Living In A World That Is A Shadow Of Itself

“Living In A World That Is A Shadow Of Itself” is from my EP The Apocalypse Lullaby, which was recorded in January 2018 and released a few months later. The song itself was the last one written for the album. It was composed very quickly; as the recording session loomed I felt I needed another song to expand on the central theme of impending social and ecological disaster that ran through the EP. A cheery sounding project indeed!

With time short I fell back into my cod reggae default setting (see also Points of Light), jazzed up a touch by the inclusion of a major 7th chord. Still, I think this simplicity made the song more accessible; it has proved to be one of the most popular songs on the album.

This acoustic take was inspired by the skyline that lies behind it – the cluttered horizon of Cairo as seen from my balcony. An acquaintance used to refer to the satellite dishes that crowd the rooftops as ‘concrete circle flowers’, an idea I snatched for the first verse. Each verse was themed along a different sense, or at least the two most immediate senses for the topic at hand – sight and sound. Going through the other three (or four?) might have been an interesting songwriting exercise, but no doubt a long and laborious song.

I took a certain relish in giving it an overlong title. I was reminded of Fairport Convention’s “Sir B. McKenzie’s Daughter’s Lament For The 77th Mounted Lancers Retreat From The Straits Of Loch Knombe, In The Year Of Our Lord 1727, On The Occasion Of The Announcement Of Her Marriage To The Laird Of Kinleakie”, at the time listed in the Guiness Book of Records as the longest ever song title. By that margin, my song titles brim with restraint . . .

The yearning for a wilder world as expressed in the song was a strong theme of 2018, and has some ramifications for this year and where I’ll hope to find myself. Watch this wider space!

To hear the album version of this song, head here: https://farflownfalcon.bandcamp.com/track/living-in-a-world-that-is-a-shadow-of-itself

And the full lyrics are below:

How I wish that horizon was not such a clutter 
Full of hoardings of height, extravagant strobe lights 
Swinging construction cranes, smoke, banking aeroplanes 
Satellite flowers, cables, radio towers . . . 
And more and more … 
Oh I wish the stars would again wheel over my head 
Across the great wild skies on which the cosmos is spread 
But we’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
We’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
We’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
It’s a shadow that we’re living in 

Even the silence just bickers and mutters 
Some chugging machine, coughing, convulsing between 
Distant thumps of the bass, lewd screams interlaced 
Midnight motorbikes, those howling street fights 
And more and more … 
Oh if only the silence was touched with just the slightest of sounds 
The tiniest beasts, the rain on moist ground 
But we’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
We’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
We’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
It’s a shadow that we’re living in 

Once in our history the world was not seven billion strong 
And the roads between settlements ran emptier and long 
Once mighty animals roamed thick on the plains 
And the trees grew to heights no man could attain 
Once we were humble, wolves haunted our nights 
Summer fruit and sweetwater served sufficient delight 
Once maps were sketched on hearsay and hope 
It took less than a day to reach rovings remote 
Once the birds wheeled close in the skies 
From each conceivable corner, the flowers would arise 
But we’re living in a world that’s a shadow of itself 
Living in a world that’s a shadow of itself 
But we’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
It’s a shadow that we’re living in 

Now I spend my days indolent, comfortable, snug 
Well sated, placated, on streams of digital drugs 
No view to speak of, no discomfort to bear 
But for all these indulgences I remain well aware 
I’m living in a world that is a shadow of itself. 
I’m living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
We’re living in a world that is a shadow of itself 
It’s a shadow that we’re living in

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Video

Anthill

This is a full performance of “Anthill”, the song I wrote as part of the ‘Writing A Song From Scratch’ blog series. As that ran to six chapters, there’s not much more to say about the song, its development can be charted in the links below:

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part One

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part Two

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part Three

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part Four

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part Five

Writing A Song From Scratch: Part Six

I’m very happy with the final song, and I’m developing an arrangement of it for my upcoming studio EP. As such, I’ve already recorded parts for oud, ney, tabla and extra guitar with some Egyptian musicians, and will be working on it further in December in London.

