Dreams And Tinsel

1 TWENTY QUESIONS (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
This arose from funny questions asked by Stafford’s daughters. Add a dash of 80s House groove on Rod’s piano and off it went from there in full funk-pop mode. Paul plays the lead guitar break; Stafford the disco electric guitar octave-chops and a bit of djembe; he also sings lead, the others on backing vox. We had fun, emitting a few mindless American whoops and such. Yes, it has exactly 20 distinct questions - because that’s the kind of smartarse thing we would do.

Do circles have sides? Don’t witches havewings? Is the world in our street? Why do castles need kings?

Why does the show end, when that ol’ fat lady sings? And how can the moon be so close, when it’s so far away?

playing Twenty Questions Why won’t they play by the rules of the game, playing Twenty Questions

How dark is the night? How hot is the sun? And where does it hide, when the daytime is done?

                                                                            

What does 'caring' mean? How do jellyfish have fun? And why does it keep being today, never tomorrow?

There is so much information that a smart kid needs to know / I ask the straightforward questions - why won’t they say Yes or No?

I could use some simple answers, From the grown-ups in command / Why do they smile and shrug and say 'One day you’ll understand'?

So how should we live? To be or not to be? What do we do with the kids’ room? What is the perfect job for me?

Playing Twenty Questions, still playing Twenty Questions / Why don’t we play by the rules of the game, playing Twenty Questions

2 Dreams And Tinsel (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
Our title track started out from a Rod phrase and piano motifs, and we developed from there a slightly sad little Latin-flavoured pop ballad about an urban playboy party god with some personal demons. The piano base builds on a light drum-machine pattern a la Joe Jackson, with real drum frills washing in over, Stafford adding an acoustic guitar l ead break over another acoustic. Rod sings the lead in whimsical Rod fashion, the others adding the whispery boy-band backing vox.

Man of the hour, talk of the town / High in your tinsel tower, you never come down / Life of the party, host with the most

Your nights are all the rage - up and down the coast, every taste on toast / Long as the music’s playing, you’ll never hear them saying…

He’s a self-serenading minstrel, lost in a world of dreams and tinsel / King of the mountain, youth in a fountain

Forever the boy inside the man, grabbing the limelight when he can / Keep on raving, constantly craving dreams and tinsel

Pick of the season, top of the range / Driven Dionysus, smoothly making your pile with a Greek God smile / Women surround you, they wait for your call

But they don’t stay too long – they’d have to play your games, you’d have to learn their names / Long as you keep the pace up, you’ll never stop to face up…

He’s a self-serenading minstrel…

You fall back in your room when the sunlight weighs you down / Hearing those voices in your head, spinning you round and round…

Long as your phone keeps ringing, you’ll never hear me singing…

He’s a self-serenading minstrel…


3 WIDE BROWN LAND (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/T.Latimore/S.Sanders)
Written for a screenplay, “Bloody Colonials”, by Stafford & co-lyricist Tony, about an Irish-Australian convict sleuth. Stafford as Irish con ponders new colonial life – then 200 years on, Paul’s modern Aussie scans where we’ve got to – a mixed report card. Nice mandolin posted to us by our virtuoso Melbourne mate Ken. Rich with lively Irish-Oz sounds – Paul’s “bodhran” on the bass drum, Rod’s flutey keyboards, Stafford’s acoustic. We think it says something about Australia – other than that we still call it home.

Dawn of a new day in strange paradise, we rise with first light as one / We hitch up our chains and we take up our tools, and toil till the long day is done

Far from our homes and the land that we knew, the natural laws we once took to be true

Still the climate’s not bad and there’s fine lands in view, to work when our sentence has run

We follow their orders, we do what we’re told - don’t question the wrong or the right

We’re slaves to an empire where sun never sets – ‘cause God wouldn’t trust them at night

The ground rules keep shifting, the words don’t ring true: “Do what we say, never mind what we do”

Still, the water is cool and the sky is bright blue, and we’ve independence in sight

Drowning in sunlight, jumping at shadows / Struggling so hard to understand, this wide brown land

Dawn of a new age in fools’ paradise, working for fools and their gold

We boot up our screens and we check out the price, where land can be bought, stripped and sold

The arrowhead shirts have got logos instead / Sign on the line and we’ll see you’re well fed

And there’s no time to ask where our dreams might have led - safer to do what we’re told

Working on long leads, drifting in dreamworld / Struggling so long to understand, this wide brown land / Here in this wide brown land…

4 BOYS NEVER DO (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Rod came up with the title and rough tune - it suggested an emotional country treatment, sung by a woman much mistreated by blokes but determined to rise above it. It demanded a girly vocal (and Rod was getting sensitive about the latency gags), so we called up our mate Ruth Conley who’s hung around country music a bit and knew what to wring out of this one. And doesn’t she do it real purdy. Rod & Stafford join her on the boysy choruses and Paul adds some nice harmonised slide guitar.

Here I am lost and lonely, left on my own once more / Standing in the rain with that old familiar pain, and I

Know I was foolish - I just hoped this time he would come through / But boys never do

It’s just the same old story, when I put my heart on the line / And all my faith and trust, it goes crumbling into dust, and I’m

Sick of believing, someday my dreams will all come true

‘Cause boys never do…show when you need them / Boys never do… stay all night

Boys never do… tell you their secrets / Boys never do… treat you right / Boys never do…

Now it’s a time for new ways, no more of that for me / If I can’t depend on them, I’ll make my own damn dreams come true

‘Cause boys never do… show when you need them / Boys never do… stay all night

Boys never do… tell you their secrets / Boys never do… hold on tight

Boys never do… love you forever / Boys never do… treat you right / Boys never do…


5 HURT AND RESCUE (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
An acquaintance in advertising told us a common ad campaign technique is “the Hurt & Rescue” – where you set out to undermine people (especially women), so you can then persuade them that they need your product to become adequate. This breathtaking cynicism inspired a sultry blues, the woman prey to the abusing ad-man. We wanted to start very low on Rod’s bass and build up to crescendo. Stafford does the riffy guitar and Paul the waily lead - and the lead vocal, Rod and Stafford the backup soul group.

You were young, uncertain, ego fragile / He was sharp and his technique was so agile

Hurt and Rescue was the spin, hook you up and reel you in / Hurt and Rescue was the game - underneath, all bleed the same

You were craving image, easy target / He surveyed you as his new niche market

Hurt and Rescue was the lie - cut you up and suck you dry / Hurt and Rescue was the line, it will get you every time

Perfect face and body, perfect life / You’re the all-consuming purr-purr-perfect wife

Hurt and Rescue was the game - underneath, all bleed the same / Hurt and Rescue was the line, it will get you every time

   
6 THE SOUND OF SPEED (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders))
Happy snaps from a terrific Apple Isle trip – complete with Tasmanian Devils, seals, fairy penguins, Tassie friends and their works, mixed-up kid quotes, and the grizzled subterranean wisdom of Dave the Cave Guide. Life changes that took our friends to live there – a move more than one of us are considering following, a bit down the track. S tafford’s hyperactive lead vocal is set against some punchy drums, bubbles of keyboard and exhuberant pings of guitar harmonics.

There are fairies on the sand, standing frozen in the red lights / Devils close at hand - more rabbits in our headlights

As we roar along the road, faster than the sound of speed

There’s a whisper in the caves, many eons in the making / Whiskers in the waves, see the liberties we’re taking

As we race across the bay, faster than the sound of speed

No misunderhearings, it’s a long way down / All at once we’re on shaky ground - better slow down…

There’ll be changes in the yield, deeper than our learning / Destinies unsealed - the tide is slowly turning

We’ll go soaring to the south,faster than the sound of speed…


7 RETROMANIA (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Rod initiated this comic tribute to 80s New Wave – we explored websites to track down some of the big acts and song titles from the era. We found 45 that fitted (though sometimes at full stretch of the rhyming dictionary) this tale of a guy who’s in therapy for his 80s obsession and trying to convince his shrink that he’s over it. The instrumentation of course had to lean heavily on layered synths and Simmonds drums and such. Rod sings the bouffant lead and Stafford the octaved Squeeze counterpoint.

Doctor Doctor, I’m Under Pressure - and you said “Call Me” / Well I’ve been stuck in this New Wave timewarp since 1983

Sit back and Relax, you were AdamAnt - I was shedding Tears For Fears / Don’t want no Band Aid, I gotta make this Madness disappear

Retromania… Ain’t no Pretender, I’m Captain Sensible, I know my ABC
I’ll be a Nu-man, a part of the Human League, I Want To Break Free from Retromania...

