Month: May 2007

I mentioned I had been going through a stretch of dark depression, and found myself listening to boozers, Celts and boozy Celts singing sad sad songs… Well, I posted a video by one of the boozers (Tom Waits), and some boozy Celts (the Pogues), but here’s a video by the one non-boozy Celt I’ve been listening to, also singing sad songs.

(probably a good thing he isn’t a boozer. this is one of his cheerier songs)

…

A Heart Needs a Home
Richard and Linda Thompson

I know the way that I feel about you
I’m never gonna run away
I’m never gonna run away
I never knew the way when I lived without you
I’m never gonna run away
I’m never gonna run away

I came to you when no one could hear me
I’m sick and weary of being alone
Empty streets and hungry faces
The world’s no place when you’re on your own
A heart needs a home

Some people say that I should forget you
I’m never gonna be a fool
I’m never gonna be a fool
A better life, they say, if I’d never met you
I’m never gonna be a fool
I’m never gonna be a fool

Tongues talk fire and eyes cry rivers
Indian givers, hearts of stone
Paper ships and painted faces
The world’s no place when you’re on your own
A heart needs a home

When I look at the blog posts, well… anywhere… people are traveling, doing interesting things, and I wish I could write about groovy adventures myself– but I can’t… so I don’t post. So far, 2007 has been really trying, and I’ve been horribly depressed.

So, so as not to leave a big crater in my log, I’ll post some videos I’ve been listening to lately, mostly boozers & Celts (and, of course, boozy Celts) singing sad sad songs. Here’s one by The Pogues.

Dirty Old Town

addendum: turns out that “Dirty Old Town” was written by Ewan MacColl, father of Kirsty MacColl, who sang backup on the Pogue’s “Fairytale of New York” . And the line, “Smelled the spring on the smoky wind,” was originally “smelled a Spring on the Salford wind” (referring to Salford, Ewan’s Home Town in Scotland).

…

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Spring’s a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I’m going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Tom Traubert’s Blues – Tom Waits

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZmqbcBsTAw

Wasted and wounded, it ain’t what the moon did, I’ve got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

I’m an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I’m tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything’s broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab’s parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I’m down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill’s I staggered, you’d bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I’ve kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

No, I don’t want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren’t for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda’s the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And it’s a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too

Continue reading “I’m not dead yet”