Dear friends, with genuine pleasure I’d like to share with you my new collaboration with a highly talented David De Michele. His otherwordly beautiful music is available here: @user-92820487

It’s always a great honour and joy for me to work with David.

Huge thanks to you for listening to this music, we do hope it will resonate with you!

Credits:

Composition & piano performance: Anastasiya Ihnatovich
Arrangement & orchestration: David De Michele

Time Lapse 1 (Ft. David De Michele)

I love improvising and “being in the moment” of creating and playing music at the same time. It’s like taking an impromptu snapshot of a particular point in time, to be remembered later. This work was created late one evening this past week on a very cold, clear evening when the house was warm, quiet and still.  I might revise it in the future, but for now, I like the musical picture and the memory of the peaceful moment it was created.

Beginning (An Improvisation)

Ricochet 128 BPM

RPR09_29

Dancing Echoes

Drunk On Ice

Test for using guitar as midi controller 
https://youtu.be/eaAxrlAB5m8

The End

I always think of Saint Patrick’s Day here in the US as a celebration of the social graces as they involve drinking. We drink together, we laugh and cry together, and friendships typically grow like flowers from those barroom and “parlor” floors. With the big day just a couple weeks away now I wanted to contribute something that expresses my attachment to the many fast friends I hold dear. I dedicate this one to my closest friend who is departed too soon, Rich. Cheers.

Music written by Craig Durgy ©2025
Guitar & vocals by Craig Durgy
Production by Nat Daniels of Gentle Rain Records (including bass, tin whistle & percussion)

Lyrics:

Let’s drink to the morning, 
That peeks through the windows 
And drink as the night melts away
Let’s drink to the memories 
That yesterday knows
And cheers to the friends that remain

I raise my glass cause it’s 
Lighter than toiling
And is drawn to be tested to yours
I drink to the moment 
That we’ll be recalling
And the path to the day it recurs

And if it seems to me, 
It matters not
The hopes and dreams of two old sots
The lesson of time is 
The beverage that binds us
I drink to your smile and our lot

I can see through the weary
As the sun warms your face
And the suds settle down in your glass
Your eyes are not teary
As we take this last taste
And swallow the tears of the past

I raise my glass cause it’s 
Lighter than toiling
And is drawn to be tested to yours
I drink to the moment 
That we’ll be recalling
And the path to the day it recurs

And if it seems to me, 
It matters not
The hopes and dreams of two old sots
The lesson of time is 
The beverage that binds us
I drink to your smile and our lot
I drink to your smile and our lot

The Beverage That Binds Us

Dear friends - YES - another protest song!

Where are we going

I thought one day that the year twentyfive will be fine
the last year was a terrible year
In our country some youngsters did go the wrong way
and where are we going in our sweet land


There are some criminals who lure some boys and girls on the net
they promise them a fortune if they
blow up or kill any person who are standing in their way
ooh - where are we going in our sweet land

The present world order seems to change to a more cruel one
there are dictators who seem to win at the end
the right wings in the politics seem to be prominent
and where are You going America

Where Are We Going  - 2025-03-01 16.43 (Lyrics in description)

in Search of freedom, in care to protect. 

One Teardrop to ripple.

method: vst, mainly, and balabolka TTS - until Jeff plucked his guitar into that magic pedal .... I had to dumb the upload down from wav to mp3 to make soundcloud accept it.

narration: you might be familiar with the lyrics - yes, this is the very poem you have heard on Hakan's Shuffle in a different setting ;-)

image: copyright jo richter (using elements photographed on a theatre in Budapest in 2009)

Poem / copyright Jeff Gardiner and jo richter:

in the nick of time
he gave in to dissent
for the mute perceptive mime
manically made him raise his head and unmaimed hand in mine

praise the unerring rebellion
in subconsentious unison
the empty shells of every single silly little thing
ahh, the knell, the bells, fashioned from our fathers’ coral vaults

selling out, shelling round, all around in disarray
vainly making everybody wane and wade into the fray
with withered, bamboo-watered canes - - - fracking shist
where our homes are still purported to exist

while scattered scraps of all things past, scantily, scantily clad,
protrude and flutter in the wind, strained and restrained by the net
of pleasant pleas - and subltleties are colors bright and crude -
watch the Mad Hatter's stint unwind in minor keys -
i thought that that - that hat that sat so squat- was you

at the academy of sovereignty
where massive piles of bones and crows
dominate the dark demeanor of the distant
tears of laughter, tears of loudly lovin’ laughter, that's exactly what we're after

in the purple land of diffidence
buying purple brands of pale deliverance
in the hidden forgotten region, religion
where forgetting – like neglecting - is an optional behavior
and of course, everybody's carcass, corpse keeps looking for a savior

down by the trodden, the unsavoury sovereign shouted
raw with the rotten game of galactic gallows and thrones
ah the one and only poet of starvation
standing in the market of used emotion

endless aisles, end base piles of sadness
masters mean and dirty and their slaves
bargain bins of binary longing, belonging, unrequited love
there’s a sale on betrayal - two for a dollar and three for none

thought i saw a broken bit of joy that once belonged to me
Though when i had it, it was absolutely free
Now they're askin’ fifty, literally frivolous dollars--

mother of deception of the self
see me on my knees, subordinate
to her immaculate calamity
that has transactional realities cooperate
under towers dark with blinded blinds
of my infantile infinity--

i asked my shadow: would she follow me
like a puppy with a crush, herself a pet invertebrate,
to inclinations more persian, more parisian than her will or mine
where i might find a package deal on Love -

on the moon, it read in slowly moving neon letters -
shadows neither show nor speak concerning primal matters!
no, said I, shadows squall and squeal and squeak

drinking gin on the rocks is not that bad at all
since it became impossible to find an Avacado
or my favorite alcohol
just don't answer when she fails to call-

Drunk On Ice

takechee