Mr Lemonjohn has just put a little compilation mix together on his blog and I am pretty chuffed he chose my track ‘These Days’ to start it off…
It also includes a track of Maddies which I recorded at The Blue Door too. Happy days.
You can find it here – http://lemonjohn.blogspot.com/2009/06/lemonjohns-harvest-nr-1_15.html
Two of my songs, ‘These Days’ and ‘Shakes And Shudders’ are featured on the ‘welcome to modifythevan’ compilation just released by my label modifythevan. You can hear and download it from Jamendo – http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/39356.
With beautiful cover art by Caitlin Hinshelwood and featuring the music of Blue Swerver, Madelaine Hart, Jonny Berliner and Richard Godwin, it is well worth a listen if you want to discover some great new artists.
After following some intriguing big arrows from Broadway Market in London Fields I randomly came across an awesome art exhibition back in December called ‘These Songs Were Begun One Winter’ which featured the work of a very talented lady called Caitlin Hinshelwood and some of her equally talented friends.
The exhibition was inspired by a poem of the same name by Brian Patten and has in turn inspired a song which I have just recorded also of the same name – These Songs Were Begun One Winter.mp3.
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The poem can be found in Brian Patten’s Collected Love Poems (published by Harper Perennial). Here is the link to buy it from Amazon – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Collected-Love-Poems-Brian-Patten/
Caitlin will hopefully be doing some illustrations for modifythevan’s website and perhaps even some artwork for me in the future. Happy days. You can see more of her work at
http://www.caitlinhinshelwood.co.uk and http://whenthisyousee.blogspot.com/
Lyrics
This song was begun underneath the thumb
Of one who’s thickened by the cold
Listless, longer, bolder than perhaps he ought to be
Forgive quiet and then lie down here lengthways on the floor
Hoping that the blood with flow again
Easily forgot, what was lifted first felt
An anchor to the blood
Howling at the moon as the stars are falling fast
Leaves Wind Earth and Rain
We look forward to look back
These songs were begun one winter
On a window thick with frost her finger drew
A map of all possibilities
I had the hillarious honour of being nominated for ‘Best Cover Version Of The Year’ award on The Waiting Room’s excellent podcast for my version of ‘There’s A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He’s Elvis’ by Kirsty MacColl.
I didn’t win but hey, my first nomination for anything since a certain school debating competition when I was fifteen…
If you haven’t discovered this gem yet do go have a listen at http://www.twrhq.com/ and check out the christmas awards special.
they stumble but the march of progress goes on -
distilled in a book and captured in song,
when laughter drowns the dogma we’ll be free.
nature doesn’t need to win this one with words
and somethings rise, others fall I’ve heard,
remember this as rings inside a tree.
i won’t be the last one out the door and this is all just make believe
so i make my mind to take my time,
a bird silhouette on the laundry line,
the blackberries are ripe, it’s havest time again.
did summer come early? did it come at all?
flip-flops in puddles all down the road.
the ice is melting someplace far away.
i won’t be the last one out the door and this is all just make believe
a ring of roses and they all fall down -
water the blooms but forget the town.
sacrifices or indignities?
please tell me something i can understand,
a truth i can hold in the palm of my hand,
a song i can sing for all humanity
i won’t be the last one out the door and this is all just make believe
the theatre of man has come to town
the curtains back, the house lights down
spotlight on a blushing history.
don’t try to make sense of the words above
i’m not the only one confusing war and love -
do whatever you must to live your dreams.
i won’t be the last one out the door and this is all just make believe
A little song inspired by the lovely Joanna Newsom and some of Michael Stipe’s more obscure moments…
Tell me which colour is blue –
Then stand in a line and shout “Idiot, yours truly”
Nothing compares to this feeling of flying
And gravity wants to join in for the ride.
I don’t know which one is true –
The fool and the knave they both have intuitions
But foolproof plans which require ten volumes
To explain the subtleties just don’t sound right.
