tundra

Pilgrims-Tundra-Album-Cover-vegan-pop

not posted anything for such a long time.   since the death of my mother, i’ve thrown myself headfirst into my music project with my love, Robert.

together, we are called Pilgrims.  we have just finished our second studio album, Tundra, which will be dropping in all major download and streaming platforms on 21st May 2019.

be sure to watch for it…

we also have a 2-hour radio interview / album preview on Sunday 19th May at 1900-2100hrs (GMT) with GEE FORCE, on Bridge FM, 87.7fm – be sure to listen in… hear all about our songs, their meanings and origins.   international listeners, and those outwith the 87.7fm range can listen in on Bridges FM  >> CLICK HERE <<

 

thank you for your support over the years!

i love you all.

 

Kat xx

 

 

into the wild… the making of ‘Wilderness’

“WILDERNESS” – a collection of 13 songs inspired by animals; animals that have been totemic in the relation between a man (Robert Davidson) and a woman (myself, Kat McDonald).

a sound born in a storm. this is what happened when a bird fell from the sky and foxes followed us home. this is supernatural, homespun honesty. this is soup, at 4am. this is a map of the stars that trace our fate. this is paprika tea. this is animal instinct. this is our story. our music.

this is the sound that came from a gorge . this is what happened when lovers cut each others hair with a samurai sword. this is inside out and up ‘n’ down. this humble creation from this hibernation. baring and purging. this is defining heroes. this is katsu curry & fermented pears. this could be winter. these are our scars. this is our music.

this is the chaos of living with panthers in a house by the sea, where ravens share their secrets with those who speak their language. this is our allegiance to our ancestors and the salt in our Bourbon. two years of travelling the sun, we are finally home.

Source: into the wild… the making of ‘Wilderness’

Listen to WILDERNESS >> HERE <<

these giants

forest dawn

if you listen hard
you can hear them:
their stories,
their secrets,
their scars.
yet they stand,
stoic, silent, still.
tall.
taller than us.
take from that what you will.

touch them…
and realise
you have always known them
but you never give them a thought,
second or otherwise.
they predate us and they will
outlive us
because
they are wise.
much wiser than us.

do you care…
care that they breathe
for you,
for me,
for everyone, and every
thing?
they give us life,
relentlessly,
unconditionally.
do you know what that means?
do you really know what that means?

big-sequoia-trees
choke them, they die.
just like us.
cut them, they bleed.
they fucking bleed.
just like us.
and yet

still, we besiege them;
still, we maim them:
these silent, selfless
giants.

(c) Kat McDonald 2016

– a 10 minute exercise in spontaneous writing. look out the window, what’s the first thing you see? okay – write about it.  you have ten minutes.

they

Ravens-by-Masahisha-Fukas-002

who are they?
who are these
old souls,
that walk among us,
clad in black feathers?

do you see them?
do you hear them?
because they speak to us,
in ancient
encrypted
dialects.

and they are watching,
waiting…
waiting for our Death.

and they speak of us.

corvid,
in cabbal and clique
they gather
to scold us:
yes.
to scold us for our own
trite flights
of fancy;
our sycophantic
fanciful worship
of false prophets.

they mock us,
laugh at our ineptitude,
our ignorance
and vapid existence.
Shhhh!
if you listen… you too
will hear them…
chattering among themselves-
hooded and
clandestine
in their plotting.

i see the way they look at us
with incisive intel
and devisive intent

but who can blame them?

we are lame.
cripple and incompetent.
our cognition,
dissonant.

i know we have failed,
as a race
we fell from grace
could this be their
coup de grâce?
but… here’s the caveat:

they never forget your face…

so you and i
try
to make this world a better place;
little by little
we whittle
and strive
to enhance this life
in this space
and time
we call ‘now’.

words (c) Kat McDonald 2016
lead image: from The Solitude of Ravens by Masahisa Fukase, taken before he sadly plunged into a coma…

the other image, found on Rebloggy – apologies for the name of photographer remaining unknown. damn you internet!!

wilderness – part two : this is the most honest we have been.

wilderness part 2 COVER

Source: wilderness – part two : this is the most honest we have been.

[a huge fan of Pilgrims, obviously, being one of the singers/songwriters… but don’t let me cloud your judgement.]

this is the sound that came from a gorge . this is what happened when lovers cut each others hair with a samurai sword. this is inside out and up ‘n’ down. this humble creation from this hibernation. baring and purging. this is defining heroes. this is katsu curry & fermented pears. this could be winter. these are our scars. this is our music.

Pilgrims on the radio! LISTEN UP…

Oh my stars… a delightful interview: candid, off-kilter, on fire… explicit honesty, openness and flowing conversation.

4 tracks from Wilderness Part One were played, and the ‘story’ behind each song was brought to light and explored.

2 new tracks (as yet unfinished) played from the imminent Wilderness Part Two, again, each song’s tale was told.

Watch and listen as Pilgrims’ journey unfolds…   (full album & accompanying film coming v. soon!!)

