A true story from yesterday. I was in the queue at the Post Office down town when the lady in front of me turned around to ask me if I had the time. It’s one of those loaded questions that can catch you out, so I played it safe and told her it was 3.24pm. She seemed good with that answer.
The problem was that she had bad breathe way beyond any bad breathe I’d ever smelt before. It was that bad I reckon she could strip paint. Really sickening bad breathe that made me urge – ‘urge’ being a word used a lot in Devon where I grew up. So uniquely horrible was her breathe that I figured she can’t be a regular human. Maybe an alien, or – a big ‘or’ I’ll admit – a superhero who’s special power was inflicting death by halitosis on enemies of the Universe. That was it, she’s a super hero called ‘Exhalation Girl’. Then it hit me. In my pocket I had some Mentos that might just help her cut back on the anti-social mouth pong. The random thought arrived that I should politely offer her one of my Mentos. Almost straight away, that random thought was overtaken by another. Was Mentos her equivalent of Kryptonite? Death of a superhero by mint? I never did find out. I bottled on the polite bit. There’s no polite way of telling a superhero her breathe chucks up. I’d hate to be Exhalation Girl’s dentist.
Anyway, words from a while back, still in verse form at the moment, now revisited for a new song I’m working on;
WHAT REMAINS
A song buzzing in my head
A melancholy ring
I know you’ll never listen out
For this pawn who would be king
I sense you couldn’t care less
But I’ll say it all the same
I’ll tell you what I’m thinking
‘Don’t hate the player; hate the game’
Yesterday, tomorrow
Lost and born again
Yesterday, tomorrow
Another tired refrain
I’ve seen the cat that got the cream
And the dogs who hunt in packs
Looks like you’ve got a Royal Flush
And me a pair of Jack’s
I don’t believe in miracles
I don’t believe in luck
Will stage fright grab a hold on me
Leaving me dumbstruck?
Yesterday, tomorrow
Things don’t look the same
Yesterday, tomorrow
There’s nothing to explain
I surrendered to a sleepless night
Waited for the dawn
A blackbird sung his first-light song
Told me you were gone
In the corridors of learning
I trod ancient cobblestones
My hiding place a shadow
You always knew I hunt alone
Yesterday, tomorrow
I count losses, you count gains
Today is not a great place
Today’s just what remains
Next an experimental sound manipulation I composed called ‘World of Shadows’ as a gentle (ish) conclusion to my ‘Liquid Truth’ album. I hope you enjoy;
I had always thought I had a seriously long name, but the master of ambient music beats me by miles. His name? Brian Peter George St John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno, RDI. You’re only going to do well in life or fail badly with a name like that – no in-betweens. It’s good he prefers to be known as just ‘Eno’ – a least he gave dyslexics like me a break.
A short, but excellent number from Eno called ‘By This River’.
The first song ever recorded. That’s a big thing. These days, we take our music for granted forgetting that before we were able to capture sound all there was, was live music and birdsong. No piece of music could be duplicated exactly the same as each performance of even the most basic of melodies would never sound the same twice. So, here we go. The very first song ever recorded. In 1860 the Frenchman, Edouard-Leon Scott de Martinville (Ed to his close mates; bewilderment to most others), invented – although, at the time he overlooked the all-important playback facility – a piece of kit and recorded ‘Au Clair De La Lune’. Thanks to today’s technology we can now listen to it. The name of the girl singing is not known. I just hope for her sake she didn’t give up her day job. Here we go;
Right, some sound art using samples. I posted some of these when I first started blogging. My album, from 4 years ago, ‘Cosa Nostra’ is a sound art concept album. I themed it around a traditional ‘Romeo & Juliet’ type story. The track from the album I’m posting today is called, ‘Coming to the New Lands’. It’s the fourth scene of the concept. The basic story is better explained using this extract from the album cover notes;
Cosa Nostra: He grew up on Sicily the eldest son of a Mafia Don. She too, the daughter of his father’s fiercest rival. As children they played together although their parents knew nothing of this. Eventually they fell in love – a clandestine affair. There came a day when her father discovered their secret. She had brought shame upon her family. That shame couldn’t go unpunished. Her father ordered she be shot dead – an execution. Her own brother the executioner. Her lover found the body. That day he discovered grief, anger and thoughts of revenge.
The executioner took flight to New York to seek shelter and income running his family’s business affairs there. For his part the lover followed the executioner there. He took an ocean liner across the Atlantic. Once in the city he set a plan to kill the man who had murdered his girl.
Each scene was composed as first-person observations of the eldest son. ‘Coming to the New Lands’ is aimed to reflect his first experience of being overwhelmed in a big city like New York, before he gets his act together and goes on the hunt for revenge. Hope you enjoy;
Now for something special – the new number just released by Florence + The Machine – Sky Full Of Song. I promise you’ll love this!
