The Song

One of the first songs written with the Company – this is one of my favourites. It was a very spontaneous recording with a few overdubs thrown at it without too much thought. It all kind of hangs together like it doesn’t care. I don’t think I’m a natural Krishna who talk of the “little death.” I love the dream like state. This song doesn’t pertain to a real experience but describes it anyway. The wonder of being alive, the magic of the morning/evening. As long as one can keep breathing there seems to be a limitless supply.

The Players

Richard Colburn drums
Bill Wells bass
Bob Kildea guitar vocals percussion
Roy Moller elec piano vocals percussion
Chris Geddes organ
Stevie guitars piano pedal steel percussion vocals

The Writers

The Company

The Words

The more I saw her, I can’t forget her under Saturn’s Moon
Stars are flying, past my window, morning comes too soon

And in the morning, spaceships calling me before I wake
Try to board ‘em with my ticket then it’s much too late
Silver lining, the sun is shining through my window pane

The more I saw you, I can’t forget you, I want to see you soon
I’m a flower and it’s raining, it really does me good

Feel the morning, feel the evening, feel the same way too
I have see it and I like it, so how about you?

“Hey, you mean so much to me”

The Song

Be brave!

The Players

Alex Neilson drums
Bill Wells bass
Bob lead guitar percussion vocals
Dave McGowan pedal steel
Chris Geddes piano
Stevie guitar vocals
Roy Moller vocals

The Writers

The Company

The Words

Did you ever wake up after sending an E mail to a friend (female)?
Did you ever wake up having divulging your feelings to someone you love?

Should I hide myself away or should I let her know how I feel?
I don’t want to ruin a friendship, I’ve got to let her know how I feel
(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do send)

I was told that I should phone her but talking’s never been my scene
(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do send)
I’ve been staring at my letter and “SEND” is jumping out from the screen
(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do send)
I don’t need a spell check to spell out the letters I love you “L U V”
(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do send)

I can’t believe the way I feel, I electronically conceal
All the feelings in my head, will she leave it marked unread?
(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do send)
Are you in or are you out?
Are you a man or a mouse?
PRESS SEND

And now it’s gone a quarter past two
It’s time to post something that you can’t undo
Now press the key down, don’t let the finger hover
I think it’s gonna get me in a whole lot of bother
PRESS SEND

(Don’t send, do send, don’t send, do)
PRESS SEND

The Song

I can still remember when I was really young and I joined my first group and I finally got that feeling that I’d been waiting for all my life. After a kind of loner, daydream filled youth, suddenly I was in a band of brothers and the world was there for the taking. That kind of bond is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before or since. Well, you grow up I suppose.
One day, really early on, whilst heading to a rehearsal studio in Berkeley Street, we were caught in a torrential downpour and ended up running in a pack, laughing the whole time, being “chased by the rain like A Hard Day’s Night,” with not even a girl in sight. I remember the feelings of joy and camaraderie. It was Heaven.

The Players

Alex Neilson drums
Bob Kildea bass vocals percussion
Bill Wells piano
Mick Cooke French horn
Rosie Townhill Cello
Ysla Robertson violin
Gillian Risi violin
Stevie guitar vocal

The Writers

Stevie Jackson

The Words

Money and style and friends and work
Music and sex and art and scene
Boys and girls and drugs and dreams
That’s you girl
There’s a lot to be said for a telephone line
I could call you up I could make it so fine
But guilt and fear and jealousy
That’s me girl (ho, ho, ho)

I carved her number on my wall
It’s not as if I need someone
It’s not as if I need someone

It’s funny she didn’t like my shirt
So she told me, then she kissed me
Like I’d never seen a flirt
I had not been courting, not for a while
You’d have never have known it
Not by her smile
Now the coins they’re burning a hole in my pocket
Thoughts of her, they’re burning a whole in my head
I could reach for the ‘phone, I could flick it wide open
I could scroll down some number
I could wish I was dead

I carved her number on my wall
It’s not as if I need someone
It’s not as if I need someone
If I treated her like she’s number one
It’s not what I was thinking of
It’s not what I was thinking of

