1. |
Forgiven Man
03:40
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It’s twenty-one hundred and the key’s in the door.
Exit light buzzing and there’s flies on the floor.
Outside it’s daylight: there’s a man by a tree.
In his blue linen shirt he’s a little bit like me.
Is he my... brighter man, my mirror man
the man I long to be.
Forgiver man, forgiven man,
come to shine a light on me.
I look over my shoulder to see if help is at hand.
Some butler or servant or some hired man.
“Where’s Jeeves when I need him to open the door?
Servants these days! What do we pay them for?”
I’m looking for my...brighter man, my mirror man
the man I ought to be.
Forgiver man, forgiven man,
come to shine a light on me.
Through the glass of the window, there’s a man by a tree.
In his blue linen shirt he’s a little bit like me.
But he’s not me he’s broader, he’s brighter, he’s wise.
If I listen I can hear him calling from the other side.
For he’s my... brighter man, my mirror man
the man I long to be.
Forgiver man, forgiven man,
come to shine a light on me.
And I just need to reach out
and turn the handle and turn the key
and pull that door towards me.
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2. |
Channel No. 5
03:30
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Putting on my dark glasses, I'm going down the Bay of Pigs
Want to view the local talent all stretched out on the strand.
Putting on my dark glasses, I wade out into the water,
'cos I get a better view from the sea than from the land.
Putting on my dark glasses, the ones with mirror shades,
You can't see into my soul, you can't see that I'm alive.
Switching on the Pay TV; I'm one for the ladies -
the ones you see on late night Danish Channel No. 5.
Putting on my dark glasses, I'm going international;
looking at the peaches on the Cote d'Azure.
Putting on my dark glasses. It's surprising how much pleasure
you can get by booking a place on a Thomson’s package tour.
Putting on my dark glasses, the ones with mirror shades,
I can peer down your cleavage I can gaze between your thighs.
Switching on the Pay TV; I'm one for the ladies -
the ones you see on late night Danish Channel No. 5.
Putting on my dark glasses, in a vodka bar in Riga;
nylon-stockinged legs all wrapped around the chairs.
I've got on my dark glasses, watching money changing hands,
watching fat German businessmen conduct their night affairs.
Putting on my dark glasses, the ones with mirror shades,
You can't see into my soul, you can't see into my eyes.
Got on my dark glasses; I shun contact with real women -
they want to cut off my bollocks, want to cut me down to size.
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3. |
Anastasia
05:50
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Welcome to the world, oh daughter of mine.
My Princess, my Anastasia
You say you want a tutu and to grow up to be tall,
and you long for ermine slippers as the belle of the ball
You say you want a pony and a little leather whip
My Princess, my blossom-pie.
and for your holidays, you recommend a trip
to promenade in Monaco or Nice or Biarritz
And you’ll want another mattress to shield you from the call
of the world of work and laughter behind your palace wall
and the pea of doubt that gnaws you from the bottom of your bed.
Anastasia, My Princess, you’ll be belle of the ball.
And you say you want a sports car
My Princess, my Anastasia
and a boyfriend who’s earning 200 grand a year
who’ll take you to the ball, all clothed in glass and fur.
And you say you want a palace
My Princess, my blossom-pie.
at Versailles or Petrodvorets or on Alderley Edge,
with fountains and iron gates and a very tall hedge.
Happy Ever After’s how they say these stories end
My Princess, my Anastasia
But sometimes Happy Endings can take a different course
when the mob sees your toys and comes to take them by force.
And you’ll need more than just a mattress to shield you from the call
of resentment and hunger at the start of the fall.
When the world’s turned inside out and up upon its head
and, come the revolution, you’ll be first against the wall.
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4. |
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The Year is seventeen hundred and eight - machines are our new gods
sent from heaven to spare the peasant from turning up the sod.
They mill our grain and pump the rain
that seeps down into Hades.
And north of Tweed they need a man to keep the coal pits dry.
The Earl of Mar, the Lairds of Fife have all sent out the cry
for the Man With No Name, of mythical fame
(and no small skill with the Ladies).
