1. |
You Boys
03:11
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We walked down the mile past the Peacock and Alma
At the Tramway we stopped to see our Sugar Mama
“You’re real good boys”, she said seductively;
“And You Boys are almost like nephews to me”.
You Boys - with your cheeky smiles
You Boys - Lotharios and Cryptophiles
We love You Boys - you got a lot of class
One as hairy as Esau - t’other smooth as glass
With your songs of computing and doomed romances
With your white boy grooves and your funny dances
And we love your songs, even though they’re weird
And You Boys can sing (except the one with the beard)
We twinkled and charmed flirtaceously
Half Rab C Nesbitt, half BBC
As we worked our way through a flask of absinthe
Three pints of porter and a crème de menthe.
She said, “I think You Boys have had quite enough
And there’s crisp-crumbs gath’rin’ in your trouser cuff
Stop messing around. Get up there and sing,
and strum and dance your Johnstone fling”.
So we played till the evening was slipping away
We sang of Ada Lovelace and Hemingway
She winked and said, “You Boys - come back soon,
- Any time, Boys – is opportune”
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2. |
Kelvin Grove
03:24
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1. Let us haste to Kelvin Grove, bonnie lassie, O
Through its mazes let us rove, bonnie lassie, O
Where the rose in all her pride
Paints the hollow dingle side
Where the midnight fairies glide, bonnie lassie, O
2. The Kelvin banks are fair, bonnie lassie, O
When in summer we are there, bonnie lassie, O
And the may-pink’s crimson plume
throws a soft but sweet perfume
round the yellow banks of broom, bonnie lassie, O
3. Though I dare not call thee mine, bonnie lassie, O
As the smile of fortune’s thine, bonnie lassie, O
Yet with fortune on my side
I could stay thy father’s pride
And win thee for my bride, bonnie lassie, O
4. Under hipster coffee bars, bonnie lassie, O
Rumble Clockwork Orange cars, bonnie lassie, O
We wander academia’s walls
and museum’s airy halls
where the brewdog yelps and calls, bonnie lassie, O
5. Then farewell to Kelvin Grove, bonnie lassie, O
And adieu to all I love, bonnie lassie, O
To the river winding clear
To the fragrant scented briar
E’en to thee I hold most dear, bonnie lassie, O
6. When upon a foreign shore, bonnie lassie, O
Should I fall midst battle’s roar, bonnie lassie, O
Then, Helen, shoulds’t thou hear
Of thy lover on his bier
To his memory shed a tear, bonnie lassie, O
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3. |
Vampyrion
04:19
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This is the story of John Polidori
Minor poet and doctor by rank.
A man of some letters, in solitude’s fetters
Demeanour both handsome and frank.
But for Byron’s enjoyment
he entered employment
Of that lecher with a winning tongue
George Gordon Byron, Eurotrash vampire
One who’ll drain you, then mock you in song.
Can’t you hear his song?
Byron, A Vampyre. Mad, bad, a bit of a bore
Tentacular - Dracula:
A sucker with a fetish for gore.
Artistic maelstrom; poetic siren.
He’ll wreck you on Geneva’s shore
(he’s a haemovore).
He’ll wreck you on Geneva’s Shore
Vampyrion
Vampyrion
Vampyrion
Don’t let him in
Don’t let him in
John Polidori’s gothic hate story
Appeared in 1819
But the name of the author of this tale of horror
Was given thus in that rare magazine.
It was written ….
A Tale by Lord Byron, Vampyre.
Mad, bad, and a bit of a bore
Tentacular - a Dracula:
A sucker with a fetish for gore.
Artistic maelstrom; poetic siren.
He’ll wreck you on Geneva’s shore.
So, lock up your daughters!
He’ll wreck you on Geneva’s shore
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4. |
Clairmont (feat. Kworyl)
06:06
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In Clairmont’s face, a power like light doth lie
Byron’s damned bitch – with dark and damning eye.
Alas torn heart can bleed but not forget;
Attract and yet repulse – fierce and beautiful comet
Alba. Alba Come home. My commodore. My comet’s halo.
Alba. Alba. Come quick from Italy
In an unmarked grave be laid low.
Alba, my commodore. My comet’s halo.