With an action I could be interrupting her time
If I pickup the phone and get her on the line
Is she making some coffee, washing her dishes
Playing her records, dreaming her wishes
Now I’m running with my group, I’m feeling alright
Being chased by the rain like ‘A Hard Day’s Night’
I pass by the ‘phone I wonder if she’s home
She’s so cool, gotta have her, think I’ll leave her alone

The Song

I’ve had the tune since I was 17 but could never think of words for it. Years go by and then one afternoon you’re chilling out with your pal, grooving on Serge and Bardot DVD’s and suddenly there it is. There’s worse ways to spend an afternoon I suppose. Thanks to Emma for checking the Franglais.

The Players

Katrina Mitchell drums
Bill Wells Parisian jazz guitar
Bob Kildea bass vocals percussion
Sarah Martin pizzicato
Aby Vulliamy accordion
Roy Moller vocals percussion
Stevie guitar keys vocals percussion

The Writers

Stevie Jackson / Roy Moller

The Words

Dead leaves on the street the day after love did go
Chemin de fer may now take me there
En route to Julie Greco
Commencement, Arrondissement, super intellectual
Philosophise, ‘neath Parisian skies
Dans le café Les Deux Magots

Pardonne moi, excusez moi
Tell me where do all the good girls go?
Pardonne moi, excusez moi
Tell me where do all the good girls go?
Where do all the good girls go?

Where do they go in the City of Light?
Where do they go? Where is the beautiful life?
Where do they go?

Jean Michel at the bar, he’s having a jar
Oxygene beginning to flow
Charlotte Rampling is starting to sing
“Where did Victor Hugo?”
I need a girl for this boy, a bundle of joy
Wrapped like a paquet cadeau
She’ll appear on the tide and together we’ll glide
Dans l’escalier Clemenceau

Pardonne moi, excusez moi
Tell me where do all the good girls go?
Pardonne moi, excusez moi
Tell me where do all the good girls go?
Where do all the good girls go?

Where do they go? There’s none that I can see
Where do they go? Où est la belle vie?
Where do they go?

The Song

Another Movie Director song. I’m a bit confused by this one. I started off writing about Kurosawa but the song ended up being more about Ozu another great Japanese director and particularly a film called Good Morning. I think I heard this as a creed sang by Japanese school children including the pigeon parable contained herein. Also contains a description of Japanese women in their traditional dress that I read in a book about Ozu: “Awkward, touching and graceful.” Add to that a motto lifted from a poster of the Country Music Hall of Fame Nashville (thanks Julie) and a cymbal lifted from High and Dry by the Stones and there you have it.

The Players

Alex Neilson drums
Bill Wells bass
Aby Vulliamy pigeon viola
Bob Kildea percussion
Mick Cooke horns
Yuko Takemoto voice
Stevie guitar keys vocals

Bonus Audio

The Writers

Stevie Jackson / Nicola Atkinson

The Words

Honour thy music. Honour thy love
Honour thy friendship. Honour thy blood
With sturdiness of purpose perpetrate all the above
Play on the flute made of purest gold

Let us be friends and I’ll tell you of my dream
Let us be lovers, I’ll show you what I mean

I am awkward, I am touching, I am graceful
I am playful, always poised, never hateful
For Life is never certain in the slightest sense of meaning
Feel the Universal time with fullness of my Being

There was a friendly pigeon, I met him in my dream
He came to entertain me, he kept me company
Along came a bigger bird, more bigger than he
Snapped his wing and dragged him to his destiny
“Oh why bigger bird, why’d you pick on me?”
said the little pigeon hanging desperately
“I’m hungry and it’s time for lunch” the bigger bird replied
“Go to sleep and dream your dream in pigeon pie”

I am awkward, I am touching, I am graceful
I am playful, always poised, never hateful
For Life is never certain in the slightest sense of meaning
Feel the Universal time with fullness of my Being
Heading for the parallel, the sultry state of dreaming
With your pigeon by your side, you’re not alone

The Song

Me and Moller, having a laugh. He had the first bit and I with a descending glissando on the electric piano invaded his song with the man of god bit. It’s funny to think of us in the same room, trying to seduce the same woman with dim lighting and some 70’s Soul records. In reality, the girl would probably soon get bored and leave, as we’d end up talking about Beatles’ b-sides or something.

