Tales of Noddy's House EP

by General Sherman

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Written over six years and recorded in two weeks under the command of Matthew Brown, Noddy's House tells grim tales of murderous family pets and fashion conscious warriors as well as uplifting yarns of trees coming of age and striking a ball well.



released December 28, 2012

All tracks written and performed by General Sherman with additional guitar from Liam Sanders and drums from Matthew Brown. Recorded at the Westgarth Social Club, Middlesbrough; engineer Matthew Brown.
Artwork by John Hargan. Sleeve Design by Robin Armitage.
Big thanks to "Mr Westgarth" a.k.a. Steve Callaghan.



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General Sherman Middlesbrough, UK

General Sherman are a group of five friends from Middlesbrough. Utilising guitars, violin, keys, glockenspiel, ukulele, percussion and flute they make unusual, warm folk music. They tackle topics such as murderous family pets, insecurity, the life of a tree, Cleveland’s hills, nostalgia, why heathens rage furiously and striking a ball well. ... more

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Track Name: Noddy's House
Memories of Cleveland's hills. Down the way to the obelisk of James Cook. Climb to the summit of Odin's Hill and settle down to hear tales of Noddy's House.
Track Name: Bare Jokes
Ada's Bairns
Drive on Seany, down B roads, round bottle necks. Drive on. Heed not the thump, the crunch or the shriek. Don't brake. Do not get out of the car. Put back that jack. Don't hit that cat. It doses lazily by the roadside. It needs no release. It has no misery. Let it be. Drive on Seany ignorant of old Ada's wails. She can't hear your regret as she scrapes up squished Bill and bludgeoned Ben's entrails.

Our dog chuffed at the back door. The neighbour's rabbit hangs limp from his jaws. "Shit you little bastard. How do we sort this?" "Make out it's death was naturally caused." "Wash off all that muck. Give the dog a clip. Return it to it's hutch, quick." "Shit, I hope this works." "We'd better sort it now, before they get back from work." Later on the owner came round. White as our murderous hound. "What's the matter Jill? You look like shit." "Remember our poor dead rabbit? Well some sick fuck has dug it up, washed it, combed it and tucked it up nice and cosy in it's old hutch."
Track Name: Why Rage the Heathen Furiously
It lays in what I want. I want it. That flowing cloth. Technicolour and smooth. My impulse blinds me. My senses guide me. I'll not be denied. I'll have my prize. Red rage rise.
The eyes. The eyes spark terror in mine. Wrap it tight in this cloth. Hold it close. My child. It's skin is smooth to the touch. Why rage the heathen furiously? Here, here. There. All, any, everything. Take all but give me my babe.
When the madness subsided and the last groans were silenced. The heathen strolled, satisfied, through the human debris. Glancing down, he kicked away a limb, revealing the cloth the cloth he'd earlier coveted. Inspecting it casually, he let it fall to the floor. He scanned the perimeter before losing interest and returning to the tribe.
Track Name: Sweet Spot
One in ten at best but still we grunt and lunge and thrust. A fluid motion. A kinetic explosion. Feels mmm nom nom. A brief electric dose of yum. And a gooooaaaalazio put it in, put it in. King of the world. I am a man you know. Peasants gaze on and appreciate my massive talent. Want more? Come get some. Eeeuugh.