The lyrics are reproduced below – they’ve remained largely unchanged except that the bridge has been slightly expanded.

The anthill keeps growing, more teetering, hopeless homes

While teeming in their multitudes, twelve million worker drones

All of these paralysed souls, indistinguishable, all smeared in soot

The mark of the muted, well it paints us the same, from our head to our foot

 

So extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch

Just anything, that is not painted in dust

Reaching out for an empty space, or the contours of a friendly face

In the chaos

 

The anthill collapses, yet constructed again

Building on the bones, of its fallible men

Construction it never does stop, and if a body drops, we’ll brick it back in

Exoskeletons formed this city’s skin

While we, while we, while we

 

Extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch

Just anything, that is not painted in dust

Reaching out for an empty space, or the contours of a friendly face

In the chaos

 

Now I’m carried on the back of billions

Though I do not know their names

Something fossilised within us

That could still be reclaimed

They thought us worker drones did not have much to say

But they kept us busy anyway

Now the water cannons will not hold us back

They will simply wash the filth away

And if everyone of us

Could carry six times our own weight

There’s really no limit

To the utopia we might make

Oh, we’ve got to wake up

Howl some questions to the hive

If could all move in one direction

We would do more than just survive

 

So extend our limbs, stretch out our hands to touch

Just anything, that is not painted in dust

Open our minds, spit the silt from our voice

Claim everything, a separate and collective choice

Reaching out for an empty space, or the contours of a friendly face

In this anthill

Video

If Hearts Will Break . . .

Ethiopia and I have flirted over the years. My first encounter was a joyous concert by Mahmoud Ahmed on a Womad evening a decade or so ago. At various points I’ve delved into seemingly endless depths of the Ethiopiques collection from Buda Musique. I’ve sagely pointed out the Ethio-Jazz leanings of certain contemporary bands, such as Dengue Fever. But I’ve never really become an expert, or taken a deep dive into the country’s musical traditions in the way I have with other sub-Saharan countries.

I’m still no expert, but a chance to spend three weeks travelling in Ethiopia last March did give me a chance to hear even more music. I particularly remember a fourteen-hour bus journey from Addis Ababa to Gondar, with the on-board entertainment being an unending stream of domestic hits. I was impressed at how distinctly Ethiopian even the pop music sounded. The central seam was the rhythm; a solid pulse that steams ahead, leaning into the front end of the beat with a tantalising lurch. Ethiopia’s iconic traditional instruments were also front and centre; the krar and masenko.

So while travelling in Ethiopia I began seeing if I could funnel those elements into a song. It must be said that digesting full band recordings onto a single instrument and retaining those identifying qualities is no easy task. To me, I can hear Ethiopia in If Hearts Will Break . . , but I’m not sure if that influence will stand out to the average listener, even one well-versed in the genre. And perhaps my associations stem more from my memories of composing the song there than true technical understanding. Still, if it is enjoyed then it doesn’t really matter.

One key trick behind the sound of If Hearts Will Break . . .  was threading a strip of paper through the strings of the guitar. The light contact of the paper on the strings mutes the sound, and causes them to buzz and rattle in a manner reminiscent of some of the traditional stringed instruments mentioned above. Furthermore, as the guitar loses all sustain, it further the rhythm more deeply. Now I’m certainly not the first person to do this, and while others have tried this trick in order to emulate African instruments, the technique has also been used in other styles (Johnny Cash is one example). 

Lyrically the song is a bit of an indulgence in fantasy – the advice offered quite at odds with what the real me would propose in a similar situation. Depending on your point of view, it’s an excursion into tender folly or selfish recklessness; an incitement to forge on ahead with a doomed romantic escapade even though it will clearly end in tears. As ever with such songs, any resemblance to real persons living or dead should be taken with a pinch of salt – one plucked with goliath fingers!

Lyrics

If hearts will break, let them be broken
If our only fate, is to rue this simple mistake
Let this fool’s foray be but a token
When loneliness dictates that we boldly swallow down the bait
Forgive us of our reckless ways
For just a catch of blessed days
The bounty that the river pays
Does it reach the ocean, who can say?