From Rossendale to Rochdale, he keeps the coal mines drier
than they’ve ever been on the Rother or Tyne, and the water comes no higher
than ordained by The Priest.
The Mechanical Priest.
The Priest of Lancashire
‘Tis like a spell - a wonderwork - to drain the blood from our faces
His wheels they run in the quickening becks, his mills on the high places
They take the strain and pump the rain
that seeps down into Hades
From Accrington to Darwen, he keeps the coal mines drier
than they’ve ever been on the Rother or Tyne, and the water comes no higher
than ordained by The Priest.
The Mechanical Priest.
The Priest of Lancashire
That cheatin’ Tom Newcomen and that infernal Scot
That sorcerer’s apprentice by the name of young James Watt
From near to far - Dudley to Elsecar
They have brought our Priest to naught
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5. |
Skyscraper Eyes
04:14
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Down on the street there's a fight, and sirens cut the rarefied night,
and the brawlers scramble for the alleyways
and the street vendors hunker down and wait for the crack of daylight.
While up in my penthouse apartment
I try to figure out what Jean-Paul Sartre meant
and feel sick to my guts at the teeming life below......
Skyscraper eyes. I've got those ....skyscraper eyes again.
Skyscraper eyes. God's in his heaven and all's well with the world. Amen.
Peepers on the 14th Floor: yawn at the voices that bore
you rigid. Act so young but feel so old.
Act so hot but feel......the chill of iron in your marrow.
How's it to be in your head ?
Do you know what it's like to be a man who's led
a merry dance by that beacon of light in your reflector blue...
Skyscraper eyes. You've got those ....skyscraper eyes again.
Skyscraper eyes. Looking down from high upon all those men. Amen.
Down on the street, lovers gaze into the dreams of future days.
Cripple on his trolley slides underfoot.
Beggar eyes shuttle back to figure out who's going to pay him.
While up in my 14th Floor bachelor den,
I try to reach out but I'm always kept in
By the plate glass giving me a vision of a world beyond.
Forged in the 60's from steel and chrome: a nice place to stay, but not a home.
Prefab. opinions are all that's there,
but seen from below it seems like she's in touch with Prince Gautama.
Perfect in shape and larger than lies:
woman's flesh in phallic guise.
And...by the way....did I tell you 'bout her eyes......
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6. |
Asymmetry of Love
05:25
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I didn't have you down for a February weekend
I didn't have you down as an April Fool
I didn't have you down as basement fridge/freezer
So why are you acting so cool?
So why is my telephone suddenly so silent?
And why does the bell above my door never ring?
And why does it echo so empty when I sing....?
It's all part.... It's all part....
of the terrible asymmetry of love.
I didn't have you down as a dinner party hostess
and I didn't have you down as a socialite.
I didn't have you down as a moral crusader.
How come you're being so polite?
So why is it that your smile is so frozen?
And why is it that your invitation's so strained?
Can't you see that I can tell when I'm being framed?
I always used to be a straightforward geezer,
and I always thought my heart was firmly down from the trees
I always thought love was a conscious decision
so how come I'm down here on my knees?
Why is it that my guts feel like they're caught in a G-clamp
Why is that my conscience contorts with the strain
Why is that I'm out here walking in the rain....
I see your lonely eyes staring at me from the window
Hear your sullen goodbye as I walk out the door,
the dishes unwashed and the bed never slept in,
but I'm hypnotised by the light from the Koh-i-Noor.....
diamond, whose face shines bright in the moonlight:
but hard as a scalpel's cutting blade.
And locked away in a gilded velvet cage.
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7. |
Free Trade Hall
04:08
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Robert the minstrel skips on his way
all on a bright May morning.
His lyre in hand, he looks so gay
and a song upon his lips-o
Rilly-o, dilly-do, riddle-me truly randy.
And Robert comes anon to the Free Trade Hall
in fairest Lancashire-oh
and he spies a socket at the bottom of the wall
and into it he plugs his lyre-o
JUDAS - comes the cry from the gallery
JUDAS - the cry from the King’s Company
You’ve taken our folk and taken our soul
and turned it to a beast called rock and roll.
