The David Whitwell Anticlimax on MySpace Music - Free Streaming MP3s, Pictures & Music Downloads

LYRICS TO THE SONGS

“Stalker Song”

Your pleasure returns
When your stalker awakes.
He patiently stands
At your cold open gates.
You stroll down the street
And invite him to come
With crumbs of your thoughts
For the game has begun.

The headlights are burning
The poison and fumes
That shelter your stalker
Who’ll rescue you soon
From mornings you suffer
And nights you despise.
He’ll deal you the truth
And a shrewd alibi.

Bleak memories force you
To enter the church
Where orphans of grace
Have their wilderness nursed.
You sit in the box
And you start to confess
The sin you’ll commit
After passing the test.

Your stalker is moving
Between all the rows
Of bowing repentance
And Biblical prose.
And Jesus is frowning
Behind his stone mask.
He says to your stalker:
“She will be the last.”

He’ll follow you far
And he’ll follow you deep,
Your stalker will hunt
Be you crooked or meek.
And you can’t resist him,
Your hurt is at large,
Your faith is in shreds
And your passion is scarred.

Without him each moment
Is torture for you,
His presence determines
What’s sacred and true.
Fulfilled by temptation,
The vow has been sealed,
You pray to your Lord
But you smile as you kneel.

In amusement arcades
You don’t look too amused
By the cheating machines
And the money you lose.
Your stalker steps in
With a coin in his hand,
He says: “Need some help?
"I’m a gambling man."

Discarding all caution
Your answer is “Please”,
It’s jewels that you wanted,
It’s jewels you’ll receive.
The vault of vain hope
Then surrenders its gold
To you and your stalker
Whose fingers you hold.

Through poverty’s harbours
You saunter with him.
You whisper, “I’m Judy McClair”
With a grin.
“And I am your stalker”
He duly responds,
“I’m going to sail,
"Like to come on along?”

The anchor is raised,
The boats part the waves,
Luxuriant wine fills
The gleaming glass caves.
“I want you” you sigh
As the land disappears
And those were the last words
Your stalker would hear.

The cops found the stalker
Alone on the boat,
His head hollowed out
And a knife in this throat.
They never did catch her
Or bring her to trial
For twenty-one murders
In twenty-one styles.

This tale has no moral
For immoral times
But there is one thing
You should keep in your mind.
If you choose to stalk
Pick your target with care
Or you’ll be a victim
Of Judy McClair.

Azure Sleeping

Grey Sundays atomize
Love songs and lullabies
Into this life I knew.
I’ve heard it all before:
Peace is a shrouded war
And it dies for you.

Let your sweet woven tears
Form a soul chandelier
In the dreams known as azure.

Skies turn to masquerades
Like solemn pledges made
That were overdue.
Lend me your secret name
So my will can abstain
From portraying you.

Let your sweet woven tears
Form a soul chandelier
In the dreams known as azure.

Blunt pencils write these lines,
Lines that change many times.
Then they start anew.
When I’m wise and able
I’ll find a line as beautiful
As the sight of you.

Let your sweet woven tears
Form a soul chandelier
In the dreams known as azure.

“Nazi Lady Waltz”

Dear Rebecca, I'm much better.
Let me thank you for your letter.
It seems ages and these pages
Are the first ones since your rages.
My head is bowed as I recall that last row.
Anyhow, this is what I'm thinking now.

Nazi Lady, you were pretty
But your beauty was just a mask.
Nazi Lady, yes I'm lonely
But I've many more reasons to laugh.

You wore lipstick made of arsenic
When you waited in the clinic,
Waving knickers like swastikas
At the deadbeats and the slickers.
Then you said "There's something alive in my head"
As you led the doctor away to your bed.

Nazi Lady, have you lately
Given mercy to any men?
Nazi Lady, it's more likely
You were just psychopathic again.