As clear and bright as a new day dawning
The first page still lies unread and not a single tear’s been shed
The tall tale tellers talked in the morning
Oh to follow Ariadne’s thread, would it lead us to a lover’s bed?
Forgive us of our reckless ways
We’ve no care for what the wise man says
We step out of house’s set ablaze
To the common paths of this age-old maze

So take your hand from off the tiller, let the wheel go spinning free
Let fortunes of the tide and wind carry us to a place we’re supposed to be
On handmade wings of wax and twine we’ll soar above the sea
And if we fall into a tailspin, we’ll land in cotton clouds, you and me

All the doors before you stand wide open
And I beg you to come inside, discover if our love resides
There’s no promises that need be spoken
For who knows where the future lies, who knows what this song betides?
The fates will share their weight in sorrow
If we can’t bargain for our happiness, we’ll simply have to borrow.
Forgive us of our reckless ways
Forgive us of our reckless ways . . .

Video

Five Legged Holy Cow

I haven’t quite held true to my September promise of a blog post a week, but I’m happy enough with the renewed vigour I’ve been throwing towards my music. Five Legged Holy Cow is a new composition I’ve been tinkering with since June, since (as the lyrics suggest) I spent a month travelling in India. It was supposed to be a quickly written song, with a video I was hoping to make in India itself, but songs don’t obey your wishes, and while the bulk of the song came together on the subcontinent, a little more time was needed for it to find its final shape.

This is an odd song, and you’d be forgiven if it was a little lost on you. Permit me to explain. The song’s inspiration comes from a strange sight I saw in India. A gaily coloured, gaudily-decorated, auto-rickshaw (or tuk-tuk, as they’re called in many places around the world), crammed full with a family, and squeezed between, a calf. I asked my driver what the story was, and he explained: the calf had six legs, and was considered especially blessed with powers of healing to anyone who lays their hands upon this literal ‘holy cow’. The lucky family to whom this aberration had been delivered would have given up their farm and embraced a nomadic existence, knowing they could make better money touring their lucky calf around the local communities and charging people a small fee to touch their magic beast.

As we overtook the rickshaw, I could see no evidence of the calf’s extra limbs, but the story was too good to shed doubt upon it. Before the tuk-tuk had even disappeared in the rear-view mirror, I was writing the song.

Now a six-legged holy cow just seems plain impossible, so the first liberty taken by my song was to reduce the appendages to five. Five just sings better than six, and odd numbers hold more magic than even ones. My song also needed a protagonist, and considering the animal’s curative properties, this character would clearly be someone seeking out some healing. Another easy choice was to explore England’s dark history with India. So soon I had the idea of a deserter of Her Majesty’s Service, disabled in the course of keeping the Crown’s iron grip on its colonies, now disillusioned and willing to embrace any cure for his injuries, however outlandish.

This story was heavily influenced by the Sherlock Holmes tale “The Adventure of the Crooked Man”, in which Holmes is pitted against one Henry Wood, also a soldier, and one whose experience in the Indian Mutiny left him much the worse for wear. I always love to pepper my lyrics with some unlikely words and phrases, and in the case of Five-Legged Holy Cow I was seeking vocabulary that evoked the era in which the song was set, so I snatched several choice turns of phrase from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and dropped them into my song. These included “claiming the King’s shilling”, “a roaring lad” as well as a “bag of tigers”. Another lyrical influence was from George Harrison, whose music I always associate with India and whose album All Things Must Pass is a particular favourite. If you know that album, see if you can catch another stolen line.

Five-Legged Holy Cow is one of several songs composed recently in DADGAD tuning, which is often associated with ‘Eastern-sounding’ music. Think Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir, or Davey Graham’s magnificent Blue Raga. I kept my guitalele in DADGAD throughout my Indian sojourn, and there were plenty of long train journeys during which to noodle around and find fresh sounds. A Bill Withers acoustic funk groove turned out to be a surprisingly successful match for the open tuning. I spent a long-time sitting with that groove, knowing I liked it but feeling the song could be expanded somehow. I hit upon the idea of adding a bridge in 5/4 time; a musical challenge for me as I rarely compose outside of 4/4 and a chance to change up the vibe midway through the tune. Somehow though, this section morphed into 6/8 without me really noticing, and so it remained.