Find me a job in a Power Station, let me learn the Art of Noise / Shoppin’ for Specials at the Culture Club, or “Let’s go to the Pet Shop, Boys”

Sweet Dreams are made of this, I gotta Go West today / Check on The Reflex, find me The Cure - but Don’t Leave Me This Way…. in

Retromania… Give me the Go-go, I’m just a Romantic, Don’t Stand So Close To Me
Give me a Squeeze, give me Tainted Love but please set this Fun Boy Free from Retromania...

Planet Earth is a Town Called Malice, in a Clash of Simple Minds / I tried Talk Talk… I cried “A-ha”, but Internet Killed the Video Star

Give me my Freedom, I’ll start a New Order, from Vienna to Berlin to Japan / You’ll never find a Karma Chameleon - convince U2, I can…Retromania…

8 THE BOY WITH THE SUN IN HIS EYES (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Opens with Rod loitering lazily in the outfield at a school cricket match, dropping a catch and making the usual excuse that “the sun was in my eyes”. This seemed a good summation of three lives spent not quite “on the ball” – particularly with romance and work. Visionaries looking for the wider picture – or just idiots not paying attention? A leisurely feel pervades until the slightly tense last verse. We each sing a stanza – Rod in the outfield, Paul missing the romance on the beach, and Stafford daydreaming at work.

A sunny day in the outfield, and he barely hears the call / With his gaze on something distant, he moves too late to catch the ball

His head full of daydreams, his hopes on the rise / His hands to the heavens, stands the boy with the sun in his eyes

On the dunes by the ocean, waits the warmth of the girl / But her smile escapes his notice - he sails by in his own world

His face to the sea-spray, his heart in the skies / His gaze on the horizon, drifts the boy with the sun in his eyes

Another day in the Real World, of action plans and power plays / Still he squints beyond the skyline - to wider worlds and better ways

His head full of stardust, his heart in disguise / His mind on forever, lives the boy with the sun in his eyes


9 AN ACCIDENT IN TIME (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Paul’s brainchild, a rather whimsical backward glance at a brief fling that passes quickly in the night and is then viewed with some regret but too late for any realistic hope of revival in the cold light of day. He’s a good lookin’ bloke and no doubt has much worldly experience at navigating his way through this kind of thing. A floaty, slightly country feel with Paul’s voice wafting over his rising orchestra of overlaid electric guitars and Rod’s (Underlaid? Laid back? Laid out? Best laid off?) piano.

I've seen the sun rise in your eyes - we fell into each other’s laughter / We both knew what to do… and not to do - there had to be a morning after

We rolled into our one night lie, our tale was told before we started / Said all the right things – no strings to hold, I had no cause to feel downhearted

But when I saw you yesterday, caught your eye and held the moment / One step too late to cross that line

Half a smile, you turned away, and the dream was quickly over - we were just an accident in time

I'm an all or nothing kind of guy, I’m not the one for backward glances / Heart on the sleeve, love on the line - now there’s no time for second chances<

I would have loved being with you, more than just a single morning / In laughing eyes the sun would shine

Though I know the moment’s lost, such a sadness in forever - we were just an accident in time

10 BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Rod gets many inspirations from magazine covers (he never actually reads the articles). This one suggested a tilt at the relentless urging of our politicians, promising the world and egging us on to material aspiration at the expense of just about everything of real value. We kicked it along with some tough guitar and keyboard chops and strums, Rod singing the pollie lead and Stafford going a bit black with the scat vox on the tailout. A bit reminiscent of XTC - or possibly just PVC.

Hey it’s great the war is over, now the boomtime can begin / We’ll build a brighter world, we’ll show them what it means to win

Grand houses and apartments, be the envy of the world ! / And better education, for every boy and girl – we’ll have…

Better homes and gardens, spreading to the sea / Bigger farms and cities - life will be much better, wait and see

Hey it’s great the Cold War’s over, it’s time to turn another page / We’ve got to get things back to how they were in the Golden Age - we had…

Better homes and gardens, stronger rules and laws / Safer streets, high standards - life was so much better how it was, we’ll all have>

Better homes and gardens…/Wait and see…


11 IN THE SHADOWS OF GIANTS (version 2) (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/T.Latimore/S.Sanders)
While writing this for our first album, a second version of the music emerged from a Rod/Paul session and sat gathering dust, waiting for a rework. It’s in 4/4 and a cooler feel than the earlier strident folk-waltz, echoing its flutey motif but a different tune otherwise. Paul takes the lead vocal this time, complete with talkie verse. The words were a Stafford/Tony collaboration moved by walking among tall trees – all the more relevant with the forests looking more and more like Peter Garrett’s head, whatever his best intentions.

