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The Quiet Earth

by The Academy Of Sun

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Limited edition CD 4-panel digipak with 8-page lyric booklet. Designed by Ash Babb from an idea by Ash Babb and Nick Hudson. Painting on lyric booklet by Nick Hudson. CD image taken from an object found on the writing desk of artist, filmmaker and activist Derek Jarman.

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The Quiet Earth Airships fells from the sky like punctured planets. Land mines were primed n the fields. It will become a beautiful scenery line in their lives. Why does nature insist on surviving? The car lurches forward – is there anyone driving? It's a beautiful day in a world that I don't understand. It's a beautiful world, and a day without reprimand.
Polestar 03:13
Polestar Can I bear being without you? My Icarus on crack. Another attack Of lamenting your lack. Like lightning piercing my heart I can't comprehend How you caught me. All mangled in wires With my rock star for hire, You are all of desire in one body. If my polestar were snuffed From the night sky, 'enough' Would be tough. My heart oozing tar As the memory of blood Snuffs the antifreeze from my dull organ. Tapping sap from the trees, Who's wintered birch arms, scarred Yawn to the polar night sun. I burn in your system I hang on your unanswered. I writhe in your half-life. I bleed you I dream you.
The House 05:20
The House The is hearth where the thinker would sit and have Fits of the mind when he saw nature cravenly misbehaving. And this is the glass you would raise every night to the Cracks in the road to heaven's paving. This is the roof on whose sickened red tiles there would Bloom eyes when the stars started caving. And this is the sickle on who's blade there would trickle Sweet fluids that the druids were saving. This is the lamp that would flicker with bugs As you stared at the filament for days that would go on unending. And this is the glue that had worn off the stamps You were reusing on letters that never quite got to the sending. And this is the clapper of the bell that would signal the End of the hell in that war you would lose many friends in. And this is the note you would leave to yourself To intercept on the other side, afterlife-pending. This is the hammer which they used in the auction when they Sold off the suit that you died in. And this is the book where they found gnostic scripture Which when uttered would usher the tide in. This is the box that contained the brown locks of The brother who's memory you'd hide in. And this is the candle in who's smoke you'd see visions, The meaning of which you would stay up all weekend deciding. This is the pine frame in which hangs the door That for all your long years stayed unopened. And this is the shame that you burned in the mirror When it didn't play the game and give you the answers for which you were hoping. This is the wall that would palpitate and snigger and Wheeze at the ludicrous ways you would find yourself coping. And this is the step where you'd sit with the Feather from the swan on who's back you would one warm night dream of eloping. This is the bath where you'd empty your veins of all Blood and whatever corrosive new drug you were using. And this is the nib of the pen whose shrill tip you Dug deep to scratch out the un-knowable last words of your choosing. This is the actor who's journeyman portrayal of Your harrowing last hours, was as far it goes quite amusing. And this is the song that for right or for wrong Was commissioned by your son who's commitment in life you were losing. And this is the sentence that offered repentance as The tall veil of tears washed away when your boy got the news in – He said “I love you, father, and as much as I'd rather you were here, I like you more now you're gone, Signed in the quill of a swan, oh father, now life can go on.”
The Parts That Need Replacing The medicine of death is best swallowed with laughter  Scuppered convictions dim the stage lights  Belief sustains the object of belief Eat the parts that need replacing  I’ve used up angels like batteries. And human nature hates you. Sour release and sweet relief. Eat the parts that need replacing. Only biology cares to survive. A killer, consciousness contrives. The body alone can process grief. Eat the parts that need replacing. I cut your hair and missed a bit And now your head drains on the floor. The gift of death, munificent thief - Eat the parts that need replacing. The best special effects are those you don’t see Like empathy without feeling  Our time on hell is oh so brief  Eat the parts that need replacing  Memory resides inside the body.  Let me help you forget
Kidnapping An Heiress Perhaps you were thinking about kidnapping an heiress? Taking some time out to kidnap an heiress? Cast off your shackles,  Come out of the cold, Invest in some gaffa and do something bold. She’s a state apparatus, And she’s decked out to bait us Even her blindfold is bespoke, and what’s more... ...Perhaps you were thinking about kidnapping an heiress? Taking a career break to kidnap an heiress? Peel off your suit, Get your Rolex sold, Out-of-box-thinking, breaking the mould. Time to make off with the petty cash, A diplomatic trolley dash.
Charboy In The Cinders I met a dying artist by the yellow-reeded river The clouds were stiff as bruises and the moon a prickling sliver He muttered as the air got swallowed by the night “it’s frightening - But a painting only is complete When it’s been struck by lightning.” “The past it seems so long ago The present is too strong a woe The future it is wrong to know So burn them all.” And dowsing down the silver grove A charboy in the cinders - Wanking, wailing ‘I adore you’, Waving sticky, tiny hands The scent of mandragora and the filth all on his fingers, And his kerosene squeal peeling out amongst the embers And the tiny stain that lingers is An agonising cry across the land. Suddenly I have no religion - I am the latest version, Waiting for the first incision From a brand new, loving surgeon. Cut me up, tie me down, tie me off. The suspect resists rapture, Screaming ‘Boy, I’m going nowhere’ Screaming ‘boy I’m going nowhere, and I hope to get there soon’. He’s a very skilful actor Nowhere quickly, nowhere soon Amidst the crying and the laughter Nowhere quickly, nowhere soon, Between the rabbit and the raptor, Nowhere quickly, nowhere soon. Between the captive and his captor Nowhere quickly, nowhere soon. Between the shafted and the shafter Nowhere quickly, nowhere soon.
