Review - 27/01/05

Thanks to Scott for writing this rather nice review from an evening at OOTB - http://www.outofthebedroom.co.uk Edinburgh's No1 live singer/songwriter night. Waverley Bar (upstairs) 27th Jan 05. As ever www.impossiblesongs.com gives more info.

Scott @OOTB -27/01/05

"Impossible Songs then stormed onstage for their first showing of the year; well, John sort of whinged his way up, saying he used to be able to sing, play and have hair like Rob's... He can still rock with the best of them, though, as he proved by kicking into ‘Cold Fish, IS's dual-vocal groove, and proclaimed "let's go and have an accident" (this song, and the cross-legged thousands, were actually the inspiration for the second break). Ali then, after a moment of making sure all was well in the voice department, took centre stage for the well-oiled 'Happy Like', introduced by John as 'a song about train-riding in Japan on Prozac". There's quite a chilling aspect to the sound of this track, which the “kamikaze”-based vocals bear out ( "liked the food, liked the trains, baby, turned really strange"), and John worked some nice wee showboating 'jelly' rolls into the chorus as well. Final song was 'Dancing', which can be obtained for free, if the Impossibles have promo discs with them; a song about insecurities and inter-relationship gamesmanship, Ali warns "the wolf in sheep's clothing", that she "might wear you down and out with my love" (wolves are in for a hard time tonight, as you'll discover...). Another passionate vocal from Ms Hutton."

Two poems by Olivia

Pancakes

I love pancakes, with golden syrup
It falls onto my pancakes
And melts all runny
And feels funny
Which runs down to my tummy.
They are golden brown
And they’re nice and round
Hot from the pan
Syrup from a can
Butter from the fridge
Dripping from the edge.
I ate two
And didn’t give any to you.

By Olivia.


Syrus

Syrus is shy
And doesn’t like flies
He likes to go outside
And hide
And seek
He likes to roll in the mud
With his paw prints thud, thud, thud.
He is not friends with dogs
Or jumping frogs
From the waterfall
He doesn’t like them at all
He eats his dinner from a silver dish
He likes to eat fish
And chips
He sleeps and counts sheep
He peeps with his little eye
And says,
“Bye bye!”


By Olivia.

heartburst - all the lyrics

Here are the complete set of lyrics from our CD "heartburst", by popular demand...

buy from us direct or via www.impossiblesongs.com

heartburst

heartburst feel the pressure love joy peace or pain
filling up and spilling over forcing tiny teardrops again
heartbeat made to measure before it all began
incomplete without each other hard to see it hard to understand

a special time a seam of gold a butterfly mine a tale untold fluttering by wanting free urging it happen let destiny be a special time sky of stars musical rhyme cage without bars sparkling high invisibly be silvery trails through history see

heartburst feel the pressure love joy peace or pain
filling up and spilling over forcing tiny teardrops again
heartbeat made to measure before it all began
incomplete without each other believing in it still don't understand

butterfly on the moon

you did not have strong feelings for me
sleep in peace at night
happy living on independently
emotionally light

it was so real so real for me
it was so real so real
it is so gone so gone from me
it is so gone so gone

you did not have strong feelings for me
sleep in peace at night
happy living on independently

you did not have strong feelings for me
sleep in peace at night
happy living on independently
emotionally light

you did not have strong feelings
you did not have strong feelings
you did not have strong feelings
but you made it real for me
but you made it real for me

emotionally light

how many miles left in a stone
how many styles in a turn?
lonely me has left us well alone
white heat slow burn

it was so real so real for me
it was so real so real
it is so gone so gone from me
it is so gone so gone

you did not have strong feelings
you did not have strong feelings
you did not have strong feelings
but you made it real for me
but you made it real for me



all the vows

all the vows we'll never take
all the promises we'll never break
all the time we'll never take to whine

you're late my tea's not on the plate
for goodness sake you've not cleaned the shower there's hair in there
it's yours

all the vows we'll never take
all the promises we'll never break
all the time we'll never take to whine

