Schroeder's Cat ‎– Schroeder's Cat

Emperor Norton ‎– EMN 7007-1, Emperor Norton ‎– EMN 7007-2
Vinyl, 12", EP


A1 Sleep 9:45
A2 Doubledose 10:08
B1 (We Don't Know How To) Say It 8:41
B2 The Machine Never Stops 10:26



Catalog number is EMN 7007-1 on spine of sleeve, yet EMN 7007-2 on labels.

Recorded at Bow Lane Studios, Dublin in December 1997. Mastered at Whitfield Street Recording Studios, London in April 1998.

Other Versions (2 of 2) View All

Cat# Artist Title (Format) Label Cat# Country Year
EMN 7007-2 Schroeder's Cat Schroeder's Cat(CD, EP, Promo) Emperor Norton EMN 7007-2 US 1998 Sell This Version
EMN 7007-2 Schroeder's Cat Schroeder's Cat(CD, EP) Emperor Norton EMN 7007-2 US 1998 Sell This Version


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October 23, 2010
edited over 6 years ago

After I dropped out of high school there was a time when I had little better to do than mooch about in Trax, a record store in the basement of Leeds' Corn Exchange, which back then was a hang-out of many in a similar situation or somehow just happened to be a focal point of those who reckoned the odds of something interesting in the city centre were most likely to occur in this haven for those with no particular plans. It's where I met the woman I lost my virginity to and many other things beside. The shop was run by Carl, who was largely understood to be too nice and trusting for his own sake; especially when he was supposed to be turning a profit and often left regular customers in charge of the place for a few minutes whilst he went fuck knows where. He kept the back of the place devoted to cheap US imports and dubious indie label promo's most had never heard the name of or even want to. If you bought anything from him you were liable to be subjected to a discount and encouraged to pick out something for free from this back section. It was from here that I made many great discoveries which I've had no indication I'd have ever found anywhere else. This self-titled EP is one of those chance selections, where you just guessed whether or not you were gonna strike gold or have some tat to fill your bedroom based on band names or the quality of the cover.

The overall sound here is of washed-out guitars which chug along, gradually storing up more and more energy and then crashing over primitively sequenced drums which has some indescribable need to be played over and over and over again, which from first hearing I've never quite put my finger on. My long-held suspicion is that the lyrics, "We don't know how to say goodbye", is some kind of in-joke for those locked into its seemingly endless loops of build-ups and outbursts of audio fuzz that are reminiscent of a plane engine. In retrospect it sharpened my taste in music in terms of appreciating the abstract as opposed to hooks and riffs in their various guises and given its lack of notoriety it has instead become quite an intensely personal memento of being fifteen and sixteen.