Great piano playing, beautiful…!!🌍☮︎👍

Jolie progression - - - - - - - - - -- -  beau toucher aussi  - - - - - - --  : : - - - -- - - ) )

"feel" is a smooth and soulful track that blends lush melodies with a laid-back rhythm, creating a deeply emotive and immersive listening experience. Rooted in neo-soul and R&B influences, the song incorporates ambient textures and intricate electronic beats to craft a soundscape that feels both intimate and expansive. Its flowing structure and groovy undertones evoke a sense of reflection and tranquility, making it perfect for a late-night drive, relaxing moments, or simply vibing to its rich atmosphere.

feel

https://youtu.be/dLLddlqKIHc?si=wT5hmEY_W3Fp5ZvI 

This is my attempt at performing this song in a single take with just me and my guitar (Taylor 114 ce)
Also to compare and contrast, here’s a  link to a more polished full band version of this song that I recorded with the help of the Eclectic Collective 
https://soundcloud.com/josh-clary-1/ai-sucks-the-eclectic?si=67d29d363d2a419dacbf860fa471165e&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing
Many thanks to SoundCloud musician Michele Ansani  https://on.soundcloud.com/A24Cig19AVNqQmCk8 who's lyrics inspired me to write this song and collaborated with me to help bring this song to life.
***
Lyrics
When I was thirteen I picked up my first guitar
it was my mother's, it only had one nylon string 
I tried to play it like a rock star
I learned to play the Coca-Cola jingle
So I could teach the world to sing
When I was fourteen, I put on six new strings
I learned to play Beatles, I learned a Bob Dylan song
I sounded out of tune but I tried to carry on
At fifteen I wrote my first original tune 
So bad it sounded like it might have been written by a baboon
When I was sixteen, I got a new guitar for my birthday
The metal strings sawed through my fingers but I continued to play
And as the calluses formed and every day I learned a brand new chord
I was obsessed with that guitar and I never grew bored.
I wrote songs every day and most of them were a mess
But I believed that through hard work, I could achieve success
Malcom Gladwell wrote a book that said it takes ten thousand hours
To become and expert at your craft
And now all it takes is two commands and an enter
And in two minutes you have ten versions of the same damn new song,
You just have to choose the type
folk, rock, rap, pop, metal, jazz, trap or blues.
You don't even need to write the lyrics, 
your push a few buttons let the AI choose.
And people will think your songs are great 
even though you didn’t write or play a single note.
When I was 20, I did my first concert, it was time
it occurred in a village square
there were four cats all friends of mine
I was still using the plectrum and sometimes I got the chords wrong
at thirty I finally wrote what I thought was a decent song
It had a very well thought out structure and a catchy vibe and beat 
It was overly verbose but when I played it people tapped their feet
In my forties I stopped wasting my time
Work was more fun I was doing just fine
I had a steady paycheck that could feed me 
And the record companies didn’t need me
In my fifties once again my musical juices started flowing
I bought the necessary equipment I was eager to get going
I recorded all my strumming and saved it onto my PC
The internet and technology were advancing rapidly
I took those special songs I’d written of which I was most proud
Posted them Instagram, You Tube, Tik Tok and SoundCloud
I asked myself if a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around
Does it make a sound?
But now all it takes is two commands and an enter
And in two minutes you have ten versions of the same damn new song,
You just have to choose the type
folk, rock, rap, pop, metal, jazz, trap or blues.
You don't even need to write the lyrics, 
your push a few buttons let the AI choose.
And people will like your songs even though you didn’t write or play a single note.

AI Sucks Acoustic Live Version

"Whatever"is an '80s-style rock song. It talks about the world of disposable and temporary things we live in, where nothing lasts long enough to become real. Friendships, relationships, love — everything is plastic and fleeting. A time without memories.

Whatever (Tanto Faz)

It’s just like that, the way I recall,
Blurred-out words, nothing real at all.
I hit the street, but I’m not there,
Can’t see you — green or red, I don’t care.
I walk ahead, try not to glance behind,
Where I go, you don’t cross my mind — that’s fine.
What’s gone is gone, it won’t return,
The future waits, no need to burn.
It’s gone, it’s done — no more glory,
The fire wipes out every story.
Time just moves, it won’t relent,
Chasing wins, it kills the present.
And memory? It fades, it dies,
Just disappears before your eyes.

