This is a nice track.  The sounds are so clear and crisp.  Bravo!

This song was written in Nov 2021 during a composition challenge, in a limited time (4 hours). At this time, it was obviously a very small part of it, blurred in reverb, not mixed and sung in only one shot. 
After some digging and mixing, I'm pleased to show you here the entire song. As usual, my voice is not supposed to be definitive here. I just want to show the intention. Any collaboration proposal with a singer is welcome.

* Richard Gonfrier* copyright ©. 2023

Never Say Goodbye

Done in the style of one of my all time favourite old bands, Pink Floyd.

Out of the Darkness

Counting Stars *vox

Buy/stream the album here: https://thetiredhorizon.bandcamp.com/album/sonnensaiten

Tools used: Austrian Audio OC818, Warm Audio Tone Beast, Washburn Acoustic, Bodhram, Violin (effected), my shitty voice. 

Mix4/Master

Sunshine (190724)

Blue Suede Shoes

Here is a song (an old-fashioned ballad) composed and recorded in 1998. I didn't feel the need to add anything, except for the vocals in places where it was too low in volume. The song journay now is over, I hope: from the Korg to a CD, from the CD to a tape, from the tape to the PC, from the PC to SC.
Cover picture is from Pietro Corrao.

Because of the bad English translation, I add something about the story the song tells (that in part was inspired by a short fable I published only in 2003). Martina is a servant of a rich man; she is a poor, widowed woman, the dreamer and deceived mistress of a no-good sailor who is now in prison for stealing everything she had.

ENG / ITA LYRICS

furious Martina 
cuts potatoes and guesses
who knocks at the door 
who brings silver to the master 
at six in the morning
curious morning
fancies and outbursts 
not Martina's habit
to follow the footprints left by cats 
on frost roofs

but Martina thinks back 
to summer nights 
tales of fairies
to encounters 
to evenings spent 
dreaming of ships that have sailed away
Martina gave me the house keys 
the photos of her children and of her as a child
Martina used to run on skates 
and often fell first...
furious Martina

if I marry Martina 
we'll have a party in the hills
I'll give her a song
a rose a raspberry 
and a starfish
jealous Martina 
herbal teas and hot flashes
not Martina's habit
stringing necklaces 
waiting for the snow to come
hidden in the cellar  

but Martina thinks back 
of burnt nights 
to summer tales
to encounters 
to evenings spent 
dreaming of ships that have sailed away
Martina gave me the silver from home 
the photos of her children and of her as a child
Martina ran on skates 
and often fell first ...
furious Martina

haughty Martina 
turmoil and bells is not like Martina
to follow the tracks left by thieves 
escaped into the hills
if I marry Martina 
we'll have a quiet party
I will give her a song 
a dirge and the sermon 
of the priest of this prison 

but Martina thinks back 
of burnt nights 
to summer tales
to encounters 
to evenings spent 
dreaming of ships that have sailed away
Martina gave me the silver from home 
the photos of her children and of her as a child
Martina ran on skates 
and often fell first ...
furious Martina

----

furiosa Martina 
se taglia patate indovina
chi bussa al portone 
chi porta l’argento al padrone 
alle sei di mattina
curiosa mattina
mattane e caldane non è da Martina
seguire le impronte lasciate dai gatti 
sui tetti di brina

... ma Martina ripensa 
alle notti d’estate 
ai racconti di fate
agli incontri 
alle sere passate 
a sognare le navi che sono salpate
Martina mi ha dato le chiavi di casa 
le foto dei figli e di lei da bambina
Martina correva sui pattini 
e spesso cadeva per prima...
furiosa Martina

se sposo Martina 
faremo una festa in collina
le regalerò una canzone 
una rosa un lampone 
e una stella marina
gelosa Martina 
tisane e scalmane non è da Martina
infilare collane 
aspettando che arrivi la neve 
nascosta in cantina  

... ma Martina ripensa 
alle notti bruciate 
ai racconti d’estate
agli incontri 
alle sere passate 
a sognare le navi che sono salpate
Martina mi ha dato gli argenti di casa 
le foto dei figli e di lei da bambina
Martina correva sui pattini 
e spesso cadeva per prima ...
furiosa Martina

ritrosa Martina 
buriane e campane non è da Martina
seguire le tracce lasciate dai ladri 
scappati in collina
se sposo Martina 
faremo una festa in sordina
le regalerò una canzone 
una nenia e il sermone 
del prete di questa prigione 

... ma Martina ripensa 
alle notti bruciate 
ai racconti d’estate
agli incontri 
alle sere passate 
a sognare le navi che sono salpate
Martina mi ha dato gli argenti di casa 
le foto dei figli e di lei da bambina
Martina correva sui pattini 
e spesso cadeva per prima ...
furiosa Martina

------

Music and lyrics by Michele Ansani (1998).
Posted on SoundCloud: 2024, August 17.

Furiosa Martina **

He dreamed of writing the great American novel
But when he tried to write his wheels just spun and spun
So he started doing book reviews to pay the bills
He became the literary equivalent of Atilla the Hun
Brutally criticizing, trying to find things to hate
He became a critic because his work was second rate
It takes years of work to write hundreds of pages
Each author thinks they’ve written a book for the ages
He skims though each manuscript in less than ten minutes
Reviews don’t pay that much so he has to set time limits
He pushed himself to the limit, day after day
100 pages per hour going down motorway
Words, words, words, words, words, words
Words rebel – stretch and widen
they hide between the lines
they crowd, they crowd, they become too vague
darken him, irritate him, push him - out of the margin,
The words all swirl together and he mutters to himself
He sits at his desk for hours. It’s not good for his health
He says if you don’t like my reviews, you can tell me to go to hell
To hell, to hell, you can tell me to go to hell
Sometimes if a good book made him jealous and it got under his skin
He’d write a bad review, try to send it to the discount bin
And every day his reviews grew more and more over the top
Like a shark in bloody water, he was unable to stop
And then one day he was overrun by a train of syllables going counterclockwise
And question marks appeared as the words blurred before his eyes
The words on the page now felt empty
He’d expended all his rage
The meaning of words was inverted
He was trapped in a hopeless cage
He viciously pointed out the flaws
Of all his contemporary peers
He burned his bridges and when he fell
his victims erupted in cheers
Words, words, words, words, words, words
Words rebel – stretch and widen
He said if you don’t like my reviews, 
you can tell me to go to hell
Now he works as a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman and that’s not going well
To hell, to hell, he told them to go to hell
He saw the trainwreck coming but he ignored the warning bell

The Ballad Of The (former) Literary Critic [lyrical collaboration with Michele Ansani]

'aubabe'
https://www.instagram.com/one.man.verity.show/reel/DBSjGuCuE-H/

note: the title is a play on the term 'aubade' of which I promised something similar to my sweetheart. 

Babe, I love you more and more
with each passing day.
Babe, I want to hear
every word that you have to say. 

I want to know of your endeavors. 
I want to hear about your days.
I want to be with you forever.
Or, until nothing remains. 

Babe, you know I love you
each passing second of each passing day.

Sunshine (190724)

The Tired Horizon

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