Archive for the 'my music' Category

Guess I’m Falling In Love

Perhaps the funkiest, happiest song I’ve ever written. The tune and first verse were written while I was at university, and forgotten. Then a friend said two weeks ago “I guess I’m falling in love” while we were discussing her nasty bout of the unrequiteds. I remembered the song, wrote the rest, recorded it last weekend and mixed it yesterday with the help of Shez, my old friend and bass guitarist. A mere 27 years from conception to completion.

The bass was recorded in one straight take (the 57th take, to be precise). I wanted it tense and urgent, after Amy Lowell’s poem Vernal Equinox — “Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?”.

A11y Rocks – the album!

For those who don’t know, “a11y” is short for “accessibility” — the practice of ensuring web sites (and apps) are usable by people with disabilities.

Anyway, Heydon Pickering, a chum of mine from Bury St Somerset O’Groats in rural England, has collected some music made by people from the accessibility (and wider web standards) world, and is selling an album of it for £3, all of which will go to two worthy causes: NVDA, a free open-source screen reader to help people with visual disabilities access the web, and Parkinsons UK.

The track list is pretty varied, from novelty to folk to psychedelia. There’s even a song by me on it, called Imprecise and Infrared, which Heydon described: “Your song has been stuck in my head 4 days out of 5 for the last four months, you catchy fuck.”

It would make a lovely Xmas prezzy, and owning it will make you (up to) 74 times more sexually desirable. So why not buy it?

The Ordinary Miracle (unmixed)

Here’s a song I started writing in Pokhahra, Nepal, under a skyline dominated by the Annapurnas (hence the Nepalese temple bell sample), while thinking about childbirth: how the delivery of my kids felt like a miracle, yet it’s so commonplace – millions of babies are born every year.

Then I thought about the unconditional love one has for one’s kids, and then the ordinary miracle of feeling love for anyone. So it’s about all of that, and joy and sorrow, related hippie bollocks, and mountains too. I love the sea, and I love mountains.

The second verse was completed in March this year in Barcelona. I’d hoped to have it recorded and mixed before my friend had her baby, but a month of travel prevented mixing and he was born at the weekend. Hurray!

Title suggested by Brian Patten’s Fruitful Lady of the Dawn.

It’s for you, please don’t think twice.
No words are wasted in this offering;
Take it now; no sacrifice;
freeing me, it’s freely given.
These gifts won’t fade;
It’s renewed every day

This may seem commonplace and unremarkable –
it’s the ordinary miracle:
Mundane, banal and trivial;
Comic-fodder for the cynical.
I give my unconditional love to you.
I do.

I never saw a clearer moon
from the Annapurnas to the Pyrenees.
I hope you don’t learn too soon
that freedom that is granted doesn’t set you free.
This light will glow –
I hope you see it when you go.

It’s for you – hold out your hands.
I’ll waste no more words in this offering.

The Girl In The Room

The last vanity song for a while, I promise — and this one’s definitely not punk. In my defence, it started life as fucked-folk, like “Femme Fatale” by the Velvet Underground. But as the lyrics firmed up, I started thinking about a serenade (“a musical greeting performed for a lover… an evening piece, one to be performed on a quiet and pleasant evening”) as that’s what the lyrics are about, albeit with a bittersweetness not reflected in the arrangement.

It was written in Cambodia and Barcelona. I wrote an alternate third verse which I don’t remember, and I don’t have the handwritten draft any more. If I do remember, I’ll record it in fucked-folk style.

Footage of the girl is from “Weg zum Nachbarn” by Lutz Mommartz, 1968.

The girl in the room
talks at dusk of musk and sandalwood
Of warm winter mornings
and cool summer nights.
Telling tales without tomorrows
of her yesterdays and ancient times;
of a castle in the birch trees
in the calmness of twilight.

The girl in the room
is thunder-lightning: fiercely beautiful;
weighed down with words, then musical,
with her faces in her moon.
She asks if you could love her
and before you can recover
she needs to be somewhere or other.
Through the trees, the breeze sings tunes.

