instant karma: completely gone fishing

liner notes: three cakes for toad

"A cruel and merry little song, entirely fictional, non? This recording features me on rare lead vocals and - the first time ever that four guitarists in the band did not suffice - Franz on cool, but entirely un-Instant-Karmaesque blues guitar."

Toad, you're never going to be, whatever you wanted to be, no astronaut or fireman, no doctor, no president. You can safely forget all the wonders the others do. You better forget all the marvellous things everybody does. Toad, toad, it's not your fault, some are born to crawl, born to crawl. Toad, toad, you'll never fall if you go down on all fours, down on all fours. Life's like is like a restaurant, if you're smart you order want you want. But something must have gone all wrong, I got an imbecilic son. I should have never married your mother, but I went for blondes. It's all her fault, why did she drink that much, just because my hand slipped once in a while ..., and I say toad, toad, it's not your fault

--Martin

liner notes: w

'Why oh Why can you guys never get it right? Well, this album track is way off from Tom`s initial vision. Please cross-reference with an earlier version in the bonus section. The rest of us still think, it`s one of the real beauties of this record.'

Let him screw you down to his sickened world. Purgatory or what? Let him get you drugged, get you half asleep. Will you hear the call? Never forget the day, when he told you `You look fat in that dress'. How you reacted, like a housewife, you just smashed a cup and cried. Are you that easy to convince? Cause when you really are, you should know that boundless swimming lets you forget the ways into truth, the big W. I know, what it`s like to swim, that`s the reason why I care. You`re afraid when you leave him, he might to himself harm. But you can`t hide him from the rest, of which he thinks that he`s above. I know what it`s like to swim, but now I`m dry.

--Tom

liner notes: 2 o clockwise

"One of the IK Glamrock-Classics with lots of unexpected chords in it - pre-destined for the reaction: 'Sounds great, but we'd like to do a single-cut of that!' (also known as "castrating the artist's dignity"). This song is a good example of how I.K.-songs used to work at that time. It had that commercial chorus in it which made up for the anarchist-"we don't give a shit"- parts that the record-company especially hated."

Couldn't sleep at night, I've been crying all day. Couldn't eat a thing, had to throw up again. Couldn't be on my own, had to talk to a human trashcan. Couldn't walk in the crowd, it's not how many there are, but how long it takes to get through them. My fun begins on the fireplace of my last crisis, I dance and say here's to the times where you break up and feel intensively. I lay a tree trunk over the river, sit on it, let time go by, keep cool, keep cool water. Close my eyes in anger, open them in joy, don't you know that it's hip to be in a bad mood? Well I don't think so ... My fun begins on the fireplace ...

--Tom

liner notes: sorry, wrong planet

'I wrote and recorded the demo of this song after a good night out and rather too many toxic fluids. So there I was, 4 AM, totally drunk with this brilliant idea in my head, no microphone, just a metronome, an electric guitar, my 4-track tapemachine and headphones. Because I was living in a student home with paper-thin walls and hundreds of direct neighbours at the time I had to be all quiet as well. OK, I could use the headphones as a mic, just plug it in and record the metronome at 120 beats per minute. What do you do when you've got no guitar amp or fuzz and you still want a bit of distortion? You just use the transistor line gain on the 4-track and make due with the rather edgy outcome. Singing? All quiet? and just one set of headphones? I put the headphones on, left side on my mouth, right side on the back of my head, watched the VU-Meter of the metronome on the 4 track, counted my way through the song and whispered the lyrics. All done, I repulsed the phones to the appropriate input, noticed the recording level was near zilch, turned the volume to max and printed it to tape. You can imagine that this technique increased the overall noise level to unbelievable heights. And we even managed to recreate all this in a proper studio for the opener on `Small Mother'.'

Oh, I'm sorry this is the wrong planet that I put you down on. Though the clocks are ticking forward, time stands still for all but one. They all look like humans, yet nobody's sure the are. More than one. Beam us up, spare us the pain, all is hot, too hot to care for. Taken time, we feel the need to blank our minds and start to read. Books surpassed our deafened eyes and all that turns our heads are flies. Are flies ...

--Gordon