"As a guitarist/composer, Barrios is the best of the lot, regardless of era. His music is better formed, it's more poetic, it's more everything! And it's more of all those things in a timeless way." (John Williams)

"Oeps!" (Bas Kooman a few times during recording - inwardly)

Choro da saudade (Agustín Barrios Mangoré 1885-1944)

For Saskia and her dad (1935-2021)


[Rough English translation]
SOMEWHERE STILL HERE
Hey Dad, how are you
It's been a while
I miss you
I can still see you standing
Behind the front door
From the nursing home
How you kept waving
When we had to go

You couldn’t find your place
Didn’t get used to it there
You wanted to go home
With us
Until you forgot
Where your home was
Who everyone was
It all happened so fast

But it feels like you are somewhere
Somewhere still here with me
And know what I think

Hey Dad, I still see us
Together enjoying
Concerts by Bach
You with closed eyes
You were there for me
When I got depressed
That I was not alone
Spoke out of your face

And it feels like you are somewhere
Somewhere still here with me
And know what I think

Sometimes you were struggling
You could be angry, stubborn
Did not know what to do with yourself
The helplessness of your childhood
You came back to that again
A child, now skin and bone
That was always on its own
All alone

Hey Dad, I would
Like to talk to you
While I rub your shoulder
Somewhere still here, somewhere on earth
Where you are with me

Cover art: Katinka Kooman 
Strings: Javier Orman
Mastered 2022.10.16

Ergens nog hier

ERGENS NOG HIER

At the beginning the 7/8 measure may feel a bit uncomfortable to some, but that's exactly how the main character in this song feels. Until he gets drawn in...

[Rough English Translation]
DON'T ASK WHY
What makes life worth living
He asks wearily
It is the journey that you experience yourself
She says captivated
It's the wind
The sea, the salt
It's the child
In young and old
It’s our nature
The game, the sum
All together
And don't ask why

Don't ask why

What gives life ‘zin’ [In English: ‘meaning’] to you then
He asks intoxicated
How nice that you start about ‘zin’
She replies roguishly
For you to ask
For me to know
Is that too vague
Make ‘zin’ [In English ‘meaning’ but also ‘I feel like’] tactile
Don't you feel lust
Oh boy, come on
I want you to kiss me
And don't ask why

Don't ask why

VRAAG NIET WAAROM (click for translation)

[Rough translation]
FOR THE SAKE OF A QUIET LIFE*
In the mirror she sees her mother
In the mirror she sees her husband
She sees her brother
She sees her father
As in an interrogation
Their eyes a blinding light
They ask no questions
They see through her 
and judge
They form the reflection
Of her appearance
Where she herself 
Has disappeared

For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her thoughts
For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her mind
For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her feelings
For the sake of a quiet life
That has never been quiet

Every day she’s thin and modest
Every day she’s nice and smart
Makes herself useful
Being everything for everyone
She is who she thinks
They want her to be

She is who she thinks they want her to be
She is who she thinks they want her to be

Once she colored outside the lines
Danced and sang as if no one was watching
While playing she saw boundaries disappear
And her curiosity won over fear
Now she dares not to choose herself
She is guided by other people's taste
Love and friendship, you can lose
So she adapts and she perfectly fits
She is really perfect

She can't find the courage
She does what she always does

For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her thoughts
For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her mind
For the sake of a quiet life
She tucks her feelings
For the sake of a quiet life
That has never been quiet

She is who she thinks they want her to be
She is who she thinks they want her to be

* Literally translated it is: for the sake of sweet peace
(that has never been sweet).

Cover image: Masha Raymers
Music, lyrics & all instruments: Bas Kooman
Master: White Sea Studio

Om de lieve vrede

OM DE LIEVE VREDE (Mastered 2022.09.22)

On February 22th 2014 Leo Vroman died, a Dutch poet, artist, cartoonist and scientist, living in Forth Worth, Texas. A most wise, amiable and talented man, who was born in 1915 in Gouda, near to the city I live in. As a poet he is mostly known for four lines, which I feel are both brilliantly simple and compelling:

‘come tonight with tales 
how the war has disappeared 
and repeat them a hundred times
all times I will weep’

These lines are part of the poem ‘Peace’ he published a few years after the war. I made this song of the first three verses of his poem, using the well-known last lines as the chorus.

Rough translation of the poem Vrede by Leo Vroman (1915-2014)

PEACE
Comes a dove of hundred pounds,
an olive tree in its claws,
near to my ears with his mouth
full of sweet corn women,
full of cooing stories
how the war is gone
and repeats them hundred times:
All times I will weep

Since I so unexpectedly
jumped into a taxi
leaving a hole in the night
that’s becoming ever larger,
Since my soft tearful darling,
drought blushing of misery
stood still, stood still 
so that flint bounced in her loins
My skin is too dense and dry
in order to sweat in prayers,
creases tweaking, nontheless,
and ‘peace’ grinding, ‘peace’, ‘peace’

Love is a stinking miracle
of decapitated desires
if I have to live without peace
peace, God damned, peace;
As the ripping sound
with which I was separated from my love
scares me even now from the bed
where sometimes we both dream
that the war of yesterday
returns on felty feet,
that we, no longer fit for everything, 
yet again must lie down, run
and also scream in each other’s ears,
so desperate that we almost
dream we can hear ourselves.