The girl in the room
talks at sunset in her box of text,
of monsoon rain and games and sex
and the ruins where bluebells bloom.
Lost in feelings like a forest,
there are no certain maps to happiness;
She spills wine on her Chinese dress,
and the breeze brings you tunes.

Words and music © Bruce Lawson, 2015


The noisiest song I’ve writen for ages. Drums! A weedy trebly riff and five (count ’em!) dirty, dirty guitar lines. And no girly cello or mincing harpsichords, just a snakey riff with a good groove around a Gm chord, and a stonking chorus (though I immodestly say so myself). The chords in the chorus are a reasonably conventional Bb, F, Ab, Gm. But then it wanders down to Gb before returning to Gm, which is probably illegal in territories signed up to the Geneva musical convention. Check with a music lawyer before listening.

This was written in Cambodia and UK. An Apsara is a “beautiful, supernatural female being. They are youthful and elegant, and superb in the art of dancing .. often depicted taking flight”. The line about “dust and semen” is purloined from Auden’s poem September 1, 1939: “I, composed like them/ Of Eros and of dust”. “I was happy, I was sad” is borrowed from Beethoven’s letter to his Immortal Beloved “Your love makes me at once most happy and most unhappy”.

I once heard the thunder
and the love songs that the storm screams.
I’m dumb-struck with wonder
at how you plunder and invade and occupy my dreams.
I ask no questions;
I won’t understand the answers they bring.
I do not hope
for I dare not hope for anything.

Goodbye, Apsara:
your dance was much too beautiful to bear.
I watched you wash your hair;
I was happy, I was sad and I was scared-not-scared.
You don’t care; nobody’s there.

I can find no meaning
in the minutes that limit and diminish my soul.
I’m just made of dust and semen;
I was dying, I was dead, and I want to be whole.
I ask for nothing
nothing comes from nothing and I’d always want more.
I’d forgotten loving
and you’ve got jasmine in your hair, you’ve got a world to explore.

Fly now, Apsara:
your dance was much too beautiful to bear.
In Kambuja
between future and the past I dared not dare.
You’re not there. There’s nothing to share.

Words and music © Bruce Lawson 2015

(Here’s a totally different song called Apsara by Roger Doyle which is all new age and trancey. Good stuff.)


A song I started writing 17 years ago in Pokhara, Nepal and finished this year in UK. (Actually, the crappy 1st draft lyrics I have were in my ’98 jotter, but I got a message from bassist of my university band who says “I can remember us doing a prototype of ‘bluegreenkiss’ in 1986”, so it’s my oldest new song ever.)

I sat on it for two decades because for years I wasn’t sure if I’d accidentally stolen the melody – the previous song I’d presented to the band turned out to be mostly The Beatles’ “All My Loving”, so I was pretty paranoid about anything I wrote outside my usual “one two three four!” punky genre. For ages I played it on my acoustic guitar to girlfriends, other musicians and the postman (once) to ask them if they recognised it.

The phrase “Look at the way she..” was what I found myself singing when I first wrote it, but the lyrics were written much later in Turkey (where I lived in a fisherman’s cottage near the sea) and Nepal (where I went horse-riding up a mountain, which had trees though it wasn’t a forest). Hence the hippie/huggy lyrics. The line “She sometimes says what she means / I hope I can do this too” is because I tweaked the words to make absolutely sure that the person they’re written for never realises it’s about her. Self-expression’s one thing, but actually telling someone what you think of them is ludicrously risky.

It’s about people who are gone, and trying to record the physical aspects of their presence – colours and activities – to preserve memories of the moments they were with me. To those who inspired it, thank you, wherever you are. (Tennyson, In Memoriam, XXVII)

There are those who would say it’s not sufficiently punk. Of course it’s punk – I fucking wrote it. QED.

Look at the way she
kisses me gently;
Look how this simple act
brings my brain ease.

She’ll never try to please;
She needs the world to see she is free.
I’m proud but I’m sad for this too.

Look at the way she
walks through the forest.
Look how the leaf-light
glows her old white blouse green.

She aways dances and dreams;
she sometimes says what she means;
I hope I can do this too.

Look at the way she
swims in the ocean.
Look how the rivers’ swell
flows into her.

For all her wrecks and her tides,
She’s in love with her life;
I hope she can love me too.

But look at the way she’s
kissing me gently

Words and music © Bruce Lawson, all rights reserved.
Drums, bass and remixing by Shez of the band Silverlake.
More music at

Song: Imprecise and Infrared

I wrote a song in UK, Amsterdam and Barcelona, as part of my ‘Music for ecstatic dancing or fucking. Or just, you know, having a nice cup of tea to’ series. I recorded it with the aid of Shez, my old schoolfriend, bandmate and member of Silverlake, who did drums and bass and production.

I made a video for it. It may be NSFW if you work in a monastery or for Al Quaida (boobs).

The words:

Imprecise and Infrared,
you burn my brain, you broke my heart
The fire inside the words you said
almost split the world in half.
Sing as you like, sing as you love
– in music there’s no imprecision.
All of your colours are
flickering beyond my vision.

Today i don’t believe in searching
these days I believe in nothing
waiting while the world is turning
all around me.

Weave the sunlight in your hair
deadly red, bright colours shine.
All the world can come to stare
but find no words to define you.
imprecise, and infrared
– I feel your heat through all your winters.
Even though the words you said
lie in fragments, fractured, splintered.

Today i don’t believe in searching
these days I believe in nothing
waiting while the world is turning
all around me.

It’s burning all around me.
You’re always Imprecise and Infrared.

Words and music © Bruce Lawson, 2015

Moments 3 (10.7.87)

After posting my old song Speed Of Light which contains the delicate phrase “fucking in the summer rain”, I remembered this poem that I wrote about the same incident, with slightly more genteel vocabulary.

It’s part of the same series of poems as It is a hot evening in July that I wrote to try to capture a precise moment in time or emotion.

Moments 3 (10.7.87)

The lethargy of evening
insects in the long grass
the langour and the language
I will not find a meaning
I will not bind my feeling

soft rain silvers cobwebs
on the stone for Stan and Ellen
that we lie upon all grassy
when the world gives up its whirling
for an instant small as insects
in the calmness after climax
in the stillness of the twilight
we are here

The Lucies, live, 1991

When I was clearing my dad’s house I found the VHS tape on which there was the only video of my band doing a gig. I don’t know who took the video, but here are five songs recorded in a tent at a festival in the West Midlands in 1991. The band are me (rhythm guitar, vocals), Tony Sherrard (bass), Andrew Cope (drums) and Nick Sherrard (lead guitar). We were called “The Lucies”. Here we are as a three-piece before Nick joined, with some hanger-on called John Peel.

3 young men in horrible shirts with John Peel

This song is one I wrote called “Silka, Wearing Fancy Dress” in Summer ’91. There’s a studio demo with variant lyrics available. Words, music © Bruce Lawson.

Silka walks in those evenings When you feel like you’re still a virgin.
You don’t trust your feelings, Silka’s certain she’s hurting.
She is dressed in lace when she says, “Yes, yes, I will; of course I will, yes” –
But if you feel the need to believe her,
remember – Silka’s in fancy dress.

Silka in black satin, like the Mona Lisa if she were in mourning.
You try to please her, then with no warning
There’s a pause for the sinful applause and your unsatisfying taste of success
and the knowledge of the flaws that you hate, then through the door
comes Silka in fancy dress.

Bejewelled in a shattered promise, she’s wearing fading fraying denim.
You’re pierced by inverted commas
that have appeared round the tales she’s been telling you for so long.
She’ll decree: “Everybody loves me”, but it’s too late for you’ve already guessed
Underneath there’s nothing that’s real to see; Silka’s only fancy dress.
Really, she’s merely fancy dress.
She’s very nearly Silka, wearing fancy dress.

Keep your mind and your eyes closed;
Silka’s wearing borrowed clothes
and all her cheap and gaudy trinkets.
Silka said she’s gonna crash; listen. Sing it.

