r s thomas: a marriage

We met
       under a shower
of bird-notes.
       Fifty years passed,
love's moment
       in a world in
servitude to time.
       She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
       closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
       'Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
       partner for
the last dance. And she,
       who in life
had done everything
       with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
       for the shedding
of one sigh no
       heavier than a feather.

spotification

Just wanted to say what a great thing Spotify is - ok, so the free version means you get a 15-second or so advert now & again (roughly once during an album's worth of music) but it's definitely worth it.

Been listening to the new U2 album on Spotify this weekend (No Line On The Horizon) - it's certainly a grower. Looking forward to turning-up the lyrics somewhere to find out what it's all about. They were playing on the Jonathan Ross show last night and I went to bed listening to Zooropa on headphones - it's a far better album than I ever realised; perfect late-night listening.

Alongside U2 I've been listening to Bob Dylan's aged Shot Of Love album from yonks ago - now that's really worth a listen too. Surprisingly so.

So thumbs-up to Spotify from this corner of the room.

formed by the form

Commenting on the form that is the Gospel (of Mark, in this case), Eugene Peterson makes these observations:

"Gospel story" is a verbal way of accounting for reality that, like the incarnation that is its subject, is simultaneously divine and human. It reveals, that is, it shows us something we could never come up with on our own by observation, experiment or guess; and at the same time it engages, brings us into the action as recipients and participants, but without dumping the responsibility on us for making it turn out right.

This has enormous implications for the way we live, for the form itself protects us against two of the major ways in which we go off the rails: becoming frivolous spectators who clamour for new and exotic entertainment out of heaven; or becoming anxious moralists who put our shoulders to the wheel and take on the burdens of the world. The very form of the text shapes responses in us that make it hard to become a mere spectator or a mere moralist. This is not a text that we master, it is one that we are mastered by.

Christ Plays In Ten Thousand Places, p.182

the great songs (viii) - a man is in love

For years, all I knew of The Waterboys was the monumental Whole Of The Moon and that they employed a big music sound.

Things move on. People change. They grow. So here is A Man Is In Love from their album, Room To Roam.

A delightful song, showcasing how great Irish folk music can be but, more than anything, I'm posting this one as a very, very fine example of that overlooked yet necessary genre: the love song.

Here is writing that displays great craft and music of joy and vibrancy. I don't think any more needs to be said.

the great songs (vii) - walking on thin ice

I've held back a little from this one but it had to come at some point. Yoko Ono's Walking On Thin Ice is an achievement that it has never been possible to dispassionately assess or appreciate separately from the circumstances in which it appeared.

This is the song John & Yoko were working on the night that Lennon was murdered. The value he placed on the song is seen in the comments about it that formed part of Yoko's statement that filled the back-cover of the single sleeve.

When John and Yoko said in the summer of 1980 that their new work was dance-oriented, some of us (me especially) lamented the impact of the disco genre on their work. What we didn't know was that the dance club scene of New York in those days was anything but disco. This is dance music of a different order.

There is so much that can and ought to be said, somewhere, about the musical art of Yoko Ono. This is undoubtedly not that place...but I'll happily add a little grist to that particular mill.

The title is resonant of a deep stream of imagery in Yoko's musical work. The images of glass and ice recur regularly and stand as metaphors of pain and of a suffocating quiesence, a use made all the more startling by the anger that often surfaces with its own jagged edges. The pairing of 'knife' and 'life' is also the expected one; only the bleeding is absent here.

Yoko's winter milieu may be due to being raised in Japan (one assumes it cold there) but, whatever the origin, it's the dominant season in her work - Winter Song; Is Winter Here To Stay? and Looking Over From My Hotel Window on the album Approximately Infinite Universe all trade in its currency.

And so it's no surprise that this girl is walking on thin ice. There is danger - imminent danger. There is freedom - but it is fragile and threatened. There is death - and it is inevitable and irreversible.

It's a long track and benefits from a return (in the middle & closing sections) to some of the non-verbal vocal expression that marked Yoko's earlier work (one reviewer of the album that followed that summer, Season of Glass, asked where the primal screaming was when we needed it most - a rather lame grasp of the nature of her grief, and of her art).

The guitar work on this song by John (the last he would ever record) has been celebrated and it is certainly in keeping with the song's vehement fragility. The song would never have fitted on either Double Fantasy, nor what would become the posthumous release Milk & Honey. It was always intended to be a single in its own right, with Yoko both A and B-side*. Rightly so.

They say the lake is as big as the ocean.
I wonder if she knew about it?

Its dimensions and depths were only just to be discovered.

I may cry some day
but the tears will dry, whichever way;
and when our hearts return to ashes
it'll be just a story
it'll be just a story.