In the twilight, I felt love-bites
On my neck but they were termites
. And the Pink Gin was disgusting,
One half Gordons, one half ricin.
When I dressed I chose a bulletproof vest.
Since you left I've failed a mental health test.

Nazi Lady, I'm still shaky
And my kidneys no longer work.
Nazi Lady, my bank's empty
And I've blood stains on every shirt.

But the focus of your malice
Was your mother, Amy Alice.
You put floor tacks in her tampax
Then you dusted them with anthrax.
Then you threw napalm into her shampoo
For you knew she was far nicer than you.

Nazi Lady, you were filthy
But your duty is only fate.
Nazi Lady, I'm not angry
But I have a confession to make.

Nazi Lady, I don't really
Miss your body or the sex.
You see baby, I fucked Amy.
Yours Sincerely, Your Merry Ex.

“Everyone And I”

Good evening, Nick, I’ve come
To lay a lily on your grave.
There’s nothing to be scared of
And no need to be afraid.

In the church beside your final bed
We keep your work alive.
I hope you will excuse me
While I wipe my welling eyes.

But I do believe you’re listening
In your northern sky
To the music
You gave everyone and I.

And though you died at twenty-six
You didn’t leave at all.
I know cause I can sense you
In the tiny village hall.

We are smitten by your legacy
And celebrate your name
And no-one loves you more
Than our Denise and Hayley-Jane.

But I do believe you’re listening
In your northern sky
To the music
You gave everyone and I.

In eternal peace you may
Have met a girl called Dom.
She might have sought your autograph
And asked you for a song.

Back in Tanworth by the campfire
I will raise a glass to you.
I know that it’s still raining
But the wine is red and true.

But I do believe you’re listening
In your northern sky
To the music
You gave everyone and I.

When it’s time to join you
In Heaven’s hallowed towers,
I’d like it if you showed me
How on Earth you played Three Hours.

Right now I’m home in London
And I’m busking on the Tube
And my fingers are bewildered
By the tunings that you used.

But I do believe you’re listening
In your northern sky
To the music
You gave everyone and I.

"Damp Vanilla Hair"

Last night's wine is tepid
The coffee's getting cold
I reach out for affection
There is no-one to hold
Welcome to another busy day
Of missing you

I try to read the paper
But your picture on the wall
Makes the headlines vanish
The paper slowly falls
More years have outplayed me since you died
And I'm counting

I'd run my modest fingers
Through your damp vanilla hair
As you telephoned your mother
On the dusty wooden stairs
Vanilla now unveils my tired tears
Like a traitor

Your spirit comes before me
In your favourite overcoat
The hood and collar missing
The zip and stitching broke
That's how beautiful and young you were
When death arrived

A wise old vicar told me
"Be strong but don't be sad
"You'll love her in your memory"
Memories are all I have
Can you see me darling as I call...

I miss you
I love you
But I can't reach for you
In the dawn's delight
I would give away my every dawn
To smell your hair again

Last night's wine is tepid
The coffee's getting cold
I reach out for affection
There is no-one to hold
Welcome to another busy day
Of missing you

“Serenity Blue”

It's now almost dawn,
The night has withdrawn,
The ocean embraces the sun.
The morning mist shades
The cables of waves
And they just keep rolling on.

A yacht slithers by,
The wild seagulls fly,
All that is missing is you.
On this fading pier
The wrath of my fear
Calms in serenity blue.

My deep drunken thoughts
Careen 'round the port,
Searching for your sober kiss.
And sorrows are thrown
Like old skimming stones
Safe under cover of bliss.

Do mermaids arrive
In driftwood and tide
Or do they have ships to pursue?
The weeping moon knows,
It answers to those
Lost in serenity blue.

If I could release
My trapped masterpiece
It would be signed by your face.
That won't come to pass,
The task is too vast
So I'll remain in this place

But I miss you the most
When the pale English coast
Melds with eternity's hue.
In magic you shine
With me one more time
Singing serenity blue.

"When My Blues Retire"

The ballads of the birds
Greet the passing of the night
(Or that's what I've been told)
And I'm standing
By my window
But I'm staring
At the shadows on the floor.
When my blues retire
I will have to find another way to cry.

This artificial world
Leaves my conscience for a while
When I think of you.
I'm not begging you
To love me
As I rarely speak
The language very well.
When my blues retire
I will grow into the man I should have been.

I've four queens in my hand
But the blues have all the kings
And the dealer smiles.
Then he says
"You shouldn't ever gamble
"With the things
"That make you what you are."
When my blues retire
I will understand the meaning of his words.

Distracted by belief,
I propose a holy toast
To the drink I pour.
Here the whiskey
Tastes like honey
And the honey
Tastes like ancient autumn rain.
When my blues retire
It will be the first of April, that's for sure.

The sun begins to march
On its counterfeit parade
Across the faithful sky.
And the morning
Turns its back on time
And settles down in exile
With my heart.
When my blues retire
I will have to find another way to cry.

"Porcelain Eyes"

My stranded heart is like a bookmark
Stuck in a novel that I can't read
And as I turn its crumpled pages
Chardonnay stains are all I see
Through porcelain eyes
(Don't ask me why)
And porcelain eyes will weep
When your beauty calls them
And rocks my fear to sleep.

Some eyes are wild and some are stable,
Some boys are proud and some disgraced.
Others, like me, just live to witness
Every contour of your face
With porcelain eyes
(Don't ask me why)
And porcelain eyes will move
When your beauty leaves them
Surrounded by the blues.

I know that I could be your lover,
You choose the ugly now and then.
From foreign angles we look handsome
And only these worthy kinds of men
Have porcelain eyes
(Don't ask me why)
And porcelain eyes will shine
When your beauty feeds them
The candy in your mind.

Two doves are fighting on my skylight
Over the olive branch of yours.
Their wings are souvenirs of travel,
Splinters and cracks run down their claws
Like porcelain eyes
(Don't ask me why)
And porcelain eyes will close
When your beauty sends them
To where the doves' song goes.

It has been said that love is sacred.
But only the sacred could agree?
But I won't appeal or even grumble,
I have my dreams to comfort me
And porcelain eyes
(Don't ask me why)
And porcelain eyes will break
When your beauty frees them
A hundred tears too late.

David Whitwell OBE (Obscenely Baffled Entity) is a singer/songwriter based in London. He delicately sews vivid poetic lyrics to sweeping mountains of melody and is getting nauseous writing this in the self-penned, pretentious third-person style so will cease immediately. Phew, I hate that bollocks. Where was I? My name is David and I’m a rather confused individual who lives in the gutter of grace. I like to blend fancy words, sexy tunes and raunchy guitar parts into a surreal splat – preferably while consuming ludicrous amounts of alcohol. As you may know, if you’ve been paying attention, I’ve been busy writing and recording my second album, “Squall Lines” (out very soon). Eight of the twelve songs are available on this puerile page for you to dribble/scribble over.

I’ve also added a second MP3 player above, which contains a few old acoustic folk songs of mine (produced by Robert Bluesman and Paul Mallatratt). The first of which, “Torn Like The Shoreline”, will be covered by Nick Cave in the near future. I may re-record it myself soon - so for any news watch this waste of space. But for now I’m going to blabber on about “Squall Lines”.

(Artwork by Hayley-Jane Stanley.)

During the summer of 2008, I met up with my good friend Jonny Goode for drinks, laughs and moans. We spoke about music, life and whose turn it was to buy the next round. At one point, Jonny put forth the proposition that he was interested in recording some of my recent work and embellishing it with strings and other forms of accompaniment. I thought about it and later decided it was a great idea. With both Jonny and Sally Lodge producing, we put the songs down in their home studio in Croydon. So, what you are hearing now (provided Myspace hasn’t crashed) are some of the results of this project.