Let no-one say The Lucies couldn’t rock out. However, accusations of leaving heavier songs open to extemporised guitar noodling and never properly rehearsing how to end them will be met with hands in pockets, eyes averted and shuffling of feet. “Dancing (Across a backdrop of Stars)” is a moronic heavy riff I wrote, with some vaguely psychedelic words I wrote after bring mightily impressed by a performance by the London Contemporary Dance Theatre. Words, music © Bruce Lawson

“Don’t Bring Me Down” is a storming bassline and tune by Shez, with some blahblah words from me about not harshing my mellow because “I’m lost, don’t wanna be found again” and “floating in colours and sound again” etc. It’s for this reason we were called “The Hallucinogenic Freedom League” (later abbreviated to “The Lucies” because no-one could ever spell the full name). There’s a studio demo available. Words, © Bruce Lawson, Music © Tony Sherrard.

This song – called “The Missionary’s Position” – is proof that a short satisfying riff repeated ad infinitum with jazz chords (F9 – E9- D7- A7, woo!), funk bass, wiggly wiggly heavy rock lead and a bluesy middle break doesn’t add up to a good song. Note Paul, the roadie/ soundman putting his spare wheel in front of the bass drum, as Andy played so hard his drum was moving away from him. Words, music © Bruce Lawson.

This last one is a ballad called “Sweet Sadie Sings”. It’s one of my favourite songs I wrote for The Lucies because (1) it has a nifty G add9 chord, (2) it has a shouldn’t-work-but-does F#m to F change and (3) because I remember who the real “Sadie” is. But what’s in a name if the name’s been changed?

Live, it suffers a bit from lack of variation – the studio demo has a sexy extra guitar line by Shez, the bassist. This performance got me dangerously close to being blacklisted by the Tortured Artists and Singer-Songwriters Association as I visibly, and publicly, smiled while singing it. Words, music © Bruce Lawson

Sadie sings sweetly
about all of the things she’s done
and says, “They can’t be classified neatly
into those I’ve lost and those I’ve won.
For experience gained
My innocence has been shamed.
until only empty words remain.”
Sweet Sadie sings.

Sadie sings softly
of the last twenty-seven times she’s been in love
and says “If you would only get off me
I could transcend this wrecked room and rise above
My stupid hopes and my facile fears
My futile dreams and my fatuous fears.
I never claimed that I was proud of these last three years.”
Sweet Sadie sings.

Sadie is grieving
for the dreams she’s nurtured and then denied.
She said, “One November evening
I took them out and I laid them bare and there they died.
I know that I am far too small
to contemplate ever achieving them all,
so on the way some of them fall.”
Sweet Sadie sings.

Sadie sings sadly
conscious of her words’ ambiguities.
She says “Who’s to say I’ve done so badly
when all I’ve ever really done is try to please?
For experience gained
My sense of wonder has waned.
What’s in a name when the name’s been changed?”
Sweet Sadie sings

Speed of Light

I found this lurking as sol.wav on a hard drive while doing a computer backup on Friday.

One weekend in summer ’91 or ’92, a group of us were at my flat tripping on LSD from Friday night until Sunday lunchtime. (Mum, kids: it was an accident; a naughty Dutch man in the park told us they were cough sweets.)

At some point during the fun, I got a tune in my head and decided to write a song about tripping, while tripping. I tried subsequently to record it with real drums in a studio, but it didn’t work, so it languished as a cassette of me woozily singing it with acoustic guitar until 2004 when my friend Shez showed me how to use some sequencing software on his computer and helped me program this.

I note in passing that none of us coughed during that weekend. And, if you think about it, the whole world really *is* circles and lines.

Boys and girls come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day
And it would be so good
If you only say you would
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

In the cold white wintertime
The whole world is just circles and lines
And your eyes burn
When we feel the seasons turn
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

Dewy dawn in early May
Emily comes out to play
she is gathering flowers
by the ruined prison towers
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

midnight when the moon is full
we can’t resist that mad lunar pull
we wax and wane
fucking in the summer rain
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

In the Autumn if you just call
You can make the cold stars fall
into the warm wet sea
Like dead leaves beneath bare trees
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

Boys and girls come out to play
The moon doth shine as bright as day
And it would be so good
If you only say you would
I’m travelling at the speed of light
Everything’s all right

Word and music © bruce lawson