1. |
What Kind Of Thing
03:21
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I play guitar in front of an audience
Mostly in the minors and the majors
It’s just four chords but they’re played in different orders
And I’m prone to too much self-deprecation
It’s acoustic folk with the emphasis on rhyming
With well-worn and tried and trusted tropes
I’m a cut-price atheist pound-shop Paul Simon
With a rolling cast of awkward misanthropes
Still if you ask me, what kind of thing is it that you do?
I will answer, I just sing these songs for you
But I’m scared of revealing myself to you
Still the truth is probably hiding in the tracks
Anyway you don’t want to hear my story do you?
There’s only so much light between the cracks
And I make records, but I can’t seem to sell them
Can’t describe myself in pithy paragraphs
Right now I’ve got a band here for the album
But live I’m just one bloke and his guitar
Still if you ask me what kind of thing is it that I do?
I will answer, I don’t have a bloody clue
And there are Tory-bash incursions into some social commentary
Stories in third person, yeah but they’re all versions of me
And if I sense a tense atmosphere and you’re all getting bored
I just stick a capo higher up on my guitar fretboard
Maybe I’ll sing something edgier
Higher in my vocal register
It’s like if Billy Bragg had swapped Barking for Bedford
If Jim Croce met John Hegley in the shower
If you cross Pat Sharp with some early Robert Redford
That’s what’s it’s like to sit and watch me for about an hour
And the best way to get some people to listen
Is it hit them right in that funny bone
Yeah but after that’s occurred, I’m on a mission
To make them cry before the night bus home
And well, sometimes there’s a piano
But mostly it’s just me,
And I’m always seeking validation for existing in this place and
You regret asking the question now obviously
Because I clearly sing these songs just for me
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2. |
I Guess I Drifted
05:09
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With my World Cup ’82 edition, I played Subbuteo on Dad’s floor
Cos it had a more reliable roll than the original cloth
Knew one day my index finger, would need to be insured
Then my sister came in and trod on Dino Zoff
And I know she never meant it, but that day a dream just died
No Superglue invented could keep my eye on the prize
And I guess I drifted off. I lost interest.
I drifted off onto something else and yes, I guess I drifted.
A window opens in my schedule, so I turn on my computer
But my desk is overflowing with old CD’s and receipts
So I go downstairs ostensibly to find my Henry Hoover
Then turn the radio on and just stand there eating sweets
That unfinished masterpiece will have to stay that way
Cos there’s a chaffinch on my windowsill that wasn’t there yesterday
Chorus
Then I ask you how you’re doing, I’m nodding in all the right places
Then I mentally congratulate myself on a good interaction
And I’m focusing on you and pulling all of the right faces
Then I panic when I realise that I’m hopelessly distracted
‘Cos maybe you just poured your heart out, maybe you told a joke
Either way I hedge my bets and say “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go”
Chorus
That drink friends keep asking me for, I’ll get around to that one day
Oh but currently I know I’m worse than useless
Cos I spend my weeks dreaming of one unencumbered Sunday
And I’m worried that you’ve heard all my excuses
My friend Helen moved to Hobart, she’s got her Helmsman’s license
And Darren’s selling pictures of the astronauts that went to the moon
Beth has set up her new website, dedicated to upcoming writers
And Matthew’s in the Amazon protecting baby guinea baboons
But I dropped my dreams a while back and forgot to pick them up
So instead I’m eating Cheerios from my World’s Best Dad mug
Chorus
Looks like everyone is winning, everyone’s in the know
Or maybe they curated all their greatest hits
I guess I could’ve been a sculptor, ha, but then again no
‘Cos I spend my time teaching Subbuteo to my kids
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3. |
Blue Plaque
04:43
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Grey suit shows me around, the house that I grew up in
Telling me my bedroom “just needs a lick of paint”
“Back in the late Seventies, a brown and yellow patterned carpet
Must’ve been all the rage”, but if I could look past it
Then there’s “plenty of potential”
He doesn’t know the lampshade cracked, from our game of indoor football
Or that the wood chip wallpaper, used to help me get to sleep
By counting all the grooves, where I dug my thumbnail in
I see all your successes where this stranger just sees failings
And a rundown rental. With plenty of potential.