In the deepest lost valley, the trees stand untamed / Mighty giants, unbridled by saw, axe or flame

Still unbent and unbroken through years without name / When the world was one forest, they stood here

Here the great clock ticks slowly, time under a spell / In a long morning here, Greece and Rome rose and fell

In the silence and shadow, the air seems to swell / With the echoes of eons resounding

Deep in the stillness, it’s clear where we stand / At the edge of a wisdom beyond our command

Feel the once and forever that grows in this land / In the shadows of giants we’re walking

Under layers of leaves on the dark forest floor / Lie the footprints of those who have walked here before

Giant creatures that tramped with a thunderous roar / And the peoples who held this place holy

Deep in the stillness…

In a time bound to come, when the last trees are down / Who will follow this path through a land cracked and brown

Will they stare at our footprints, and wonder, and frown / And think “Oh, how the mighty are fallen”

Deep in the stillness…

Feel the once and forever we hold in our hand / In the shadows of giants we’re walking

12 SONG FOR OSCAR (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Like other sad cases, we get sucked into the dreams and tinsel of Oscars night – and its parade of syrupy songs wheeled out for the Best Song gong. Most are love duets dripping with self-affirmation, all strings, big key changes and the kind of slushy Fender Rhodes piano described by novelist DBC Pierre as “like ovaries hitting oatmeal”. So we penned this parody and got our mate Ruth to croon it with Stafford (typecast and overacting again). All that remains is to sit back and draft the tearful acceptance speech.

I was lost, not knowing where I could belong / Till I decided… to write an Oscar-winning song

It’s gonna be a great one, you bet / And for that real romantic feel, it’s gotta be a boy and girl duet

So here I am, and now you know you’re not alone / As long as I… am simpering in your microphone

With lots of tinkly keyboard… and aching harmony / And big lush chords, and crashing drums... and swirling strings when the chorus comes

And this will be our moment, our Night of Nights draws near

                                                                      

Such mass-produced emotion… can’t fail to raise a tear /This is our song for Oscar - and we’re really gonna win this year

And now the words – of standing tall and being me / And reaching out, to find my special destiny / And Lerv will be the answer, there’s Lerv in every line

It finds a way, it sets us free / It lifts us up, into…a change of key? (Beautiful!)

And this will be our moment…

          

13 (The Truth Will Make You) MAD! (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Stafford found this title in a youth anti-smoking campaign and started to write rap verses about tobacco merchants and military hawks scheming our destruction. We wanted it very hard-edged with a sledgehemmer rhythm section. Paul plays bass here as well as drum kit (over drum machine), all of us chipping in on guitars – Paul channeling Frank Zappa and Stafford Keith Richard in the solo bit. Rod found a keyboard sound called “MAD”, heard at the start and end. We trade raps, fighting each other for the limelight - as usual.

Make you mad, make you mad, make you mad… the truth will make you mad

Down in the bunker, with the maps on the wall, big boys, big toy, makin’ big bad noise / Got the paramount technology, the paranoid psychology,

The economic, ergonomic, macho physiology / Their eyes on the oilfields, minds on belligerence, hands on their sexed-up milit’ry intelligence

Bomb and crush and kill until it’s all gone bad - then you learn the awful truth, and the truth will….Make you mad…

High in the city, in their smoke-free offices, fat suits, in cahoots, makin’ packets… behind a smokescreen of lies… dollars in their eyes…

They’re hookin’ kids, people on the skids, never mind who dies / While you’re gettin’ sicker, they got smiles on their faces

‘Cause they shredded all the traces (got friends in high places) / You don’t know they did it, but you know that you been had
It’s a filter-tip ripoff, and the truth will….Make you mad…

14 BEN BEHAVING MADLY (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
This came from an accidentally Spoonerised phrase and grew into a fantasy about an unreconstructed dad reassuring his son that all the wrongs committed by the male gender were really only perpetrated by one particular guy - the rest of us are off the hook. Includes some of the most contrived rhymes in pop history. We worked up a blonde reggae feel on it, with Paul’s offbeat drum pattern and Rod’s matching bass, Stafford’s guitar chops and f***ing bongo. He sings the lead way over the top – as demanded by the song and his own personality.

