A wonderful piece inspired by Japanese tradition!

Your Mix 1

On My Mind

Conga and Bass brothers

Turn of Time / Paploviante Open Collaboration Offer 
Paploviante: E-Bass, Music, Composing, Arrangement, Mix and Mastering 
BPM 100
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Turn of Time / Open Collab Offer

Bubba Wants A Moon Pie

2025/6/30

Website

syuppan (出帆)

Une chanson contre la violence conjugale...
A song against domestic violence...
Vocal/intro & Final text : DelhyA  https://soundcloud.com/user-945711181/tracks
Piano/Synth/Arrangement : Régis GAUBERT  musicoman@wanadoo.fr https://soundcloud.com/robspiritduo/tracks
Composer/Arrangements/Guitars/Slide : Philippe SEGUINARD
Lyrics : Guillaume DULER

Lyrics:
J'entends les cris là-haut d'une autre qui se débat , d'une femme qui pour cette fois ci n'est pas moi. Rien ne doit transparaitre , je ne dois pas laisser mes larmes couler et se frayer un chemin jusqu'à mes lèvres scellées . Et même si les bleus sous ma peau se réveillent , je dois les ignorer et agir comme si tout était pareil...
La peur de lui parce qu'un verre de trop
surtout se fondre invisible sans  mots
elle en vit par la force à coté de la vie
prisonnière isolée sans porte de sortie
cécité de son sang et de ses amitiés
ne pas parler se taire rien ne doit transpirer
se voiler d' un rideau de tissus de mensonge
triste jeu de cache cache qui consume et qui  ronge
Et il dit qu'il l'adore...Toujours un peu plus fort... jusqu'à la mort
mentir au soleil quand la lune voit tout
les nuits sont cruelles écrasées de tabous 
la honte qui maquille la vérité trop laide
qui étouffe les cris de ces appels à l'aide
accoudés au silence les sévices bien tranquilles
se prennent du bon temps ils jouent à domicile
au coupable les mains pleines de frappes de raisons
à la victime le doute de fuir sa déraison
Et il dit qu'il l'adore...Toujours un peu plus fort... jusqu'à la mort
le sourire de façade sous des tonnes de semblants
donner le change à celles comblées par leurs amants
vider ses yeux de tout ce qui pourrait trahir
ces miroirs la qui font qu'elle ne pourrait mentir
les bleus des sentiments qui lui cognent à la peau
violence d'un élément qui laisse sur le carreau
un corps vandalisé mort pour la fratrie
tombé au champ d'horreur abattu par celui
Qui disait qu'il l'adore...Toujours un peu plus fort... jusqu'à la mort
des baisers dans la gueule
caresses à poings fermés
d'un amour qui dégueule
de passions débordées
La tendresse des coups
Je ne peux les laisser atteindre ce rivage à nouveau où les vagues d'une mer intérieure continue se brisent en silence...

I can hear the cries of another woman struggling, a woman who this time is not me. I mustn't let anything show, I mustn't let my tears flow and make their way to my sealed lips. And even if the bruises under my skin awaken, I must ignore them and act as if everything were the same...
Fear of him because one glass too many
above all melting away invisible without words
she lives by force beside life
prisoner isolated with no way out
blindness of her blood and her friendships
don't talk shut up nothing must transpire
veil itself with a curtain of cloth of lies
sad game of hide and seek that consumes and gnaws away
And he says he adores her...always a little harder... until death
lie to the sun when the moon sees all
nights are cruel crushed by taboos 
shame that disguises the truth too ugly
that muffles the cries for help
crouched in silence quiet abuse
have a good time they play at home
to the guilty hands full of strikes of reasons
to the victim the doubt to flee his folly
And he says he loves her... always a little harder... until death
the facade of a smile under tons of pretence
giving the lie to those fulfilled by their lovers
emptying her eyes of anything that might betray
those mirrors that make it impossible for her to lie
the bruises of feelings pounding against her skin
violence of an element that leaves
a vandalized body dead for the siblings
fallen in the field of horror shot by the one
who said he adores her...always a little harder... until death
kisses in the face
caresses with closed fists
of a love that spews out
of overflowing passions
The tenderness of blows
I can't let them reach that shore again where the waves of a continuous inner sea break in silence...

© Philippe SEGUINARD/Guillaume DULER  Juillet 2025

La tendresse des coups ( DelhyA - Régis GAUBERT & JIM ) TRANSLATED

Heartache In My Levi's

So nice that my longtime collaborator friend @dough-factory has returned to SoundCloud after a break of a couple years! This is our first track working together since then and it came together in a really cool way. I was inspired by Ryan's electronic drums and bass to lay down some rhythm guitar as well as a few synth leads. Then he came up with some awesome lyrics/vocals that I think captures the vibe of this piece quite well.

Keep an eye out for more from us, we are thinking of pulling together a whole album or EP over the coming months.

