1. |
If The Russians Had Won
02:06
|
|||
|
If the Russians had won the cold war
There’d be peace throughout the land
There would be no austerity
Just a glorious five year plan
All the bankers would be miners
And profits/prophets would be banned
If the Russians had won
Friday night in the union hall
You might cast a glance at me
I might be looking your way
There’s just a chance our eyes would meet
And the red flag would fly above us
There’d be the sound of marching feet
If the Russians had won
We’d gather in the market square
Men and women, girls and boys
From speakers tied to lamp posts
We’d hear the leader’s voice
Telling of great victories
And we’d all damned well rejoice
If the Russians had won
If the Russians had won the cold war
I’d have asked you to marry me
We’d honeymoon in a cold grey room
In a hotel by the sea
And one day I’d tell our children
About the way it used to be
Before the Russians won
If the Russians had won
|
||||
2. |
Lance Armstrong
02:31
|
|||
|
Ask me how I’m feeling
I’m freewheeling
Where I come from, we don’t know how to lose
Call it a seventh sense
measured in dollars and cents
If you don’t like it, read the name on the soles of my shoes
The gun goes off in my head
It’s the sound I dread
The leader or the led? All eyes are on me
Time to go out in style
To ride one last trial
Ninety seven miles to the Champs Elysées
Hurt lasts a minute, a day, a year of pain
Losing lasts until you win again
Who can ever know
What makes a good man throw
Everything aside for the sake of winning?
Still the darkness grows
Through my skin and bones
I’m a man more sinned against than sinning
What’s turning these wheels
Blood sweat and steel
A heart that cannot feel itself pumping
It’s nothing if not real,
The pedal and the wheel
Ask me how I feel, I feel nothing
Cover yourself in glory and it’s never enough
When you’ve made the money, you can do it for love
|
||||
3. |
Jack London (1913-1964)
02:27
|
|||
|
The spindle goes around
A linen sheet hangs down from the wall
He opens his mouth
But doesn't make a sound at all
Focus on the challenger, cut to the crowd
Back to the ring, microphone drops down
Touch of the gloves, stand face-to-face
The picture wavers, stalls and shakes
He waves his fist at us, and walks away
Her cigarette burns down
She waits outside the chapel in the rain
It's taking too long
But she keeps them all waiting just the same
Stops to remember a day long gone by
She takes a deep breath, then steps inside
He's still in uniform, she's dressed in white
If you do something, then do it right
The war is over, now it's time to fight
The boys over here were too easy to beat
Too straight with the left, too slow with the feet
Knock them down and be sure to retreat
To a neutral corner
She thanks you for your time
And shuts the door behind you as you leave
You can worry all you like
But she's not the one who's crying, actually
Everyone's waiting to shake your hand
And talk about the time they saw your old man
Down the gym or at the Albert Hall
You know he wouldn't be impressed at all
He'd say: “You see one bloody fight, you've seen them all.”
The boys over here were too easy to beat
Too straight with the left, too slow with the feet
Knock them down and be sure to retreat
To a neutral corner
|
||||
4. |
Bones
02:23
|
|||
|
Wednesday night in the Hare and Hounds
Upstairs, fifty chairs, entry two pounds
Janet on the door says there’s room for more
So get your arse inside and sit it down
Floor singers welcome if you sign the sheet
Get up onstage or else sing from your seat
Don’t be scared, Janet says, we’re all here
To sing and play, so get up on your feet
Here’s a farmer marching off to fight Napoleon
And a servant girl, big with the master’s wain
A rebel named McCann headed for Van Diemen’s Land
In three verses and a chorus, you can make them live again
Let their bones speak tonight
Let them whisper, let them cry
Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes
Let their bones speak tonight
Ballads, Irish sentimentals, any style
Rock’n’roll, music hall, make us cry or smile
Sing one of your own if it makes you feel at home
We’ve not had a new Bob Dylan for a while
Janet used to sing the blues while Johnny played the slide
But now she just listens, ever since old Johnny died
Soon we'll all be gone, all that’s left will be the song
Sing it loud if you can’t sing it right
Here’s a cotton weaver and a cotton picker
A fishergirl and a coal miner’s wife
A lonely dockside whore, a dustbowl troubadour
A ploughboy, a cowboy, you can bring them back to life
Let their bones speak tonight
Let them whisper, let them cry
Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes
Let their bones speak tonight
|
||||
5. |
Knock It Through
02:44
|
|||
|
We’ve cleared out the bedrooms,
Piled the boxes in the boxroom,
Wiped the walls and ceilings, washed the curtains,
Let the light in on this gloom.
My girlfriend’s pitching in
In the bathroom and the kitchen.
Doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty,
She’s pretty too
Downstairs Mr Thomson
Of Tindall, White and Thomson
Is showing round a couple. I hear him say:
“You could knock this wall through”
We’ve left out some pictures
On the wall in the kitchen
Try to create an atmosphere
A world in black and white
All the men in suit and ties
That’s what they did around here
I remember Mr Thomson
I was friends with his youngest son
He used to play 'Desperado' by the Eagles
And smoke small cigars
It’s a small world we live in
We might as well give him
The chance to sell this old house
Before it falls apart
Take it from me
it’s a prime opportunity
To do what you want to do
If you knock it through
I can hear him whispering
To the couple in the kitchen
I’m imagining his next line
It’s a steal and it’s a bargain
They’ve dropped it twenty thousand
To let it go for that would be a crime
I pick up a picture
Of my mum and dad together
My girlfriend puts her hand on mine
I think I might propose to her
When this is all over
Give it just a bit more time
Downstairs Mr Thomson
Of Tindall, White and Thomson
Is banging on about hardstanding
And parking out the front
Carports and extensions
And a room for the children
It’s a pebbledashed box with a garden, Mr Thomson
And that’s what they want
Buy a bath made for two
Turn the loft into a bedroom
Do whatever you have to do
To make it new
You can knock it through
|
||||
6. |
Sea Glass
01:12
|
|||
|
One day it will all be like this
Worn down, opalescent
Indistinct, collectable remains
Stone, shell, glass, china, brick
Rust and plastic
Nestling in sand, clay, coal
Preserved in coarse conglomerate
One piece, held up to the greying sky
Kidney-shaped, pink and smooth
Framed by small fingers, face proudly
Turned to the wind. Our girl
Keeps it safe
Wrapped in orange polythene
To be displayed or used, later lost
By things that are extruded hot
Will our civilisation be known
One in millions fossilised, the rest
Broken up and recycled
Except plastic
Sculpted by erosion, melted
Reformed by continental drift
Waves break on groynes, sending up spray
Blown ashore, it rains down
She squeals and scampers. Distracted
By piddock holes and green glass, I say
Don’t get cold
She pulls her hood up, it blows off
She slides on her knees in pebbles, laughs
And tongues a loose tooth
|
||||
7. |
Old Man Walk
02:29
|
|||
|
It’s in the way the old man walks,
Stiff around the hip,
With a roll of the shoulder
Every other step,
And on lips that blew ten thousand nights
with an eight-piece band,
There’s half a smile that says:
“I’ll keep going, more or less
Until the hourglass runs out of sand.”
It’s in the whip of the wind
On a warm spring night.
It’s in the winning of the war
It’s in the one left to fight.
It's in jumping up on the back of a barrow,
playing Run Rabbit Run.
That way and this,
The conga lines twist.
Don’t stop until you see the sun
Snap of the fingers, click of the heels.
King of the swingers, Bold Grenadier.
Hip to Mingus, Monk and Miles.
It boils down to the blues,
It’s a feeling, not just a style.
It’s in the glance at the script,
It’s in the glasses on the head.
It’s in the chauffeur-driven car,
Pushed-together double bed.
It’s wondering if this is all
as stupid as it seems
Blue jokes and blue notes
For a crowd of old folks
… Let’s meet the teams.
Old man walk, old man walk.
|
||||
8. |
Friday (Sally Says)
03:33
|
|||
|
Sally says: "Take a look on the shelf."
Sally says: "That’s where I’ll find myself
one day, if I keep up this ridiculous pace."
Josie rolls her eyes just a little,
checks herself in a compact mirror
says: "How could I possibly improve upon this face?"
Sally throws a blue down her neck,
picks up a red and says: "Ah, what the heck."
Rubs her eyes, says: "Where’d you
get these, Josie babe?"
And Billy Mac says:
"They never went out dressed like that in my day.
They never let them out looking like that in my day."
They call Josephine the queen of France.
They call Sally 'Sally' because she can’t dance.
Meanwhile Billy Mac's not been seen outside for days.
Taxi tips them out on Broad Street.
A quick one now before the hotel beat.
"Something large, cold and white please," Sally says.
Then to the barman: "Don’t bother, son.
I may be cheap but I’m not as much fun
as I look, now give me a drink and wipe that grin off your face."
And Billy Mac says:
"They never went out dressed like that in my day.
They never let them out looking like that in my day.
Anywhere else but here, you’d think it was Friday."
"I bet Billy Mac’s got a glass to the wall,"
Sally laughs as she falls into the hall.
Turns around to find Josie conspicuously missing
Out of mind and out of sight
She doesn’t need Josie or a man tonight
Blanket from the bedroom, bottle from the kitchen
Sun comes up over the rooftops
Shines in Sally’s eyes and it won’t stop
She shouts: "Hey Billy, put the kettle on, if you’re still listening."
And Billy Mac says:
"They never went out dressed like that in my day.
They never let them out looking like that in my day.
Anywhere else but here, you’d think it was Friday."
|
||||
9. |
||||
|
He was just twenty-seven when he packed up his suitcase
Filled with fresh ironed cotton clothes
Kissed his mother, said goodbye to the old place
Kicked the mud off his heels, set off down the road
He drove for hours until he reached his destination
Found a bed in a room with a view
Found himself a wife who would last the duration
And a job ‘cause a man should have something to do
As the years passed, he became well respected
Moved to a house that was stone-built and sound
He stood for election and duly was elected
Swore an oath to God, the queen and the pound
In power he strove to protect England’s highways
Secure her borders from foreign ingress
When rarely he spoke he would say: “This is my way
Of serving my country. I have no regrets.