It doesn’t need “a lick of paint”, it needs to stay the same
Every picture framed by your nicotine stains
I never want it cleaned, I won’t fix the toilet seat
It’s a museum piece, I’m tearing up the lease
Chorus
‘Cos there should be a statue of you
Or a marble monument in the drive
Or on the wall, by the door, round the back, at the very least
A blue plaque. There should be a blue plaque
Kitchen lino made a tough green for the inexperienced putter
Every Boxing Day the golf balls came crashing down the stairs
And your voice echoes through the walls, singing to Sinatra
A beautiful tuneless whistle and the rattle of your laughter
Grey suit says…”we’re near the A600”
“Such good access to Bedford”
Tourists will flock to see your favourite crossword seat
Take pictures of the doorframe where you leaned
This is where you hosted parties, this is where we parted
Oh this is where my heart is, so take it off the market
Chorus
Here lived an extraordinary ordinary man
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4. |
Caroline's Kitchen
05:26
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We walk in, there’s a chicken satay on the stove
Pass the three-legged cat by the door
Help move furniture into the alcove
Making room for an amp and a keyboard
Dave hands me a cider I drink from a mug
By the picture of cows on the wall
Caroline throws her arms wide, the warmest of hugs
Though we only met once before
And I feel like I’m home. I feel like I’m home
In Caroline’s kitchen
If that Formica island could talk I am sure
It would tell incredible stories
All the singers and songs that have played here before
In this vinyl floorboard auditorium
By bay windows all bathed in glow of fairy lights,
We play misses and hits and crowd-pleasers
There’s a buzz of excitement in the air tonight
Or maybe that’s just the fridge freezer
And we feel like we’re home. We feel like we’re home
In Caroline’s kitchen
Next time I think I should just give it all up
I’ll know there’s a home tucked in a cul-de-sac,
Where ten people or so feels like ten thousand to me
Light’s fading outside like invisible ink
But we’ve still got time left and there’s still rum to drink
And decisions to make on what our funeral songs should be
The cat’s on his pillow, John’s too scared to sleep
Dave takes our glasses and refills them
It’s Sarah and Phil’s fifth gig this week
Liam’s playing the chords to No Children
How is it some people that you barely know
Feel like a memory-foam sofa?
Well I’m under a spell at a hypnotist’s show
And I don’t want the spell to be broken
‘Cos I feel like I’m home. I feel like I’m home
In Caroline’s kitchen
Not too many people can put me at ease
And I trust anyone who’s still buying CD’s
And I didn’t even have to leave, my shoes by the door
When my casket is lowered I won’t know what’s next
Which song to play loud as they lay me to rest
Anything from tonight will be fine, played in four-four
Something from Caroline’s kitchen
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5. |
Just A Little Space
03:34
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That armrest isn’t big enough for both of us
But still you seem to want to take it all
An overcrowded train pausing in a tunnel
I’m insignificant and small
When standing I’m six feet of bone and muscle
With arms outstretched I guess I am the same
I need a little room these days, envious of the tree that sways
Alone and separate from all the others
Eyes fixed firmly to the floor
Seems like I’m always in this place
I guess all I’m looking for, is space
Just a little space
Face covered with my palms I can imagine
I’m flying over this like a canary
Looking down on everything, my beating wings of cinnamon
The closest that I get to solitary
All cosmic dust and galaxy explosions
Our bodies were all created together
But spending time apart might give us some more perspective
Until the next great supernova
So read the room and look away
Picture that look upon my face
I guess all I want today, is space
Just a little space
I refuse to feel ashamed
But I’ve replayed this whole scene,
again and again and again and again
Headphones should’ve been a clue
And I wear them just in case
I think I need a rendezvous with space
Just a little space
With space
With space
Just a little space
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6. |
Contender
04:30
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Well I’m asking how I ended up here right now
In this two up two down in this West Country house
If I’d tried a bit harder there is no doubt
That I could’ve been a contender.
