Untitled #23 is the 20th full-length album by Australian rock band The Church. The band counts the three EPs of original material released in the early 1980s as album-type releases, making it their 23rd collection of original studio recordings overall.
The album was released 6 March 2009 on the band's own label, Unorthodox Records and Second Motion Records in North America. Praised for its moody yet strong songwriting, it has yielded some of The Church's best reviews of their career.
Australia's Rolling Stone praised the album with a 5 star review:
"You have to admire the Church’s stubborn refusal to cash in on their early success and do the whole nostalgia rock circuit thing. By hanging everything on the faith that their best work is still ahead of them, the Church sound every bit as relevant now as they did way back in 1987. Their new songs sound emotional, raw and at times even scarily angry, without ever sounding like they’re trying to conjure up demons-long banished by years of comfortable living and golfing trips." -Matt Coyte, Editor In Chief, Rolling Stone Australia (June 2009)
Blind your head in catastrophe icicles
No-one¡¯s fed in cycles led by cycles dead
Ask to shine the flag
Love is distance and blue sits like apples bite
And flows through our hands
I said ¡®Hi¡¯ to a man who shot his sister
Panned through the station
And jumped in front of a train
Said I¡¯m a bit confused to meet you
Life¡¯s what scissors do to a day
So their smiles pave the way
Sand drips with waves
And clouds my head cuz I¡¯m a fortune fellah¡¯s bed
And I¡¯m the tunes played by the goons
Who ride in fairy¡¯s wombs
And stole the road the other way
And sold tomorrow to yesterday and
I know the feeling of pushing you out of a building
Tiny people pulsating hit the sky
Still the ground got up and wiped your face
You expected to fly, wind up your misfortune
Sling ¡®em to a Maitre-Dee
Who wears dead butterflies on his face
And is hoping to grow wings
He really wants to tell you
¡®hey give your tears to today¡¯
Grind yourself souvenirs under your stolen years
Hands in your pockets
Your hands getting numb been hurt in grinds jive
Do the avenues that seem to meet defeat you
Did you ever try to hug the sky behind your head
I walked forever sightseeing a screen
Shuffled a mean green ping
Dives head first into a hole in the water
Drives side to side like a floating machine
Dove dancing to a fable told to a sea of disintegration
Crawl to a celebration of dirt that leaves that taste of wine
Sucked from a hair that digs into the darkness
Full of the fair that my head rides.
I slide your kind through a ladder
Hanging on a star
Stray close so far
Away from the climb
A tape like section of introspection
To rewind would be to recline.
Hit the pounds underlying gently
Ride on the side
Tell your problems to zero
He¡¯s got nothing to hide.