[May I not curse 
when the fire of a long rebuilt city, 
rolling forth of a chamber wall,
blazes and keeps me awake?
It’s not the roasted kid, 
becoming fireworks, 
I feel terrible, terrible about,
It’s the age that nothing is happening,
when suddenly, in the middle of the house,
rises a tower of dirt,
long forgotten cellar mud,
quickly becoming unusable furniture,
blood-red flames and flaming
red blood, the surrounding air
wallpapered with living parts of dead yet
nice people, the eternal silence before the
surprised child in this column
is strangled and already raises the arms]

come tonight with tales 
how the war has disappeared 
and repeat them a hundred times
all times I will weep.

Mix & Master 2021 /All instruments: Bas Kooman
Cover image: Daniel Hadman Photography

Vrede

VREDE (Kom vanavond met verhalen...)

'Woninglooze' is a poem by J.J. Slauerhoff (1898-1936), a poet who's sense of life can probably best be described by the Portugese word Saudade. 

Sax: @dave-mckeown
Rest: me
Cover art: Fabien Monteil

[translation by Paul Vincent, 2007]
HOMELESS
Nowhere but in my poems can I dwell,
Nowhere else could I a shelter find;
No love of home preoccupied my mind,
A tent could be uprooted by the gale.

Nowhere but in my poems can I dwell.
While I’m still sure that in the desert bare,
In steppes, in towns or in some wooded vale
A roof can still be found, I have no care.

Though it be long, the day’ll dawn without fail
When before eve my former strength declines
And pleads in vain for the frail words and signs
I once built with, and earth will have to keep
Me enveloped and I’ll have to bend down deep
To where my grave bursts open, dark and pale.

[Original Dutch poem]
WONINGLOOZE
Alleen in mijn gedichten kan ik wonen,
Nooit vond ik ergens anders onderdak;
Voor de eigen haard gevoelde ik nooit een zwak,
Een tent werd door den stormwind meegenomen.

Alleen in mijn gedichten kan ik wonen.
Zoolang ik weet dat ik in wildernis,
In steppen, stad en woud dat onderkomen
Kan vinden, deert mij geen bekommernis.

Het zal lang duren, maar de tijd zal komen
Dat vóór den nacht mij de oude kracht ontbreekt
En tevergeefs om zachte woorden smeekt,
Waarmee ’k weleer kon bouwen, en de aarde
Mij bergen moet en ik mij neerbuig naar de
Plek waar mijn graf in ’t donker openbreekt.

Mix & Master 2021

Woninglooze

WONINGLOOZE (with Dave 'smoking sax' McKeown)

The love makes narrow beds wide...

[Rough translation]
THE LOVE
It's nonsensical, says the mind
 It's ridiculous, snarls our pride
 It can't be true, exclaims the experience
 It is what it is, replies the love

The love, the love 
Makes narrow beds wide 
The love, the love 
Keeps old souls young 
The love, the love 
With or without oath
The love, the love
Refreshes us at the source

It's not worth it, sputters our fear 
It's a disillusionment, sulks the sadness 
 It's not what it seems, blushes the shame 
It is what it is, replies the love

The love, the love
Wins for those who dare
The love, the love
Does sometimes act a little silly
The love, the love
Gives more than it asks for
The love, the love
Or was it the other way around?

The love, the love
Is granted to all
The love, the love
Veiled and bared
The love, the love
God bless every attempt
The love, the love
With whom and anyhow

Sax: @DaveMcKeown
Rest: me
Cover picture: StockSnap

De liefde

DE LIEFDE (mastered 28.10.2022)

[English translation]
ADIEU
Again i saw my love leave
and again it was: Adieu, my heart; soon
it is done with you, with me, with us,
and time and space move in between.

Ah, how many trains I saw depart
from other, from identical terminals?
I turn around and mutter under my breath
what we didn't tell each other this time as well.

Again the world is opening up to me
But darling , I see, just where I look,
in every shop window a stranger walking
whom i look like since you left.

Even for those who have learned not to hope 
too much, the illusion gradually disappears
Again the world is opening up to him
But he only sees, where he looks,
in every shop window a stranger walking 
in every shop window a stranger walking...