Let me sit down here beside you, son, you need your Dad to guide you - I can help you be a real man, never fear

   

Though they say you should restrain it, there’s no reason to contain it - don’t believe the anti-men talk you might hear

When harassment’s round the corner, one face is always there - though it isn’t always easy to see

True, some women get mistreated, son, they’re beaten up and cheated on - but it’s not the fault of you… and… me, no!

It’s just Ben behaving madly - he’s gone quite stark raving, sadly / Something’s twisted very badly in his mind

You can’t blame the whole male gender, if one boy goes on a bender / It’s just Ben behaving madly all the time, all the time

When there’s fighting and destruction, we men all take the rap - though there’s always one man lurking behind

They say millions are left lost, alone, because of male testosterone - but it’s just one male tests positive, you’ll find

There is just one name that comes to mind…(WHO?)

It’s just Ben behaving madly - once again, depraving gladly / ‘Cause he’s really craving badly for some crime

One guy’s faulty mental hygiene shouldn’t damn the whole XY gene / It’s all Ben behaving madly every time


15 FOR SENTIMENTAL REASONS (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
Another phrase of Rod’s inspired a very poignant little scenario of an old man surrounded by personal memories in his antique shop and not wanting certain ones disturbed. Rod sings the part and came up with some nice lyrical chord sequences on the piano, backed by little glimmers of acoustic guitar and light drums. We know bugger all about antiques, so Stafford pored through novels, finding some good items in Georges Perec’s quirky “Life: A User’s Manual.”

Step inside and stroll around, sir - share the treasures of this place / Ebony bookends, Venetian chandeliers, that Russian leather case

But please don't touch that lady, fading in her frame, beside the chased-gold clock on the wall / For sentimental reasons, that's all

She once graced the crimson cushions of this velvet divan / And here's the inlaid Sterling silver bracelet, I pressed into her hand

Oh please, don't lift the lid of that old roll-top desk - those memories rush out with a sigh / The sentimental value, that's why

If you could look through my eyes, you'd come to see / Among the moments lying dusty in the bric-a-brac, her struggle to be free

Go gently through these relics of a precious time - and tip your hat to love, as you pass / For sentimental reasons, at last…

16 THE NEXT BIG THING (R.Crundwell/P.Fenton/S.Sanders)
One for the road, squeezed onto the CD (1) as a suitable closer and (2) because we felt a profound need for self-promotion. Sung by the ageless Paul, it’s an autobiographical chuckle at our own failed tilt at pop stardom. Kind of “Rock and Roll We Gave You All the Best Years of Our Lives, Except the Present Ones Which Aren’t Half Bad Either.” Better a Has Been than a Never Was – or in our case, better a Never Quite Was than a Never Tried. Grandeur may be well beyond us, but we’re quite content with Delusions of Adequacy.

Once upon whenever, when love was all around / When Being There was Where It’s At, I took my songs to town

And every B-grade band shark, and tinpot talent hound / Told me I… was gonna be the Next Big Thing

We cashed in our resistance, we set out on the road / With high boots and sailor suits, we were gonna make the sky explode

With faith or wilful blindness, we beat our chests and crowed / That we… were gonna be the Next Big Thing… the Next Big Thing

We rumbled every highway, we thundered every stage / We beat on every doorway, refused to act our age

We railed against their silence, we raged at the machine / We blew till every dream had blown away

Record deals and magazines, was every would-be rock star’s dream / Slogging through the night to make it all come true

Till back to earth that star-ship comes - clashing visions, different drums / We crashed and burned before we could crash through,
Crash through!

So here we are together, the love is still the same / The songs flow on, no matter now if nobody knows our name

‘Cause it’s better to have missed the boat than never to have played the game / And we laugh to think that we were once the Next Big Thing…

No we won’t give up the Day Jobs, but we won’t get off the stage / We groove on in the basement, still refuse to act our age

‘Cause we may not be young and pretty, and we’ll never be all the rage / But we can still kick it and that’s the Next Best Thing

Yeah we can still kick it and that’s… the Best Thing !


