1. |
The Return of the Dead
04:01
|
|||
|
The Return of the Dead
(Frey)
A toucan is shaking it’s head the focus goes up to the tree tops
and suddenly smoke starts to spread as we’re gliding past a big trunk the piano begins in G sharp while a dozer is driving towards us
he’s strolling through the burnt forest in the twilight
And then the weird guy starts to sing, he’s asking a whole lot of questions
an elephant’s carcass is zoomed in, some Massais are gathered around it
we’re then rising up through the smoke and a tree’s falling down to the ground as the singer, amidst the inferno is launching the chorus
in a Jesus Christ pose
A little boy’s picturing the time before they met hell with animals still running across the savannah
and when the indigenous hunter still followed his prey but we feel that the worst bit’s still waiting for us
The scenery has changed to a town, where homeless are walking through ruins and tanks are rolling around, a familiy is mourning their daughter
and now they’re all going to their knees, the burnt soil is loose and it seems there’s a lot of handdigging to do and in comes the storm
The earth starts trembling and the wind is blowing therefore they all have to cling on to something by shouting out loud and vigorous stomping
black jesus himself is reversing the timeline
and whether they are animals, rainforest trees or humans they all have to play their part in the joyful return of the dead
|
||||
2. |
TCC
03:57
|
|||
3. |
Bells
04:43
|
|||
|
Bells
(Brühlmann/Frey)
There’s a hum in the wind, with a tone deep within
floating tender and slow above the valley below
through the ravines and cuts, along the slopes and the rocks rises up with the breeze, joins the birds in the trees
Across the rivers of ice, where there is nothing but sky
lies a sonorous chord like a motionless sigh
it’s so soft and so bare, yet it’s filling the air
if you’re listening well, you can tell, it’s the sound of a bell… from a different time
Where the stream used to swirl, spraying diamonds and pearls now its bed lying dry and it runs in a pipe
from the reservoir dam, holding a lake made by man
where down at the bottom a bell tower stands
It’s sixty years now, they abandoned their homes
left their poor crops and a land full of stones
and when thy were gone and the village was drowned their dead were still buried there in the ground hearing the bells from the depth of the water
they lock up their doors because their forefathers come begging for a dry place to sleep
There’s a hum in the wind, with a tone deep within
floating tender and slow above the valley below
it’s so soft and so bare, yet it’s filling the air
if you’re listening well, you can tell, it’s the sound of a bell… from a different time
|
||||
4. |
Gäbelbachiana
05:48
|
|||
5. |
Wreckers
03:54
|
|||
|
Wreckers
(Brühlmann/Aydin/Frey)
Out at sea for 35 days and if the wind would stay the same they’d make it home in another seven
back there, their cargo would be sold and, so they were told would be worth it’s weight in gold
Far off the cape came in sight, they would round it in the night keep the lighthouse to their right
it was this light they would trust, as they were sailing after dusk, not to get lost
But in the darkness ahead, they saw the foam of the breaking waves some cried for help, some cursed instead
then silence when they faced their fate
and looked into their open grave
One shock, the ship hit the ledge, raised the bow for a stretch ripped its hull there on the edge
on deck, by god, what they saw, made them freeze to the core there’s a fire on the shore
And in the darkness ahead, they heard the sound of the breaking waves some started praying some cursed instead
then silence when they faced their fate
and fell into their open grave
The wreckers, now awaiting their reward, of goods of all sorts and all the treasures on board
they climb the side and pull their knives, cut off everything that’s tied leave no witness alive
|
||||
6. |
I walked this Road
04:13
|
|||
|
I walked this Road
(Brühlmann/Frey)
I walked this road in rain and snow, from here to the unknown and often alone, I got soaked to the bone
through open fields under the sun, beneath an endless sky and when I was dry, had a permanent high
it took me far away, where I could go astray, and when I got tired
I lay in the hay, let them all play their plays, chased my cravings away promised to change my ways, if not today, then tomorrow
When I first met her, she was half a punk
she was hopelessly poetic and constantly drunk
I instantly fell for her charms, tumbled straight into her arms she was wild I was blind we were one of a kind
we were dancing like dervishes out of their minds
and I was still turning around, seeing what I had just found, disappear in the crowd
Well, I went on to places, I didn’t know were there
and I had my share of indifference and care
I met her lovers on and on, in town and countryside
and when it was right, had a craic for a night
wherever I did roam, each place her name was known
I was astounded, when her gifts were shown
her stories were grown, some claimed her their own
and I stood alone with the picture I had and what I remembered
The next time I saw her she was gentle and kind
she was hopeful and melancholic with a humorous mind
I could hardly turn my face from her amazing grace
she was sad, she was bright, we were embracing the night and we laughed and we cried till my eyelids were tight
and I was softly falling asleep, still hearing her tapping feet disappear down the street
|
||||
7. |
First Encounter
05:01
|
|||
8. |
William Brodie
05:21
|
|||
|
William Brodie
(Frey)
Gently clouds were drifting through the Edinburgh skies
as the crowd, it was slowly expanding