*The actual B-side is an older song of Yoko's - It Happened opens here with dialogue recorded between John and Yoko on a stroll through Central Park. The song is both sweet and sad and carries, along with its A-side, an almost prophetic quality ("It happened at a time of my life when I least expected...and I know there's no return, no way").

nb: Happily, but unintentionally, this has been posted on Yoko's 76th birthday.

begotten

no part
of my life
has been lived without
you; separation is not
isolation nor dislocation.
always present in
time, always, in the
breathed air of
chromosomic attachment
and loving, maternal embrace.

facing now a future
of severance,
i plunge
in chaos.

no return

i wonder
if the way was opened
for you to go back
to when you were a young girl,
with all that lay ahead,
would you take the offer with
both hands open
or simply, politely,
refuse?
for now you lie on
the edge of no return, without
a way back, life closed and
ending. somehow
i don't think you'd
choose to
return to those days, to
live through it all again;
you're just too tired, too
weary, too sad, too
finished with life.
And yet
the grasp has been so strong,
even on these remnants you've
had, the minimalistic
take on a plenary
reality; but no longer.
The grip is looser,
waxy, while life
wanes.
The offer of return
was never made
but a greater one remains;
your hand seems too weak to hold anything
now, but grace imposes
no weight you cannot
hold.


(for Mam)

the great songs (vi) - goin' back

This track shares its title with the opener to Neil Young's Comes A Time, even down to the aspostrophe in Goin', but this is the earlier of the two and written by the celebrated duo of Goffin & King and sung, with incomparable greatness, by Dusty Springfield.

The song wasn't written for Dusty but it could easily have been, its themes were those that dominated her life. Maybe it's why she gave a performance suffused with an elemental empathy. Fittingly, she requested it to be played at her funeral.

I think I'm goin' back
To the things
I learned so well
In my youth

I think I'm returning to
Those days
When I was young enough
To know the truth

Now there are no games
To only pass the time
No more colouring books
No Christmas bells to chime

But thinking young
And growing older
Is no sin
And I can play
The game of life to win

I can recall the time
When I wasn't ashamed
To reach out to a friend
And now I think I've got
A lot more than
A skipping rope to lend

Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
And everyday can be
My magic carpet ride
And I can play hide and seek with my fears
And live my days instead of counting my years

Let everyone debate the true reality
I'd rather see the world the way it used to be
A little bit of freedom's
All we lack
So catch me if you can
I'm goin' back

the great songs (v) - sign your name

I think I remember Terence Trent D'Arby arriving on the chart scene back in the late 80's (purely for the record: I was working in British Coal's Purchasing Branch 1 at the time, on the Heavy Electrical sub-section). Was If You Let Me Stay his first hit? It didn't register very deeply with me; he seemed to be trying too hard. But Sign Your Name is something else altogether.

This song is intense and intensely cool. A perfect combination of musical style and lyrical exploration, all wrapped in a delivery that is almost too assured but not quite. Soul!

We started out as friends
but the thought of you
just caves me in...
Sign your name across my heart...

the great songs (iv) - o superman

After referencing Johnny Cash's American Recordings (previous post), we're moving on to another slice of Americana in the form of Laurie Anderson's O Superman, from the Big Science album of 1981, itself a distillation from her stage presentation United States I-IV.

The track is subtitled For Massanet - the track recalling an aria from his work, Le Cid. Common consensus sees her work as dealing with isolation, alienation and fear ("Well you don't know me but I know you...here come the planes"). And yet this piece is warm and accessible; the eight and a half minutes it takes to listen to are never begrudged. Maybe there are places, still, within a broken world that people who are disconnected from each other can yet speak and listen and know?

A striking contrast to Cash and yet also, perhaps, a fitting counterpoint. They sing of the same America and the same human condition.

the great songs (iii) - the first time ever i saw your face

Of course, this could be sung by any of a whole host of people but I'm plumping for the version by Johnny Cash on his American IV: The Man Comes Around album.

What you have here is a truly rare combination - a song written with genuine poetic gift (Ewan MacColl), sung with an honesty & power that are beyond doubt and produced (by Rick Rubin) with a deft & sympathetic touch that illuminates. It genuinely sounds as though a heart has been opened and its emotional caverns chiselled-out.

As an aside, on the album this track is followed by Cash's version of Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus. Now that's how to put an album together....

ps. For the Badger's sake - and to allow others to compare & enjoy another stunning reading of this great song, here is the Roberta Flack version (live).

the great songs (ii) - heart of glass

Blondie's Heart of Glass is one of those songs that makes you so thankful that radio was invented - you may not have it in your collection (I do, as it happens) but when you hear it played over the air you remember that part of the reason you have legs is to dance with delight at such melodies.

