Bowler Hat Soup

by Kiran Leonard

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      £7 GBP  or more


Dear Lincoln 01:51
out in the dark nietzsche walks among the parishes and chewing his bones, anxious, melts away and vanishes and tabula slate-- hoo-ray-- praying for the bodies to assemble away, pave a new way, combat the day--bula ray, oh, tahoo lay--conjure the wave; what he says, murderer's play dear lincoln: i write, consciously and terribly, for when will the dead remain? the walls of coffin beds begin to topple with flames--scream names--simply theorising that away and away, paves a new way combat for they--a new day--oh, taboo ray, comfort insane, what he says, out of the brain- dear lincoln dear lincoln dear lincoln dear lincoln why don't you call? why don't you care? dear lincoln dear lincoln dear lincoln i cry canvasing analogies and waiting a leitmotif (nietzsche claps a melody) and herbal attains--no gain--throbbing like the viruses that sends it away, straight to the day-- add it to they, taha ray, where the stones lie tap the flesh of the sane, we are a game and out of the water and into the crevices of suits breaks the armoury of the bumblebee and straight in through an o- -pen door way
a cold winter brawl. the fog masquerades these sins; it's a beautiful thing, full of eyes set alight a thousand all-seeing rings on a summer marquee, there's art on its street moves me in the strangest of ways; tired rope descends where the kilda lane lays on brunswick street: that's where the deadbeats meet that's where the deadbeats meet where all the cool beat sleep blind in the sun, but i hear you run with an old worn vinyl in your hand, though i should have known as we knew you would go columns and rows. i hear the prose of a lost man, i believe he's playing guitar. he speaks with hoarse experience, like he knows who we are on brunswick street, that's where the deadbeats meet that's where the cool beats sleep where all the paupers weep and this isn't mystery, this isn't mystery; you wanted change, all you got was a dent in your identity and your shellac top on brunswick street that's where the deadbeats meet
Port-Ainé 03:25
i was born in the shadow of the workers of the saladman's factory and i don't know how to dance and i never really learnt how to ski if only you could know a mistake is still a melody and deep into the mangroves, where the napalm folk and all the little creatures dwell, you can climb into the deepest caves and cast away your darkest trails i shan't forget, but i still wish you well and though your thoughts are grim a curse is still a hymn what's a chalice if you're only whispering and slip behind the tigers and surrender and approach upon a happy place the moaning of the masses will descend into an uproar of infinite grace, everything you ever worried for is only empty space and what's use of silence when you're entering the dark into an endless war, open wounds and firecrackers that spin into the sky just so cause they can soar, who knows, maybe then we'll want you more and though your thoughts are grim a curse is still a hymn so sink into your mind just to pass the time
Whisky Bath 01:29
drown your sorrows in whisky and fill yourself with cheer drown your sorrows in whisky while your wife's at the galleria there ain't no painkiller comparable to a good old dose of ethanol so drown your sorrows in whisky and forget that you exist
Sea of Eyes 01:10
wallowing in the mud, down in the dark fumbles a boy and his harlot the torch of the night wails his plan; the animals raised their stained ballots i love the trees and they love me we'll dig our holes in harmony i wanna go back to the past where you had no perch to howl from i wonder if you can see me circulating an empty harbour i love your eyes, do they love me? i'll never know now you're lost at sea no, i'll never know now you're lost at sea
Smilin' Morn 06:39
wilberry tour, on monterey moor, hoping for something real to come and take them away. the walls are hollowed thin some were petrified; some joyous as a sin cast back your fragile minds to your liquid induction and fear not considering forefathers of consumption you only think you're doomed because you are arranged so a dark epiphany, just a stumble from a halo and it sets like glue and you're knelt at a church pew and aroused from the wings, a plethora of strings, plucked gently by the wind that carries it and you're half-awake, so they give you a shake, double-take to remember your reasons for this a bowl of social politics, a bottle full of hope to see you well out in the night it's so confused; the love you've found has got no place to dwell i just wanna see your eyes waking up to smilin morn i just wanna see your eyes waking up to smilin morn there you are an idle slump, dust has formed around your bare knees the holy walls begin to slip to give you chance to compose and release well your head sits back with a mind numbing bank of confusion blowing away, coming undone and out pours the sores, and what seemed malignant before turn their crinkled necks to face the sun and the damage is done, now make you some fun, and scream like your lungs may explode from the thrill of the storm and your coveted lies won't leave tears in your eyes as your rested self wakes to smilin' morn
Drysdale 07:06
when the plane touched the ground, you were there to greet us, harbouring thoughts and presumptions to match our pictures. we had a vague idea you sounded different long distance; that you lived in a town as flat as the sea. i said that i'd never seen the moon such a beautiful colour til your mother distilled it, citing the bright lights. you told me to be afraid such was the way children played we laughed in the back of the car, you, me and my sister and during one routine you made my nose bleed you sort of apologised but i don't recall having cried and i said to the land, i'm not gonna fall to exposure i'll take all the blame, i'm not gonna fault my composure
Wild Walks 02:31
hit the gin, my man put the pill in hand and subdue was a boy some merry years ago, reaping the taunts of the sheep, it was a happy thing when the latest faux pas leaked oh, the glaze that wept through the day, covering the souls in the deep, it was a mystery, all the wars made them shriek hit the gin, my man for the day come round put the pill in hand and subdue wild walks these streets what a breeze, those hazy memories, the youthful pedants of the day, how we contemplate ourselves, those bright faces lost in the mist revel in glee, the hypocrisy, embracing those we kept at bay for when you're a little child your conscience is clean as the wrist hit the gin my man for the day come round put the pill in hand and subdue wild walks these streets
view this through the large rectangular now you're part of the happy breed caught up in the tugs of your new romance as dull as the life you lead cause i think you spend too much time a-fidgetin on the buttonings; where's the rings? and those pretty things that the magazines promised me? i'll be honest, see: you're not loving me there's no future in us- smile down at your new found life partner performing the public lie six weeks of a happy school courtship when it ends, will your other half cry? you know: there's no future in us-
we deal crabs to be like crabs to pinch like crabs to deal with you we deal crabs to be like crabs to pinch like crabs to deal with you late on a coal black night i clutched my torso tight i saw a crippling light i fell to heaven's might i felt the alien's grip; the breeze began to drip, and time began to slip they brought me to a ship and up and away, show day, circuses and animals a wedding of the planets; lincoln at the altar and i swear to the stars, my home's a land i do not recognise i look at the glass, poised on my lap: l'eau de la vie, i indulge; the aliens plead look in the water below: what you see? local pride exaggerated lonely towns inebriated (weary are noises) damp grey lots and ditch molasses beauty spots and broken glasses praying for silence so jump from the brawl, escape from it all, now that's what i'd call an oakland highball
Bora Bora 01:33
livestock is killing me wonder there i will be in 2070? bora bora no time to theorise i now must realise i must not socialise in bora bora i must sit and unwind i remember city folk, so i must find a way to wash those shits out of my mind in bora bora word from far away gives me a treat disease has come to wash them from the steets while i sit here in the blazing heat [...] waking up is the hardest part i wish i had a more forgiving heart but how i long to be rid of society's lot i must go to bora bora
at the battle of bay, generals plotted their ways, funeral organs were presented with the beautiful bellowed displays. to my relief, you told me that i didn't know how to shoot, but the way that i held my rifle was cute and you never really believed in fair play, did you i was alone but i wasn't terrified maybe disturbed, but not really petrified, yet if you an find me a remedy, cure me they blew us apart! the only refuge in the drama was a farmer with a generous heart
world argument in the afternoon i see it rise, i see it bloom men with weapons line the avenues; the elephants have took the room and it gets so hot that you can't lift a limb weighed down by events that reveal when all hope starts to dim. and it gets so cold when the lights are all out and the loops in our head are the radio'd military spouts we must find a shelter from combat instead of a shot to the neck or a shot to the head...
Knots 02:06
eat in crumbs. bicker less. charade sensibly: your hearing is important. the greatest thing i ever saw was locked within the cage of war suspended are my memories the fire that filled the cemeteries (another day...)
i remember our beds that we left on their own for the old broken woods that we used to call home and it's like smouldering into dust when i find love we collected the leaves just to throw them around and we'd dust pirouette off the ground and it's like burning in the blue when i find you i was alone, but i wasn't terrified maybe disturbed not but really petrified but if you can find me a remedy, cure me
A Purpose 04:50
i remember her docking, or at least what she told me. the mystery of origin. a bustling city, bridges and shipyards, and infidel lovers and my father was a railway worker carved from the mountain and cross-country bike rides to see my aunt mary no blood relation and all alone drinking pop in the sitting room now that i'm older what will i believe in? a futureless nightmare and i have a doctor, but he doesn't know me. i saw youths take substance, smashing our shelters a lost generation and how will they atone for the bodies that they left alone? i used to hear my records only through premium speakers. i'd walk around upright with a purpose