they were waiting by the tolbooth, for a most established man who’s life was both, misterious and outstanding
His trade was the woodworks, he presided the guild a respectable craftsman, successful and skilled
he rubbed shoulders with the gentry, with Raeburn and Burns Dr. Jekyll in the daytime, but at night
his companions were whoremasters, drunkards and thieves he supported two mistresses with their five kids
he gambled with playing cards and with loaded dice transforming into Mr Hyde was the price
His profession was his guarantee to access thievishly many noble houses with impressions of the keys
he teamed up with a locksmith and then started ruthlessly a new live as a burglar – with best relations
Goldsmiths and tobacconists, banks and in one case they even stole the Edinburgh college silver mace thoroughly intoxicated by the night-time thrill their ambitions kept on growing into a baleful plan
Pursuing his way on the dark side of the town
for more than ten years, goes the deacon
fleeced down to the bone, but Brodie was not tracked down still shining in society as a beacon
He partnered up with John Brown, Andrew Ainslie and George Smith for a most spectacular enterprise that would magnify the myth
an armed raid on the excise office on the canongate
was scheduled in the early march of 1788
After breaking into the office with a coulter they had nicked
a deputy solicitor showed up with the effect
that they left the place without the chash locked up in the drawer they only looted 16 pounds then they fell apart
Free pardon was proclaimed along with a reward for anyone with helpful information
John Brown he took the bate so Brodie had to flee and took the ship to Holland in desperation
Aiming for America and heading to the port
they chased him down in Amsterdam and brought his case to court found guilty by the judge and sentenced to be hanged
he tried to bribe the hangman he had a final plan
A crowd of 40’000 awaited him outside
as he stepped up to the gallows, calm and head up high
a collar and a metal tube inserted down his throat
stopped his neck from breaking as he dangled from the rope
He may have survived and made his way to France or maybe this is just another story
outstanding not only the final public dance
of the unforgotten William Brodie
|
||||
9. |
No Land's Man
05:38
|
|||
10. |
The Man on the Bodhrán
04:11
|
|||
|
The Man on the Bodhrán
(Brühlmann/Aydin/Frey)
Since you`re here and I have your attention
a case of injustice I`ve got to mention
there are folks with a mission, great skills and ambitions, without recognition hard-working men keen to serve all the listeners
keeping tension that is their business
heroic defenders of rhythm and tempo
and of taste where there is no(ne)
But it`s widely believed when a session is on
that they only appear to get some free beer
and stick stubborn like thistles
some evil tongues they claim that it`s rude and completely in vain to hit a goat skin because one can`t sing or play tunes on the whistle
Good-natured types drawing harsh criticism
from ignorant people and other musicians
you have to be strong to keep playing on, if you play the bodhrán winking at girls with a short silent prayer
but the ladies don`t fall for the odd bodhrán player
their eyes rest on singers or they patiently linger
on fiddlers and box players fingers
But we know who is pushing them on,
behind the guitars being strung, pumping life into an endless song weaving patterns around every tune,
your feet they are following soon, join with the heartbeat of your own the beat of the bodhrán
And it`s widely believed when there is music around
if ever endowed they play much too loud,
drowning out all the others
malicious tongues arguing, that the utmost remarkable thing is that goats and the kin now beating their skins once were sisters and brothers
From the dawning of time we were stuck in the doldrums
our hairy forefathers invented the hand drum
no strings of no type, no bag on no pipe, only rhythmic delight for thousands of years it was truly sublime
to skilfully wield the old tipper in time
those times they have gone and the gem has become
a target to slander and scorn
But wondering what has remained
remember the pleasure you gained
to let it drive the bloodstream through your veins it`s time to change your mind
leave all the tell-tales behind
and judge him for the grooves alone
the man on the bodhrán
|
||||
An Lar
An Lár (Irish for “the center”) has gained a reputation as one of the most vibrant Celtic Folk Band in Switzerland in the past few years. Their mix of traditional and contemporary tunes and songs from Ireland, Scotland, Asturias and Brittany enriched with their own material is full of energy and sense of style. ... more
If you like An Lar, you may also like:
From Cork, Ireland, Lewis Barfoot writes mystic, majestic songs derived from regional folk, with an ambient music aura.
go to album
The Two Worlds
by Brigid Mae Power
The latest LP from Brigid Mae Power is gorgeous and ghostly, setting Power’s voice against soft brushes of guitar, piano, & shuffling drums.
go to album
Collaborating remotely with 12 songwriters from all over the world, Kim Edgar emerged with a work of striking art pop.
go to album
Into the Depths of Hell
by Joshua Burnside
Joshua Burnside uses field recordings, drone, delay and spoken-word sample to modernize traditional Irish music.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jan 22, 2019
go to album
Would the Light Hold Me
by Oceanique
Celtic-inspired instrumentation, delicate harmonies, and reflective lyrics abound on the sisterly indie-folk duo's debut album.
go to album
Scottish harpist and singer Rachel Newton brings an innovative, intensely emotional touch to traditional music on this dreamy LP.
go to album