By the time I finally got the song together fully, India was far behind and I found myself back inapis-bull-saqqara Egypt. I couldn’t find a holy cow to record with, but I did get to co-star with two delightfully calm and affectionate water buffaloes in Al Sorat farm in Saqqara. This, incidentally, is not far from the Serapeum of Saqqara, where the Pharaohs mummified and entombed their own holy cows; the Apis Bulls, which were conceived by the touch of rays beaming down directly from Heaven, and marked with ankh upon the forehead, the shape of a vulture’s wing upon the back, a crescent moon on the flank, a scarab mark upon the tongue, and bearing the sun between the horns. A tale probably worth writing an entirely new song for . . .

But in the meantime, here are the lyrics for this one:

Five Legged Holy Cow

Verse 1

From Africa to India, the Queen’s shilling I did claim

‘Til the misfiring of a musket, left me broke and maimed

Isn’t it a pity, ain’t it a Goddamned crying shame

That roaring lad

What hopes he had

Now like a bag of tigers tamed

Chorus

I’m open, my shield cast down

Luminous, what can you reveal

Liberate this soul from the spinning wheel

The heart within this hollow could be healed

Refrain

So hold your horses, Holy smoke

I bow my head to this cosmic joke

And if a Five-Legged Holy Cow

Could make me whole again somehow

Verse 2

Let the scholars talk of quackery and dismiss these conjuring tricks

For I live in the land of miracles, where the cripples heal the sick

Every point of the compass, every unlikely, outside chance

Drag broken feet

Through sand and sleet

To where the dead get up to dance

Bridge

So raise up your lantern and limp through the dark

To where a many-faced goddess has laid down her mark

Some say it’s a blessing, some say it’s a curse

The man in ascendance, while the beast just gets worse

The man in ascendance, while the beast just gets worse

Refrain

So hold your horses, Holy smoke

I bow my head to this cosmic joke

And if a Five-Legged Holy Cow

Could make me whole again somehow

Chorus

I’m open, my shield cast down

Luminous, what can you reveal

Liberate this soul from the spinning wheel

The heart within this hollow could be healed

Refrain

So hold your horses, Holy smoke

I bow my head to this cosmic joke

And if a Five-Legged Holy Cow

Could make me whole again somehow

 

Video

Angel Coins

Also recorded during my recent few days in Abu Simbel was Angel Coins, a song I’ve been carrying around with me for about a year. Unfortunately, there are a few sound problems with the recording below. Hopefully the singing of the birds, golden desert and azure sky make up somewhat for the failings of audio.

When you’re writing your own songs, it can be very hard to be objective and recognise the quality of what you’re producing. Sometimes it’s the simplest ideas, which often barely register with the person playing them, that prove the most successful songs. I remember this point being made by Let’s Wait Until The Sun Comes Out, one of the most popular songs I wrote with my old band the Lazy Lizards. I remember it suddenly becoming a thing at a jamming session between our drummer and I one evening. We’d spent a couple of hours working on a song which we never finished, the details of which I don’t remember beyond it being heavy in subject and sound. Having made not a lot of progress, I started playing a bit of simple three chord township jive, Amjid joined in on cajon, and suddenly we had a hit on our hands.*

A similar story can be found behind the creation of Angel Coins. I spent Christmas 2015 at the house of a friend in the beautiful village of Tunis, near the Fayoum. This is the Egyptian countryside, another world entire from the hustle and bustle of Cairo. The weather was good, and most of the stay was spent doing little more than absorbing the mild winter sun in the orchard garden of our host’s home.

I had my guitalele to hand. I wasn’t trying to write something, but letting my fingers travel where they would while enjoying the tranquility. At some point during the morning my fingers found the two chord pattern that forms the main body of Angel Coins’ verses. I hadn’t recognised I had anything of import until my friend Reem mentioned that it sounded nice. This prompted me to play more attention. Mucking around a little longer brought me the descending bass line, and coming around to the realisation that I had something worth keeping I made a quick recording.

