2024 Anthology CD3

I see him each morning, hair askew, face needing to be mowed with an electric razor, a face wrinkled and weathered by experience and decisions good and bad.  None the less, I am thankful he is looking back at me; I'm still alive and thankful to have another day.  
Peter's poetic meditation begins like a prayer and becomes deeply introspective into how life has changed the man looking back at him.  His initial inspiration was Arvo Part's "Spiegel im Spiegel" but for this reflective journey, he asked pianist Debra Buesking to accompany him which she does  with great feeling and eloquence.  I come into the picture as the one invited to bring them together for a memorable moment, a great honor and a labor of love for two of my favorite Soundcloud artists.  More of Peter's thoughtful music and spoken word can be found @https://soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks, and more of Debbie's beautiful playing can be found @debra_buesking.

Some Words for Mr. Part:

Dear God, just look at the state of you - what the hell happened?
Did time do that all by itself?
Chiselled and scraped with gentle, temporal strength?
Yesterdays now patterned well with telling tales of wear and tear.
Always took such good care that you ticked every health kick box
But all the ticks collect their tocks, bundling up the time we thought was
dangling spare.
And wrinkly skin comes out to play, crafting plots with crumpled neurons
badly frayed, and
Liver spots about the edges worn of happy recollections,
Waltzed away, invisible to the swinging of that penduled clock.
Take your eyes off it for just a minute and you’ve lost a day,
And then a decade’s worth of wry reflections,
Lovingly to fold them up and let them lie in memory’s pocket.
Those lines that contour of your brow, a biography of creases now
And all cut down so very deep.
Each epidermal void crevasse life’s stylus tracks a scratching past
Evinces of a record no mortal hard re-format could delete.
And of your eyes, sallow yellowed at the margins, framed by corvid feet
Rigid-set to well outlast whatever bargained span of life your good Lord
deems replete.
As if your face lampoons of age itself, wrecked and bent
Of scars that trace minutiae, carved in master sculptors’ stone
And none too soon, for just that task and that alone, recording compressed
of the past..
We both know well which ones are smiles and which the pain that heaven
sent,
The former few, soft of the flesh, the many others sunk unto the very bone,
The harshest welt of any sole upon the universal cobbler’s last.
But does it help to so reflect, or but to hurry time’s neglect?
Of such consideration circles wrapped in worry tearing down
All edifice of self respect, the towering pit of pity comes once more to town,
Parades a circus fine of talents, self deprecating jestered clowns
And galloping horses all the while stampede about the rounded ropes
Vespered peace forever sought, just out of reach, concedes of futile, now
confounded hopes.
So what of forward self projection, folding the creases back behind
And out of sight to speculation on future solaced peace of mind?
Perhaps again the crashing wall of fast reality, solid bricked
Determines upward focus but to fall, as if to gravity’s grounded truth
Tricked of consequential solitude, rimed of age, aching of the aged sick
No respite there nor rectitude as once you found in torrid youth.
But perhaps I’m speaking out of turn and out of place,
For though your memories sear and burn as if to carbonise some
worthwhile trace of validity
On that unholy visage lit by lives lived long before….
It matters not and changes nought, not a jot nor yet a thought
For you and I know better than to seek a settled score from comment fair
After all, you are I, staring back at me from the mirror mounted there.

Inspired By Mr. Pärt's "Spiegels" (Peter, Debra Buesking, David; final production)

This is an old song that was orginally called 'Flowers in Your Head'  begun in the late 70s by my dad and his friend. He completed it in the 90s and recorded it with a local band (we can't fully remember it). Having not come up with much myself lately,  I was inspired again when remembering how much I liked this, so I re-wrote it again with some different words,  and probably ruined it. 
Melody by Rob Benson (Verse, Chorus) and The Cobbled Moth (Middle 8, or whatever its called). Lyrics by The Cobbled Moth, and Hoppo (who wrote the first verse and part of second).

Cooler is slang for jail. The Song of Songs is worth a study. Beno of LCR FM is in there and the Azerbaijan link. 

Phone recording 24.12.24. 

