We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Geneva's Shore

by Poke O'Swedgers

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Includes free pdf booklet of song lyrics and photos
    Purchasable with gift card

      £8 GBP  or more

     

  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    A lovely gatefold digifile CD, with a disturbingly red vampyric outer cover and a soothing blue lacustrine gatefold. We've chosen this format as it minimises use of plastic in the packaging, while still giving a bloody lovely product!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Geneva's Shore via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days
    Purchasable with gift card

      £9.50 GBP

     

1.
You Boys 03:11
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”
2.
Kelvin Grove 03:24
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
3.
Vampyrion 04:19
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
4.
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
5.
(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
6.
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
7.
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
8.
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
9.
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
10.
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
11.
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
12.
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

about

The Poke O'Swedgers' second album, this time transposed from Govanhill to Lake Geneva.

WARNING: may contain traces of nuts and fragments of romantic poetry.

The album contains the usual hymns to the virtues of Glasgow (Kelvin Grove, Under the Skin), but also features a song-triad (Clairmont, Vampyrion, Flora Domestica) about some of the people who got shafted, overlooked and overshadowed by those romantic testosteroafs, Percy Shelley and Lord Byron.

What else?...well, there's a few songs lauding characters from the Chesterfield music scene (You Boys, Boris is a Hologram, the Woman Who) and... goddammit...even a smattering of love songs (our reputation is ruined!).

Please listen. Please enjoy. Please come see us.

credits

released August 20, 2021

Poke O'Swedgers are:

Kev McInally: Vocals
Dave Banks: Backing vox and instruments

Featuring Kworyl with spoken word on Clairmont (you can hear more of Kworyl at soundcloud.com/kworyl).

Bjørn Frengstad also contributed the beautiful melody to Saturday Evening, One Eastertide.

Album mixed and mastered by Steve Swallow in Ollerton.

Tracks allocated ISRC UK-DVB-21-00001 to 00012 (00013 bonus track) inclusive.

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

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.

contact / help

Contact Poke O'Swedgers

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

Poke O'Swedgers recommends:

If you like Poke O'Swedgers, you may also like: