Live at The Albany (2013)

by Micky Dey

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This is the recording of a full set I performed as part of the Goldsmiths PureGold Festival at The Albany Theatre in Deptford, South London. It was a really brilliant night and I'm incredibly proud of the entire thing.

The songs are about being shit at music, being surrounded by friends whichever way you turn, the highs and lows of living in London, people that turn your world upside down, nearly dying, and alcohol abuse. Good stuff like that.


released May 29, 2013



all rights reserved


Micky Dey Vienna, Austria

Micky Dey is a folk-rock artist, born and bred in the bleak and brutal valleys of Northern England, but recently moved to Vienna. His vocal melodies soar from broken and delicate depths to defiant and rich highs, sitting somewhere within the song writing styles of Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley and Laura Stevenson, full of stories of his years living in the capital and touring this continent. ... more

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Track Name: Keep Your Eyes On Your Own Desk
The plans I've yet to make are filling up my days
The holes I call my masterpieces I'm hiring out to another's shot at fame.
I'll be well out of the way, when the actions that I say,
Are bound to change some day, it's all out of my control.
It's all the same.

All I do is complain, lifting weight behind a name
That doesn't count for anything, a vein attempt at fitting within the frame.
And in my mind I'm never bored.
I've got my future neatly stored.
Ready for the day I spring majestically from my bed, and then begin.

And I've no proof right to this day, that I'm anything what I say.
I'll be sleeping through the day I bring something to this table that you've laid.
Track Name: Floorboards & Rooftops
I've got a friend in the room below me,
We sleep on opposite sides of our rooms.
Our windows face the same direction,
But we have different views.

He knows when I laugh,
and hear's me singing.
He hears me walk upon his roof.
The things he's taught me have been so important.
The things I taught he already knew.
Track Name: High Times (Get Low)
Let's break into the school tonight, there's a place that we can go.
To get away from the clowns tonight, and while I know,
that it's cold tonight, we both know,
It's gonna be so much better come the morning light, without your ghosts.

I drank beer, you drank cheap sparkling wine.
We wrote our names upon the desks.
You sat down and said that so should I, and asked me, 'What happens next?'
I raised my hand to answer you, and said;
'I don't know. But this seems like the perfect time to let you know,
That I'm leaving town in the morning.
I can't quite believe it. I guess we've just got to leave it, gentle soul.'

And gone is that stone from your soul.
Fear isn't all that you'll know.
And all straight lives eventually go.
Crooked when high times get low.
Track Name: Roam
Collect your things, I think it's time that you were leaving now,
This day will bring a chance to show all of your critics how,
How best to leave a town when all of your own chips are down.
Lift up that feeble frame, and grace the door, you're leaving now.

She waits for the day where the sun does not open her eyes,
She doesn't need to hear to know the world rolls on outside,
The Bluejay cries to me, 'Another tree has fallen down.'
Could the world spare a seed to keep the dark from coming now?

I only hope she finds some place, far
Some place to call her own house of stone
Where she can live and smile
A lonely road where us lonely people roam
Track Name: Southern Fire
When your days are colder than your nights,
You know that somewhere, someplace down the line,
There is a Southern Fire burning bright, in some unsullied mind.

The trucks and vans they roll on by,
Despite the roads that are crumbling all the time,
Remind of when birds were still in flight, in thi boy's mind.

That fire will never light here.
Those birds, they never fly here.
And I, I will not die here.

Go feast your mind on what it wants. Surprise us.
For what it needs lies far beyond your horizon.
The hollow soul you bear below your skin, so pale it seems to glow.

Forget that meaningless resolve you've put on,
To lace that waste of space you've called your place,
To store your frankly shameful standing point.
Less talk, comes more hope.

Align your bones and lie down here.
Resign, your time is nearly here.
For you and I to disappear.

And I, I will not die here.
Track Name: Dirty Tables & Empty Glasses
We've sat at dirty tables for longer than I care to know,
We've danced on dirty table-tops, to rhythm, slow rhythm, swung low.
We've polished up our faces, pretended that we wanted to go,
Out, to the night, to the places seen through the window.

Those are the hours that we'll be glad that we drank away.
All the bottles we gathered on the terms that we'd get dry someday.
I fall backwards and travel, upon a path to the same old place.
Drag our corpses through midnight, through the hours, to the set of our ways.

When we're struck by daylight and yet the weariness remains.
And our mornings and our nights are just a single frame away.
And the forces that guide us from the one glass to the next,
Will be the same that drive us straight back to our beds.

And I, I'd like to help you mend.
So long as it mends me.
So long as we are free.