Jimi James came down to Californ-i-ay
all on a bright May morning
and he watches the skylarks and the purple haze
and he feels like kissing the sky-o
Jimi James came anon to sweet Monterey
All for to play his melodi-o
and he spies the electric socket of the Bay
and into it he plugs his lyre-o
JUDAS - comes the cry from the field of gold
JUDAS - they cry - you’ve broken the mould
You’ve taken our rock and our 12 bar reel
and turned it into psychodelia
JUDAS - comes the cry from the gallery
JUDAS - the cry from the King’s Company
You’ve taken our folk and taken our soul
and turned it to a beast called rock and roll.
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8. |
Ends of Times
03:12
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Plague of locusts; plague of frogs;
Plague of lizards; pack of dogs.
Desert moonrise; blood-red rain;
Time of fasting; sign of change.
Old man came to see me with one tooth two knives three wives
to ask me what I thought that we were doing with our lives.
Don't talk to me in metaphors, don't talk to me in rhymes –
it's plain as trains of tickertape that these are ends of times.
Plague of smart guys; plague of clones;
coils of wire; plague of 'phones.
White landcruiser; sky-blue flag;
Black skin covered by earthen rag.
Old woman came to see me with no hope one dress two sons
to ask me to enlist them with a uniform and guns.
Mother Courage, don't involve me in your litany of crimes –
it's hard as shards of armalite, but these are ends of times.
In the lounge bar; pint of beer;
TV showing Al Jazeera.
Flicks and flitters, grey and blue;
splash of red, but what to do?
My daughter came to tell me with all innocence - no guile –
that all the pent-up guilt of years can wash away a while.
She tried to tell me that these furrows are just laughter lines.
She nearly had me fooled – these are the ends of times.
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9. |
Rosamunde
05:31
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1. Rosamunde - returns home from work,
takes off her daily uniform and slips on last night's skirt.
Runs her arms under ice-cold water and stares into the mirror
at a thin line of lipstick: the shade she wears when out to dinner.
Riga Rosamunde leaves her flat and locks the door;
the scent of urine and flowers by the lift on the seventh floor.
Out of order ! so down the stairs she hurries so's not to be late
for her nightly engagement at her musical dinner date.
Oh Rosamunde - Your nightly act
of musical defiance over Chicken Kiev and celeriac.
Rosamunde - the chords from your harp
tear my eyes from my Tobago mixed grill and tug at the strings of my heart.
2. Riga Rosamunde comes out onto the street,
avoiding puddles and crusty turds with her nimbly stepping feet.
From her bag a single nip of Stolichnaya - her strengthening dram.
Steel screams on steel signal the coming of her tram.
In the dusk, Rosamunde sees the shining spires of Old
Town Riga. They say that here the streets are paved with gold.
The prostitutes and beggar boys are of the same opinion;
the token native symbiotes of Occidental mammon's dominion.
3. Up a narrow alley to the sound of drunken carousing;
she checks her make-up carefully and stops to tuck her blouse in.
Up the stairs she hurries just like six hundred nights before,
and she takes the cover from her harp and drops it to the floor.
Tuning keys are flashing - it's close enough for this clientele
who couldn't give a toss whether she plays Clayderman or Purcell.
Her fingers fly: tender talons poised above the strings
and she weaves her web of gut and bronze and notes take to the wing.
4. Oh Rosamunde, who do you play for ? Couples seeking romance ?
No: for bastard Nordic businessmen with an eye for the main chance;
talking textile factory buy-outs, World Bank aid to Minsk,
this economic Baltic miracle, chemical weapons in Dvinsk.
Do any of them look over ? Raise their eyes from the table mat ?
Do they clap politely or leave a tip of a single quarter Lat ?
Riga Rosamunde - your glance turns to disarm,
but is it the warmth of recognition or just a flash of practiced charm ?
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10. |
I Want
04:14
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I want to go to San Francisco in '68, with my hair all full of flowers.
I want to break the news about Watergate, I want to shoot down Gary Powers.
I want to see The Smiths play their first concert date and stuff daffodils down my trousers.
I want....
I want....
I want to be a folk-rock star.
I want to be a boffin.
I want to be an egomaniac.