I will determine the last day on earth
And I will determine what Winston was saying
So I can make way for the peach and the pear and the plum
And you cannot fault what I’ve done.
The concrete must yield to the steel
And some sun could reach me despite of the morning.
Patio living with no remote features
Could be a solution but think of the mice!
I will dig deeper than others will dare
And I will dig deeper regardless of warning
and I will make way for the peach and the pear and the plum
And you cannot fault what I’ve done…
no, no, no, no
no, no, no, no
no.
Let’s take a trip down Somerset Island,
Across the mainland to Hudson Bay.
We’ll take a boat across the water
Down to Montreal.
Taking our time we’ll cross the border
And be in New York for christmas day.
We’ll meet the friends we made in Philadelphia
In Florida sometime in May.
I’d escape across the sea,
If you would come with me to Montreal.
I would run away
If I thought it possible at all.
Let’s take a boat from Norway
Sail north across the Barents Sea.
We’ll spend some time in Anderma
And take a train across Russia.
I would gather sweat and dust,
If that is what I must do to get away.
I wouldn’t care of others views,
Lets wear out all our shoes in vain.
Let’s drink tea in China,
Let’s drink coffee by the Arabian Sea,
Let’s go walking in the water
But only up to our knees.
So I’m sitting in my room,
Pencil in my hand,
Drawing lines on the wall,
On my map of the world.
I couldn’t be in Rio by tomorrow
Even though its an inch from my nose.
Looks like it’s Brighton or Moorgate for us.
Call in sick on tuesday.
I’d be happy walking on the beach alone,
You’ve got money, could go anywhere at all.
I would sail across the sea
If you would come with me to Montreal.
I would run away if I thought it possible at all.
What’s in that box? What’s hiding in here?
Pictures from Bedford, taken half a blue moon ago.
My we were young then, all mix-tapes and alcopops,
Bum bags, shell suits and meatloaf cds.
Did I really dress like that and dance to that tune?
Then stumble home drunk by the light of the moon.
Guess times they change and the change times they guess,
And nonsense can still be a welcome relief.
My Weezer cd’s well they hardly get played,
My obsession with Ani Difranco has faded,
You might ask is anything sacred these days,
And I’d probably tell you that I love Leonard Cohen.
A snail carries with him some slime and a shell,
I have ten boxes plus cartons as well
As these books, bags and a case
My grandfather used in the war.
Did I really write those words
And did she write back?
Stray hands in Row G all through that James Bond film.
Nonsense it still has a welcoming ring,
And heroes they never don’t come easy.
Chorus
The Streets Of Paris
Well Rome wasn’t built in a day
And I know that may seem quite a stupid things to day
But I’ve fear of being cliche
And the phrase has been stuck in my mind
I missed you my darling today
And I confess I wasn’t expecting to dear
But I’m planning on coming to see you
Just as soon as we can make the time
The wise man built his house on the rock
Then the rain came down and the floods they came up
And I think you and I could stay dry given luck
And the foundations that we have laid
Well the streets of Paris aren’t the same
Without your smile and your company dear
So I barely went outside today
I still made the best of my time
Rome wasn’t built in a day
Brick by brick was patiently laid
And most of them are still there and standing proud
I wonder what will become of you and I
my words fall flat and clumsy,
my pen scratches the page.
school-boy rhymes collide with stunted haikus,
scattered amongst extinct to-do lists,
and piled up under a burden of exile, expectation and exhaustion.
on four hours sleep, in le gare d’austerlitz,
i let down my guard and fall in love.
the lady with red trousers and a violin sits down next to me
unaware that we are married and expecting a son called claude.
we exchange smiles and i put hers in my pocket as she gets on the train.
at the toilet i urinate next to a boy with a machine gun.
somewhere between platforms 18 and 10, after passing
a hairy man scraping chewing gum from the concourse,
i fall in love with paris too for good measure and remember
that i need to buy some nail-clippers when i get to orleans.