Poem: Jean Pierre Rawie (bundle 'Woelig stof')
Music: me

Adieu

ADIEU

New mix & master 07.12.2021 

[Rough English translation] 
GIVE ME LOVE
You stayed the same
In all those years
Full attention
For everyone
But when I see
How we are doing
I want tonight
Just for us alone

Darling (give me love)
Make a new beginning (love)
Till the tenderness overcomes the distance

I'm still
Too often absent
Sunk away in my own thoughts
Or simply somewhere else
Never even finished
Always busy
But I want tonight
Just for us alone

Darling (give me love)
Make a new beginning (love)
Till the tenderness overcomes the distance

The last hundred years
We got more time of life
We in general are getting older
But that’s not the point
Whatever we may measure
What counts is uncertain
Nobody knows, nobody knows
How much time we really got

Darling (give me love)
Make a new beginning (love)
Till the tenderness overcomes the distance

Drums: Matt Snowden
Rest, music & lyrics: me
Cover picture: Nika Akin

Geef me liefde

GEEF ME LIEFDE (remixed & remastered)

Lisa, you're one of a kind.  
@faerytale 

Vocals, cello and musical arrangement: Faerytale
Composition and Dutch lyrics: Bas Kooman
Translation: Hans Bouman & Bas Kooman

JULIAN by Faerytale

Poem by American poet Langston Hughes (1901-1967), to which i added the last stanza. 

DREAM
Last night i dreamt
A most strange dream
Everywhere i saw 
What did not seem could ever be
You were not here with me

Awake,
I turned
And touched you asleep
Face to the wall
I said,
How dreams can lie
But you were not there at all

Confused,
I stared
And slowly it dawned
Alone in my bed
It’s true
How dreams can lie
We never even met

Dream

DREAM

[rough translation]
EXTREMES
Everything I did and went through 
in this almost fifty years, 
when experiencing irreconcilableness,
gives me no ground for wonder anymore. 

Grief was never to separate from ecstasy, 
love sheltered bitterness and grief. 
It will not really surprise me 
when would turn out in the end, 

what has fought with each other 
finally coincided with another, 
the turmoil of my mortal limbs, 
the craving of my immortal soul.

[Dutch poem]
UITERSTEN
Wat ik in deze bijna veertig jaren
in alles wat ik deed en onderging
aan onverzoenlijkheden mocht ervaren,
geeft mij geen grond meer voor verwondering.

Verdriet was nooit te scheiden van extase,
in liefde school verbittering en rouw.
Het zal mij straks niet wezenlijk verbazen
wanneer tegen het einde blijken zou,

dat wat elkaar in alles heeft bestreden
ten slotte met elkander samenviel,
de onrust van mijn sterfelijke leden,
de hang van mijn onsterfelijke ziel.

Poem: Jean Pierre Rawie
Music: Bas Kooman
Cover picture: Stefan Keller

Uitersten

https://open.spotify.com/track/6ZqzH5qSUIeWQWTJJY9ppr?si=bceddb7ffcc9470d 

[rough translation]
RITUAL
I preserve the little ritual,
so you can return anytime.

Every day, when evening falls,
I prepare the table: an extra plate,

cutlery, your own chair, a candle, a glass,
as if you just were delayed.

I hear (how could I think that what
makes me who I am, was gone forever?)

I hear, as if the house still existed,
the gravel, the latch, the dog barking,

and you come in at the moment
I light the lamp, arrange the flowers.

I just hope I can stay calm
and without looking up from my silent routine

find the words, as if it were self-evident:
sit down, help yourself, you were expected.

[Dutch poem]
RITUEEL
Ik houd het kleine ritueel in ere,
opdat je elk moment terug kunt keren.

Iedere dag, wanneer het avond wordt,
maak ik de tafel klaar: een extra bord,

bestek, je eigen stoel, een kaars, een glas,
alsof je enkel opgehouden was.

Ik hoor (hoe kon ik denken dat hetgeen
waardoor ik ben, voor altijd was verdwenen ?),

ik hoor, alsof de woning nog bestond,
het grind, de klink, het aanslaan van de hond,

en je komt binnen op het ogenblik
dat ik de lamp ontsteek, de bloemen schik.

Ik hoop alleen dat ik dan rustig blijf
en haast niet opziend van mijn stil bedrijf

de woorden vind, als was het vanzelfsprekend:
Schuif aan; tast toe: er is op je gerekend.


Poem: Jean Pierre Rawie
Music & mix: Bas Kooman
Master: White Sea Studio (2022.06.27)

RITUEEL (mastered)

I wrote this song after reading a quote from the surrealist writer Jorge Luis Borges:

“A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.”

Here's to the full life.

@dave-McKeown: thanks Dave, for your brilliant contribution.
It makes all the difference!

[rough translation]
LOW HORIZON
wander with me all winter through the white frosted country
let us leave some traces in heather, polder, grassland, dune and beach
from Faith Hill to Baren Field
from Harm Wood to Chuckle Brook
take me to your heart, wander with me to the edge

wander with me all winter and tell me what you know
about this piece of earth that’s named to our first impressions
The Fire Timber or Leaf Fen
Shimmer Canal or Mill Dam
striking are the names that you nonetheless will soon forget

This is us
This is us, dear
dotted lines on the cold ground
I see you
I see you there
in the twilight on the path
on the low horizon

wander with me all winter, map out this land
roads, bridges, people, animals, anything you discover here
from Faith Hill to Baren Field
from Harm Wood to Chuckle Brook
isn’t it a mystery that reveals itself to us?