The Players

Alex Neilson drums
Bill Wells bass
Bob Kildea guitars percussion
Dave McGowan pedal steel
Chris Geddes Percussion
Ysla Robertson violin
Gillian Risi violin
Stevie keys vocals
Roy Moller vocals
Cinnamon girls* vocals
(*Janis Fyfe Murray, Lorraine Wilson, Donna Swabey, Laura McMahon)

The Writers

The Company

The Words

Don’t nail your colours to the past,
don’t fly the flag from the ruined castle
Don’t go re-hiring the same old cast
for all your dramas, it ain’t worth the hassle

Holy Moses I feel like a Man of God, I wish I could reach you
Laying around and laying down the deal, should I feel a fraud?
I wish I could teach you. Can I reach you?

Every time you hear his voice, it’s an invitation for another bad choice
Every time you hear his voice, it’s an invitation for another bad choice

Don’t nail your colours to the past, you shouldn’t play with that guy
You’re saluting the sinking mast, my ship is coming in you should give it a try

Holy Moses I feel like a Man of God, I wish I could reach you
Laying around and laying down the deal, should I feel a fraud?
I wish I could teach you. Can I reach you?

Every time you hear me speak, it’s an invitation, got to say it real sweet
Every time you hear my voice, it’s an invitation to make a good choice
For you and me too

Hear me coming on through with a message to you
Be my congregation
Hear the voice of truth. Hear the voice of reason
Hear the voice of truth. Hear the voice of reason
Hear the voice of me girl
Hear the voice of Donny Hathaway and the Detroit Emeralds
Playing on my turntable for you
And the Love Unlimited
Can you feel the need in me? Can you feel the need?
Rock my boat, baby rock the ocean
Ah honey I feel like a Man of God, I got no dog collar
Can you hear me holler!!!?

The Song

In 2007, I was asked to contribute to the Abbey View project by the artist in residence, Nicola Atkinson. This is a song from it. Abbey View is an area in Dunfermline, Scotland which was under redevelopment at the time including the demolition of groups of modern flats which must been built in the 70’s. The flats were in a semi circle around a large piece of greenery.

I couldn’t help but think of how idealistic it must have seemed at the planning stage, a brave new world full of space and fresh air. Of course the flats whilst they looked ok were actually shoddily made with cheap materials, the usual scenario with the whole thing falling to pieces within a few short years. Which is not to say that the residents didn’t take pride and care of their homes, they did. One of the inspirations was a piece written by Carole Lambie, another one of the artists Nicola had engaged, actually entitled Bird’s Eye View which describes conversations with one such resident. Some of the images came from photographs taken from inside one of the derelict flats by Nicola Atkinson.

Bonus Audio

The Players

Stevie guitars keys percussion vocals
Gary Thom bike, gloc

The Writers

Stevie Jackson / Nicola Atkinson / Gary Thom

The Words

What was old, once was new
What’s lying derelict once stood straight, proud and true
Taking a bird’s eye view, life goes on with a song
Well maybe with a lick of paint
You might not think my head is on straight
I would be lying if I told you the truth
What was old once was new, taking a bird’s eye view

What stands ugly and mean awaiting demolition day
Was once the start of somebody’s dream

Now the Sun shines through the broken glass
The bike for the birthday boy, he’s left it now, he’s gone away
And the lilac wall paper once brought home and hung with patience and care
Now there’s nobody there
What was old once was new, taking a bird’s eye view

On the draughtsman’s board this looked like a dream
Modern housing pitched like tents around a village green

What was old once was new, taking a bird’s eye view

Taking a bird’s eye view, I’ll pack my wings and get out of here
There’s nothing else that I can do
What was old once was new, taking a bird’s eye view