Dive

(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

QUE FONT NOS DIRIGEANTS

A New wild ride with my talented friend https://soundcloud.com/billy-korg
Lyrics :-
I wonder what
I was doing
Not a lot
Before all this
I wonder what
Was my calling
Stuck in a rut
Before all this

And day by day
And year by year
It fades away
Becomes unclear

Is this the path I should be on
Now that I'm here

A midnight chancer
A moonlight dancer
A real champagner
An entertainer

Billy Korg / winkandwoo 2025

Before All This

My first 'cover', 2x1 ;) This song is made of variations from the songs 'Bookends' and 'Scarborough Fair', by Simon & Garfunkel. It combines their melodies and chords on 3/4, 6/4. 9/4 & 5/4 signatures, all in medieval folkie jazzy mood, no drums also.
https://soundcloud.com/simon-garfunkel-official: original songs
https://soundcloud.com/burn-it-smith: piano, vocals
https://soundcloud.com/ruizzoidman21centurions: project, guitars, bass, flute, vocals, production

Preserve Your Memories (with burn.it.smith - original songs by Simon&Garfunkel)

A slightly different mix of a track I have posted already. This one has the drums coming in a little earlier in the song. I'll have this mixed properly and mastered at some point.  Lindsey Kay Scott, my daughter,  is singing the lead on this song.

© 2024 Lyrics & Music By Brenda Doss (BMI) and Lindsey Kay Scott (ASCAP)
Another version with the lyrics are here: 
https://on.soundcloud.com/HlK8AfD7cum2rXkYeX

My Home - Remix

My Home - Remix - ft. Lindsey Kay Scott

Does mystical materialism exist? Is it a trend or a concept yet to be explored? Are new products being created under this label? We don't know anything about it here, but we've imagined that such a thing might eventually exist, though we don't know if it's for better or worse.

Approaching Mystical Materialism

This little melody is a quiet tribute to the forgotten craftspeople of the past. It speaks to the slow, steady tempo and the sad, wistful mood. 

My ancestor Samuel Björklund (Bircklenius) was a weaver in Turku 1752-1802.

Story about Samuel and weaving industry here (at the end of the page): https://www-sssry-fi.translate.goog/artikkeli.htm?_x_tr_sl=fi&_x_tr_tl=en&_x_tr_hl=en&_x_tr_pto=wapp&sn=342


The Artisan's Requiem

Pour qui je compte     ( Translated following the French text )

Vidéo :   https://youtu.be/9njE-7si0d0
Texte :           Muette
Chant lead : Philippe J
Choeurs :      Liora 

Il y a des carnets
Et des mots égarés
Tout au fond des tiroirs
Et qu'on n'relit jamais
Parce qu'on est en retard
Et qu'y a toujours quelqu'un
Dont il faut prendre soin
Et ce quelqu'un, c'est jamais soi.

Dans la frileuse Flandre,
Sous les chênes et les hêtres,
Il y a ce tas de cendre
Après un feu de fête.
Au milieu, des canettes,
Des souv'nirs jetés là
Qu'on ramass' les yeux las
Pour les trier plus tard, peut-être.

Alors on compte sur ses doigts.
Un' seul' main suffit quand on s'dit :
Pour qui je compte vraiment ?

Les glacières dans le coffre,
La guitare dans sa housse,
On se serre un peu fort.
Un dernier regard pour
Les lits de mousse tassée,
Et les arbres muets
Mêm' quand l' bûch'ron les couche.
Et chacun r'part de son côté.

Alors on compte sur ses doigts.
Un' seul' main suffit quand on s'dit:
Pour qui je compte vraiment ?

Et puis quand la clairière,
S'éclaircit plus encore,
Qu'on sait par cœur le bois,
Ses pièges, ses réconforts,
Assis sur les souches
On se parle à soi-même
En dénombrant ses doigts.
On se demande : Qui m'aime ? Qui m'aime ?
Et une seule main suffit. 

For whom I count on

There are notebooks
And lost words
At the bottom of drawers
That we never reread
Because we're late
And there's always someone
We have to take care of
And that someone is never ourselves.

In chilly Flanders,
Under the oak and beech trees,
There is a pile of ashes
After a festive bonfire.
In the middle, cans,
Memories thrown away
That we pick up with weary eyes
To sort through later, perhaps.

So we count on our fingers.
One hand is enough when we ask ourselves:
Who do I really count on?

The coolers in the trunk,
The guitar in its case,
We hug a little tighter.
One last look at
The beds of packed moss,
And the silent trees
Even when the lumberjack cuts them down.
And everyone goes their separate ways.

So we count on our fingers.
One hand is enough when we say to ourselves:
Who do I really count on?

And then when the clearing
Grows even brighter,
When we know the woods by heart,
Its traps, its comforts,
Sitting on the stumps
We talk to ourselves
Counting our fingers.
We ask ourselves: Who loves me? Who loves me?
And one hand is enough.

Pour qui je compte. avec Philippe J

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Hello
srp which lives in Japan. I write freely.
Please hear.

syuppan (出帆)

srp

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