This is us
This is us, dear
dotted lines on the cold ground
I see you
I see you there
in the twilight on the path
on the low horizon

[Dutch lyrics]
LAGE HORIZON 
dwaal met mij de hele winter door het wit berijpte land
trek met mij een spoor door heide, polder, weide, duin en strand
van Geloofshoop tot Barreveld 
van Griefhorst tot Schaterbroek
haal met mij je hart op, dwaal met mij tot aan de rand

dwaal met mij de hele winter en vertel me wat je weet
van het stukje aarde dat naar onze eerste indruk heet
’t Vuurhout of Bladerven
de Glimvaart of Molendam 
beeldend zijn de namen die je ook weer zo vergeet

Dit zijn wij 
Dit zijn wij schat
stippellijnen op de koude grond 
ik zie jou
ik zie jou daar
in de schemer op het pad
aan de lage horizon

dwaal met mij de hele winter, breng met mij dit land in kaart
wegen, bruggen, mensen, dieren, alles wat je hier ontwaart 
van Geloofshoop tot Barreveld 
van Griefhorst tot Schaterbroek
is het geen mysterie dat zich aan ons openbaart?

Dit zijn wij
Dit zijn wij schat
stippellijnen op de koude grond
ik zie jou
ik zie jou daar
in de schemer op het pad
aan de lage horizon



LAGE HORIZON (Low horizon - with Dave McKeown)

New version 2022

Poverty grows. The believes we consciously or unconsciously have and the small and big stories we tell, contribute greatly to this. Today’s meritocratic capitalism is not a naturally given fact of life. It is an ideology that is deeply unjust to people, harmful to the environment and to a great extent fact-free in its logic.

[Rough translation]
IF IT’S TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
One plus one equals two
That's the way it always was
Even though the boss says
That nothing stays the same
That more needs to be done with less
Things faster and smarter can
Be done with more quality

If it's too good to be true
Then that is usually the case
If it's too good to be true
If it's too good to be true
Then it’s usually the case
Then it’s usually the case

No one is the same
Neither are our chances
Even though the belief reigns
That you get what you deserve
So that success is a choice
And failure is for losers
And whoever made it counts for ten

If it's too good to be true
Then that is usually the case
If it's too good to be true
If it's too good to be true
Then it’s usually the case
Then it’s usually the case

Everyone competes
Has its own brand
Claims its domain, a part of the market
Everyone calculates
Resilient and self-reliant
Goes for own gain
For the benefit of us all

If it's too good to be true
Then that is usually the case

Lyrics & Music: Bas Kooman
Master: White Sea Studio (2022.06.27)

ALS HET TE MOOI IS OM WAAR TE ZIJN (mastered)

Vocals: Zefora
Music & production: Bas Kooman
Painting: Glenn Brady (fragment)

Touch The Sky (Zefora vocals)

When a country is run like a private company with limited liability.

[Rough translation]
BV NETHERLANDS
School
They test your brains
Exams as a chorus
Which drown out every verse
Child
A life ahead
That C is not enough
Not for a future that counts
Whatever you may learn
You clearly understand
Society swears
By the power of numbers

Netherlands, BV Netherlands
Point scoring, meritocrats
Netherlands, BV Netherlands
Suspicion, rules, lists, bureaucrats
Like knows like

Gas
It came out of the ground for years
Like Groningen did not exist
The damage has not yet been repaired
Judicial power
Made allowances illegal
What started with a rigid law
Perfected the taxman to hell
What you learn from it
Is that coincidence does not exist
The void reigns
Evil is that banal

Netherlands BV Netherlands
Point scoring, meritocrats
Netherlands BV Netherlands
Suspicion, rules, lists, bureaucrats
Like knows like (our kind of people)
Like knows like (our kind of people)
Like knows like (our kind of people)

Hey
Says the busker
I know what to do with this country
And he puts a hand to his ear
See
I listen before I start
Make a song with my heart
That sounds between all the lines
That one wrong note
Is not really a problem
The listener becomes aware
Of the human dimension

Music, lyrics, all instruments, mix and master by me.

BV Nederland

Words and voice: Hannah Duncan (@hanjan)
Woodwinds: Dave McKeown (@dave-mckeown)
Vocal: Emma Shanley (@emma-shanley)
Music and mix: Bas Kooman

Sometimes

A sad woman asked me
“Can this be changed?”
and hoped I would have
a key in my pocket
to fit the lock of her
despair.

The lonely man asked
“What shall I do?”
as we both sat,
with his chain ankle ghost,
that manacled
freedom.

Sometimes,
we keep our souls
in a locked box
on the window sill
and fear death’s fingers
if it rattles.

Sometimes,
we seek to hear only
clattering dialogue of thought,
clanking down the
one way tracks to
contention.

And sometimes
the truth is hidden in cell-seeds
trapped in shoulder stories,
or the anxious rope tale
of your skipping
stomach.