As of about now, I have also posted a new piece on the Morality Part blog. Morality Park is a collective of fine poets, writers and artists. They are worth a visit. Here’s the link Morality Park
I’m on thin ice with this. I’m only posting it because what happened made me laugh at the time. It concerns my father who also blogs on WP, hence the ‘thin ice’.
A while back the old man damaged his left eye. He never got it checked out. It wasn’t getting any better so finally he had it looked at. Aside from anything else they told him he needed new distance and reading glasses. He had a problem with the new readers. I did notice the lenses were seriously thick. That prompted me to say, “You must have fantastic eyesight to see through those’. After pointing out that my line wasn’t original he added, “I suppose they do look like they’ve been made out of Foxes Glacier Mints.”
So, I bump into him just as he’s about to walk down town to the optician to complain about the new readers. I said I’d give him a lift. He’s not good in shops. When we get there the girl on the counter asks him what the problem is. At this point I need to add that his attempts at dry wit is usually lost on people who don’t know him. Anyway, he tells her that the reading glasses only work at a distance of “exactly half of one inch” from his face to the extent that although the words he sees are crystal clear “like words have never been so crystal clear before” he can’t read his newspaper because his nose gets in the way and – this is as close as I can get to word for word – “Do you realize these wretched spectacles transform me into a human microscope and by way of an additional nonessential supernatural power, I can now see the fine detail of molecules and bacteria? My only worth in life is to travel to Salisbury and utilize my newfound powers helping out the security services discover minute fragments of the alleged Russian nerve agent.” She looks blank as in ‘what the f**k is he on about’ as she’s hasn’t a clue, so she just says, “You what?” That’s when I burst out laughing and she gives me the evils thinking I’m laughing at her. I should have explained I was laughing at him but thought that that would only make it more complicated than it was.
Time for some music. ‘A Tale Still in The Telling’ (demo version, slower, weirder than the original but one where I gave the electric guitar an outing) from a while back. Hope you like it;
TALE STILL IN THE TELLING – the lyric
I’m a tale still in the telling
Your book, your book is almost read
My journey isn’t over yet
You think, you think that you’re ahead
All there is, is what you see
You’ve got, you’ve got nothing to explore
You watch, you watch your world pass you by
Never thinking there could be more
You’ll never count the stars
Fly a spaceship to Mars
But I’m going to make it all the way
I’m a tale still in the telling
I’m leaving you for dead
If you feel like buying some new music my Dream Rescuer and Rainbows End albums can be purchased via the links below;
I was having a breakfast of hot chocolate & pain aux raisins in the café this morning when I spotted this black bin enjoying a cup of coffee. He didn’t have a lot to say for himself. Odd.
A couple of nights back, about 1am I saw from my attic window two little fox cubs bouncing around in the snow, playing whatever games fox cubs play. The best moment of 2018 so far.
Also, just now, at the bottom of the stairs I spotted a jet-black woodlice looking a bit confused. I’d never seen a black one before. Beautiful. They’re usually greyish. A good-looking woodlice for sure. Had to be a girl woodlice. I named her Anita Woodlice because she was ‘neat’. Gave her a helping hand, via a table mat outside onto plant pot. Some people think woodlice are ugly, but to me the only living things that are ugly stand on two legs and live off their ego. Trump, Boris, Farage and a few others come to mind. Whatever, Anita will be safe in the plant pot. Anyway, to the point of this post.
“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind,
flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.”
This is a quote by Plato the philosopher. The thing is, I bet Plato never had his music nicked. If he had I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have written a set of swoony words.
In early in 2012 I wrote the song, ‘The Chatter of the Ghosts’. I put out a demo version with, in hindsight a very questionable, maybe amateurish is a better word, video I’d produced. To me it was just another number from my ‘Liquid Truth’ Plato themed concept album. It was my first year at uni and I was still learning. Anyway, by sheer boring to explain fluke I found out some bloke in Asia had got hold of the video and somehow uploaded it on YouTube with his name as the artist. Basically he put it out there as his own work, even though it was my melody, me playing the instruments, my lyrics and me singing. He’d got tons more views than I ever did. Once he’d got my polite (not) comment telling him he’d been found out, the vid disappeared instantly. Odd really, as I said, it was only ever a demo version. I suppose he must have liked it. I guess that’s why I put the copyright symbol at the end of my posts these days. Whatever your art genre might be, there’s a lesson in this story.
I hadn’t really thought about this for ages until I found the song in question link to the vid on a document on a memory stick the other day. Demo or not, I hope you like it;
Here’s a song from the band, Wang Chung. Scroll on 30+ years and the singer is the bloke who taught me a lot about songwriting. 8 million+ hits!
