Ballad of theWandering Troubadour

Ballad of the Wandering Troubadour

(written around 2004 I think. Photos of me by Kev Taylor and Dave Morgan)

I’ve been a wandering troubadour it’s part of what I do

I’ve sung my songs to all kinds of folks and I have listened too

It kept me sane when I felt the pain could somehow overcome

Cause when I returned I found that I had learned there is good in everyone

In the villages of Normandy with my friends who live down there

Talking rock ‘n’ roll on calvodos when there’s music in the air

A tango guitar in the pastis bar on a Barcelona night

Almost made me cry I felt so alive I said man I feel alright

Cause I’m not one for waving flags you know that’s not who I am

And kindness lies in peoples eyes in each and every land

cold or warm in sun or storm you know each place has its charms

But when I feel alone well I know that home is in my baby’s arms

Way up north in Finland you know the nightime don’t exist

Drinking with the dead down in Mexico made you swear that souls exist

There’s a cake shop down in Kassel man I swear that you could die

I saw snow fall in the desert from a clear Nevada sky

When I was down and out in Paris everything just seemed so clear

With the streetgirls and the homeless and them buskers from Algiers 

Man I got more education sleeping on that station floor

Than I had gained in schooling in the 20 years before

Cause I’m not one for waving flags you know that’s not who I am

And kindness lies in peoples eyes in each and every land

Cold or warm in sun or storm you know each place has its charms

But when I feel alone well I know that home is in my baby’s arms

I am not a wise man something I will never be

But the autumn leaves of England still look beautiful to me

If I have learned one simple truth as through this life I pass

You can find the good in everyone and they will half fill your glass

Cause I’m not one for waving flags you know that’s not who I am

And kindness lies in peoples eyes in each and every land

Cold or warm in sun or storm you know each place has its charms

But when I feel alone well I know that home is in my baby’s arms

The Little Boats in the Harbour (written late '80's)

The Little Boats in the Harbour

When you dream what do you dream

could you ever tell someone else

Do you ever wonder what other people dream

do you only dream of yourself

Do you ever look beyond the troubles of your miniscule world

And it’s sad that people like you only dream of being old

And I see you this way

The little boats in the harbor

The smell of fresh salt in the air

And a hand full of anecdotes and made up memories

As if anybody cared about you

Do you wonder ever really wonder if anyone dreams of you

Have you ever loved ever really loved have you ever talked to the moon

Do you know that stars are something you can wish upon when wishes seem the only way

Have you seen the ghosts that hide in misty mornings have you heard what they say

‘cause sometimes they cry for you

The little boats in the harbor

The smell of fresh salt in the air

And a hand full of anecdotes and made up memories

As if anybody cared about you

The blue light of a TV in the darkness of a room without love

Ice on the window as you close your eyes And  murmour enough is enough

The little boats in the harbor

The smell of fresh salt in the air

And a hand full of anecdotes and made up memories

As if anybody cared about you

The Sailor and the Angel (written around 1990)

The sailor and the angel

The sailor cruises the darkness of the deep blue city

any port in a storm

and in the corners of the darkest bars he talks to the ghosts that hide amongst the shadows

he says

“has anybody seen my angel?

she has jewels in her eyes and stardust in her hair

little feathers on her arms and on her legs

and when she smiles the sun shines

and when she dances the moon glows”

The angel swoops and darts over the darkness of the deep blue city

Every night she’s there perusing her kingdom

all those rivers of tarmac and streams of neon

and as she floats down the sailors reach up to touch her

They say

“hey angel can we take just one jewel from your eyes

can we take a little stardust from your hair

one feather from your arms or from your legs

so that we can remember this moment always”

And she says

“sure sailor you can take one jewel from my eyes

a little stardust from my hair

one feather from my arms and from my legs

so that you can remember this moment always

just like I will”

 

One night just like any other night

she climbs to the top of the highest building in the deep blue city

she looks down over her kingdom

all those rivers of tarmac and streams of neon

and just like every other night she steps over the edge and into the night

But tonight is not like every other night

She begins to fall

and she doesn’t understand what’s happening

she cries out

“somebody help me

somebody save me”

The sailors look up and they say

“don’t worry angel we’re here for you

don’t worry angel we’ll catch you”

but as she gets closer they see that

there are no jewels in her eyes just deep black pools

no stardust in her hair just knots and tangles

no feathers on her arms and on her legs just white skin and bone

and the last think she sees as she plunges to the ground is the sailors walking away

in to the darkness of the deep blue city

The sailor leaves another bar in the deep blue city

And in the shadows where no lamp light shines

he hears a woman’s voice

 

“help me sailor

I’m broken and I’m dying

Help me sailor

I’m bleeding and I’m leaving”

But the sailor

just as if he doesn’t hear a word

steps over the body of the woman and into the darkness of the deep blue city

And the last thing the angel hears

as the sailor disappears

is his sad voice

saying

“has anybody seen my angel?”