“What does your body say?”
I want to ask.
The answers
will hold their
breath and wait
for you.

But only in that
rejected, split off
holder, in the
soft sacred
fruiting
body bowl

Will you ever feel
the right question to ask.
The question that
tells you, finally:
it is time
to harvest.

SOMETIMES (with DAVE, HANNAH and EMMA)

One year after recording mastered on June 7th 2013.


Pantoffelheld

There's more in life that we do not experience than that we do. 
But hey, you can't have it all.
Sometimes that's for the better.

[Rough English translation]
YOU CAN'T HAVE IT ALL
In the past i didn’t want to miss anything
Was eager to join in all things fun
If I had to choose, I could not decide
I’d rather divided myself in two 

For football, parties, music and friends
a week was really too short
when she fell in love with another
it only really dawned on me

You can’t have it all

Now so many years have passed
I see many people with a cross to bear
Who are suffering or have severly suffered
people without a future, without a home

because of illness, distress, violence and loss
they’re broken, tired out 
for us, my love, I praise the day
for us, my love, I speak of happiness

You can’t have it all

Still, i want my life to be in the fast lane 
Sure, that’s how i’m gonna do it
but without risking life and limb
and with guaranteed pension

You can’t have it all

Soprano sax: @Dave-McKeown
Drums: Matt Snowden
Rest, Music & Lyrics: me
Mix&master 2021

JE MIST MEER DAN JE MEEMAAKT (with Dave McKeown)

“Every person must choose how much truth he can stand”, said Irvin Yalom, American writer and psychiatrist. “Self-awareness is a supreme gift, a treasure as precious as life. This is what makes us human. But it comes with a costly price: the wound of mortality.” Inspired by Yalom’s book ‘Staring at the sun’ British poet HanJan (@hanjan) wrote the poem Ripples.

I wrote music to these words and asked Texan vocalist Faerytale (@faerytale aka Lisa West) to sing them. Lisa never stops to amaze me. With her musical talent, and her warm and compassionate personality. For a reason she writes and sings personal songs for very sick people and people who lost a loved one, to give them a sense of peace and love in their most vulnerable moments.

RIPPLES
When we are dead
And nestled under the ground
Or scattered over favourite seas
And special places
The mountain will say nothing
The trees will not moan
And the river will be moving slowly
For someone else.
All that you know
All the thoughts you have owned
Will pass into nothing.
Only your vacated body
Will provide sacred compost
For those that inherit the earth.
And only those things you created
In the minds of your children,
In the people you touch,
In the art you leave behind,
Will show you have been here
And that you loved.

We are the stones that sink when flung into this still lake.
If we give our living plummeting momentum
Let velocity and passion hurl us forwards
Without restraint
It may be that our ripples will reach from bank to bank
To be felt by those we never touched: 
Through the blaze of our own comet tail light across their heaven.

Ripples

RIPPLES (feat. Faerytale & HanJan)

I wrote this song 8 years ago, inspired by Thomas Friedman's 'The future is green'. Even now, when we talk about climate change and the evidence keeps growing and growing, a lot of people are mentally still in the dessert. 

[Rough translation]
THE PROPHET AND THE CARAVAN

He would like to save his people, the thoughtful prophet
From the addiction to oil, the black gold of the planet
From the untimely consequences, which can be devastating
But his words find little resonance with the people in the desert

They party until night
Go hunting in the morning
His voice is not being heard
The caravan moves on

Who’s calling: the future is green
Who’s calling: the future is green

He wants his people to understand, to show the connections
Between the oil and the power of many criminal regimes
Between a warming earth and the hell that it can be
but his words finds little resonance with the people in the desert

They party until the night
Go hunting in the morning
His voice is not being heard
The caravan moves on

Who’s calling: the future is green
Who’s calling: the future is green

Once his words will grow into a choir
And people dare to think big
The dream of the prophet, the rose of Jericho

They party until the night
Go hunting in the morning
His voice is not being heard
The caravan moves on

Who’s calling: the future is green
Who’s calling: the future is green

Sax solo played by Dave McKeown
Drums played by Matt Snowden.

DE PROFEET EN DE KARAVAAN (with Dave McKeown)

I am no classical guitar player.
I could however play in the subway,
just because this piece is so much fun to play...
(It's far from flawless.)

More (and better) classical guitar on Soundcloud: 
Derek Cornett, Jens Felger, Stan Leonard, Guy Trepanier and Frank Hiemenz!

Si ela perguntar (by Dilermando Reis 1916-1977)

My good friend @dave-mckeown wrote this little gem and asked me to play along on the guitar. Always a great pleasure, and even more so because it bears my name :-) That B alliterates very nicely, don't you think? Anyway, it's a clarinet duet, a smooth tune at an easy going pace in Gilberto-style, with a cool melody and gorgeous harmonies and – as always – outstanding soulful playing.

Recently Dave has added some great compositions of his own to the arrangements he makes for sax, clarinets and other instruments on https://www.sheetmusicplus.com/publishers/david-mckeown-sheet-music/3006203?aff_id=673683 

This is one of them.
Hope you enjoy!