But there’s got to be something much better than this
Should’ve been someone’s choice on Desert Island discs
Ah but I was too scared to take too many risks
And I could’ve been a contender
Always wanted to be on the Top of the Pops
Now I order CDs from all the online shops
The most joy that I get is from opening the box
And I could’ve been a contender
But it’s 11am on a Tuesday
And I’ve popped back to bed for a rest
If eighteen year old me could look forward and see,
He’d probably call this success
I never went backpacking through the streets of Bangkok
Cos I tried to get known in the world of folk rock
And like Brando down by the old waterfront docks
I could’ve been a contender
Well I tried to be bad but I always succumb
I’m someone you could introduce to your mum
If I’d not wanted to be liked by everyone
Maybe I could’ve been a contender
In the rain at my son’s game on Sundays
Stand with other Dads, getting drenched
They shout ‘”GET STUCK IN”, I say “Football’s the winner!”
I’ve lost my competitive edge
I thought the first one now would later be last
And it’s not like I just sat around on my arse
But if I can’t even make my own podcast
Then how can I be a contender?
Still as long as I’ve got something worthwhile to say
As long as there’s blood still pumping through my veins
Then it’s in my own hands, it’s never too late
Maybe I can still be a contender
Maybe I can still be a contender
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7. |
Balance
04:31
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We’re here to take the temperature of this divided nation
Please contradict each other, that’s much better for our ratings
If you’re in a mixed-race marriage or a card-carrying racist
Call in, we’ll bring you balance
Let’s speak to Trotsky on Line One, calling for a revolution
Oh Tommy Tommy on Line Two, who says “just line ‘em up and shoot ‘em”
Before the news and sport, Mick wants to bring back executions
We’re here, it’s clear, for balance
Our enemy is too much peace and quiet, So how loud can you be?
So long as we are not accused of bias or partiality
If a politician’s caught naked in front of little kids
Someone will call to say “well, that was fine back in the Seventies”
Like gymnasts on Olympic beams or a funambulist
We thrive, survive, on balance
A dinosaur expert is here to debate today’s big issue
With evidence of fossils and a T-Rex’s soft tissue
So we’ve found an angry creationist who can give us his view
Call in, we bring you balance
Text or tweet or ring in with your unverified stats
All we want is your opinion, who cares about the facts?
Peaceniks want to ban videos that teach us to make bombs
But we don’t want you to think that there’s a moral right or wrong
So our next guest’s in a suicide vest, oh everyone be calm,
It’s clear he’s here for balance
Everyone’s a pundit, In a hostile atmosphere
All reason is redundant, nuance is so last year
There’s a parent on the air who says her child has been taken
Talking to a man who once kept a whole family in his basement
Please hold, your fury will be heard we thank you for your patience
We’re here to take the temperature of this divided nation
Like an ice rink attendant helping toddlers with their skating
One of our greatest talents
Is being here for balance
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8. |
Pretty Sure It's Tuesday
03:51
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Clothes pegs are clipping two bed sheets together
And underneath is every duvet we can spare
Sofa cushions, yoga mat, shut the door, keep out the cats
In case they jump on blankets tied to the armchair
In our den we can pretend nothing can harm us
Tory policy or a sub-atomic blast
We’ve turned off the wireless feed, got all the comics that we’ll need
And we hope our cardboard box front door holds fast
Out there it could be doomsday, But time keeps ticking on
And I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, but I could be wrong
If forensics took our t-shirts
Then they could tell what we ate this week
Sweet popcorn, cheesy crisps, some orange juice and the best bit
Those tiny cereals you get kids for a treat
We could rejoin the world but don’t intend to
In this fortress we hope we are never found
But batteries are getting low on the Nintendo
And the roof looks architecturally unsound
In here it’s a slow news day, But time keeps ticking on
And I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, but I could be wrong
I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, but I could be wrong
And you say it’s like being abroad
On a holiday we can afford