this is the first proper 'record of songs' i made, recorded between summer 2010 and november 2011, released digitally in january 2012, then re-mixed and mastered by my brother and lovingly issued on record by hand of glory in november 2013. many thanks are due to mary and will for putting undue faith in this record and my nonsense at an early age,so god bless you for that. the songs are like primitive baroque messes, with lots of vague impressionistic lyrics about strong and unarticulated desires, drinking in sodden parks, and the brass band cultures of northern england. south pennine magical realism. my drumming is out of pocket and my voice is about half an octave higher. a real blast!!


released November 13, 2013

kiran - acoustic guitar, banjo, bass guitar, bongo, cajon, cittern, drum kit, electric guitar (w/ screwdriver, plectrum + fingers), field recordings, grill, hand claps, mandolin, melodica, pepper shaker, piano, programming, radiator, radio, reed organ, rice, synthesiser, toms, ukelele, voice, vsts, wall, wurlitzer electric piano, all writing + arranging

seth - euphonium (6-8, 10 12)
amanda - violin (2, 7)
benedict - vocals (10)
harriet - vocals (15)

recorded + produced by kiran, jun 10-oct 11, in saddleworth, uk. piano on tracks 7, 8, 10, 11 + 12 recorded at the house of nicholas and marie-christine on edgerton road. cover art by kelly adams.


all rights reserved



Kiran Leonard England, UK

songs writes ,
writes wrongs

contact / help

Contact Kiran Leonard

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

If you like Kiran Leonard, you may also like: