At last a song that is mainly guitar.
The Casio was only used for the drums.
I did the bass by recording the normal guitar with its tone control turned right down and the treble and bass on the portastudio adjusted to try and get a bass sound; nearly got it.
I use the whammy bar a lot in this one.

Spoken Low

Take me I’m only real
Don’t know how to say it
Do do you
You’re giving me shit
All all of the time
Yet sometimes I feel like I’m on trial

Feeling kind of low
Remembering
Bars and scars
And times to remember
And she said
You’re in hell couldn’t you tell

Oh I could love
If only only I could love
Again

Talking again the cess pits of my memory
And voices say dead
Scare me to death

Oh I could love
No no no I could love
Again

But why spoken low
Always spoken low
Spoken low

© Ciaran McCann 1984

Spoken Low

Metropolis Blue (Deluxe)

Metropolis Blue

No Goodbyes

Kevin

Numero Uno

I Ain't Crazy

Taste of Fall

High Moon

Tremendous

Blinded

I Wish I Was a Dog

CLICK ON EACH INDIVIDUAL SONG TITLE TO SEE LYRICS AND RECORDING NOTES.
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Uploading some old stuff for fun/posterity/'5 minutes of fame' etc.
Did some of these back in late 80's using a Casio home keyboard (hence the drum sound!), guitar and a Tascam 244 Portastudio.
These recordings are taken from an original stereo master mixdown from the portastudio to a TDK normal D60 tape. Dolby C was applied in the original mixdown.
There where a number of dropouts that I have reduced so some songs may seem to ‘skip’. I EQ’ed some of the songs as they had become muffled over the years.
Others done in 90's early 2000's using a variety of equipment but ALL done in me bedroom/living room!

And now....

<b>“ CRYING”</b>

a story by

“Ciarán Steve Hanako Kann Blue”


A teardrop falls…..,

I'm suspended between myself and I looking down or is it up a long brightly lit tunnel. At the foremost of this tunnel is a sign it reads “ FUTURE”. It is very large and out of proportion.

I feel a presence behind me like someone lurking in a dark corner waiting to jump out at me. I turn. Another tunnel confronts me. This time dark. I can't tell how long or short it is. Slowly I begin to make out a sign at the entrance, in proportion this time. It reads “ PAST” and then disappears.  A time passes…………………....,



………………………………………………………..and it becomes obvious to me that I have to move from where I'm standing as I'm drowning in my thoughts. I consider for a moment, tick tock, tick tock, look at the hands on the clock. I'm choosing and happenings are happening in the dark tunnel. I stare deeply, to deeply.

Someone's laughing, or crying, or laughing and crying at the same time. He seems to have no face, no purpose, no life yet he seems alive, barely, and familiar. It hurts me. He's naked and cold and is stopping people asking them for warmth. Some stop and give him warmth, but they burn him after.

He cries, or is it laughs harder.

He gets burned until he's just one big white burn, so becoming immune to being burned. He calls himself Fire. Fire walks for a while and comes upon a robin red breast. Its feathers are stuck together with frost and its beak is broken. It has only one leg to stand on, and this is sprained. Altogether it's just a little bit down and out! Fire is filled with pity for the robin red breast so with all good intentions he lifts it, gingerly, to bring it to his home and mend it but to his horror it bursts into flames. He cries for what he has done and his tears quench the flames. The robin filled with love and gratification towards Fire for putting out the flames, thanks him. Fire kisses the robin, but again it bursts into flames and again Fire cries so putting out the flames. The robin red breast is dead. Fire cries and puts himself out.

I jump back feeling rather warm and sweating a bit. My mind is made up (of little bits of mattering). I choose to delve into the brightly lit tunnel avoiding the horrors of the dark tunnel, which seemed to linger in my mind like mattering, flattering, chattering too much again.

Putting these feelings into the cesspits of my memory I step forward onto the doorstep or tunnel step of a new thought. At this moment a clock without any hands says to me “ that's right boy forget the past move forward”. I smile and my face breaks into pieces.

As this happens I feel some force behind me and I'm pushed and I find myself at a cross tunnels. The tunnel to the right has a steep staircase leading up which is laid with deep pile carpet. At the summit of the staircase there is a brilliant white light making everything look like a Daz advertisement. The tunnel to the left has a smooth slide leading down into a darkness darker than black. I think to myself “ it's easy to go when you don’t know, whose leading the show ”. After all that's happened I'm feeling rather tired so I don't like the look of the staircase. I jump onto the slide and WHIZZ. Slowly I stop suddenly and I seem to be engulfed in a mysterious not colour. I think “I'm dead” but just then a fork says to me “not likely son, you're being paid for what you've done!”.
Someone I've never seen before touches me and I seem to recognise him as an old friend.
“ Hel-low-er than the sea”. His words don't make sense to me, but I know what to answer, I always did but the answer was hid. Now I've seen the show I wish to go. This idea lingers on my tongue until it is cut out and I'm left speechless, dumbfounded as they say. My old friend turns out to be called “ Desire”. He takes me down or is it up a passageway and there at THE END or is it the start of it he introduces me to a thing person called Fire. I seem to recall this thing person from an existence now lost to me. I shake his hand and he disappears taking with him everything around me. But I can still see it all as I wipe it away from my eye, but another teardrop will fall by and by.



“ CRYING”
© 1980
Ciarán McCann

Spoken Low

CiaranBlue

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