I kept fiddling around with the song whilst I stayed in Tunis, and began to conclude that whatever song it was going to be it should reflect its place of birth. In my previous post, I touched upon the challenges of finding a comfortable setting for songs that fall between the cracks of different cultures, and in Angel Coins I attempted another strategy. I tried to transpose some of the themes of romantic English folk songs to a desert landscape. Traditional song from my own culture is full star-crossed lovers finding their desires blocked by the constraints of social, familial and financial convention, and it’s very easy to find parallels in contemporary Egyptian culture. Conservative attitudes towards boy-girl relationships prevail here, and falling in love is a complex business. Once I recognised these mutual echoes, the narrative of the song unspooled naturally.

There is one element I still find a little inelegant. The object of the song’s affection lives with her uncle for unexplained reasons. Is she an orphan? Perhaps, but it’s got more to do with being forced in that direction because ‘niece’ rhymes with ‘caprice’. Sometimes being pushed into a rhyme like this suggests a new and pleasing direction for a song, but I have to admit in this case my solution was clumsy.

Probably the last thing to mention is the angel coin itself. What exactly are angel coins? According to a scholarly friend, an angel coin is actually the fossilised body of a tiny protozoa – a nummulite. This makes a sense; the Sahara was once a shallow sea, and in fact in Wadi el Hitan, the bones of prehistoric whales can be found amongst the dunes. Iangel-coins-rayann the deep desert there are arid fields of these angel coins. I’m no paleontologist, and some cursory investigation online finds no mention of angel coins, leading me to suspect that this name is actually a colloquial Arabic one. Whatever, the truth, it made a good song title!

The song mentions several other treasures of the desert; flint knives and pottery sherds. Egypt’s rightly famous for its early Pharaonic civilization, but the Nile Valley has played host to mankind for far longer than this, and on the shores of Lake Qairun the evidence of Stone Age settlements is liberally scattered across the ground. Are these ancient curios sufficient to win over a heart? The song leaves this for the listener to decide.

Ultimately, I’m really happy with the finished article. Thanks Reem for pointing out what I had; otherwise Angel Coins would have remained a brief little musical doodle played in an Egyptian garden – played and then forgotten.

These are the lyrics:

ANGEL COINS

Verse 1

Well, I came out of the desert

With my heart as barren as the moon

From a horizon indistinct

And with my faltering faith extinct

Marching to misfortune

Chorus

Yes I came out of the desert

With nothing much to trade

Just flint knives and angels’ coins

Verse 2

With my pockets rattling heavy

With the pearlescent coins of djinns

Out beyond the barren hills

The bones of ancient beings spill

Parched seas and bare ruins

Chorus

Yes I came out of the desert

With nothing much to trade

Just flint knives and angels’ coins

Pottery sherds and angels’ coins

Bridge

Well I’m not a man of means

Yet I’m still hunting my very own dreams

And the wind still works the dunes

To form your face

I’m waiting for your alms

With these desert-creased, broken palms

And once in a thousand years the rains will come

So I’m standing at your gate

Left here by the laughing fates

With jackals wondering when I will succumb

Verse 3

Your uncle’s a man of circumspect

With no mood for caprice

And with no pennies to my name

I know he will not entertain

My petition for his niece

Chorus

Yes I came out of the desert

With nothing much to trade

Just flint knives and angels’ coins

Pottery sherds and angels’ coins

Just a sky full of stars and angel’s coins

Just a heart full of love and angels’

Angels’

Angels’ coins


*Well, not a hit, but by any stretch our most popular song.

Video

Pass Without Trace

A few months have passed since I resolved to write four songs in one month, but finally I have a full recording to present of one of the tunes written during that project. This is Pass Without Trace, recorded in Abu Simbel, the most southerly town in Egypt, site of Ramses the Great’s famous temple, and a mere twenty minute drive from the Sudanese border.