(Artwork by Hayley-Jane Stanley.)

I’m going to elaborate on my songs because I like the sight of my own typing. “Stalker Song” is a murder ballad about a naive young man who is besotted by and stalks a dark, mysterious woman who, unfortunately for him, turns out to be a brutal psychopath. I think that’s a reasonable synopsis. Let this little ol’ song serve as a warning to any prospective stalkers out there who might be reading this.

When you presume an album is complete it invariably isn’t. “Azure Sleeping” was composed only a few weeks before the final recording sessions but I wanted to squeeze it onto “Squall Lines” as I’m rather proud of it. Its main two themes appear in much of my work: the processes of longing and songwriting itself – and how they merge in the dream of unattainable beauty.

"Nazi Lady Waltz" was enjoyable to write and finally record in the studio. Our narrator has received a letter from a former girlfriend, Rebecca, who has fallen on hard times and is hoping to rebuild their turbulent relationship. The song is the narrator's reply, in which he nostalgically recalls Rebecca's past appetites for violence, torture and various other sadistic acts. I am already looking forward to this song's interminable radio plays.

Of the many diverse artists that inspire me, the late Nick Drake is among the strongest. I always knew I had to either play the guitar as well as him or write a song for him. Naturally, it was the latter! “Everyone And I” is a tribute to not only Nick, however, but also to The Annual Nick Drake Gathering, which is an event held in his honour in the small Warwickshire village of Tanworth-in-Arden (where he grew up and died).

If I write something that, for whatever reason, doesn’t fit in place then I drop it in one of two boxes: “Potential” or “Drivel”. Fortunately, I retrieved "Damp Vanilla Hair" from the former. It needed a little rewriting and the small matters of melody and guitar-part. I entered this song into the folk/country category of the 2009 UK Songwriting Contest and, to my pleasant surprise, it reached the semi-finals.

Since I’ve been writing music, I’d always wanted to record a duet with a lady but for one cursed reason or another it failed to materialise - either the piece was unsuitable or I couldn’t con (sorry convince) gracious singers to glide aboard. To my delight, this changed when I wrote the sleepy lament “Serenity Blue” and was fortunate enough to be joined by the beautiful Sally Lodge. Neither of us had attempted a duet before so I’m rather impressed with how it turned out... and it’s dedicated to Jude.

“When My Blues Retire” marks an astounding transition in the alleged development of my guitar-playing because the tuning used is ‘Dropped D’ rather than ‘Standard’. I am still recovering from the shock myself. The great Jackson C Frank was correct when he declared that the ‘blues run the game’. And, I solemnly believe, the blues may even subside – but at a time of their choosing. They won’t be killed or vanquished. They will decide to retire after years of cumbersome yet loyal service to their subject. If this song asks any questions they are these: “What will happen after they retire?” and “Can they be bothered to?”

“Porcelain Eyes” has been reincarnated in various forms. It was originally a lullaby. Then it mutated into a country song. Later still it disguised itself as twelve-bar-blues. But I was never happy with any of them. It was mainly because that although the image of “Porcelain Eyes” was one that had long fascinated me, I did not know what I was talking about – or what I actually wanted to say. Nothing new there then. The final attempt took two years to write. This process culminated in fifteen verses. But I thought that might be overdoing it slightly. So I picked five.

If you like the songs on my page, you might like the other ones on the album. If you don’t like the songs on my page, go and find some porn to look at instead. As for the album, I’m not sure of its exact release date yet as I’m toying with the idea of acquiring PR assistance. But I’m in no hurry. “Squall Lines” was written over five years and recorded over one. It’s been a long journey - it must have been as I can’t believe I’ve used such a cliché! I do apologise.

That’s all I have to say for now. Thank you for listening to my work and may you leave my Myspace page in peace.

Kind regards,

David Whitwell.

20th December 2009

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