DENMARK STREET
Here they come these poetic wasters
Magical beasts these mythical dreamers
they disapear and suddenly resurface
dragging quests for heaven and hell
with plenty of tales to tell, plenty of tales to tell
there they go those big time tasters
trading charms those musical schemers
they're praying for just one song that pays
They'll never forget those days
never forget those days
and now your reason don't match the season
you wear your heart on last year's sleeve
to give in now though, that would be treason
it's impossible to leave
who knows, maybe we can rock your world
who knows, maybe we can rock your world
who knows's maybe we can rock your world
fuck it...
The best bands they don't choose
The best bands burst are born bruised
tonight on Denmark Street, I'll walk where where Strummer's feet, walked a thousand times before
and tonight on Denmark Street, I'll dream the same old dreams and play that game like all the other whores
You're left with the scars, the souveneirs of Soho
These days you listen, and you watch, you try to learn something
Before it's all too late
Before it's all too late
Before it's all too late.
Eventually the dawn broke. It was time to pull the live fader down and push the looped feed back up. We made an attempt at tidying up and staggered out of Resonance104.4FM. This was back in the days when the station was housed at no 9 and perpetrated rude new noise from the very same room where Hendrix and the Kinks once recorded. The room had a real feeling, of both history and revolution. And this was the last night and here we were locking up for the final time. It was sad. We were drunk. It was the end of something yes, but hopefully the start of something new.I fell unconscious in a doorway. woke up in a pile of empty cardboard guitar shaped packing cases. Staggered towards Soho, towards a new noise.
PUNKLORE
I had no thought but to fulfil
the law of spirit and of will
you strove by skill
with hope an art
not rash as some
I cut your heart
and though it seems
your flesh I'd sliced
it seems i'd stabbed theen
with thou'n knife
'oh barbaric song'
this was dirty fun
and then you shot thine
with thee'n knife
the stars fell down
all over town
transistors failed
no more brazen sound
I had no thought
but to fulfil
the law of spirit
and of will
your'n pallid skin
thou'n dirted hair
your'n baleful stance
thou'n vacant stare
ah... punklore
Had spent all night searching for the station, edging through static and fuck knows there was nothing going on in this town but you, your razor beauty, your wild dreams, but both knowing that out there, was something more, and round here, this battered radio our only chance of connecting...
COLD BLOWS THE WIND
cold blows the wind
cold are the drops of rain
her life was constant flight
her thoughts an endless night
punked up strangers
drunks and rogues
attracted by her light
lies come easy
from afar
talk is cheap
in any public bar
all i see is her rare smile
when i look to the evening star
i never had but one true love
and in the grave she's lain
i never had but one true love
and in the grave she's lain
cold blows the wind
cold are the drops of rain
the dirty shore, the rising tide, the snarling grind, the choked skies, i never had but one true love...
IPSWICH
lonely shapes caught by sodium light
cast for cars that trawl the night
an endless circle round and round
in the shadow of the football ground
lonely shapes they shiver and wait
round by the new industrial estate
to do the things they have to do
to buy a lickle wrap or two
for the sufferers
THE FORTUNE OF WAR
prosthetic limbs
christian battle hymns
travel the world
diamonds and pearls
life as a movie
played as a game
torch a few buildings
capture the flames
viagra kings
rohypnoll queens
you wrote the prescription
but you don't know waht it means
the fortune of war?
i'll tell you plain
it's a plastic leg
or a gold chain
the fortune of war?
i'll tell you straight
it's the mine strewn path
that leads from love through hate
an attacker draws his knife
cuts the wounded man's throat
other bodies are then
mutilated
in another scene
a fanatic calmly fires a bullet
into a corpse
lying on the dusty ground
for the players
HYPERSECURITY
wrap yourself in razor wire
cordon off your heart
don't let those terrorists in they'll destroy you
destruction's not what you need right now
put a roadblock on your words
be extra careful of what you say
strip search your mind
mind what you think
thinking ahead is essential
put your soldiers back
onto these lovetorn streets
call securicor out
you'd better bring back your guns and root through your bins
at all costs protect your soul
look out for your peace of mind
you know that surveillance is all
the future you had
it's long been sold
you used to pray a day like this would come
when the soul of the city would rise out of its slums
that all may know the truth
the truth may set us free
we can be heroes
you and me
yeah
you and me forever on the run
two courting birds in the fresh morning sun
who have braved the darkest night
to see a new day come
to know that our lives
have just begun
we'll be free
we'll be free
we'll be free
Cabin in Coventry, may 08 - negotiate the snake tangle of signal leads on the live floor and enter the mixing room. The amber walls and beige hessian panels take you back an age or two. The old soundcraft series 2400 desk sits like an electric altar. Every kind of instrument can be found here, stacks of old sixties organs, seventies synths, eighties casios... righteous guitars that first rang hard in the fifties, boss amplification, original vox and heavy marshall, we've got six songs to do in two days so...
THE BAND OF HOLY JOY
Andy Astle - guitar
Paul O'Donnell - bass
Chris Brierley - violin
Mike Pearlstein - spirit
Steve Hands - drums
Jean Cocteau - drawings
Louise Kleboe - piano and voice
Paul Sampson - dials
Alfie Thomas - accordian
Raymond Cass - evp
Johny Brown - voice
Inga Tillere - visual
Tim Melia - space
Bryan Swirsky - tour