An anti-protest song

Writing from the folk music tradition as I do, the concept of the protest song stands tall. Pass Without Trace though, might be considered an anti-protest song. Six years ago I wrote Nyabinghi 11-01-11, a song celebrating the Arab Spring, and the overthrow of the ‘tyrant upon the throne’ in Egypt. However, the promise of those days has long dissipated, and now most of the Egyptians I meet turn their energies mainly towards escape, be it an actual escape or just a creative one. So Pass Without Trace works as something of a sister song, reflecting that desire. It’s a thesis that spreads itself more widely – as the world strides towards its own destruction, it becomes harder and harder to muster the energy to battle the forces of darkness (and I mean you, Mr. Trump!).

Magical Realism in songwriting

Since I left the UK, one of the most interesting considerations I face when lyrics writing is finding the right world for my songs to inhabit. My day to day experience is no longer the familiar culture of pastoral England, but it’s not a world I can pretend to fully understand – be it Egypt (where I live now), or the other countries I’ve been lucky enough to spend time in. Mixed up in this, my musical influences veer further away from the traditional canon of Western music, and as a result, I find my lyrics begging a different setting.

In magical realism, I think I’ve found an answer that suits my natural proclivities. Magical realism is a genre perhaps most famously illustrated by South American novelists such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Novels such as 100 Years of Solitude, present a version of Colombia which is recognisable as our own world, yet where fantastical places, characters and events exist naturally alongside the familiar.

I find using such an approach helpful, as it allows me to excuse my own ignorance while stealing all the best imagery Egypt has to offer. In Pass Without Trace, this is best demonstrated by a reference to the High Dam, the great civil engineering work of President Nasser, which blocked the Nile, controlling the inundation and allowing Egypt to exploit its limited water resources like never before. Beyond the High Dam, Egypt does indeed get wilder and emptier, and like in the song, there are crocodiles to be found. Yet unlike our protagonist’s journey, there is no swamp to negotiate, just the largest man-made lake in the world, and the desert on all sides. Thus the real world provides the starting point, but in service of the song, fictional and fabulous details emerge.

crocodiles-lake-nasser

Some well-placed foul language

Front and centre of the chorus of Pass Without Trace is some rather Anglo-Saxon language in its most expressive form. Sheepishly, I must admit being an enthusiastic fan of bad language in song. ‘Fuck’ has such an aural aesthetic – it might batter the ears but it’s a delight to say. And there are many songs which benefit from its deployment, such as the gleeful contempt in Cee-Lo Green’s Fuck You, or the quiet exasperation and befuddlement expressed in the chorus of Thom Yorke’s Black Swan. I must admit to being a bit of a serial offender in this department, another song in my repertoire is called Your Shit Still Stinks The Same.

1 month 4 songs progress report

So whatever happened to those four songs that were supposed to be finished in a month? Well, the initial burst of creativity bubbling away during the project got 80% of the songs written, but in perfecting them and mastering the singing and playing of them progress has slowed. It’s not surprising that Pass Without Trace was the first to surface, as guitar-wise it’s the simplest to perform. Of the others, Bold Little Weasel is complete, but still a challenge to pull of successfully to the tempo as written. But for a few fiddly bits, When The City Is Home is also more or less together. Let’s Make Our Bed Together lies a little in limbo, as I’m not sure whether it completely works as a song, and I’m undecided as to whether to kindly euthanize it or throw it out in public and see if it can survive.

Blog posts relating to the writing of Pass Without Trace during the project can be found here:

Day 2: Stones in the Stream

Day 7: Zoom Zoom

Day 25: Reggae on the River

And these are the complete lyrics:

 

 