(classic, official Beatles ‘Back in the USSR’ tie from way back. To eBay or not eBay, that is the question)
How can someone be busy and bored at the same time? I quite good at that. Anyway, a stab at a new lyric? Not sure. As I was wondering where words come from, this one took to the road sign that read ‘Weird Street’. I decided not to stand in its way.
TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK
The second-hand turns
Feels like I’m slipping through time’s net
Tick tock; tick tock
A heartbeat’s silhouette
The Queen of Hearts in handcuffs
Dragged before the King at court
He asks her, ‘What you guilty of?
She answers, ‘Getting caught’
The desert sun’s a spotlight
Showcasing the dead; the camels; the dunes
While grand Victorian ladies
Watch through telescopes from pink hot air balloons
It’s safe inside the slaughterhouse
If you don’t have four legs
Safer still in Camelot
Just don’t go stealing dragon’s eggs
Hitler took the poison pills
He wouldn’t have it any other way
Santa Claus took to drinking
Totalled his reindeer’s and his sleigh
The vanquished never take the bribe
And victims seldom lie
Go tell that to Mr Mountain Top
He’s best friends with the two-faced sky
I’m dreaming by day
Save my scheming for night
I look for the answers
But they’ve all taken flight
Time for some music. Here’s an older song I wrote some might have heard before, ‘Busking in Berlin’ that I’ve recently added to Zoolon’s ReverbNation profile. I hope you like it;
Odd facts. Just before I took this photo 11 people exited this caravan. Only one struggled fitting through the door.
Recently I’ve mentioned how a mate of mine constantly gets the wrong handle on life. This week he went epic in terms of getting the wrong end of that stick of life. He doesn’t really follow the news but somewhere in his grey matter a news related question formed. He says, “How come Americans all carry guns?” Right from the start of our conversation I sensed it could all go wrong. I say, “I don’t think they all have guns, it’s more like if they want one they go to the shop and buy one.” He says, “Is that legal?” I say, “Yes. They have a constitution giving all Americans the right to bear arms – it’s called The Second Amendment, but you don’t really need to know that last bit.” This is where my fears of it all going wrong kicks in; this is true. After a deep thinking pause, he says, “What have ‘bare’ – note the spelling mistake cemented in his brain – arms got to do with guns? Even here in England anyone can go and buy a sleeveless vest. What’s the big deal?” I was going to point out his mental spelling mistake but thought if I got into ‘bears’ he’ll get straight onto furry animals carrying Kalashnikovs. I just changed the subject; moved on.
It’s funny how a style of writing evolves. This is an angst type lyric in its raw form I wrote for a song back in 2012. Odd.
DUMBSTRUCK
I’ve got a new song spinning in my head
A melancholy ring
I know you’ll never listen out
For the words this singer sings
I don’t believe in miracles
You don’t believe in luck
Will stage fright grab a hold on you?
Leaving you dumbstruck
Yesterday, tomorrow
Lost and born again
Yesterday, tomorrow
Just another tired refrain
I’m talking to deaf ears I know
A one-way conversation
The words I say pass over you
You don’t need letters or translations
You never were an angel
You’re more an eagle than a dove
But I thought you’d maybe need to know
Because of you I’ve given up on love
Yesterday, tomorrow
Lost and born again
Yesterday, tomorrow
Just another tired refrain
Time for some music. A piano piece from my Rainbows End album. It’s called ‘Castaway’. I hope you like;
One from a top class act, Radiohead and the song ‘No Surprises’;
So, it’s the first decent day of the year in South East England. Blue skies, a double-figure temperature and high tide at 11am. All good. I’m walking the coastline to a place where the sea wall juts out toward the beach, so I can capture the sounds of the waves for some sound art I’m working on. Ambient sounds as they rush across the pebbles toward the wall; angry sounds as the waves lose their temper when smashing into it – like the wall is border control denying immigrant waves access. Topical. I might reflect that in my art. All’s still good. No people about; no annoying breeze, even the gulls are busy someplace else. Nothing to pollute the recordings I’m getting through my hand-held stereo-recorder. What I don’t need now is an interruption.
Then it happens. It always does. I felt his presence before I saw him. A little old bloke taking his ancient West Highland Terrier out for a walk. “What you doing, son?” My stock thought, “Baking a cake, what does it looks like?” or “What’s it to you?” per usual, I think but I don’t say. I like polite mode. I can’t help what I think, but I can help what I say, so I say, “I’m capturing to sound of the waves.” He says, “Don’t be daft, you can’t ‘capture’ sound.” I say, “OK then, I’m recording them – does that help? He says, “What you want to do that for?” I say, “I’m going to manipulate the sounds for some sound art.” He says, “You can’t make art out of sound.” I say, “I can.” He walks off mumbling, “Whatever next.” I stay where I am mumbling, “B******s”.
