Cale released a great new album just last year. Here he is with two other great songwriters
Cale released a great new album just last year. Here he is with two other great songwriters
It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I'll say it again
I..am..not..afraid..to..die.
I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley's wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that's what I'm told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across it's brother's fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
Down here it's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L.
Wears a wedding band that's G.O.O.D.
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.
And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I'm helping
To be done with all this twisted of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I'm spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I'm not afraid to tell a lie.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
But I'm afraid I told a lie.
Moving Sideways another great songwriter whose work has influenced much of my own from his own epic solo albums to the soundtrack of Last temptation of Christ. I have even covered Solsbury Hill
From Mercy Seat to Mercy Street
Looking down on empty streets, all she can see
Are the dreams all made solid
Are the dreams all made real
All of the buildings, all of those cars
Were once just a dream
In somebody's head
She pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam
She pictures a soul
With no leak at the seam
Lets take the boat out
Wait until darkness
Let's take the boat out
Wait until darkness comes
Nowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey
Nowhere in the suburbs
In the cold light of day
There in the midst of it so alive and alone
Words support like bone
Dreaming of mercy st.
Wear your inside out
Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy('s arms again
Dreaming of mercy st.
'swear they moved that sign
Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy's arms
Pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth
Tugging at the darkness, word upon word
Confessing all the secret things in the warm velvet box
To the priest-he's the doctor
He can handle the shocks
Dreaming of the tenderness-the tremble in the hips
Of kissing Mary's lips
Dreaming of mercy st.
Wear your insides out
Dreaming of mercy
In your daddy's arms again
Dreaming of mercy st.
'swear they moved that sign
Looking for mercy
In your daddy's arms
Mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
Mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
Anne, with her father is out in the boat
Riding the water
Riding the waves on the sea
The song above is inspired and dedicated to Anne Sexton whose poem 45 Mercy Street appears below
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.
I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.
Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was...
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.
I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.
Pull the shades down -
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?
Not there.
I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks.
Anne Sexton
Ive just been flicking through that free online book, these pages on the Beatles are relevant here. I thnk its true of many artists and many people with inventions and ideas too,most say it just came to me when I wasnt thinking about it. Energy and thoughts are one and the same if you relax into enough and dismiss the more densified things in material life.
Interesting take.
The Beatles
Billy Joel, absolute legend and a top fella.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rl2Jv4dzFqg
When this came out I was convinced that James sung "So damn easy to cave in, Mad Cows Everything"
FASTER
I hate purity
Hate goodness
I don't want virtue to exist anywhere
I want everyone corrupt
I am an architect, they call me a butcher
I am a pioneer, they call me primitive
I am purity, they call me perverted
Holding you but I only miss these things when they leave
I am idiot drug hive, the virgin, the tattered and the torn
Life is for the cold made warm and they are just lizards
Self-disgust is self-obsession honey and I do as I please
A morality obedient, only to the cleansed repented
I am stronger than Mensa, Miller and Mailer
I spat out Plath and Pinter
I am all the things that you regret
A truth that washes that learnt how to spell
The first time you see yourself naked you cry
Soft skin now acne, foul breath, so broken
He loves me truly this mute solitude I'm draining
I know I believe in nothing but it is my nothing
Sleep can't hide the thoughts splitting through my mind
Shadows aren't clean, false mirrors too many people awake
If you stand up like a nail then you will be knocked down
I've been too honest with myself I should have lied like everybody else
I am stronger than Mensa, Miller and Mailer
I spat out Plath and Pinter
I am all the things that you regret
A truth that washes that learnt how to spell, learnt to spell
So damn easy to cave in, man kills everything
So damn easy to cave in, man kills everything
So damn easy to cave in, man kills everything
So damn easy to cave in, man kills everything
Cool thread, lots I would've listed as well have already been done. I haven't seen;
Brian Wilson
Nick Drake
Van Morrison
Warren Zevon
Joni Mitchell
Willie Nelson
Johnny Cash
Or how about say; George Gershwin, Duke Ellington, Rodgers and Hammerstein? Guys like that practically invented popular music.
Thelonius Monk, Bill evans, Miles Davis for straightahead jazz composers, etc. Will post more I'm sure when they come to me.
Great line up. Here's a few more:
John Prine
Loudon Wainwright
Kate Bush
Townes Van Zandt
Judee Sill
Bowie
Muddy Waters
Leonard Cohen
Prince
Nick Drake
Donovan
Jack Bruce
Eddie Vedder
Van Morrison
Jackson Browne
George Clinton
John Phillips
Hendrix
Tommy James
Johnny Cash
Jimmy Page
Robert Plant
Roger McGuinn
Robbie Robertson
Marvin Gaye
Bob Marley
Freddy Mercury
Bill Withers
David Byrne
Bo Diddly
Quincy Jones and Babyface
Last edited by Master; 01-20-2013 at 09:24 PM.
Do not let success go to your head and do not let failure get to your heart.
John Fogarty , there's a bad moon on the rise, I don't no have you ever seen the rain, excellent song
writer.
Russ Ballard , God gave rock-roll to you, Since you been gone.
There are currently 1 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 1 guests)
Bookmarks