Allegra, Byron’s daughter, we tend to forget she had a mother.
Her name was once Alba – a wholly other child.
She would have been loved and cherished – never sent
To die alone in a Ravenna Capuchin convent.
Alba. Alba Come home. My commodore. My comet’s halo.
Alba. Alba. Come quick from Italy
For I feel Russia’s winter calling me
Alba, my commodore. My comet’s halo.
And she’d scramble yet 400 miles,
And walk 400 more likewise,
To plague Lord Byron’s gilted door;
To accuse and unphilosophise.
What shall poor Cordelia do? But wait
And love and hold her tongue and brew such hate
As would buffet down the years. An eternal font
Of retribution from the Little Fiend, Claire Clairmont.
Song lyric and melody: © David Banks 2019
The circumstances of first glances
Or a favoured handshake can change the landscape
To be totally fair, when I first noticed her there,
I was more aware of the stare than the clothes and the hair
‘Cos when she smiles, it’s with the eyes
And if she sighs the twinkle dies and shrinks inside;
But life is never that easy as a lesson to teach me
Love is ever so greedy, plus quite clever and sneaky;
But the view is dependent on the place you stand
And the day in hand it never goes the way you planned.
And it’s somewhat unfitting for such a humble beginning,
I was never sold on the notion of a stolen emotion.
The stylish kids in the riot acquired our kicks on the quiet,
If we’d the tickets to buy it, never too chicken to try it:
The first to listen, the last to leave
The plans and schemes we hatched and weaved to catch the breeze.
So, if you want to try, there’s no worse you can do and
If you’re nursing the blues, I’ll be the first in the queue.
No more a rovin’ blindly into the dark –
Let’s rewind to the start and find the kindness of the heart.
Lyric © Craig Flanagan
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon
We'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon
Poem by Lord George Gordon Byron
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5. |
Flora Domestica
04:47
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(The lyrics include phrases from some of the poems Elizabeth Kent cites in her book, Flora Domestica):
Put on your brightest richest dress
Wear all your gems blest vale of ours
My fair one comes in her loveliness
She comes to gather flowers
Damask Rose, Marygold
Arabian Jessamine
Bower-of-Bliss, Faerie Queen
In the Gardens of Fair Proserpine
I’m the sister of the wife of a certain Leigh Hunt
Bon viveur, raconteur and bit of a column gossiper
I manage his house, wash his clothes and fend off his wandering hands
They call me “Flower of the House”, but no-one understands
That I have yet to blossom
Flora Domestica - Elizabeth Kent
Flora Domestica - Seems like I’m heaven-sent, but I have yet to blossom
Mingle your charms of hue and smell
Which Flora wakes in her spring-time hours
For my fair one comes across the dell
She comes to gather flowers
Aloe, Bloody Amaranth
Arum Lily, Asphodel
Aurora, where is Laura now?
Laurel and Hardy Perennial
I’m the sister of the wife of the man who was Shelley’s fool
Cockney School, Surrey Gaol, and a bit of a multi-purpose tool
I tidy his cell, welcome his guests and fend off his wandering hands
They call me “Flower of the House”, but no-one understands
That I have yet to blossom
Flora Domestica - Elizabeth Kent
Flora Domestica - Such a heavenly scent, but I have yet to blossom
Phoebus rest on thy ruby wheels
Look and envy this world of hours
For my fair one now descends the hills
She comes to gather flowers
Heady Balsam, Cardamine
Belvedere and Columbine
Lady’s Smock and Sops-in-Wine
Anemone and Celandine
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6. |
Under the Skin
02:50
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21 years living in your shadow
Never really knew you, was just a nervous lad
Said goodbye thirty years ago this winter
Been back many times since, always tried to glimpse you
I looked up to you, was scared of you, inspired by you,was proud of you
I’ve revelled in the treasures you’ve bestowed
I ran from you, was drawn to you, was dazed by you, in awe of you
I’ve listened to the stories that you’ve told
Gilmour Street to Central railway lines
Fairground Attraction Simple Minds
Caught you fleeting on the silver screen
I saw the battles your blue and green
21 years, nervous o’ the thrill
Of sunlight on the Clyde and the moon on Govanhill
Raintown River and shipyard crane
The music of your waters has crept into my brain
Those 21 years, still buzzing in my brain
Been away so long, but I want in again
Your tenement stones, the blonde and the red
Your rock steady rhythm is bangin’ in my head
Gilmour Street to Central railway lines
Fairground Attraction Simple Minds
Caught you fleeting on the silver screen
I saw the battles your blue and green
Caught you fleeting on the silver screen
I saw the battles your blue and green
Always felt close - yet alien
This Dear Green Place gets Under the Skin, Under the Skin
Music and lyrics © Kev McInally 2019
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7. |
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She had raven hair. She had speedwell eyes.
