Play That weird Minor |
Daryl Runswick writes: After the success of Chips, the following summer (2007) I came back to Italy with an even bigger project on the stocks. Play That Weird Minor was designed specifically for the One Man Show. By now I had added the piccolo bass guitar to my armoury and the time had come to plan and execute the big work, the synthesis of everything I'd done up to now. It took me all summer, and the mixes had to wait until I got back to London in the autumn. The styles alternate constantly from free improvisation to jazz to rock to concert to avant-garde, but the fractal structure means that every element of the work is unified in a way only classical composers (and few of them) have attempted before. This version includes the 2014 remix of Portico. I've put the piece up as a single audio file because I want you to hear it as a single span of music. To hear individual tracks please scroll to the times indicated. |
[ 1 ]
Portico
Starts 0'00
[Instrumental]
[ 2 ] Don't Just Sit There Starts 7'30
life goes on (till the thunderbolt)
look, it’s a lovely day (and of course that’s your fault)
so what’s to do, kid?
what’s there to say?
hard work, that’s what’s to do, kid
head down and see it through kid
all this worry-worry crap just
gets in the way
so don’t just sit there weeping
the world may be ending but the floors need sweeping
don’t just sit there fretting
the world may be ending but the dinner needs getting
plough on (there’s always a job to do)
now it’s raining fit to flood (and that’s your fault too)
‘cos what’s to fix, kid?
what does any good?
well…
a good time, that’s to fix, kid
I know your bag of tricks, kid
gotta have a good time, see us
out of the wood
(who cares what we write
in this twilight)
so don’t just sit there moping
the world may be ending but my nose needs doping
don’t just sit there praying
the world may be ending but the bank needs paying
and don’t just sit there mooning
the gig starts at eight and my guitar needs tuning
[ 3 ]
Moonstones
Starts 10'00
[Instrumental]
[ 4 ] Spring into
Summer
Starts 13'45
spring into summer, it happens overnight
all of a sudden, air is warm, sun is bright
everyone cheer up, everybody feel alright
spring into summer – overnight
and how I love it, all you women there
all on the same day, you show your bodies to the air
butterfly dazzle, a thousand colours everywhere
oh how I love it – you women there
and it’s not that I forgot what breasts are like
but you’re so fine, oh you’re so fine, so fine
walking down the street in a skimpy top, that’s what I like
oh you’re so fine, you’re all so fine, so fine
and now I swear it, on my mother’s grave I’m swearing it
there are no breasts, no young, no old, no counterfeit
there are none, there are none, which are not exquisite
on mother’s grave – I’m swearing it
when I was newborn you nurtured and you cradled me
now in my manhood you spark an urgent flame in me
beguile me, excite me, till there’s no taming me
or like a newborn, cradle me
my precious darling, this wasn’t in the script
your breast has cancer, you told me and my life just flipped
lost my foothold, I can’t take this, I’m not equipped
precious darling – not in the script
I see you thinking, will he love me still?
hair out in handfuls, my looks all gone and feeling ill
if that don’t see him off, the first incision will
I see you thinking – will he love me still?
I feel so screwed up, so helpless and so angry too
nothing the doctors, nor I nor anyone can do
what makes you woman, that bastard tumour killing you
I feel so angry – helpless too
and I’m begging all the gods of medicine
don’t let it hurt her, don’t let it hurt her, don’t let it
all the ineffectual witch-doctoring – medicine
don’t let it hurt her, don’t let it hurt her, don’t let it
don’t let it, don’t let it
[ 5 ] Titan
Starts 22'30
[Instrumental]
[ 6 ] Words
Starts 27'30
what words of mine would stir you to act – to do?
for is it not so that those who see, do?
what words would shock you that far?
– so far as to do
some act, some crime.
words. words that shout, that cry, that break bones,
that bang heads. pull no punch. jab, slash. no words
of mine, not
mine, but some words that will shock
you so deep that you will go
now and do what it takes.
for if not, we die.
[ 7 ] Chimney
Starts 28'45
what do you want to be when you grow up?
well it’s a bit late in my case – by this stage
what hope is there for any child of the 60s to ever grow up?
well, here’s a wish in any case –
when I grow up – if I grow up – when – if – if I ever do
I want to be a chimney
there’s a small town I’ve been to
with a new housing estate
where there used to be a factory
but manufacturing everywhere meets the same fate
and it’s gone
now this factory had a chimney
brick, beautifully built, tapering, tall
and when they knocked the place down
every workshop, every wall
they left the chimney standing
so here among the housing
‘to meet the young executive’s needs’
stands a tall, useless chimney
on a patch of scrub among the weeds
like a memento
and it towers there amid the squatness
by the squalid mall, alone and high
– and did I see smoke drifting
from its top out across the sky?
ghostly smoking?
and I thought, I’m a chimney, I’m a tall chimney among roofs
but I’m still smoking
I’m a
chimney, I’m a chimney
I’m a chimney polluting you all
they don’t want you to listen to what I’m
belching
they call it acid rain – but I’m still
smoking, yes I am
I’m a
chimney, I’m a chimney
I’m a chimney polluting you all
they don’t want you to listen to what I’m
belching
they call it acid rain – but I point fingers
I was walking in my neighbourhood
with Alison, few weeks ago
and in the usual underpass
she shows me a graffito
and it’s perfect
it’s been put on with a stencil
neat, military in form
the recipe for a perfect life
‘obey, consume, conform’
now you just do that
obey, consume, conform
obey Bush, or whatever B it is these days
consume Coca-Cola, or whatever C
and conform, be the same, don’t rock the boat
don’t be a chimney
anything but that
or be a
chimney, be a chimney
like I’m a chimney polluting you all
they don’t want you to listen to what I’m
belching
they call it acid rain – but I’m
truth-telling
be a chimney,
be a chimney
be a misfit, don’t take all their crap
they still aren’t telling us what they’re
really up to
they’re lining their pockets, they control
us
be a chimney,
be a chimney
do it softly, you don’t have to scream
imagine billions of us bucking their
system
or am I dreaming? – ghostly smoking?
Recorded in Italy, mixed in London/Italy, 2007/14
Engineered and produced by Daryl Runswick.
This composition and these recordings are covered by
copyright.