LISTEN TO THE INTERVIEW IN FULL (approx 70mins)

DOWNLOAD ‘WILDERNESS PART ONE’ for FREE << here >> or RECYCLE THE LOVE, leave a donation… 

they are just words…

Words

mother  never   chant  dream     crush sweet        recall   water   drive   peach         friend   honey   light                 music   please

   drunk   smell              forest      breast    through   those     shine   spring                smooth   could

 storm   purple   frantic  watch    smear   finger   summer     did

 her      all   fast   mad his   raw   sun     rip   sit                        time

head   from   the     rain   meat                                              lake    have   mist              suit   want    skin  from   lust                cool    sing   play      less   bare     milk

wind   shot

pant   feet      fluff   some   rust   lazy                 hair

 ship   away   need   beat   lick   ache   with  want  stop   butt said   enormous   petal  the   you

 language   when  the our

gorgeous    swim              the  and           repulsive    soar  wax   you    luscious   moan     him  you   whisper   about    was       ask   goddess   above                            why  say   delirious     blue               who   and bitter     blood               sordid   woman   pound heave    garden         picture  puppy    spray                 trudge    beneath    fiddle

  drool              though  languid    moon    sweat                             scream   shadow   lather   juice    beauty   worship   death    mean  tongue   sausage               hot             TV   day    cry   run   sea    use   lie   arm   have                pink   like     the   blow                  over  here   like live

show    rock  pole    like   life          balance   pool   black  will  urge   their   girl   there   tiny   were  men   can           these  boil                      must  love  what             with  how

 rose   you              gown   has  but                they  together

boy  red    man  symphony    sky  sleep    but  elaborate        eat              and   dress  apparatus   bed   and  still     thousand   sad   put  after              diamond   one  not  ugly

chocolate

pilgrims – part one of the journey

ep art1

a sound born in a storm. this is what happened when a bird fell from the sky and foxes followed us home. this is supernatural, homespun honesty. this is soup, at 4am. this is a map of the stars that trace our fate. this is paprika tea. this is animal instinct. this is our story. our music.

 

words, imagery, music (c) Pilgrims, (c) Robert Davidson, (c) Kat McDonald – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

how to harness lightning

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this heavy weather, oppressive and unsustainable, has me in its clutches. i am shivering, with anticipation of something… something more; something epic; something that will shake my world and clear my head.

something is cracking.

the air, crackling, bristling. my body, tingling. electricity, in the air and in my veins, coursing, shimmering and illuminating.

sparks light up the darkened room. i power down my laptop and look outside. my hands are on fire.

can i harness lightning? dare i?

i go outside, into the night, into the storm, to see…

barefoot, i stand on the warm tarmac.  with eyes wide and arms outstretched, i beckon… i summon… i shout your name out.

do you hear me? do you hear my voice through the storm?

thunderstruck.

awestruck, i watch the light unfurl and blister the gathering skies above me.

flashes of light unfurl, brilliant and sharp as a whip, cut.  mercilessly, stabbing the night air with unyielding ferocity.

i gaze up to the infinite sky and watch as it simmers and begins to boil.

where is the rain?

when will this end.  i do not want it to end, yet i crave the release from this insurmountable tension and folly.

the air is close. i can see it.  particles of white light surround me, float around me. electricity.

this is supernatural. this is exquisite.

i count the seconds between fork and gunshot snare.

i listen as the sky is ripped apart.

i listen as the sky grumbles and bellows above me, straining beneath the weight of this air that engulfs me.

tangible.

it is not light. it is heavy as night.

i feel the night around me, surrounding me, impounding me.

i reach up and cry out your name, as if summoning a dark magic.

i reach up to the sky and roar, like some crazy woman.  my lips tingle. the air is bristling as charged particles of light swim around me.

the sea, no longer melancholy, has company. she is raging, and closing in. i hear her crash and roar and spew forth her exasperation and desire for a quiet life.

and then it happens.

silence.

but only for a split second…

i find myself in the eye of the storm. i can no longer breathe. there is no air. i can no longer count. time has been sucked out and sucked off by the vacuum.  there is no escape, and it’s beautiful.

spears of jagged light are thrown down from above… they pierce and burn all around me.

time has no place here. time has no purpose. time is a servant.

there is only light and noise, an ear-splitting noise as particles war and destroy angels.

the ground shakes, my body quakes. i remain steadfast and fearless. i dare not weep at the beauty i witness.

i stand barefoot, in my absent lover’s shirt. we were borne of a storm. across the raging sea, he breathes.

do you feel it, my love?  do you feel the electricity, connecting you to me?

i hear my heart pound as loud as the thunder that pounds the ground.

oh that sound.

i miss you…

i ache for the sky.  the broken sky.  that noise. that absolute noise. that beautiful terrifying noise as the sky is ripped wide open as is my beating heart.  all i feel is love and exhilaration; awe and collectedness.

and now the rain falls.  heavy.  a release.  i ache for him.

i drink in the rain, feeling it soak my dry bones.

amid the wail of car alarms, i find myself laughing amid tears as i run my hands through my drenched hair…

i smile up at the sky.

and only God knows why…

(c) Kat McDonald 2015

– last night’s storm was epic. i have travelled the world and witnessed storms in far-flung places but i have never witnessed a storm in Scotland such as this.  i lost two hours.  i lost my mind.

image

a house full of butterflies

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in a house full of butterflies
my heart resides.
a house,
a home,
a haven for the heart
and one hundred butterflies.
i watch them come-
they return, again this year.
i watch
as they cling to the walls
with no fear of falling;
like lovers cling to each other
with no fear of tomorrow.
i watch
as they wing to the window,
but choose not to leave;
like lovers’ fulfillment.
i watch
as they flutter in light and breeze;
like lovers’ adulation.
i watch
as they hold tight in the night;
like lovers sleeping.
oh what beauty! oh what love!
home is where the heart resides;
the heart and one hundred butterflies.
i watch them
as they dance in each chamber;
like the butterflies
deep
in the four chambers of my heart.
i watch them come-
with no fear of trap nor pin.
i watch them come-
on beautiful beating wing
of velvet, red and gold.
i watch them come-
like gentle pilgrims
their message is true, and old.
they tell me i am safe here,
they tell me i am loved.
a hope,
a home,
a haven for the heart
and butterfly.
they tell me home is
where the heart resides.
this is home.
a home for love
and one hundred butterflies.

(c) Kat McDonald 2014

– for Robert: for in both his heart and home magic resides…