Truthfully, I just don't know how anyone could not like this song. It grabs you from the start with the terrific intro and then the always elusive, thrill-is-in-the-chase singing of Ms Harry. And it keeps going, wave after wave of perfect pop. You just don't want this song to end, which it nearly doesn't (the link is to the full-length album version).

We coulda made it cruising, yeah.....riding high on love's true blueish light.

Now there's a helpful suggestion....

Make a rule that you will read X number of books you currently own before buying another one. Set a "read-to-purchase ratio". This solution works well because it lets you control your book purchasing habits without requiring that you wait several years until you've read the entire existing selection. It also encourages you to read more, knowing that you can reward yourself with a new book soon enough, and not feel guilty about it. Choosing a ratio that’ll work for you involves finding that sweet spot between how much time you have to read, how quickly you read, and how many shelves you’ve still got to get through. (Lifehacker)

I think I'll go for a 1 in 3 ratio....once the books I've currently got on order have arrived. Ahem.

taking a new turn

For the past 11 years nearly I have worked with a PC on (actually, under) my desk. It has been an enormous boon in so many ways - initially, for Word Processing but it's the internet that has been the star of the show, along with various other programs.

From today, however, I hope to migrate to using only an eee pc (the 904 variety). I'm trying to 'downsize' in terms of technology - only using that which is sufficient for my needs and (crucially) that which limits, by its ergonomics, my ability to become unhelpfully distracted from the task at hand (is it possible to be helpfully distracted? Maybe so....).

The next weeks will hopefully see my desk become more of a study area than a workstation. I hope to be able to read more books and follow less trails on the internet.

Going public (if having two readers counts as going public......) may well lead to egg-on-the-face syndrome somewhere down the line: 'I thought you'd gone over entirely to the eee? What's with the Mac?' Or I might just be wrong: the issue lies less with the technology than its user (actually, I know that's true - this step is being taken in the teeth of that truth).

If you have any interest in following some of the migratory shenanigans, I'll try to post about it over at tech - no savvy.

the great songs (i) - automobile noise

This is the first of a series of posts, in conjunction with a similar list by The Badger. But I promise I won't mention any Yes tracks.....

Automobile Noise is the closing track on A Walk Across The Rooftops, the first album by The Blue Nile, released back in '84. The album, interestingly, was released on the Linn label - the makers of the celebrated record decks. In many ways, the album is best suited to being listened to on headphones and this track is no exception.

In some ways, Automobile Noise is the least obvious track to choose from the album. It lacks the stark emotional pleading that Rags To Riches and Stay contain; it is interesting for its sounds effects but lacks some of the clearer melodies of other pieces. And yet it serves to highlight and to conclude the album's emotional weight and its thematic freight.

Lyrically, it takes us to ground that, even by that early stage, was familiar TBN territory: headlights; cars; traffic lights; night. It tells us that "black cars and blue cars go by". Mundane? Of course. And of course not. It all depends on your vantage point.

Automobile noise
Out in the traffic
Black cars and blue cars go by
Backwards and forward
The names and places I know
Alright I cross the same old ground, yeah

Automobile noise
Exit signs and subway trains
Twenty-four hours, statues in the rain
Walk in the headlights, walk in the daylight
Automobile noise

Climbing a ladder to all the money in the world
Watching it blow across the wire
Automobile noise
Exit signs and subway trains
Twenty-four hours, statues in the rain
Walk in the headlights, walk in the daylight
Automobile noise

I am weary of this fighting
I'm weary of surrender
Heat of the moment
Then the unwinding of it all
Saddle the horses and we'll go

Automobile noise
Exit signs and subway trains
Twenty-four hours, statues in the rain

Walk in the headlights, walk into daylight
Automobile noise

Being Well When We're Ill

There are so many good things about Marva Dawn's book. Her writing is deeply theological and profoundly practical. As someone who has and does suffer with a whole host of ailments and disabiltiies, she displays genuine empathy but eschews sentimentalism. She writes good prose and chooses helpful qoutations, wheter from scripture or other writers. The closing prayers to each chapter are more than decoration.

It's a book for those who suffer and for those who stand with them.

Losing God

Losing God is a great read. Matt Rogers walks his readers through the doubts and depression that once filled his life with darkness with real understanding and compassion and godly wisdom.

the very best christmas song - ever

Well, here we are - no voting shenanigans like Strictly Come Dancing; this is purely one person's choice. And a choice one at that it is too. In my opinion, the best Christmas record ever is:

I wish it could be Christmas every day by Wizard.

First released back in '73, it has become a perennial favourite and I think I know why. It's the combination of a sentiment that every child immediately agrees with, a great tune and an over-the-top delivery by Mr Wood. Oh, and not forgetting the presence of a children's choir ("OK you lot - take it!").