And we’re not stuck in traffic in the car
But you wish that you had tightened
Up the laws on luxury items
‘Cos you’re sick and tired of me playing guitar
Six months in and there are some things that we’re missing
New text alerts, that old endorphin rush
We try to tell the time from church bells in the distance
And I wish we’d got some soap and a toothbrush
Oh this must be what it’s like out in the Arctic
If an igloo was made out of pegs and sheets
I mostly miss seeing my warm breath in the darkness
And the sound of my own footsteps on the street
But I can’t hear a word you say, Because I never pick up the phone
And I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, but I could be wrong
I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday, but I could be wrong
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9. |
Weltschmerz
04:27
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If the people in this café could see my thoughts
In much the same way that you can see when someone’s typing online
Maybe they’d put down their flapjacks for a time
And if I could see inside their minds a while, before that sigh becomes a smile, before the mask slips, maybe, maybe we’d be fine
These things we delete and throw away. They’re the truthful things.
And what we’re left with here today
Is this weltschmerz, as the Germans say.
This weltschmerz that won’t go away.
I try to bury all the thoughts of the polar ice caps shrinking
All the oil-polluted water we’re all probably drinking
Drown the thought that my kids will be forced to fix this mess
Phone-in calls are engaged in a row about creation
Newspaper reports enrage a much-divided nation
So I decide staying quiet is for the best
But these things we delete, discard and throw away.
They’re the truthful things
And what we’re left we here today is this weltschmerz
As the Germans say. this weltschmerz that won’t go away
And I’m not fine, you’re not fine, don’t tell anyone
That I’m not fine, you’re not fine, once more round the sun
And I’m thinking of a Christmas at the summit of the city
Taking photographs of London, god it never looked so pretty
And somewhere on that undeveloped film is what’s inside my head
Balloon rides and ferris wheels, the fog of breath in winter
Blue beanie on your head and the scarf around your shoulders
Those pictures, if we print them, could never live up to that
And this world might never turn out how I thought it would at 18
But through tinny café speakers I hear the sound of Springsteen
Thunder Road trying to break through clink of spoon on china
And that restless inner voice that’s a constant reminder
That magic can occur in the most unlikely places
Sit back and take hold, as Mary’s dress keeps waving
‘Cos when I think about this planet, I can’t help but adore it
But reality won’t tally with the hope that I have for it
As the sun goes down, on another day
There’s a coffee stain, on another empty page
And this weltschmerz, as the Germans say.
This weltschmerz that won’t go away
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10. |
De Helling
05:00
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Some nights are just too perfect
There’s too much light, too much life
And you, all yellow cardigan
Dungarees and Converse
Mouth upturned in repose
Small Heineken in hand
Surrounded by strangers in this foreign land
And you, my doppelgänger brother
Black v-neck and swept hair
And your moth-eaten scarf
And I barely know you
But I know that
We are lost and don’t want to be found
Tonight
Lights drop
House music fades out
First chords
Have To Explode
And I think that I could die here
If I’m not already gone
T-shirts at the merch stand
But I’ll wear this forever like a tattoo on my hand
And you, eyes closed and barely breathing
Everyone keeping time on our side
And you, beer raised up to the heavens
Purple Converse tapping
Just so bloody happy
I barely know you
But I know that
We are lost and don’t want to be found
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Helen is headlining our next My Little Owl presents... gig in Sheffield on November 16th 2013. She plays lovely, quirky, slightly jazzy, sometimes a bit folky pop songs.
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This might be my favorite thing Daniel has ever recorded. I shared the story part with my children, who also absolutely loved it. The songs are great too.
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All of this album is just great. But Storm to Weather is just an amazing sing along track that is always a joy to hear live.
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