...Nevertheless, I'll go on flying.

Thank you.

North Pole Highway

Do Nice,do Right

All music written and composed by Jeffrey Lasky 

All rights reserved by Jeffrey Lasky 

Thanks for listening

Madrid to London

This is a cover of an Arrows of the Sun. All words and composition are Arrows of The Sun. 

For this version of the song:

S. Drysdale : Vocals, Electric Guitar, Bass, Keyboards
A. Reed: Engineering and Programing

Keep On Running

As each November approaches I try to make my own little Remembrance-time tribute.  Seems more relevant as each year passes...

Following the huffing and puffing empire lunacy in the summer of 1914, the next four years would see 40 million casualties, half of them deaths and of those, half were civilian.  

40 million.

40 million tales of poignancy, pain, grief and human tragedy, through times that can often seem littered with coincidence, symmetries …. bookends and mirrors.

In the Military Cemetery of St Symphorien near Mons rests John Parr.  At only five foot three inches and several years under age he (amazingly) managed to enlist in 1912 - hoping to see the world, and get the advertised “two square meals” a day.  He was the first British Army casualty, killed in the battle of Mons aged just 17, his body left behind, fate unknown until much later in the conflict;  the army unable to answer his mother’s letters of enquiry about her “silent” son.

By pure coincidence, John lies just a few yards from the last British soldier to die in the great war.  George Ellison served for four long years including at the same first battle of Mons as John, and most of the famously grinding, attritional infantry battles of the conflict.  His working life bookended by military service, George had first enlisted in 1902, leaving the army in 1912, just as John joined, he became a coal miner, re-enlisting at the outbreak of war to dig mud not coal and fight from trenches he helped excavate.  George was killed just 90 minutes before the armistice took effect at 11:00 on the 11th day of the 11th month.  The futility of the conflict was cruelly illustrated by the fact that George’s war had started and ended at exactly the same place, Mons in Belgium.  They had literally gone nowhere.

As a postscript to progress since "the war to end all wars" the human race is currently reckoned to be engaged in 7 major wars, 15 significant ongoing conflicts and 21 “minor” conflicts (the latter defined as up to "only” 1000 deaths per year).  By way of another macabre bookend, the longest of these has been going on, unbelievably, since the year .... 1918.

As always, this simple ballad is offered as a live one mic one take effort - please excuse the fluffs and gaffes.
_______________________

Bookends and Mirrors

Sun turned cold ‘cross every sky in the summer of ‘14
The Good Lord shook his head, and he placed it in his hands
Braided declarations flying, whose like was never seen
Lunatics in feathers stockpiled lead, bagged their sand.
Slapstick Mephistopheles, unleashing of his flame
Spiral minds lobotomised in the waltz of the insane
Simple lives unknowing of the mud that would become
A mirror in the resting place of two Holy Mother’s sons.

Signed the line, five years young, fingers crossed behind his back
Chance to see the world, grab a future, two square meals.
At 17, John’s angels sung, first to fall in dawn’s attack
Abandoned and forgotten, deaf to all his ma’s appeals.
Never knew the miner, his bookend pal to be
Fighting down the line, many battles that he’d see
Full four years in trenches, George’s hell lived through them all
Cruelty was smiling wide at England’s last to fall.

In service time they travelled nowhere, nothing to achieve
Embracing 40 million weeping mothers left to grieve
The crime of puffing chest bravado beggared to believe
Hall of mirrors seeping others’ blood of the innocent naive.

Now John and George lie facing each to seek their mirrored peace
Raise my eyes and brim a tear for the lessons never learned
Pray God, don’t ever let them know man’s insanity but increased
The war to end all wars a mere sequel oft’ returned 
By comedies of leathered fools stuck on infinite repeat
Bemedalled and bejewelled, they prosecute their moral defeat
But here, on sallow turf twixt heroes, broken mirror in my broken hand
Met by my own broken eyes, I still fail to understand.
_________
Photo by Michael Yuan on Unsplash

Bookends and Mirrors

This is a song inspired by a wonderful poem of the same title that I came across on the web recently.  It's written by a guy named Christopher without further information (not me though).   I eventually took the liberty & converted it into a song.  I gave it a bit of a country feel and hope you would enjoy listening.  

[CREDITS]
Music / Vocals / Arrangements / Programming – Michael C. Lynn
Lyrics – Christopher 
Fiddle - Andy Leftwich @Band_in_a_Box
Guitar Solo & Fill-ins – Brent Mason @Band_in_a_Box

[LYRICS]
She looks into air, herself falling rain
Dripping coldness past, memories old pain.
Drops fall, the puddling her damp water-life.
Spiraling a mirror, self-lonely strife.

Clouds a-whorl, dark sky sheltering fair heart.
But how can she joy, while taking no part?
Covering cold soul, corona of defense.
Defying the stab of her fate's intents.

This is madness, she thinks in plaintive cry.
I'm here, on the cusp, of lay down and die.
What my destiny, but an empty-off dream?
A plaything with which gods and angels scheme.

Am I doomed then to live, time never-free?
Subsumed wholly 'neath life's scattered debris?
Is justice outside this torrential doubt?
Perhaps more than sorrow,  painful fall-out?

Instrumental break

Personal paradise, which I can own,
Evoking happiness, hither unknown?
She raises from streets of lonely no more.
Light slicing through darkness, hopes washed ashore.