++++++++++PORTUGUES

Tanto faz é um rock estilo anos 80. Fala sobre o mundo de coisas descartáveis e temporarias em que vivemos, onde nada dura tempo suficiente para se tornar verdadeiro. Amizades, relacionamentos, amores...tudo é plastico e passageiro. Um tempo sem memórias.

Tanto Faz

É bem por ai, é como eu me lembro;
Palavras difusas, tudo fake;
Descubro a rua e não me vejo;
Não te enxergo, verde ou vermelho;
Sigo em frente sempre tento não olhar pra trás;
Pra onde ando não te percebo, tanto faz;
O que passou, passou. Não volta jamais;
O futuro te espera, fica em paz;
Passou, passou, não tem mais glória.
O fogo varre toda a história.
O tempo sempre segue em frente, buscando a vitória despreza o presente.
A memória se diluí, se desfaz.

Whatever (Tanto Faz)

Azul:  Vocals
Ben Juul:  Drums, Mix & Master at Tone Hill, NY
Dirk Taubenheim:  Guitars, Bass, Keys, Vocs

This song is more relevant than ever, even though it was released in 1983.

Original version by Men at Work. Thanks for your attention!

Overkill  ft. AZUL

Music : Janne Hennie & Little Man
Lyrics & vocals : Janne Hennie

A little bird told me you had left this town
And no one knew where you had gone
So many rumors everywhere
They all talked about you, when you weren't there

But little birds can sometimes be fake
You were there, hiding, had made some mistakes
You couldn't show yourself, had so much fear
The little birds made a rumor, that you had disappeared

Sharp tongues on the little birds
They spoke very loudly, made sure they were heard
"What have you done?"
"Why did you leave?"
While you were hiding, the little birds screamed

Little birds can sometimes be fake
You were there, hiding, had made some mistakes
You couldn't show yourself, had so much fear
The little birds made a rumor, that you had disappeared

Fake little birds.....

Fake little birds....

Fake Little Birds

(Music: Hans-Michael Albers, Lyrics: Terry Reeves)
Terry Reeves:  Vocals
Hans-Michael Albers: All instruments, Arrangement & Production

Today, 22nd. August 2025, marks 13 years since our dear brother Bri succumbed to the deadly combination of leukaemia and Guillain-Barré syndrome.  Watching him through 2012, unable to do anything for himself and increasingly confined to a hospital bed is something none who loved him will ever forget.  
He has never been (and never will be) forgotten, not only for the music he created but for the force of nature he most certainly was.  In 1964, our Mum & Dad bought him an entry level acoustic guitar as a Christmas present and his progress on the instrument was something to behold.  By the time he was 18, he’d bought himself a Gibson Les Paul on HP (24 payments of five pounds and thirteen shillings per month) from Selmers in Charing Cross Road, London.  He joined a band, somehow co-opting me in as lead singer at the tender age of 15 (still a schoolboy, no less) and over the ensuing ten years, formed bands of whose line-up I was always a part, graduating from singing to percussion and eventually drums.
There being guitars laying around the family home, Tel took to playing and encouraged by Bri, never stopped.  Fast forward another five years and he too started writing songs so that by ’82, the 3 of us decided to form a band (Root Division) to play them.  It’s a truly special thing to be in the same band as your brothers and recording those songs became something Tel and me still remember with an abiding nostalgia.  No wonder we still talk about those days…
This song started life as an instrumental, written by Hans and of course, it’s brilliant as is but Tel liked it so much, he asked if he could write some lyrics and a vocal melody.  Being a generous fellow, our dear friend from Hamburg said he’d love to hear what Tel had in mind.
His basic idea was to incorporate as many references as he could to Cripple Club tracks, in celebration of the firm friendship we have formed in together recording what amounts to over 50 songs.  There may be a few of you who can spot one or two…
So this is for you, Bri.  We love and miss you, sweet brother.
(Gary Reeves)

Last Summer day reasons
Hamburg always shines
Shadows of Superheroes
Another surprise will come in time
Click toward a pension
From birth but never knew
Surprised to find a blackbird
In the flames as the music grew

Touch wood for satisfaction
CC music every day
Root of strong existence 
Step off the world to feed the phrase
Another Titan message
Titanic stories past
Image of a fraying edge
Never thought hang of time would last

It’s the time, it’s the place
It’s the only performance I can show my face

Last chance for singing
Avoid resistant tide
Pleasing distant garage
Remember 4 to 3 to 5
Stars in space that linger
Soaking up the blue
Palette of sunshine yellow
Mix to green for go - but for who?

T,G & H, Two and you!