Men With Day Jobs

1 UPBEAT (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
On Bondi Beach one morning Paul was greeted by the spectacle of a statuesque woman doing yoga on the sand. His interest in physical health was much heightened - though he insists there was nothing sexual in it.

You are a revelation, stretching out on the sand / You set the dawn-pulse racing, to the reach of your hand

Livin’ life on the upbeat, just a pace off the main street

Makin’ moves to the new light, takin’ space on the in-sight, livin’... to the beat of your heart

You’re pure imagination, elegant, self-possessed / You make the moves look easy - must admit, I’m impressed

Livin’ life on the upbeat, just a pace off the mean, mean street

Takin’ breath to the wave-time, makin’ salutes to the sunshine, livin’… to the beat of your heart

Lookin’ for life on the upbeat, with you by my side / Lockin’ into the backbeat, keep you satisfied…

You are an inspiration, you work it out so strong / While on the treadmill daily, we all sleepwalk along

Livin’ life on the upbeat…

2 IN THE SHADOWS OF GIANTS (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
Stafford in anthemic overdrive on environment and heritage. Might as well be a tree-hugger while there are still a few of them left. Thanks to legendary a capella -fella Tom Bridges for some vocal harmony ideas.

In the deepest lost valley, the trees stand untamed - mighty giants, unbridled by saw, axe or flame

Still unbent and unbroken through years without name - when the world was one forest, they stood here

Here the great clock ticks slowly, time under a spell - in a long morning here, Greece and Rome rose and fell

In the silence and shadow, the air seems to swell , with the echoes of eons resounding

Deep in the stillness, it’s clear where we stand: at the edge of a wisdom beyond our command

Feel the once and forever that grows in this land / In the shadows of giants we’re walking

Under layers of leaves on the dark forest floor, lie the footprints of those who have walked here before

Giant creatures that tramped with a thunderous roar - and the people who held this place holy

Deep in the stillness….

In a time bound to come when the last trees are down, Who will follow this path through a land cracked and brown? Will they stare at our footprints in wonder, and frown… and think "Oh, how the mighty are fallen"?

Deep in the stillness….

Feel the once and forever we hold in our hand / In the shadows of giants we’re walking

3 FRAGILE EYES (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders / M.White)
This Bird Has Flown (here literally) and Man Copes Badly in departure lounge. Rod’s power-pop crooning is boosted by some nice melody lines from our singer friend Michelle White.

My fragile eyes stare out to sea / Soft hazy skies took you away from me

Mixed emotions wash over me, as I wait in the gate lounge till it’s too dark to see

If I close my eyes, I feel I can reach out and touch you

I’m a ghost in disguise, and all I wanna be, is be there with you…

My fragile eyes stare at the moon / Restless hearts fly away too soon

You shrugged and smiled and you played with your hair / "Be strong", you said, "and I might still be there"

If I was a strongman, I’d stand up and fight this despair

But I’m not the Superman kind, and all I wanna be, is be there with you...

My fragile eyes can’t be concealed / Life goes on, but you feel what you feel

As I drift through a dream world, one thing I know must be real

When I look to the future, all I wanna see, is you in my eyes… my fragile eyes ....

4 EVEN BOWERBIRDS GET THE BLUES (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
Tony’s treatise on the peculiar nesting habits of the male Satin Bowerbird, set to the bleedin’ obvious musical genre with mandatory blues harp and Dr John piano. Apologies to Tom Robbins for the title.

Everybody knows that the bowerbird (the male of the species, that is)

Labours hour by hour to prettify his bower, making very certain that the grandest in the biz… is his

The bowerbird’s a keen decorator, single-minded in what he’ll pursue

And though it sounds bizarre, all his objects d’art

They have this thing in common when it gets down to their hue: they’re all blue

What a mixed-up bird is the bowerbird, his behaviour is bound to confuse

He thinks nothing is duller than any other colour - and the only time he’s happy is when he’s got the blues

The bowerbird has no time for purple - or crimson or scarlet, it’s true

He’s not the kind of fellow to ornament with yellow

Or black or green - only aquamarine to navy, and all points through… the spectrum of blue

The bowerbird’s a blues collector - and you could say he’s paid his dues

‘Cause he’ll decry as B-Grade what isn’t sky-or-sea-shade, and he’s only really happy

When he’s up to his neck in the blues… the Bowerbird Blues

5 SHOULDA BEEN HERE YESTERDAY (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
Line from the 60s surfpic Endless Summer - this old surfie missing more than just the waves. A small tribute to Brian Wilson et al. Rod can’t actually surf to save his life, but we have seen him Wiped Out more than once.