When the river’s coming over
He’s preparing for a drought.
When the sirens are all blaring
He says: “What’s all this about?”
He’s got his hand in your pocket
But won’t pull his finger out.
He’s the King of Nothing Happening
Of that there is no doubt.
When the time came to stand up for justice
And the people demanded their voices be heard
He smiled and he said: “I’m afraid that it just is
A sad situation, it’s the way of the world.”
One dark, stormy night he’ll be called up to glory
Heart attack or a stroke I suppose
We’ll thank the Lord it’s the end of this story
Where nothing happened - now let’s watch him go.
He’s the Earl of easy answers,
He’s the Count of ‘count me out’,
The Prince prevaricator,
The Baron of bailouts,
The Laird of laissez-faire,
The Doyen of ‘do nowt’.
He’s the King of Nothing Happening
Of that there is no doubt.
|
||||
10. |
The New St.Peter
02:25
|
|||
|
I never was one for singers
Give me a big band any day
Clarinets and saxes stand
For the Moonlight Serenade
My dance card is looking empty
I've got two left feet anyway
The crowd has all gone quiet now
And here am I alone on the stage
I used to watch the river
I swam it once, you know
I used to dream I'd sail the seas
And feel the trade winds blow
I see you thought the same thing
We all do, I suppose
It's not a crime to daydream
But it's time I got on with the show
To all the new faces who made it tonight
Take your seats, don't wait by the door
The floor is sprung and the night's just begun
Here's a welcoming round of applause
Looks like your time is over
And I see that you're afraid
You think you know down in your soul
There's nothing left to be said
You never listened to me before
But I think it's time you did
And put away your worries now
Admissions have all been paid
The microphone crackles like kindling
The mirrorball dazzles my eyes
So it seems it's down to me
To close the show tonight
Maestro, strike up the rhythm
And someone dim the lights
I never was one for singers
But I'll sing for you tonight
|
||||
11. |
She Called Your Name
02:11
|
|||
|
I look you in the eye
And I tell you it was fate
It should have been a kiss goodbye
But then came the raid
To twist the iron rails
When the bombs came down like hail
And a goodbye kiss could be forever
Sometimes it’s hard to keep it
At a kiss, you understand
She may be yours in the eyes of God
But me, I’m just a man
I’m guiltier than Cain
But I don’t wish it away
Even though you won’t forgive me, not ever
Tear up my photograph
Burn it, smash the frame
All I ask is, you take her back
Because when she woke up in the night
She called your name
It could have been a GI
You want to watch those refugees
Miners, Quakers, conchies
Anyone but me
But I won’t take her away
And whatever you might say
The loving that she craves
You can give her
I’ll drink this beer and go
Leave you with your pride
For your comrades who marched for home
And the ones who fought and died
And when November comes
You’ll march to the drum
I’ll just hang my head and wait for winter
|
||||
12. |
David & Suzannah
07:41
|
|||
|
I look you in the eye
And I tell you it was fate
It should have been a kiss goodbye
But then came the raid
To twist the iron rails
When the bombs came down like hail
And a goodbye kiss could be forever
Sometimes it’s hard to keep it
At a kiss, you understand
She may be yours in the eyes of God
But me, I’m just a man
I’m guiltier than Cain
But I don’t wish it away
Even though you won’t forgive me, not ever
Tear up my photograph
Burn it, smash the frame
All I ask is, you take her back
Because when she woke up in the night
She called your name
It could have been a GI
You want to watch those refugees
Miners, Quakers, conchies
Anyone but me
But I won’t take her away
And whatever you might say
The loving that she craves
You can give her
I’ll drink this beer and go
Leave you with your pride
For your comrades who marched for home
And the ones who fought and died
And when November comes
You’ll march to the drum
I’ll just hang my head and wait for winter
|
||||
Horne's Demo Shop Edinburgh, UK
Under the counter at Horne's Gift Shop: recent songwriting demos and an archive of my time playing in other people's bands.
Thanks to all those concerned.
Dig here for deep cuts.
Proper releases are at jonhorne.bandcamp.com
... more
If you like Horne's Demo Shop, you may also like:
Sorry I'm So Sensitive
by Bea Stewart
The second EP from Northern Irish singer-songwriter Bea Stewart runs from gentle folk to pillowy pop ballads, all perfectly executed.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Mar 26, 2024
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Mar 19, 2024
go to album
Six and Forty-Six
by Riccardo La Foresta & James Ginzburg
Percussionist and sound artist Riccardo La Foresta joins musician and producer James Ginzburg for a fluid collaborative experiment.
go to album
The Room
by Fabiano do Nascimento & Sam Gendel
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jan 9, 2024
go to album
Stirring Americana set to acoustic arrangements and topped by the legendary Alice Gerrard’s lovely, world-wise voice.
go to album
Michelle Stodart’s folk music captures hope in melancholy, addressing the transformational aspects of the most challenging times.
go to album