Her withered gait now straightening with pride.
She glides like an angel 'cross future's tide.
Caressing the ground, sing the beat of her heart.
Into the sun seeking love's brand new start.

Into Every Life

Subterranean air flows and echoes can beautifully bend and distort sounds (and conversations). Riding the 'tube', 'underground', 'metro' or 'subway' systems is a fascination for some (myself included), for some a mystery and for some an onerous necessity.

Track: 3 track saxophone conversations / clarinet background

Image c/o Pinterest: graphic of London's Piccadilly Circus Undergound station tunnels (1989).

Underground Voices

Recording sessions from 01/09/2023-12/09/2023.
3 tracks MOOG Modular (vst Arturia),
1 track PianoV2 (vst Arturia),
1 track Spark (vst Arturia),
presets, mixing, processing and editing: Pier WILL.
________________________________________________________________________
🛠 - Made with MOOG & Modular / Multi-tracks
🎹 - Composed, arranged, performed, produced by Pier WILL & Studio 4H09
🔲 - Artwork - Pier WILL
🙏 - Acknowledgements - Ableton, AKG, Arturia, Audacity, Cantabile, Focusrite, Korg, M-Audio, MSI, Sony, SoundCloud, Teac, Techniks, Yamaha.
⚙️ - #Ambient #Movies #Experimental 
________________________________________________________________________

❤️🕊️🙏

And Thought Sails

Une ode aux perdants , à ceux qui n'arriveront jamais les premiers ...
Compositeur - Musique : Philippe SEGUINARD
Auteur mélodiste - Chant : Guillaume DULER
Chant : Sylvie TIRET
An ode to the losers, to those who will never get there first ...
Composer - Music : Philippe SEGUINARD
Songwriter - Vocals : Guillaume DULER
Singer : Sylvie TIRET
Lyrics:
Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos étoiles
Même si le ciel est déjà mort
C'est vrai qu'elles brillent encore
Mais la plupart ont mis les voiles

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos défaites
A la puissance des vaincus
Nous nos blessures ont survécus
Quand leurs victoires sont obsolètes

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos amours
A celles qui saôulent de souvenirs
Celles qu'on n'a pas pu retenir
Mais auxquelles on pense toujours

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos héros
Aux révoltés aux cœurs ouverts
Ceux qu'ont joué avec l'enfer
La vie tatouée sur la peau

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos succés
Ces étranges malentendus
C'est à peine ce qu'on a voulu
Et tout juste ce que l'on pouvait

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos enfances
Illusions perdues à jamais
Comme la douleur d'un condamné
Qui sait qu'il va mourir d'avance

Levons nos verres aux regrets
Aux perdants de la gloire
Cicatrices laissées
Dans un coin de mémoire
Aux survivants sans médailles
A nous les moins que rien
Sur nos champs de batailles
Ombres du quotidien

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos fantômes
Toutes ces peurs qui nous soutiennent
Main dans la main elles nous souviennent
Vers la dernière demeure des hommes

Quand est-ce qu'on boit à nos futurs
Retournons nous voir s'ils nous suivent
Mais y'a personne pas âme qui vive
Y'a même pas de rats sur les ordures

When do we drink to our stars
Even if the sky is already dead
It's true they still shine
But most of them are gone

When do we drink to our defeats
To the power of the defeated
Our wounds have survived
When their victories are obsolete

When do we drink to our loves
To those soaked in memories
The ones we couldn't hold back
But still think of

When we drink to our heroes
To the rebels with open hearts
Those who played with hell
Life tattooed on their skin

When we drink to our successes
These strange misunderstandings
It's hardly what we wanted
And only what we could

When we drink to our childhoods
Illusions lost forever
Like the pain of a condemned man
Who knows he's going to die in advance

Let's raise a glass to regrets
To the losers of glory
Scars left
In a corner of memory
To survivors without medals
To us less than nothing
On our battlefields
Shadows of everyday life

When we drink to our ghosts
All these fears that sustain us
Hand in hand they remind us
To the last resting place of men

When we drink to our futures
Let's go back and see if they follow us
But there's no one, no soul
Not even rats in the garbage

© Philippe SEGUINARD/Guillaume DULER  Novembre 2023

Ivre"S" (feat Sylvie Tiret) Version intégrale TRANSLATED

Please visit the following link and listen to the latest collaborated version.
https://soundcloud.com/david-marconi-917184705/a-shade-of-blue-revisited-collaboration?si=f76ff153884b45738e4f2c6cbd97742d&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Just me having a little fun playing the blues.
Guitar instrumental by David Marconi

Aroused from Slumber

A Shade of Blue - Legacy Demo Version

Lyrics:
Take'em out of their shell,
Break'em out if you will.
Run'em down the old hill,
Do with'em what you will.
As you watch them roll,
I hope you find a soul.
Somewhere on that pole,
It sure is getting cold.
Out with the old, Out with the old.
You should know to talk loud,
Wonder if you'd help out.
Oh what's the use?
You're impaired and obtuse.
As you watch it fall down,
Tell me what have you found?
Is there anything real?
Tell me what's the appeal? 
Out with the old, out with the old.
When will you see? 
I don't hear thee.
Break out, break free, 
come on it's easy.
Push hard you can, break through.
I've seen you do this more than once before.
I know you never meant, (to come back.)
Not to be here present, (You forget.)
Out with the old, (In with the New)
In with the New.

Do Nice,do Right

SintheticDeCosmos

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