Sheet music plus

Bossa De Bastião (Dave McKeown/Bas Kooman)

[Rough translation]
ESCHER’S STAIRS
it's true, I will never grow up
I have been blessed with lots of imagination
I follow not one but many compasses 
and it brings me nothing but own euphoria

sometimes my life is on the rocks
I sit on the ground, on the sideline
When the water comes to my lips
I flee through bridges that I have burned

make of that, what you can
what can you make of that
who's laughing, knows the end
of Escher’s stairs
who can tell, may say so
who can feel it
now who

it's weird, I can be so mistaken
 but I endure being blind and deaf
when the world does not want to be
like the scenarios in my head
 
a treasure chest full of beautiful dreams
will soon be emptied like a little cup 
in the abyss where dreams can't exist 
then you’re lost and life's a burden

if you get it, you 'll dance
you'll dance, if you get it
who's laughing, knows the end
dancing on Escher’s stairs
if you get it, you 'll dance
you'll dance, if you get it
can you feel it
then dance

going up, going down
that are the stories
step-by-step
on Escher’s stairs
keep repeating
these stories
whereever you are 
on the stairs

going up, going down
that are the stories
step-by-step
on Escher’s stairs
keep repeating
these stories
whereever you are 
on the stairs

going up, going down
that are the stories
step-by-step
on Escher’s stairs
follow your heart

Drums: Matt Snowden.
Rest: me
Cover art: Katinka Kooman.

ESCHERS TRAP

At the beginning of the nineties i was six months in Russia 
and went to a show of singer songwriter Alexander Rosenbaum
at the 9th of May in St. Petersburg - the day the Russians celebrate the victory
over the nazi's in world war II. Never forgot this great song... 
So i thought, today it's the 9th of May, and i record and upload this cover.
It's almost 20 years ago that i spoke Russian for the last time, so the pronunciation 
is probably not completely how it should be :-)
 
[Russian Lyrics - Alexander Rosenbaum]
На ковре из жёлтых листьев
 В платьице простом
 Из подаренного ветром крепдешина 
Танцевала в подворотне осень вальс-бостон. 
Отлетал тёплый день, 
И хрипло пел саксофон.  
И со всей округи люди приходили к нам, 
И со всех окрестных крыш слетались птицы, 
Танцовщице золотой захлопав крыльями... 
Старый дом, как давно звучала музыка там.  

Как часто вижу я сон, 
Мой удивительный сон,
 В котором осень нам танцует вальс-бостон. 
Там листья падают вниз, 
Пластинки крутится диск: 
"Не уходи, побудь со мной, ты мой каприз". 
Как часто вижу я сон, 
Мой удивительный сон, 
В котором осень нам танцует вальс-бостон.  

Опьянев от наслажденья, 
О годах забыв, 
Старый дом, давно влюблённый в свою юность, 
Всеми стенами качался, окна отворив,
 И всем тем, кто в нём жил, Он это чудо дарил.  
А когда затихли звуки в шуме городском 
- Всё имеет свой конец, своё начало, 
- Помолчав, всплакнула осень маленьким дождём... 
Ах, как жаль этот вальс, как хорошо было в нём.  

Как часто вижу я сон, 
Мой удивительный сон, 
В котором осень нам танцует вальс-бостон. 
Там листья падают вниз, 
Пластинки крутится диск:
 "Не уходи, побудь со мной, ты мой каприз". 
Как часто вижу я сон, 
Мой удивительный сон, 
В котором осень нам танцует вальс-бостон.

[translation in Dutch]
AMERIKAANSE WALS
Op een tapijt van gele bladeren, 
 in een eenvoudige jurk van door de wind geschonken crêpe de chine,
danste de herfst in een steegje een Amerikaanse Wals. 
De warme dag liep op zijn einde
En hees klonk een saxofoon. 

Mensen uit de buurt kwamen naar ons,  
En van al de naburige daken vlogen vogels op,  
Met hun vleugels klappend voor de gouden danseres…
Het oude huis, zoals vroeger klonk er muziek. 

Vaak zie ik een droom,  
Mijn verbazingwekkende droom, 
 waarin de herfst voor ons een Amerikaanse Wals danst. 
De bladeren vallen,  
De plaat blijft draaien: 
 "Ga niet weg, blijf bij mij, je bent mijn capriccio." 
Vaak zie ik een droom,  
Mijn verbazingwekkende droom, 
 Waarin de herfst voor ons een Amerikaanse Wals danst. 

In vervoering, zonder besef van tijd,
Danste het oude huis, verliefd op zijn eigen jeugd,
Met al zijn muren, de ramen wijd open     
En schonk dit wonder aan allen die er woonden

Toen de klanken wegstierven in het geruis van de stad  
- alles heeft een begin en een einde - was de herfst even stil 
En werd tot tranen toe geroerd, een kleine regenbui,
Ach, wat jammer van die wals, het voelde zo goed.