How I became a Lo-Fi Low Star (written May 4 2003)

As a toddler and junior, we had one record player in the house. It was an old portable mono Philips, and I must have been about six before I could actually lift it. My mums’ collection contained three albums that I used to play to death, With The Beatles, Lionel Hampton on the vibes and the South Pacific original soundtrack. I obviously drove my folks sufficiently mad with these regular DJ sessions, `cause when I was about ten, they got me my own record player. It was a little stereo, and the speakers clipped on top so you could carry it round like a small suitcase. Around the same time, we got a new family stereo, and we inherited an old 78 player. I was in heaven.

A friend called Peter and I formed our first band when we were 11. I had a little half size acoustic guitar and he had a practice drum pad. We stole a snare drum together, but soon after split up over musical differences… Well who was going to play the snare drum actually.

I decided to go solo. I got some empty boxes and polystyrene packing from behind the electrical shop, and made a drum kit. The persistence with which I battered the cardboard for the next two years impressed my parents enough to buy me a second-hand bass drum, high hat and snare for my fourteenth Christmas. I was now ready to begin recording.

I would record  a drum part on to my portable cassette player, and then play it back whilst simultaneously strumming my untuned acoustic and recording the 2 parts on to my brothers portable cassette player. The same process was used to add vocals.

I soon developed a craving for some different sounds, so I began to experiment. I'd picked up this white label 7” in a second hand shop, and the B side contained a single tone that ran for about 3 minutes, presumably to let you know instantly that you’d put on the wrong side. I soon worked out that by changing the speed of the record player, I could change the pitch of the tone. I could also slow it down and speed it up with my finger. Now there were obviously some New York DJs living next door at the time, `cause a few years later they started doing this sort of thing on a regular basis (with far more commercial success).

I also discovered that by tuning my transistor radio between stations I could get some great noises, with occasional ghostly voices or snatches of tunes wafting through.

The following year my brother and his mate added to the turntable collection when they got themselves a mobile disco set up. They got a few bookings, and I was allowed to accompany them to their second date at Roundwood School. It was going fine. I was watching the sixth form girls boogie to Mott the Hoople and Status Quo. Then my brothers mate pulled out a new record he’d bought that day, and cleared the dance floor in 5 seconds. I on the other hand bobbed my head up and down enthusiastically and grinned reassuringly at my brothers mate. The record was New Rose by The Damned, and for the first time in my life everything began to make sense.

Enthused with my new found punk lust, I set about putting down another track of rhythm/noise experimentation, but with angrier vocals. I sent it to our local record company. They never replied. A couple of years later I sent a tape of my first proper band to the same company. I went to see them and the man said “I kinda liked it, but what I really liked was that weird dub stuff you used to do”.

By that time though my life had been changed. One night, under the bed covers, listening to John Peel on my transistor radio, I was reduced to tears of joy by the most wonderful music I had ever heard. The New York Dolls had entered my life forever. The following week I bought a second-hand electric guitar and amp, and set about learning an E chord. Strangely enough, the old Selmer amp had a habit of making high pitched squeals and picking up occasional ghost radio.

I never lost that lust for creating music/sound in non-traditional ways, and that approach re-emerged in much of my work in the late eighties and early nineties as a Youth Arts Worker and Music Animateur, in the shape of urban/industrial sound sculptures and experimental work with digital technology.The ethic also informed our early Los Chicos Muertos recordings and contributions to the pan European lo-fi collective The Anglo German Low Stars.

I still use funny old drum machines and small plastic keyboards on a regular basis, and recently purchased a hand held light operated theramin that sounds like a moped revving up. This has already appeared on stage and is likely to appear on a recording soon.

Sometimes, when I’m sitting at my 4-tracck, laying down some ideas, I swear I can hear the ghostly voices, valve crackle and static interference of a long lost radio broadcast permeating the ether like the sirens of redundant technology calling my name.

Grae J. Wall