She pierced my heart. Maybe she could analyse
what just happened to me.
She had speedwell eyes. She had raven hair.
Her smile lit her face like a kerosene flare
on a smoking summer eve.
Three days one summer. Three days of time
in eccentric orbit and walking and rhyme.
She told me how it seemed to bide in the dark
one Saturday evening of Eastertide
How the world holds its breath at the shock of God’s death
and how we all are redeemed.
Surprisingly forgiven, for, truly
Christ is risen.
She had corvin hair and forget-me-not eyes
and nonchalantly waved her hand and swept away the flies
from my mind and her plate of fruit.
Lyric © David Banks 2015: Music © Bjørn Frengstad 2015
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8. |
The Woman Who
04:34
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I saw you walking down the street, with her, hand in hand
I thought that I heard laughter – and none of it was canned
My jealous heart viridian; I couldn’t understand
Could she be the woman who broke up the band?
She doesn’t know a treble clef from a major chord
She doesn’t like suspended fourths or Jarvis
She didn’t like my haircut and she didn’t recognise
That I’m widely held to be a serious artist
Is she a heart’s companion or a one-night stand?
And does she dig the Soup Review like we do?
Is she a paramour or just an ampersand?
Could she be the woman who broke up the band?
Now her hair's like liquid liquorice in a green velvet band;
Her thighs ripple like hawsers and leave me quite unmanned.
But what’s that ring that shines on the fourth finger of her hand?
Could she be the woman who broke up the band?
Is our two-man harmony not quite enough for you?
Does our rhythm make your heart not skip a beat?
I’ve heard her singing in the shower – man - she hasn’t got a clue
How can her music seem to you more sweet?
Is she a heart’s companion or a one-night stand?
And does she dig the Phrygian Mode like we do?
Is she a paramour or just an ampersand?
Could she be the woman who broke up the band?
Is she a heart’s companion or a one-night stand?
And does she dig the Ichabod like we do?
Is she a paramour or just an ampersand?
Could she be the woman who broke up the band?
Music/lyrics © Dave Banks 2019
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9. |
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My friend Rhys has a house in the country
and a flat in old Hong Kong
Rhys tells me he’s happy there
but it seems to me he doesn’t belong
Emma has fancy job in the city
that keeps her mind alive in her head
(she says) but way she talks and the glass in her eyes
tell me that her soul is dead
But I have a hole where things should be
I just want some sun and good company.
Cos I want nothing....
A big fat nothing....to cushion my fall.
Michael has a wife and she looks pretty neat
neat and pretty and fine.
They sit in silence on the terrace in the evening.
I’m so glad that she ain’t mine.
But I have a hole where stuff should be
I just want some booze and bad company.
Cos I want nothing
A big fat nothing.... to cushion my fall.
They say “Nothing comes from nothing”
So you get your kicks for free.
and “If you have a little then more will be given”
So take it away from me.
Krista has a son and she has high expectations
That he’s gonna make her proud.
He’s got a degree and she’s got good social skills
But I find him them both a little too loud.
But I have a hole where things should be
My low expectations keep me company.
Cos I want nothing....
A big fat nothing.... to cushion my fall.