I went down to the sandy shore / Back to the beach that I knew before

Out the back where the big sets roar / But it’s not the same, it’s a different game

The beach party is a brand name ball / They paved paradise, and put up a fast food hall / They just took it all

We never knew the sky was wearing thin / We didn’t see the sharks closing in

We felt the undertow drag us down / Ah, we shoulda been here yesterday

Crazy paving on the boulevarde / But every crooked step is way too hard

Every twist and turn a mystery / To a blonde like me

We never thought the sun would slip away / Wiped out by a Brave New Day

We saw the tidal wave way too late / Ah, we shoulda been here yesterday

Surf’s down, now we turn the page / Endless Summer of a Greenhouse Age

Burning slow / Ah, why did we let it go? / Ah, we shoulda been here yesterday….

6 OASIS (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
Boy seeks-finds-loses-seeks girl in sandy setting. It dropped neatly into a moody marimba and djembe groove which was also seeking a home. The result is definitely not a tribute to Liam Gallagher.

I chanced on her in dry and lonely climes

I thought she was mirage, as she had been the other times / She was.... Oasis

She soothed me with her milk and honeyed balm

And brought the gift of peace, an echo of her calm / Her secret places / Oh, oh, Oasis

Though lost again, with desert round me still

I stumble on alone, for over some next hill / She waits.... Oasis

7 MOTHER ENGLAND (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
We started this "lament" for the Old Country in the 80s and revived it with more modern misdeeds. Along the way it pays musical homage to Brit pop –XTC, Who, Squeeze and a bit of wotever yer fancy.

It’s a sad sad story, Mother England / But I fear you stayed abroad too long

It’s a sad sad story, Mother England – things have all gone wrong

They all bowed low before Your Highness / But we know that empires rise and fall

It’s a sad sad story, Mother England – now you’ve lost it all

Once half the world was in your hands / You sucked the life from foreign lands

You ruled the waves and waived the rules

Then all at once your sun went down / They plucked the jewel back from your crown

And left you standing there like fools, fools, fools…

And now there’s a whole new generation / Who don’t respect the Union Jack

It’s a sad sad story, Mother England – now you can’t turn back

Whatever happened to the Land of Hope and Glory? / Still rattling your sabre near and far

You were born to rule, now you can’t even fool… Britannia / Fool Britannia…

8 THE GREAT DIVIDE (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
Tony would call this a touching topographical metaphor – being one of them erudite bastards. We set his wistful words to a melody which floats in, lingers for a bit, then drifts away again out of reach (sigh!).

The things I should have said to you, I kept inside / They were not things for shouting, across the Great Divide

I thought I gave some truth to you; you think I lied / My truth was lost in emptiness, across the Great Divide

I felt my love flow out to you / I sent my heart to be my guide

Hoped it would find a path towards you, across the Great Divide

But we are all so far apart, the gap is wide / Lonely strangers in the distance, across the Great Divide

9 DROP ME A LINE (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
The modern office goes to some lengths to make the computers talk to each other - so the people don’t have to. This guy carries the principle well into his personal life. Paul is so laid back here, he’s barely breathing.

I got your last communication / Re our most recent conversation

I understand your consternation / But think about mine

It might be my imagination (but I fear) / Could be a messy complication (we’ve got here)

Can’t really break my concentration (this time of year) / So drop me a line

Why don’t you… drop me a line / And I could get back to you sometime

Maybe your people could talk to mine / And we could work something out

Don’t mean to cause a confrontation (but you see) / I have this minor reservation (re you and me)

Your immature infatuation (won’t let me be) / Wasting my time / Why don’t you… drop me a line…

So let’s get past this altercation (such a shame) / Help find a win/win situation (play my game)

Just tell the kids I’m no relation (change your name) / And drop me a line

Why don’t you… drop me a line…

10 TWO (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
Stafford’s celebration of chalk and cheese in funk mode. A.A.Milne’s Piglet said it best: "It’s much more fun with two." We like to think of this one as catchy – though it’s been pointed out that so is cholera.