Anyway, a 2-minute number called Punchdrunk, the last track from my ‘Rainbows End’ album. I deliberately composed this one to give the words a soft setting even though I was trying to make a point. I hope it works for you.
PUNCHDRUNK
Wings without feathers
Feet without shoes
Hearts without heartstrings
That’s why I’m singing the Blues
You’re out of love
Not here to judge
Big mouths and morons
Control
This punch-drunk planet
Keeps on spinning
You ain’t seen nothing yet
Just wait till this war begins
You’re out of love
Not here to judge
Big mouths and morons
Control
Punch for the sake of a brawl
Send shockwaves into our homes
You ain’t seen nothing yet
Take out some kingdoms when you’re bored
Wings without feathers
Feet without shoes
Hearts without heartstrings
That’s why I sing the blues
As a thank you to the gulls who stayed away yesterday, a number from Eels (Mark Everett) called ‘Birds’. He and I, like most people like birds. It’s a great song, great lyricist;
The above is a photo I took yesterday in a supermarket. Its full title should read, ‘A Pod of Refugee Helium Balloons Hiding from The Bextiteer Children Armed with Knitting Needles & Ladders’. That was my take on it anyhow.
A true story. A couple of days ago I got asked the most stupid question anyone has ever been asked. A mate of mine is about to take his Driving Theory Test – the test you must pass before you get to take your actual driving test. So, he asks me the question, “How many times are you allowed to drive round a roundabout?” Obviously, I looked at him strangely, then said, “Seriously?” He says “Yes”. I say, “Until you run out of fuel, I suppose.” He says, “Are you sure?” I say, “Positive. Why do you want to know that?” His reply, “I’ve been worried sick I might get asked it in my theory test.” And I thought I was random!
Here’s a new lyric for a new melody. It’s a twist on The Allegory of The Cave. I’m not quite there with the finished song yet, so it’s just the words for now.
FAT CAT CENTRAL
Road signs, railway lines and arrows pointing
You say to me the writings on the wall
That I should go chase new horizons
Me? I think I’m heading for a fall
Road signs, railway lines and arrows pointing
To a place where I don’t want to be
Trading Neverland for Fat Cat Central
Trading The Sea for Concrete Destiny
Road signs, railway lines and arrows pointing
A flock of suited, booted fools, they lead the way
The Pied Pipers on his lunch break
Some they tumble; others stray
Road signs, railway lines and arrows pointing
Road signs, railway lines and arrows pointing
Road signs
Railway lines
And arrows pointing
Road signs, railway lines and arrows so disappointing
When I discovered it in the fridge I thought, ‘Brilliant, it may look like it’s been in the hands of a sculptor whose polished it a bit, but it’s a proper French croissant and it’s mine all mine’. The first clue that it wasn’t a croissant came when I picked it up and it weighed about what 20 sacks of croissants would weigh. So odd. The thing was, apart from the weight, there was also the smell – nothing like the magical scent of a croissant. I’ve checked it out and it’s called Oscypek (that word reads like it’s a kind of wild bird that has a habit of biting Australians), a surreal smoked cheese made of salted sheep milk from the Tatra Mountains of Poland. As cheese goes I’m sure it’s a really great cheese yet looking at it worries me. It has a certain presence that makes me uncomfortable. Odder, odd. Later a mate told me I must have ‘Taurophobia’. I hadn’t a clue what that was but found out it’s a fear of cheese. I hope not as my dinner tonight is a favourite of mine, macaroni cheese.
Anyway, I’ve been writing about turning ‘poems into songs’ recently (if you’re interested, see the link at the top of the page). I thought I’d reverse the process and try to convert one of my own lyrics to poetry and give it a new title;
THE AFTERMATH OF THE ‘BIG ONE’
Stars instead of streetlights
Two moons instead of one
Touch the edge of heaven
Give breath to a dying Sun
After the blaze of glory
Comes the flickering light
What’s left has no shadow
No vultures in flight
Take off this mask
See how it burns
In the game of Russian roulette
A weapon now rests at your temple,
Your time on the trigger just drags
Take off this mask
See how it burns
Give breath to a dying Sun
Don’t blink, smile or hide
Please, whatever you are or might have been
Or maybe will be, maybe not, just
Give breath to a dying Sun
Like I’ve always said, writing a poem is harder than writing a lyric! Music time. Here’s a short collection of my songs just posted on ReverbNation. I’m testing ReverbNation out in terms of another promotion source for my stuff. I’ll see how it goes. I hope you enjoy listening.
If you want to buy either of my two latest albums, ‘Rainbows End’ or ‘Dream Rescuer’ the link is via the cover art on this page.
‘Why?’ 
(classic, official Beatles ‘Back in the USSR’ tie from way back. To eBay or not eBay, that is the question)
George Blamey-Steeden 