Golden Moment

So what now?

The pieces are set,
The board is occupied,
The main actors have taken their positions.

The inevitable is coming,
Fear fills hearts and minds.

Will what many predict come to pass,
Or will fate turn in our favor?

The core of our beings has been seized by the machine.
The art that defined us is being smothered by a flood of perfect artificiality.

Simulation of emotions, simulation of art, simulation of humanity.
Where do we belong?

Where is my place?

And what now?

--------


This is a piece I improvised on March 23, 2025. I was surprised at how well it turned out. However, I didn't know what to do with it. I couldn't think of anything more, so I'm publishing it as is, with minor tweaks (I literally added six notes in three places).

With this piece I am starting a series in which I will be posting rather uncomplicated, short pieces, created out of the need of the moment, under the impression of something specific.

To compose it I used only 3 plugins/sounds
Spitfire LABS Autograph Grand (piano) (free)
Spitfire Originals Intimate Strings x2 (in octave)
And one patch from truly amazing synth from Arturia: Pigments

I hope you like it at least a little bit.

Picture Freepik: https://www.freepik.com/free-photo/woman-portrait-with-blue-lights-visual-effects_26813733.htm

And What Now?

A few months back, anyone landing on this page was extended an invitation to….“come set for a spell in The Blue Room…..when nobody loves you.”  Well, took a while, but I reckon the word’s getting out amongst the broken hearted - this smoky little back-alley jazzabilly joint been seeing some semi-decent crowds lately.  Might have to add a couple more tables over there in that side area where we been storing the old feltless pool table.   

I dunno, maybe there really are a lot of lonely hearts out there, looking for companionship.  But my bet is that the real draw here is the new act on stage, as the house band is now joined by two long-time Atlanta musicians - Herb Avery and his Hammond organ, and Randy Hunter with his saxophone.   

For this version of the house theme song (aka The Blue Room), not only is my fumbly-finger organ solo replaced with Randy’s stellar saxophone, but I’ve put together a new intro, much more fitting for the new instrumentation.   And btw, brother Herbert not only plays his Hammond on the song, but that’s him you’ll hear playing the background lounge piano as the track opens.

So yeah, come set for a spell (whether you're loved or not), and let Randy & Herb show you their stuff.   

(Original version is here:) https://soundcloud.com/bruceavery/the-blue-room?si=36546f88f147427aba1593bf85a7ec1f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

The Blue Room - version 2 w/sax & B3

Written, performed and recorded by Neli CoKo, 2025, all rights reserved. 
Thank you for listening :) 

Original vector graphic: "https://de.vecteezy.com/gratis-vektor/kopf-silhouette"

Synesthesia

(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

© Joe Liberty 2025, all rights reserved

* Subjective observations
* Selective square dance calls
* Abbreviated golden rule

DoRight

Never have a care or want
Sing out a playful tune
By the famed authority 
Of the silver spoon

Weave the Ring
Dosado 
Alamo style

Fortunes of the pedigree
Afforded to few
Among peers so cavalier 
The devil gets his due 
 
Do right
Do right to
Do right
Do right to you
Do right
Do right to
Do right
Do right to you
  
Ladies In
Men Sashay
Couples Trade
Wheel and Deal 
Yea

Write the rules for all the fools
With style and a smile
Another game played without shame 
Leaving all beguiled

Bend the Line
Ferris Wheel
See Saw 

A never ending story
Of natural selection
For all the fame and glory
And progression of succession  

Do right
Do right to
Do right
Do right to you
Do right
Do right to
Do right
Do right to you 

Spin the Top
Walk and Dodge
Box the Gnat 
Shoot the Star 
Yea

DoRight

Hey, it's been a while!  
Glad you're visiting. 

Make Friends with the End

 You know how it feels
When things are getting dire
And you reel, try to run
Just as things are catching fire
And you feel time compress
As your vision starts to tunnel
Swallow hard, catch your breath
Put your hands out just a little
And make friends with the end

You know how it feels
When the sky is growing darker
On your own, look around
As your vision starts to falter
Try to see, feel the ground 
And as midnight is approaching
You give in, let it win
And embrace medianoche
You make friends with the end
You make friends

You know what it's like
When things are getting stranger
And you're sure that it's real
And you know that you're in danger
Makes you shudder just a little
Must be your imagination
Hear a whisper like a riddle
Ride a ghost hallucination 
Ride a ghost hallucination
Ride a ghost

You know how it feels 
When the tide is rising higher
And you paddle, try to float
Then swim out a little further
As the current starts to pull 
And you slow down your resistance
Swallow hard, take a breath
You’ll be in it for the distance
You'll make friends with the end
Make friends with the end

Make Friends with the End

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

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

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.