swear it still unfurls from his cigarettes
Bent from his lips as nimble fingers dance
Across the keys and strings as he swayed in a trance
I loved you
Why’d you have to leave?
Us behind with our minds stuck on all the things
Although you’re gone, I know you’re not dead
‘Cause your memory’s keeping company with the voices in my head
And as I roam around I still see all the things that you said
You still live
Peter Gutteridge!

• Rock
• electronica
• indie
• indie rock
• post-punk
• Christchurch