When I'm feeling lonely and my life is dead and I feel so useless that my face is red 
And I know I can't get away 
The cooler's in my head 
The coolers in my head, the cooler's in my head no no no no oh
Well I turn the radio way down low DJ D says not to go
Back to Stockholm yeah I'm alone just like they said 
The coolers in my head, cooler in my head no no no no oh
You're locked up in a teacup
Diagnoses all wrong 
Bad domain, rage in vain
For lost Song of Songs
Even though you fled
The coolers in your head cooler in your head wo oh oh oh
Where we met was Persia but the north turned red, later left turned right
The same families led 
And I know I can't get away the coolers in my head 
The coolers in my head, cooler in my head No no no no oh 
Cooler in my head, Cooler in my head oh oh oh 




The Cooler's in my Head (collaboration)

It is my pleasure to share another collaboration with the wonderfully creative and talented Michele Ansani. For a complete translation of the lyrics as well as a description of this work, please visit Michele's SoundCloud page (@MicheleAnsani). While you are there, be sure to listen to his other great compositions!
-------------------------------------------
Lyrics: Michele Ansani
Music: Michele Ansani & Francess Harris
Piano: Francess Harris
Vocals and arrangement: Michele Ansani
Composed by Ansani & Harris (1976-2025)
Posted on SoundCloud: 2025, February 14

Flora [with PianoFran] * By Michele Ansani is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Flora [with Michele Ansani]*

- Picture -
Art Cover Editor. Shyntwirl
Artist Picture. Unknown (Sorry)
Colorist Editor. Shyntwirl 

- Music -
Composer. Shyntwirl
Produccer. Shyntwirl
Programmer. Shyntwirl
Sound Design. Shyntwirl
Synthesizers. Shyntwirl
Keyboard. Shyntwirl
Synth. Shyntwirl
Equalizers. Shyntwirl
Bells. Shyntwirl
Bass. Shyntwirl
Depth. Shyntwirl
Intro & Outro. Shyntwirl
Transitions. Shyntwirl
Reverb. Shyntwirl
Echo. Shyntwirl
Background Synthesizers. Shyntwirl
Wave. Shyntwirl

Ambient / Atmosphere / Electronic / World / Experimental / Synth

PROD. Shyntwirl

Shyntwirl - Welcome To My Universe (Intro / PROD. Shyntwirl)

method: recording, then overdubbing. eventually; a friend I asked encouraged me to just dish it out ;-) I like that dirty, berliny backdrop of the sound, although it comes from quite a different reach of this country and from a moment in time that has very nearly  been forotten  
narration: the poem says it all, does it not?
the title:  https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/compleo#Latin
image: apart from the cropping and the writing, this photograph is a hundred percent unaltered, as is. Copyright jo richter 


poem / copyright jo tichter:

lured into life 
by orpheus' silence
he has been dreaming in verse
just to survive

is there a word to express
both the presence and absence
of beauty, he wonders

observing his fingers
cradle the table's edge
he holds his breath
for just a moment too short

complerit

Chorus] 
Feel the thunder race through your veins 
The sky screams loud breaks its chains 
Dancing with chaos wild and free 
The storm shadow lives inside of me 

Storm shadow

For generations of Ukrainians, invaders have coveted the Donbas and failed to keep it.  The protagonist here is a teenager, fully aware of lost youth and clear as to his cause.  
Music and lyrics by Chris Curtis
Vocals and instruments:  Chris Curtis
Production:  Chris Curtis
Cover design:  Michael Sellers

We heard them coming; it was just before dawn
We sent them running; it didn’t take long

I saw those soldiers charge through that field
My great grandpa knows how this feels 

	Yeah, this is the same land we defended back then
	Yeah, the steppes of Donbas will be freed again

Blood, smoke, and iron share the same smell
We just get used to the fragrance of hell

My sister’s been blind since she was 13
Those F-16’s are her Dancing Queens

	Yeah, we’re not playing no video game
	Yeah, grab some ammo and tell me your name

		Then you’ll see what we say
		We’ll have peace one fine day

Back in the woods where grandpapa died
Is a rusted old Panzer with some bones inside

I killed my first soldier only last Tuesday
They cross that border we make them pay

	Yeah, see the world through my gun scope	
	Yeah, check it out, it’s our best hope

DONBAS

A Night In Heidelberg * Instrumental

Alive (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 01

Zorba (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 02

Battlefield (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 03

Whirl (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 04

Dawning (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 05

Relax (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 16

Embracing the Ride, Frank

guts

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Relax (2024) Anthology CD3 Track 16

Magi©ian™ (Making music make a difference)

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