Vaak zie ik een droom,  
Mijn verbazingwekkende droom,  
Waarin de herfst voor ons een Amerikaanse Wals danst. 
De bladeren vallen,  
De plaat blijft draaien: 
 "Ga niet weg, blijf bij mij, je bent mijn capriccio." 
Vaak zie ik een droom, 
 Mijn verbazingwekkende droom, 
 Waarin de herfst voor ons een Amerikaanse Wals danst. 


Vals Boston (Alexander Rosenbaum cover)

DOR HOUT (see below for an English translation)

Trudy zat met zuurstofkap rechtop in haar bed
Man en dochters kwamen langs, hun maskers opgezet
Nog geen week geleden kreeg ze hoge koorts
Nu wachtte haar een gang naar de hemelpoort
De hele situatie vond ze surreëel
Over haar emoties zei ze nooit zo veel

Dor hout
Was zij dor hout

Charles ging bijna met pensioen toen hij overleed
Nadat hij meer dan veertig jaar patiënten had verpleegd
Kundig en empathisch, met humor, energiek
Iedereen was verslagen die hij achterliet
Honderden collega’s kwamen toegestroomd
Naar zijn uitvaart met een roos als eerbetoon

Dor hout
Was hij dor hout

Hout gaat niet op wintersport en viert geen carnaval	
Hout raakt niet in ademnood en voelt niks bij een sterfgeval	
Marianne Zwagerman en Viruswaarheid-kliek		
Weet je wat er schuilgaat achter statistiek			
Als je zelf bent aangedaan					
Hoe wil je dat ze dan met jou omgaan			

Als dor hout
Dor hout

[Rough translation]
DRY WOOD
Trudy sat up in her bed with an oxygen hood 
Husband and daughters came by, their masks on	
Less than a week ago she developed a high fever
Now a journey to heaven's gate awaited her
She found the whole situation surreal
About her emotions she never said much 

Dry wood
Was she dry wood

Charles was about to retire when he passed away
After nursing patients for more than 40 years
Skilled and empathetic, with humor, energetic
Everyone was defeated that he left behind
Hundreds of colleagues arrived
To his funeral with a rose in tribute

Dry wood
Was he dry wood

Wood does not go on skiing holidays and does not celebrate carnival
Does not suffer from breathlessness and does not care about death
Marianne Zwagerman and Viruswaarheid-clique
Do you know what is behind statistics
If you have been affected yourself
How do you want them to treat you then

Like dry wood
Dry wood

Cover picture: Thomas Pedrazzoli
 
BACKGROUND
Song about the dehumanisation of COVID patients in the public discussion about coronavirus and government measures. Columnist Marianne Zwagerman used several times the term ‘dry wood’ for corona patients. In the spring of 2020, she expressed the opinion that not the entire population, and the economy, should be the victim of a small group of vulnerable people. According to her, people who would otherwise die anyway would now die a few months earlier because of the corona virus. "The dry wood is being cut, perhaps a few months earlier than without the virus," she wrote at the end of March. A little later, in April, Marianne wrote a column about the corona virus taking the scythe through “the dry wood of society”. Viruswaarheid (Virus  truth) is a Dutch action group that criticizes the Dutch government's corona policy and considers all corona measures unnecessary. 

Trudy Dekhuijzen and Charles Hertel are real people who died of COVID-19. 

The story of Trudy Dekhuijzen:
https://www.nrc.nl/nieuws/2020/06/10/ik-kom-in-de-historbookjes-zei-ze-in-het-ziekenhuisbed-a4002459

The story of Charles Hertel's:
https://nos.nl/nieuwsuur/artikel/2336380-bijna-met-pensioen-en-toen-overleed-verisjes-charles-aan-covid-19.html

Dor hout

Buy and support

DOR HOUT

The shortest lyrics I know that tell a whole story is from the Cuban band leader and composer Cachao and consist of three words: the question "Why?" followed by the answer "Why not!" Because of the infectious swing (why dance? - Why not!) it is pretty brilliant in a simple way. 

The same goes for Mabelé, a song in Lingala from Congolese singer Kevin Mfinka. Those simple (through the whole song repeated) four lines express humbleness, acceptance and gratitude. I think it's a gem and that's why i love to play it.

[Translation]
Earth is my body 
My body is the earth 
One day I'm going under the earth 
You stayed to take care of my kids 

Painting: Kevin Stevenson

Mabelé (Earth

For this song i used one of the most famous poems of J. Slauerhoff (1898-1936). i changed a few old style Dutch words for new. Music by Bas Kooman (2013).

VOOR DE VERRE PRINSES
Wij komen nooit meer saam:
De wereld drong zich tussenbeide.
Soms staan wij beiden ’s nachts aan ’t raam,
Maar andere sterren zien we in andere tijden.
 
Uw land is zo ver van mijn land verwijderd:
Van licht tot verste duisternis—dat ik
Op vleugelen van verlangen rusteloos reizend,
U zou begroeten met mijn stervenssnik.
 