Rose Devoid Of Form Gather your memories, its soon time to leave, I was dreaming so hard I could get reprieve. I look out on the knackered and screaming dead streets,  And as my skin clatters around my feet -  Think of me kindly for I am become the storm - Even the gangsters I once thought so cool, Have been made grey and coarse in pursuit of the cruel, Howling recidivists, saints of the dregs Many have lost the use of their legs. Oh the slate-marble skies leave a stain on your soul And the month in hotels was like walking on coal, Being beaten by monks with blue ice on your spine, Yet still being insistent that everything's fine. The love that we made out of crystal and heat, Inside of each other, our bodies complete. Once was the hour I'd lick your tiny feet, The wax and the welts and the torn, battered sheets. Mute applause as the sun barely bothers to rise, Pearly grit in our hair and the moon in our eyes. We've all done our time in the palace of dreams, Unravelled reality, ripped at the seams. Gazing back at the frescoes so hopeful, so drear I pose like a half-life-made-flesh puppeteer Marionette of my memories, dangling like bones From my worn, hook-like fingers, all creaks and all groans. Time is elastic. I'm no longer child: Savage and stoic and wired and wild, Watching history repeat in the chatter of bars From my cold, lunar cliff-face on the furthest of stars. Blood-red white noise, a rose devoid of form, Think of me kindly - for I am become the storm.
Interlude - Happy Nerve Endings Orgies in the temple Tonight we are hunters again  With happy nerve endings  And lives to spare.
So What, Caravaggio The sort of boy that never learns. A bag of rage and carpet burns; Leans in to do another line. Kills himself to prove he's fine. So what? Caravaggio was a murderer. Wrings the toxins from his hair; Bottles them to sell at the fair. Nose is cakes with snot and blood. Fights until he's understood. So what? Caravaggio was a murderer. Angels with dirty faces and dirty hands From dirty places with dirty plans Formed of dirty sneers and dirty answers Pumping out dirty tears from dirty glands. I can feel my skeleton protesting its cargo. So what? Caravaggio was a murderer.
Don't Touch The Animals I wander 'cross the pebble beach With my heart happy out of reach. Don't touch the animals; don't touch the animals. Poetry in motion Animals in transit Religion is a mental illness Life is a near-death experience Gunther - give them a shove
Inferior Designs When water from the spring becomes Grey milk before our eyes, Curdled by indifference to The essence of surprise. The grail cup was full of wasps. And now my mouth is swollen. I haven't craved what I have lost, Since I saw the ghost who stole you. Human beings seem so vile, Maybe I'll become a book. Perhaps I'll go away a while, Or maybe I'll take one more look.
Couch Surfer 04:08
Couch Surfer A bestiary of your greatest fears - Your life, too silent a disco. Ask yourself in twenty-one years ‘Where on earth did this go?’ Emergency is subjective, Nothing is allowed. Excuses retro-fitted, Everything is permitted Smashed masterpieces In a museum of your blacker fleeces Then when the wonder ceases - The distillate of a single tear set into a ring Couch surfer Flat earther Rain maker. Fire walker. There's nothing like the taste of the earth When you didn't choose to taste it. And there's nothing like a wasted life When you didn't choose to waste it. The sea blending seamlessly into the sky - Isn’t that how we’d all like to die? Maybe that’s what they say Where you come from. But me, I wanna go off like a bomb
Sky Tourism 02:38
Sky Tourism Under thick desert sands picked up by Ophelia Innocent until proven alive If you had a heart it’s with that that I’d steal you. Scared if you chased your dreams you might thrive And what kind of monster would turn their back on failure? 'Become a proud galleon, and the devil might sail you.’ - Scared that we’d soar if we leapt off the plank Fired like a thunderbolt into the sky split with guilt as Ophelia sank The storm lifted all the sand from the desert We could see the bare car park beneath The glazed mosaics of a thousand mistakes Stripped of lips to shield the teeth.
Everything At Once, Forever A sea of bloody kisses and some near-bloody misses, Well, I think therefore I am the thought that counts. If the eye could see all that the heart sees You'd know this machine kills Nazis. Isn't that what this is all about? I took a suite of rooms in the Paris catacombs, All the dead poets queued for love and luck. On the cold marble bed Leonard Cohen gave me head As the angel of death made a noise like a rubber duck. Mendacious man-made miracles Mundane and mired in manacles Like all us mad, mute oracles In stupid, sinking coracles. Forgive me or encourage me - Full speed endlessly. Everything at once FOREVER.
Cloud Prayer 04:48
Cloud Prayer Thin skies of only cloud Break upon the waves. Wet cheeks and tattered shrouds  For all the love we gave. Thin skies and tired eyes. Aching backs and muddy knees. Bladderwrack and stony trees, How heavy hangs the air. Tired eyes and empty hands Break upon the shore. Grey flies on hollow land  Waking, and what for? Tired eyes and ruddy palms  Soften as they enter calm  In gentle arms that Soothe and balm and Genuinely care. Landslides, razor clams. Thorny gorse on skin. Low tides, stillborn lambs, Buried deep within. Thin skies of only cloud Break apart when  Tired hearts are  Treated kindly, Come and find me, Love exists to share.