I want something for nothing.
I want to smoke dope and get high on E,
but I think I'll just stay in and watch some TV.
I want to drink the finest whiskey and the roughest potcheen,
I want to visit all the joints in Soho.
I want to dress up in frocks, be a bit of a queen;
I'd like to do some stuff with my mojo.
I want to be absurd and I want to be obscene,
I want to rock the earth down to the Moho.
I want to try out a bit of S & M - beat me and I'll grovel.
but I think I'll stay in by the fire and read a nice detective novel.
I want to cover my guitar in lighter fuel and send the feedback screaming.
I want to find and break the golden rule, I want to live for sense and feeling.
I want to do Morris dancing, look like a fool and send Northumberland reeling.
I want to shoot myself up with some snowy white,
but I think I'll just stay in and have an early night.
I want to go to Irkutsk on a Russian train on the trans-Siberian railroad.
I want to do good works and become a saint; canonised and be-haloed.
I want to throw a wobbler, want to go insane, have two crates short of a payload.
I want to ride a black Vincent opened up at full throttle,
but I think I'll go to bed with a nice hot water bottle.
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11. |
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When I talk to you, I should hear the lark ascending
But when I hear your words, I just feel the red mist descending
Walk along beside me to the next bend in the road
and I’ll try to curb my tendency to explode
And when you sit by me I feel my soul unbending
But your sparkle casts a deep shadow portending
a dark and angry parting at the next cross in the way
and from your record of my rights and wrongs, I know I’ll have to pay
I’ll be tender as you like, my trousers stuffed with clouds
A sensitive thug who’s learned it never does to bark out loud
A lighthouse - whose beam is always shrouded
A conqueror of the world - who stays in bed.
You know I’m changed and that I’m done pretending
I’ll be the man you want, and I’ll even try befriending
your girlfriends, and I’ll be happy to the ending my days
but I may need a blister pack of Sertraline and a heavenly chemical haze.
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12. |
Wild Garlic and the May
05:24
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The Damsel came unto us, all of her own free will
And Will the Poet dozed betimes ‘neath Arden’s quiet hill
And ardent lovers meet at dusk and lovers know the way:
The path among anemones, wild garlic and the may.
They come to us for birthing; they come to us to die;
To lie with sweet Titania and fight Vili and Vé
And once upon a dreamtime, an ass did come to bray
His heart out at the primroses, wild garlic and the may
We’re Thirty-Three Greek Maidens, we’re Albion’s mixed blood
We’re Lear and we’re Cordelia. We are Good King Lud.
We’ll party with the pothead, the misfit and the fay
We’ll drown our cares in nightshade, wild garlic and the may
And giants lie a-sleeping beneath this springtime sod
And we will share our table with any pagan god
But woe betide the Holy Fool that dares to take the way:
The Faerie Road to slumber, wild garlic and the may.
Bring out St. George! Bring him from the Town!
For we are the Forest: our banner green and brown.
We are the Dragon and we wear Good Robin’s crown
We’ll cleave his bloody cross in twain, we’ll take that *$!@## down
May and wild garlic: the heady scent of may.
Jack in Green will claim his own on this St George’s Day.
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Me & Mr Jones Chesterfield, UK
The increasingly innaccurately named "Me and Mr Jones" are Rob, Louise, John, Dave and Mr Jones
himself.
We supply a combination of percussion, harmony, "acoustic synthesiser" and guitar. We value great songwriting and have an ear for resurrecting the the occasional long-forgotten classic cover.
... more
Me & Mr Jones recommends:
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You'd have thought that following up his album "None The Wiser" would be a tall order, but Chris Wood's new album "So Much to Defend" is definitely my top album of 2016. Full of songwriting jewels.
go to albumIf you like Me & Mr Jones, you may also like:
New on the always-great label Velvet Blue Music is “Slow Parade” from Gileah Taylor, boasting warm songs built on piano and guitar.
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New York duo showcase an enigmatic blend of math rock guitars, pop-punk sing-a-longs, emo confessionals, and even rave-ready synths.
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The transatlantic duo's debut is full of bold and dancefloor-ready synthpop with biting undertones.
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