Wizard had had quite a year - they had a fair enough start in late '72 with Ball Park Incident but what followed in '73 was pure pop genius: See My baby Jive and then Angel Fingers. We lapped them up and bopped to them merrily at the juniors party (I was in what they now call Year 6 when Roy Wood graced the charts with his brand of pop perfection.

Our teacher that year in (what became) Ysgol Cymerau was Mr Elfed Griffiths who later became Headmaster at the school. His wife - before their marriage - had been my teacher in infant school (in Year 2). I remember very clearly the time when my brother Robert was home on leave (he was posted to Hong Kong with the British Army) and was walking back from town along Penrhydlyniog with me and my sister Mary. We saw my teacher and I said hello. Robert asked who she was after we'd passed her and then feigned turning round to follow-her, mesmerised by her beauty. She was indeed a lovely lady.

Hearing the song in Tesco's a week or two ago brought all those memories flooding back, memories of happy days and of simple joy.

the second-best xmas song ever

For many years this would have come top of my list - maybe it's a sign of age.

My nomination for second-best xmas song ever is Happy Xmas (War is over) by John & Yoko and the Plastic Ono Band. Released back in '72, I first remember this song from Xmas '76 when I recorded it off the radio onto a Waltham cassette recorder, via a plug-in microphone (the Waltham was my xmas pressie that year)

Of course it's a supremely naive suggestion, that war could be over simply by unilateral choice and without genuine heart transformation, but it's still a laudable desire.

The song harks back to John & Yoko's famous bed-in in 1969 and the subsequent poster campaign that Christmas which ran the slogan War is Over (If you want it). The song picks up that slogan in its closing coda. By 1972 John & Yoko were living in New York and had entered their most stridently political phase; this song doesn't sit so easily with their other offering that year, the double album Some Time In New York City.

The NY provenance also accounts for the presence on the song of the Harlem Community Choir. The next (& final) time a choir would feature in their work would be the Yoko song Hard Times Are Over on Double Fantasy, the album that was in the charts when John died. They join Yoko for the chorus of the song. As that song opens, members of the choir can be heard calling out 'We thank you, Jesus, thank you, thank you right now' just spontaneously after a recording session; John was in the studio for the recording and got the engineer to capture their praise and used it to open the song.

One of the great delights of this particular xmas release was the b-side, a Yoko song 'Listen the snow is falling'. Perhaps her sweetest and most pop offering to date when the song was released (passing over 'Remember Love' which was the b-side of the Plastic Ono Band's Give peace A Chance). It's a romantic, lyrical and deeply moving song, narrating the personal & cultural gulfs she and John had navigated in their relationship:

Listen the snow is falling all the time
Listen the snow is falling everywhere...
Between your bed and mine,
between your head and my mind...
Between Tokyo and Paris,
between London & Dallas,
between your love and mine;
Listen the snow is falling everywhere.

It also comes complete with its own snowstorm effects which you don't have to pay extra for, always a nice bonus.

So this is xmas....so there you have it. Next time: the all-time number one (in this tiny mind).

The third-best xmas song ever.....

OK, let's talk about Last Christmas by Wham!

No, let's not, let's get on with the job in hand. The third best xmas song ever is...

David Bowie & Bing Crosby singing The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on earth.

I must confess my liking of this ditty is now somewhat marred by the Children In Need offering by Terry Wogan & Aled Jones. But at least their efforts underline the great job that David & Bing did. Don't ask me why I like it but I do - it felt somewhat different when it was released. Maybe it was the strikingly-odd combination of Bowie & Bing - the jagged-edge meets the silky-smooth; the thin white duke meets the Troubador. It was pipped to the post of the Xmas 1982 no.1 spot by, of all people, Renee & Renatta's 'Save your love' (actually, it made no.3 so was pipped by another song too, possibly Phil Collins' version of You Can't Hurry Love).

The previous year, Bowie had had a no.1 with another collaboration (hitting no.1 just before Christmas) - the superb 'Under Pressure' with Queen. Those who predicted an assault on the 1983 Christmas no.1 slot by a Bowie/Cliff Richard pairing were proved sadly wrong.

Crosby had died back in '77 so this was a posthumous hit, presumably recorded separately. A few weeks after his death, Alistair Cooke recalled an interview Bing gave to Barbara Walters in which she asked him to sum himself up. In Cooke's words:

He allowed that he had an easy temperament, a way with a song, a fair vocabulary, on the whole a contented life. And she said, 'Are you telling us that's all there is - a nice, agreeable shell of a man?' Bing appeared not to be floored. After the slightest pause for deep reflection, he said, 'Sure, that's about it. I have no deep thoughts, no profound philosophy. That's right. I guess that's what I am.'

I scarcely think Bowie would say the same of himself.