It looks good written down

We saw it all. The misplaced notes,

The peep show quotes, the jokes, 

The croaked highs, applause and sighs,

As we listened to something new.


Something that harked backed to 80's greats,

Retro royalty with millennial momentum,

In your ear industrialisation,

The hammer that forges future sounds,


Rumbling and tumbling from Birmingham ground,

From strummed marshals and bass that beats and pounds,

Ripples through the cut, the black veins,

Blaring from cars or rattling window panes. 


Syncopated flow of funk

And rock.

The be-wild-er-ing lyrics

Psychedelic pop.


Three lads from suburban-city pads and mad dreas

Humility encased by the second-stitched seams,

Box shirts and rolled up jeans,

Functioning adults still living out their teens.


And yet their analog approach, for how they played and the way they wrote

With digital genius captured something bespoke, and so familiar,

Like you might have heard something similar in another life or time,

Where a memory or or place to be is composed into the score.


Harmonious, solo, sharp or flat,

You speak to yourself and you talk right back 

Another brick for the palace of futures, (Or mausoleum of memory) 

Scrap books or NME, Eagle and Ton then Glastonbury.

- Michael Delaney

The Hum

The  hum  of  the  train  tracks  

The  whistle  in  the  air

Gentle  wheels  roll  and  hiss

Sounds  of  inner  city  bliss


The  hum  of  ever  flowing  traffic

The  rush  of  lights  and  lines

Bodies  and  engines  roll  and  rattle

Willing  soldiers  in  daily  battle


The  hum  and  hustle  of  the  city  

The  people  zigzag  maze

Rich  pulsating  city  beats

On  the  second  city  streets


The  hum  of  trades  a  thousand

The  bustle  of  Bullring  markets

Rising  birds  sing  lazily

Days  pass  by  so  hazily


The  hum  and  hiss  of  twirling  locks

That  water  pressure  gush

Industry  and  innovation

In  the  centre  of  the  nation


The  hum  and  zip  of  business

Rising  towers  of  silver  blue

Linger  and  glimmer  midair

Shining  ruthless  laissez  faire


The  hum  and  echo  of  factory  streets

Initials  and  names  on  doors

Windows  shine  as  do  the  jewels

Through  the  years  of  craft  and  tools


The  hum  of  learning  on  rooftops

The  view  from  new  Lego  Library

Stand  and  stare  for  hours

Skyline  of  pylons  and  towers


The  hum  of the  city  of Birmingham

Rising  again  to  crescendo

The  city’s  alive,  come  inside

Brimming  with  pleasure  and  pride

- James Cronin

Broad St.

These broad shoulders carry the inflated chested, nocturnal self invested. 

Gentry and femininity, chasing liquid anonymity, 

Just another night at the races, so many faces, shinny shoes and smart laces, 

Friendly banter, it's not racist


Don't worry I'll get this round, let's get ready to rumble, 11 more before your down, 

Put that shit week behind you and wash away that frown, 

And excuse me mate we'll have a few more shots, G

Get them down and move on there's lots of hot spots


Of course fella, take a look at my licence, 

Just here to break bread, no intention of violence, 

You won't be hereat the end of the night 

Knock together a few heads, bang down a few have a laugh with you, get mashed up pulled up feel up and hurl up, 


Then cash out hang about with these louts, 

Nothing wrong with a sing a shout, 

A call out to Kolo and YaYa, screeching Will Griggs on Fire, 

humming Sinatra, having it my way, 

nothing wrong with a night out I say


Now Where did I check my coat, 

Or did I leave it with the bloke, 

I'll find it in a minute this tune gets me stoked, 

full throttle and mind absent, 

Must have been that last lot of absinthe, 

But light a fag and take a drag, 

Hold the urge to purge fighting sensory lag 


Pushing through the sea of Calvin clones, the skimpy darlings interested in their phones

I might wonder over to Brindley place, 

I fancy a slim companion dressed up in something lace, with a 20 inch waist, and half decent face as long as she's up for a cuddle back mine or her place


So let's move up a gear engage the clutch, 

Cut my brakes this ones for the Dutch,

I'm sorry to bother you my dear, 

I'd just like a quick whisper in your ear 

- and a brush of your thigh, 

I think you have such pretty eyes,

Let me take you to the bar, what can I buy?

Leave you friends at the table and kiss them goodnight


Tell me what you do for a living, 

Tell about the bitch at work and all the chat she's been giving, 

All saint and no sinner, 

Never enough home cooked dinners

Funny you only seem to find dickheads 

Too much sneaking from behind bins and hotel beds, 


Quick trip to the gents, 

Little splash of water and return to sense, 

Drop a quid in the dish for a dose of store bought scents, 

Class by the glass, confidence for rent, 

Happiness by the pound, but you'll find misery for mere pence


Stare in the mirror - 

focus on the moment, 

Tomorrow exists for my atonement, 

I'll return to the mainland and tackle the Solent, 

But until the sun begins to rise, I'll just fit in with these guys and gals, 

Make my acquaintances, befriend a few pals


Staggering from door to door, 

Chip shops and concrete floor, 

More rot for the core,

Before a black cab curtain call


But that's an evenings entertainment,

No offence intended and no harm meant, 

Tomorrow's a distant reality, 

And the allegations of tonight typical fallacy 


Renting joy, the cheap booze and the easy lay, 

Push through the 9-5, I'll see you again Friday. 


- Michael Delaney

Second City, Second Coming

Blocks  of  grey  and  black  and  grey

Sit  beneath  grey  skies

Towers  of  white  amidst  the  green

The  world  through  a  Brummie’s  eyes.


Disused,  misused  space  to  let

Glimmering  towers  cast  shade

Industrial  devolution

Of  which  our  city  is  made.


Roaming  streets  and  crossing  squares

From  Digbeth  to  St  Paul’s

The  city  throngs  and  thrives

In  its  energetic  sprawls.


And  new  life  breathed  in  recent  months

Into  hearts  and  minds  of  some

Birmingham  the  Midlands  hub

If  you  build  it,  they  will  come.


And  build  again  the  city  will

It  will  rise  not  disappear

A  culture  with  a  legacy

The  place  to  be  is  here.

- James  Cronin



Second city sunshine

On the coast of Spain

Life is rich and calm and warm

Not an inch of rain


Flags of red and yellow

Fly in every square

Life is proud and bright and hot

Passionate with care


Proud of where they’ve come from

Their community

Life is then and here and now

Their identity


Seeking independence

From the rest of Spain

Life is hope and strength and wit

Barca will sustain


Catalan emotion

Steady as the tide

Life is want and will and wish

Strength of civic pride


Second city grayscale

Far from any coast

Life is dour and dark and real

When it rains the most


Occasionally St. George

Drapes from windows high

Life is tall and hard and cool

Image to defy


Proud of where we’ve come from

Living in our past

Life is dirt and brick and rust

Never going to last


Seeking identity

Uprising of some

Life is us and now and here

Signs of change to come


Brummies brim with passion

Shout it far and loud

Life is this and one and all

Stand up and be proud


- James Cronin