Hello, from the heart of this matter. Of course none of this truly matters in the vastness of eternity, yet here we are, so we may as well be kind to each other. The Bohemian manifesto, unwritten (as is fitting), and often unspoken directly, yet inherent in the works of non-violent dissidents of all cultures and all times is something that I admire and adhere to. It also makes me laugh from my jelly belly sometimes. Celebrate the inner fire, the quest, the zest, the vest, the stoned immaculate, the lone compatriot of the borderless region of the soul.
In this time of cynical cool, corporate greed, blanket mediocrity and that pervasive post-modern sneering irony, let’s re-discover the joyous spark, the stumbling attempt, the celebrant, the beatnik bent. All of this is sent out into cyber space with good intent.
I try to sing and write songs and stories and poetry and keep the muse amused. My musical influences are so many and varied that listing them would be pointless. Given that my music is informed by so many different sources, it would be foolish to claim originality, yet I hope that there is some sort of honest idiosyncrasy, or idiot synchronicity here somewhere. I have added some different tracks from my solo album SHADOWED SUNLIGHT:UNCLOUDY MOON which is a varied affair with lots of magic tomfoolery enabling me to play several things at once. There is also one live track from Gandhi's Walrus to whet your appetite.
I play as a solo acoustic performer as well as with:
THE PLAYERS
www.myspace.com/wearetheplayers
Phil Keys on electric lead guitar and electric bass.
Ed Steele-Fox on drums and percussion.
Me on acoustic guitar and voice.
The Players are rootsybluesycountryfolkadelicresonators so stuff that in your pipe and smoke it!
THE WHOLE CABOODLE ELECTRIC CEILIDH BAND
Traditional dance tunes from The British Isles along with a few Breton tunes and the odd pop song. Very eclectic and exciting noisy bugs, we love what we do and always have a good time. Thankfully, so do the punters. I play electric guitar.
www.myspace.com/thewholecaboodleband
GANDHI’S WALRUS
www.myspace.com/httpmyspacecommahatma
A singular beat group, unique, visceral and vibrant. We play my own electric songs and sometimes selected cover versions of stuff that we really like (some of them are even faintly recognisable). Included on this site is a live studio version of one of our songs. I love this band.
Phil Keys on electric bass.
Ray Clarke on drums.
Chris Powell on lead guitar.
So there you are. For your pleasure (or maybe pain) here are a couple of my poems and a short story.
Fare Well.
CROW
This ragged bird.
A tattered cloth caught in the wind,
with a torn voice.
Flicking through the Winter sky,
black and lovely.
Bringing the chill dull grey alive.
LIKE
The deep smell of a dark rose
is the gentle rub of thick velvet
is the kiss of heat from bonfire embers
is the taste of slow amber honey
is the deep smell of a dark rose.
THE HILL
The hill stands amidst the tumbling sea. Alone as the song of Time in the cold wastes beyond the Heart of Everlasting Light. High it grows and sheer and steep, its grassy slopes emerge from the huge wet rocks at the waters broken edge, spattered with moss. Tiny curled fronds, (jewelled with spray, white with salt where the sea continually surges around them), cushion the air. And everywhere green.
Dark in the wet deeps, shimmering verdant upon the higher slopes where the sunlight falls. And here upon the crown stands the Tower. Sheer and smooth, stark against the sky. Once, long before the very last migration of the birds, it shone and sparkled. A burnished copper pinnacle glinting above the gulls. Now, with damp winds and Winters cold breath the Tower rots gently away in a verdigris dream. Hollow yet unbending, filled with the hill earth, dark and moist, it holds rigid sway.
Cupping the rain and the light, an oval empty garden lies at the top. Empty but for the tall bare tree that stands in the very centre. A vast gnarled skeleton of wood stabbing at the sky, its huge trunk twisted by centuries of growth. Branching out and up into a thousand twig fingers clutching at nothing. High into the air it stretches itself, and here upon the topmost branch grows the flag.
Woven in the flickering days. Twilight, the deepest dark and a burning brightness move within its wet fluttering. Silently flapping, a cloudy pennant way above the ocean. The banner of Water, Earth and Air flowers and flickers forever. The wind comes fierce and free from the vast sky, changing as swiftly as fire, wildly laughing as it catches the flag in its weightless powerful grasp.
Tugging and pulling until the flag begins to tear, then calming itself with a sigh. Here, a piece of flag floats free, merging blue and white and grey, slowly unfolding as it drifts along. Kissing all below with rain, it roams. There, it passes along the skies and we may never capture it. The broken flag flutters and flaps, eternally growing high above the World, torn again and again and again by the eteral Wind. Never still.
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