Lyric © David Banks 2013
Melody © David Banks 2020
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10. |
The Little Boids
02:51
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Tell me Richard, Dicky Bird
Why your song is so absurd
About what you seen and what you heard
About all the birds in the green wood
Sing me the song of Jacky Daw
Where he’ll be tomorrow and where he’s been beforeB
And what he’s heard and what he’s saw
‘mongst all the birds in the green wood
Sing me the song of Robin Redbreast
About who he’s used to feather his own nest
Who he hates and who he loves best
Of all the birds in the green wood
Tell me Richard, Dicky Bird
Why your song is so absurd
About what you seen and what you heard
About all the birds in the green wood
Sing me the song of Margaret Pie
How she longs for the colours of the butterfly
But she’s black and white, that Maggie Pie
Of all the birds in the green wood
Sing me the song of the gaudy Jay
He longed to be plain, not a floral bouquet
A mod, not a hippie, but he was born this way
Like all the birds in the green wood
Tell me Richard, Dicky Bird
Why your song is so absurd
About what you seen and what you heard
About all the birds in the green wood
Sing me the song of young Tom Tit
He’s made a House with Martin and they plan to live in it
And holler at the neighbours and swear and spit
At all the birds in the green wood.
Sing me the song of Jenny Wren
About why she loves the birds and how she hates men
And why she slowly counts to ten
Amongst the trees in the green wood
Music and lyrics © David Banks, January 2020
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11. |
Boris is a Hologram
02:46
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Are you looking for him?
Are you looking for the man within?
A mystery man; A renaissance man
A man you can’t lay a finger on
Are you searching for him?
Are you searching for original sin?
A McCavity man A shadow man
A man you can’t pin down
And if you’re looking for a way out, he won’t stand in your way
BbbbbbbBoris is a hologram
Debonair, don’t give a damn
Flirty, smooth a ladies’ man
He’ll wham bam and thankyou ma’am, because
BbbbbbbBoris is a hologram
Away with Yeats to Bethlehem
Wi’ Jamie’s and a little can
He’ll make you an Abba fan
He’ll rock ‘n’ roll ya, steal your soul, ya
The Centre Cannot Hold
Are you waiting for him?
Well, you’re gonna be waiting in vain
He’s a Super Trooper; A Party Pooper
A bear of very little brain
Are you longing for him?
Do you think you know the Name of the Game?
From Voulez Vous to Waterloo
A man of notoriety and fame
And if you’re looking for a way out, he won’t stand in your way
BbbbbbbBoris is a hologram
Debonair, don’t give a damn
Flirty, smooth a ladies’ man
He’ll wham bam and thankyou ma’am, because
BbbbbbbBoris is a hologram
Away with Yeats to Bethlehem
Wi’ Jamie’s and a little can
He’ll make you an Abba fan
He’ll rock ‘n’ roll ya, steal your soul, ya
The Centre Cannot Hold, because
BbbbbbbBoris is a hologram
Music and lyrics © Kev McInally / Dave Banks 2020
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12. |
Any Differently
03:20
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Did I learn to love again?
Did I learn to be?
Did I learn to lead my life
Any differently?
Met her on a Monday
Several years ago
She said that I’d be trouble
With how I kissed her so.
I kissed her slow I kissed her deep
I knew then she’d be the one I want to keep
And as I sow Then I shall reap
Sweet memories, when I lay me down to sleep.
She told me that she loved me I could not say it back
Even though I wanted to ‘Cos I know that I still love you
I’m scanning the horizon I’m looking down the track
My head knows what my heart can’t see
That you’re not coming back
I kissed her slow I kissed her deep
I knew then she’d be the one I want to keep
And as I sow Then I shall reap
Sweet memories, when I lay me down to sleep.
Argued on a Wednesday
Several years ago
She said that I’d be trouble
And that she needed space to grow
She left me on a Friday
Saw her turn to go.
Still see her face before me
As I wake with her tomorrow
I miss her bad I miss her hard
I’m out of options now that I’ve played my last card
I’m still tender I’m still scarred
Ill-matched lovers, or maybe just ill-starred
I miss her long I miss her deep
I lost the one I swore I’d do my best to keep
I kiss her then I kiss her still
I’ll miss her every year and every day until...
I learn to love again and I learn to be.
And I learn to live and see new possibility.
Music and lyrics © Kevin McInally 2020
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Poke O'Swedgers Chesterfield, UK
Poke O'Swedgers are Kev and Dave. Kev sings beautifully. Dave fumbles around with guitar. They write their own rhapsodies - delicate folk tales of impossible romance, computer programming and quantum physics. Their songs have a slight Scottish tang.
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