Maar als het waar is dat door grote dromen
Het zwaarst verlangen over wordt gebracht
Tot op de verste ster: dan zal ik komen,
Dan zal ik komen, iedere nacht.

[English translation by Leonie Broekstra-Pauw]

TO THE FAR AWAY PRINCESS
Never again will we reunite:
The world has forced itself in between.
Sometimes we both stand behind the window at night,
But different stars in different times are seen.

Your country is so far away from mine:
From light to the depts of darkness - That I
Traveling restlessly, on wings of desire,
would greet you with my final cry.

However, if it’s true that by great dreams dreamt
Up to the most distant heavenly light
the strongest desire can be sent: then I will come
Then I will come, every night.


Painting (fragment) by Rena Marzouk 

More about SLAUERHOFF
J. Slauerhoff is one of the greatest Dutch poets of the twentieth century. He owes the unique position he occupies in Dutch literature to completely personal themes he carved out in equally personal poetry. Longing for the passionate love for a woman, struck by the tragedy of loneliness, the yearning to be elsewhere or somewhere in the past, the desire for the sea, the disenchantment with present-day life, the awareness of degeneration, all these themes mark him as a late Romantic poet.

On the other hand, the rawness and acrimony of his tone, as well as his split personality, make him a true exponent of his era. In the guise of consistently different characters, either historical or fictive, Slauerhoff aligns with the modernist tradition of Yeats, Pound, Eliot, and Pessoa.

Born and raised in Leeuwarden, capital of the province of Friesland, Slauerhoff studied medicine in Amsterdam. He made his debut in 1923 with the collection Archipel *(Archipelago*), in which almost all the elements present in his later work can already be found. After completing his study, he became a ship’s doctor on Dutch vessels sailing to East Asia. His poor health was repeatedly the cause of broken employment contracts.

Accordingly, he led an itinerant life. ‘Nowhere but in my poems can I dwell,/ Nowhere else could I a shelter find’ are the first lines of one of his most renowned poems (‘Homeless’), which can be regarded as characteristic of his life and work.



Voor de verre prinses (To the far away princess - click for translation)

What's the meaning of human rights when they can be ignored without real consequences? What's the use of laws when they are not enforced? Song about migrant workers in the Netherlands. Where exploiting these people is actually still a lucrative business model.

[Translation]
PICK THE PICKERS

Pick the pickers 
Pick them where you can 
Pick the pickers 
Get them to our country 

Promise them mountains of gold 
And give them a contract 
That they don't understand 
So you have them in your pocket 
Cram them into an apartment 
Ten men at a time 
Let them pay usury rents 
Fire everyone who complains
It really works, you can see it quickly 
This is a lucrative business model 

Pick the pickers 
Pick them where you can 
Pick the pickers 
Get them to our country 

Drive them to the greenhouses 
Drive them to the fields 
Don't pay all their working hours 
‘Less is more’ when it comes to money 
And if someone is sick 
Or looked too deep into his glass 
Then you give him a fine 
For stains in the mattress 
If some fall out, don't worry 
You will have a new pick in no time 

But one thing you must know 
If someone asks about it 
Hide that all of your business 
Can't tolerate daylight 

So wave away what they say 
With a friendly smile 
As long as the dogs sleep 
There is no one doing anything 
Play nice weather, don't flinch 
The rights of a picker exist 
Only on paper 

Pick the pickers 
Pick them where you can 
Pick the pickers 
Get them to our country 
Bring them to our beautiful country

Song & performance: Bas Kooman
Backing vocals: @HesterKirkels
Cover art: Jan de Waardt (1871-1909)

Pluk de Plukkers

Pluk De Plukkers

New version 2022

Song with a wink about someone's reaction to a restless partner who wants to change his life for the better. And he means business! No more time consuming hassle but focus on what really matters. This time he really wants it. In fact, he is determined! Like he always is after summer vacation... Recorded with my good friend Dave McKeown and vocalist Hester Kirkels. Mastered by White Sea Studio.

[rough translation]
JUST THIS SONG
Now or never
You’re gonna do it differently
A last chance
For the life you want
No more hassle
Time for what really matters
Like you say
It will be a world of difference

Do what you can’t resist
Go ahead, do your thing
I don’t mind talking about it 
But don't ask me what I think
Or what I expect
It isn’t much 
Just this song

Every year
You’re gonna do it differently
Every year
Again a last chance
Every year
When the summer comes to an end
Every year
This ritual dance

Do what you can’t resist
Go ahead, do your thing
I don’t mind talking about it 
But don't ask me what I think
No, don't ask what I think
Don't let me say
What I expect
It isn’t much 
Just this song

Sax: @Dave-McKeown
Backing vocals: @HesterKirkels
Rest: Bas

Alleen dit lied

ALLEEN DIT LIED (mastered)

Hi there. I make songs in Dutch and record en mix them at home. Translations are provided on the song page. I remove reposts after a few days.

Bas Kooman

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