Pass Without Trace

Verse 1

These shackles hamper our every move and rattle with each twitch

No doubt that the turnkey would start awake should you even scratch an itch

So crash the system, dupe the world, and set the currency aflame

Usurp the tyrant on his throne, though you’d end up just the same

Chorus

Though you have been fucking with the fates

You better move from here, and simply pass without trace

You think you can leap clear over the buffalo’s horns

Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns

And pass without trace

Verse 2

There’s no move that could salvage the game, you’ve not even a pawn to play

The only move that you have left is to simply turn away

To the swamps above the High Dam, where the vapours take the scent

The primeval ooze it fills back in and your footprints leave no dent

Chorus

Though you have been fucking with the fates

You better move from here, and simply pass without trace

You think you can leap clear over the buffalo’s horns

Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns

And pass without trace

Verse 3

The crocodiles still linger here to devour the tracking dogs

The spy drones can’t probe the undergrowth, the murk through which you slog

Sleep in all your clothes tonight, they’ll slowly tear away

And there’ll be no trace left of the modern world whose presence would betray

Chorus

Though you have been fucking with the fates

You better move from here, and simply pass without trace

You think you can leap clear over the buffalo’s horns

Go ahead and vault this thicket of thorns

And pass without trace

Pass without trace

Pass without trace

Video

(Given Back The) Kingdom

I have to admit that it’s a little baffling to now have songs in my repertoire that are now ten years old. This is one such example – I wrote Kingdom some time in 2006/2007, one of the first songs composed for my old band the Lazy Lizards (who were then rather painfully called Los Crocodilos).

This performance is a very basic iteration captured last December while on holiday in southern Egypt. We were staying at Fekra, a cultural centre dedicated to championing the cultural heritage of the Nubian people of Egypt and Sudan. Fekra’s living room has a hexagonal design which provides a really nice acoustic sound. I spent a couple of night’s jamming with my friend Watter al Bahry, who plays the daff (دُفْ in Arabic). Kingdom sounded really good – so we spontaneously decided to record it. It was only the second time Watter had heard the song, thus the simple arrangement. My wife also started adding a little tambourine, before thinking better of it!

When I used to perform Kingdom with the Lazy Lizards it was a far greater beast. We recorded the version you can hear above in our very first studio session for our first EP. Our skills playing, arranging and recording were still coming together, so there are a few rough edges. The studio was a temporary set-up in a grand old Victorian house in Moseley, Birmingham, which was being rented by eight young musicians. As a result, the living room we set up in was full with about a dozen different drums from around the world the tenants had collected, and we resolved to use all of them in the extended outro to the song. You can even hear the sound of a jam jar of nails smashing at the close of the kit solo, as the vibrations of the drums shook the jar off the mantelpiece more or less in time.

Kingdom became a feature over most of our gigs across three years, and evolved out of the amorphous recorded version into a closely scripted mini-samba. It also blossomed into a different song, as the basis of Set Sail While The Ship Still Floats is simply an extension of Kingdom’s groove with an extra chord added.

samba-lizards-kingdom
the samba break-down at the end of this performance included drum kit, cajon, timpany, djembe, bongos, clave, bells, handclaps and shouts!

I wrote the song shortly after leaving Uni, where my subject had been African Studies. As well as influencing the musical component of Kingdom, this also led the direction of the lyrics. The song addresses the hypocrisy of the end of the colonial era in Africa, where the Western powers made a great show of granting independence to their African territories even as the legacies they left ensured the failure of these new states. A number of African animals appear throughout the song, most importantly the lion as an emblem of Africa’s pride, power and potential.

(Given Back The) Kingdom

Verse 1

My rivers don’t run no more

This eagle don’t care to soar

And this thirsty, skin and bone lion

Don’t have tongue to roar

Verse 2

I go in search of shade

Kneel and pray for aid

But no help come, these dry tears falls

The lion flees in dismay

Chorus

Given back the kingdom, you gonna call this freedom

Given back the kingdom, you gonna call this freedom

You know that giving back a skin

That’s not giving back anything

Is your conscience spread so thin?

Would you dare compound this sin?

Verse 3

A forest lying on its side

Men do what the termites tried

 Gone the trees and gone the beasts

The lion don’t have no pride

Verse 4

The half-moon shining pale

The harvest once again has failed

And the jackals, wolves and snakes

Lie hungry on the lion’s tail

Chorus

Given back the kingdom, you gonna call this freedom

Given back the kingdom, you gonna call this freedom

Because giving back a skin

That’s not giving back anything

Is your conscience spread so thin?

Would you dare compound this sin?

Outro

Mosquito buzz, hyena leer, the vulture flap and the baboon cheer

Mosquito buzz, hyena leer, the vulture flap and the baboon cheer

(Given Back The) Kingdom