You shoot straight, I dance round / We get up, and down / You stay young, I’m born old / We blow hot, and cold

But we know... Two hearts can beat together / Two minds can shake it down

Two lives can be so much better / Than life all alone with the mad world raging round

I want still, you want loud / We need space, and crowd / You move fast, I go slow / We get high, and so low

But we know... Two dreams can linger longer / Two flames can be twice as bright

Two hands can hold on stronger / Here with a touch and a spark on a cold dark night

You think this, I know that / We live lean, we grow fat / I get dark... you want light / We go wrong, and so right

But we know... Two hearts can beat together…

11 FRIENDLY FIRE (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / T.Latimore / S.Sanders)
Passion goes critical as we lurch deep into country tearjerk terrain. Casting for rhymes, we found "inferno" rhymed with "Kernot" – but couldn’t find a rhyme for "Gareth", so that was best left alone.

On a cold night in a slow street, by the flicker of a broken neon light

Caught your glance of invitation, softly smould’ring like an ember in the night

I was drawn to the fire in your eyes… blazing bright

From a discontented winter, I took shelter in your welcoming glow

Striking flint above your tinder, sending sparks against the darkness and the snow

Breathing life on the heat of a fire… burning slow

Friendly fire / drew me in from the frost

Between the darkness and desire / I found your flame… and I was lost

Barely mindful of the danger, never heeding all love’s lessons we had learned

Fanning flame into inferno, in the heat of wild abandon we burned

We ignored every warning in sight / As we poured on the petrol full-flight

Till it seemed all the world was alight… no return

Friendly fire / Raging out of control

Lost in our all-consuming pyre / Destroyed by a flame… too hot to hold

Friendly fire / Back in this No Man’s Land

Between the wasteland and the wire / Trying my best to understand… friendly fire

12 CRUISING IN FULL COLOUR (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
A motor magazine cover inspired this cheerful ditty of coming to terms and getting a (new) life. Kind of Oh Darling in glitter. Just for the record, Rod isn’t - but some of his best friends are.

I was wasting my time / The weight of the world on my mind

Now I’m out of the darkness, and into the light / Gonna be different this time

I was waiting to be / Looking for love to set me free

Now I’m out of the backroom, and onto the street / No more disasters for me

Now I’m cruising in full colour / Wishing the night would never end

Cruising in full colour / Back in the bright lights again / Again and again

I was living under a cloud / Now I’m dancing and singing out loud

No more deception, I am what I am / Open and carefree and proud

‘Cause I’m cruising… in full colour / Wishing the night would never end

Cruising in full colour / Back in the nightlife again

13 GET INTO THE CAR AND GO (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
Paul’s enigmatic tale of turbulent tourist romance among the historic and tide-swept Normandy cliffs. Mind you, he thinks Victor Hugo was that hunchback who founded the Huguenots.

I’ll keep a weather eye out for you / I’ll seem to know just what to do

Up on Saint Michel, to the battlements we flew

The walls were calling out to me / In voices of antiquity

That all the love we’d make, would set us free to start anew

We shouldn’t have to try so hard, easier to go with the flow

Before we are stranded here, we could get into the car and go

Racing on before the tide / As sun and moon kiss and collide

Crescents on our path, flanked by conquest overgrown

Where Hugo dreamed of ageless beauty / You go dreaming aimless need

Every mad mistake, a pointless contest of our own

We shouldn’t have to run so fast, easier to stand where we know

Before we are swept away, we could get into the car and go / Get into the car and go with you…

14 REFUGEE (For Mercy’s Sake) (R.Crundwell / P.Fenton / S.Sanders)
If they’re seeking "asylum" here, they’ve obviously come to the right place. Sing along with Stafford against the xenophobic madness. Thanks to our mate (and guitar legend) Colin Watson for a nice pre-mastering job.
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Knock, knock! Is there anybody home? / I’m waiting on your doorstep, so tired and alone

I have run through the fire, and braved the stormy sea

Lost home and friends and family, to change my destiny

Now I stand at the shore of a new world / Put your hand to the door, turn the key

I am one in your millions / I have come so far to be free

I am the voice in every wilderness / Crying, For mercy’s sake help me… Refugee

You have a green and golden land / The sun of boundless fortune lights up your shining sand

and they say that your people are quick to understand

and when someone’s in trouble, you’ll lend a friendly hand

So what’s this I hear about "security"? / What could you have to fear from me?

I am one in your millions… / For mercy’s sake help me, a lonely refugee…