The Quiet Earth

Nick Hudson – piano, vocals, synths, hammond organ, harmonium, percussion, synths, writing, field recordings, acoustic guitar, arranging, co-producing
Kianna Blue – bass, synths, additional writing, co-producing
Guy Brice – lots of guitars, additional writing, co-producing
Ash Babb – drums, additional writing, co-producing

Ian Breen – guest vocals and synths
Toby Driver – guitar – Inferior Designs
Carisa Bianca Mellado – guest vocals – Polestar and Charboy In The Cinders
Andrew Dalziell – guitar on Charboy In The Cinders
Lizzy Carey – strings on Don't Touch The Animals
Greg Massi – guest guitar on Couch Surfer

Choir on Sky Tourism – Rachel Fellini, Ece Budak and Carey Duckhouse.

All lyrics by Nick Hudson.
Paul Pascoe – engineer, mix, mastering. Church Road Studios Hove, UK.
Toby Driver and Ian Breen recorded their parts at their respective studios in NYC and Manchester.

Further vocals and synths and keys recorded by Nick Hudson at The Lament Configuration, Brighton.

Church organ bass pedals of St Mary's Church, Brighton, recorded and turned into a MIDI instrument by Paul Pascoe and Nick Hudson.

Artwork by Ash Babb with Nick Hudson.

Invaluable assistance provided by Carey Duckhouse.

Dedicated to Matthew Seligman, to Scott Walker, to Marina Litvinenko, and to the last to turn out the lights.

Eternal thanks to Mark and Gina Hudson, Daniel and Caroline and Ben Griffiths, Juliette Wright, Julie and Cliff Babb, Anni Ivil (Head Of The Firm), Chris Howgate, Ruth Sullivan, Dame Babalou Of Hanover, Julian Tardo, Pete Wiggs, Carl Weidner, Mark Walter, Gill Rodgers, Samuel Horn, Rick Eldon, Adrian Goycoolea, Oli Spleen, Wolfgang Dubieniec, Graham Duff, James Papademetrie, Sooxanne Rolfe, Maria Marzaioli Ian Breen, Stuart Braithwaite, Elisabeth Elektra, Toby Driver, James Mackay, Rachel Goswell, Steve Clarke, Sebastien Sewter, Oliver Hill, Damo Suzuki, James Batley, Luke Harding, Wayne Hussey, Andrei Tarkovsky, Bradley Tuck, Kate Brown, Terry and Gyan Riley, Shauna McLarnon, Dave Larder, Robert Wyatt, Colin Wakefield, Jon Buckland, Evi Vine, Maj Saleh, Mark Carey, Kaye Inglis, Carisa Mellado, Andrew Dalziell, Tobias Messerli, Father Andrew, Katherine Prior.


released June 19, 2020




Nick Hudson Brighton, UK

Nick Hudson is a composer/artist based in the UK.

In April 2021 Nick released his first solo album in five years - Font Of Human Fractures - to glowing reviews from The Quietus and Libération.

"There isn’t really anyone making music like Nick Hudson” - The Quietus

“Genius” - BBC Introducing

“Scott Walker channeling Coil” - Mojo

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