LAST SUMMER'S DAY BLUES - CRIPPLE CLUB

ECCE HOMO ( Extrait )

The world was still asleep in the quiet moments before dawn when a polite knock interrupted the silence. When she reached the door, the only sign of a visitor was the faint sound of a carriage disappearing into the distance. On the porch was a single, ornate invitation, its wax seal still intact. As she broke the seal and opened the envelope, she felt a sense of curiosity and mystery. What lay inside was not simply an invitation, but a message that might just change her life forever.

Piano improvisation for a short story scene. 😊

The Invitation

Find Seagull's brilliant music here: @farout-music-studio

Find David's sublime guitar work here: @david-dunhamuser589535203
_______________________________________________________________________________

You know, don't you?  Oh, yes you do.  
You know you're being monitored, observed, assessed by something that knows you intimately.  
Knows you better than you’d like to think.  
Your secondary semi-subconscious once-removed.  
That's why you talk to yourself - or pretend to.  
Admit it - you're not really you, at all, are you?  
In fact, you're not real, are you?  You are watching “you”.  
You are nothing but your alter ego's doppelganger temporarily encased in a piece of warm, wet meat.  
A transient instantiation of a mirrored reflection of some lump of sentience from precisely one, of an infinite number of parallel universes.  

It’s called “conscience”.  

Handle with care.  

You were gifted it for a reason.
_________________________________________________________________________________

"…..Neatly packaged, all my doubts, the rationales and bellyaches,
Wracked without, passion in thrall to humanity's handicap diamond stakes…."
_________________________________________________________________________________

Ghost of a Sense

Yes, I know you.
I can feel your presence.
I can touch you, smell you.
I see you not by sight of eye
And yet I ken that you are I
That vespered wraith that writhes within
To test my faith, try my sin
Push the bounds to cause offence
A moral, soul thing, ghost of a sense recalls myself, so well defined
Entrenched, walls behind, built so sound of dust that crowned the pity, falling soft amiss, 
Deep inside the tears I cry as here I find my self-abyss.

Whispers bringing shadows, filled of secrets therein held,
Memories, morose, piece me still, to wear in time, my wasted face.
And now reside, cast aside, to forge and ever meld,
Of haunting, ringing echoes, that will alone their chime erased.

Ah! But you won't twist me, nor bind me fast, to the sandy doctrines of the misty past, 
With its beards and staffs and crinkled testaments.
My future's sprinkled here present with your crass irrelevance and matters not that sat right there, 
The blackest chasm in my simpling world so spare, 
Where space and time have overspilled the leaking psyche of a crippled mind,
That barely copes, unfulfilled, a crooked, limpid moral health of broken shrines
That hopes to find ....
   .......some worthwhile inner self.
___________________________________________________________________________________

Photo by Marten Newhall on Unsplash

Ghost of a Sense ... with Seagull and David Dunham

Hey… Thanks for dropping by. As a young boy, around sixty years ago, I used to like to listen to old people as they rambled on with stories about their lives. I really enjoyed those stories. I am an old man now, and I tend to ramble on, as well. This song is about that…. as I wake up to a chilly autumn morning. I have been busy ‘buttoning things up’ for winter. Collecting seeds, preparing garden beds, raking leaves, moving stuff inside, winterizing my home, getting winter gear ready, and other such sundry tasks, some of which I had forgotten about, like filling a tub with gardening soil and compost for planting seeds next spring. So I put the tub right by my front door. Ha. I have mixed feelings about heading into another long mountain winter. Throw old age into the mix and boy, am I having fun. I have also been sitting outside quietly, as flocks of birds fly by. Some flocks temporarily stop here to rest and feed, before winging off. It is fascinating to watch the dynamics of the flocks and how different kinds of birds interact. There are high flying geese, cranes and ducks overhead as well. All those birds are vocal, and when I am outside working, I tend to whistle along with them. They don’t seem to mind. The relative harmonious balance of it all is so refreshing to watch. Although a robin, or two, in the mountain ash always seems to be chasing other robins away from the berry laden tree. There are more berries in that tree than all those robins could ever eat, and I watch as the chased away robins sneak back into the tree. Some older birds die here in the yard, as they are no longer up for the long migration ahead. Sad to see. I often find one or two of them, dead each year, huddled peacefully in the deep grass, or hidden elsewhere. It has also snowed several times here in October… Hope you’re doing well. Mark  

ECCE HOMO ( Extrait )

Dominique Le Bars

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