all the kids we'll never spawn
all the dreams are gone

all the money we'll never make
all the chances we'll never take
all the methods of escape you'll try

you're late my tea's not on the plate
for goodness sake you've not cleaned the shower there's hair in there it's yours

all the vows we'll never take
all the promises we'll never break
all the time we'll never take to whine

are you listening to me or just watching tv?
you've not made the bed the cat wants fed
there's dishes in the sink the dryer's full
it stinks
you think you're so cool

dancing

dancing with a sheep in wolves clothing
self loving and loathing
with a lover not to be
who knew and felt every part of me

left me exposed and sad again
experience rejection pain
happens to us all
aching anger when pride takes a fall

i might wear you out
i might wear you down and out
with my love

don't want to wear you out
don't want to wear you down and out
with my love

love will wear you out
love will wear you down and out
my strange love

playing with bubbles inside balloons
whistling silly tunes
pretend that you won't be
the one who walks away from me

love will wear you out
love will wear you down and out

recurring theme

let's not talk
let's not talk about it
it just doesn't help to talk about it

let's not fight

let's not worry

let's not cry

let's not joke

let's not sing

some things are too big
some things just don't work
sometimes it's just time
it's just time to give up
sometimes you've just got to
got to take a walk

a year in this life, a year in this life
a year in this life , another year in my life
a year in this life, another year in your life

let's not talk

how i hate

ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
ba ba ba ba ba ba ba

how i hate to hate you now
how i loved to hate you then
memory replays time again
fear drains all the colour away
hope scolds and laughs at pain
dread relaxes now it's over
it's all over it's all over

that's my baby

that's my baby that's my baby boy
he's walking taller than ever i could try
don't even whisper never let him see
i'll be a model parent when he's done with me

that's my baby that's my baby boy
he's walking taller stretching to the sky
wants me to be clever wants me to win
you can take it in the neck or lay it on the chin

doing the impossible as you can tell
doing the impossible not so very well

that's my baby that's my baby girl
she talks a language indecipherable
don't even shiver keep it back from me
let it all develop unexpectedly

that's my baby that's my baby girl
moving on faster thousand miles an hour
she's flying higher running out of sky
you can walk the walk of life or you can
walk on by

doing the impossible aren't you doing it well? doing the impossible who can ever tell?


tokyo skyline

can't
get the tokyo skyline out from off my mind
take
this air-con glass box world away and let me fly
carry me there carry me anywhere
i
can't get the vicious foreplay from my memory
so
help me make believe beneath some cherry tree
carry me there carry me anywhere

tokyo skyline tokyo skyline

had
to travel far to get yourself back there again
had
to disappear to clearly see yourself again
had
to be a stranger so you could feel real inside
had to find the distance then explore what lay behind

tokyo skyline tokyo skyline

carry me there carry me anywhere

tokyo skyline tokyo skyline

2am
karaoke bar that tired out business man
make all the plans you like waiting for the rising sun
tokyo skyline tokyo skyline
tokyo skyline tokyo skyline.

she's a waitress

waiting for years waiting such a long time
i could never get enthusiastic 'bout my food
i could never be my best and still be understood
and any time you ask how i'd describe myself
i'll just smile and say i want to be your waitress

i just want to be yours
you've just got to be mine

i've been lucky and unlucky when it comes to love
i've been bitten then been shy of all the bugs
so anytime you want to taste my success
just give me all your tips i'll be your waitress

i just want to be yours
you've just got to be mine

i have worked the tables and the places round this town
i have heard the tales and conversations put me down
you have had the chances seen the glances from this end
here's the menu you've been missing you just help yourself

i just want to be yours
you just want to be mine
waiting for years waiting such a long time

cold fish

are you ready to get on alone
are you ready to get on alone
are you ready are you ready to get on alone?

you can live your life at the bottom of a wishing well
you can be a cold fish or a freak eating taco bell
see things anyway you like
want the left but need the right
now's the time for an accident let's go have one who can tell

spent the last weekend with my back against a telephone pole
you can live the lie but some day you're gonna lose control
now it's getting close to eight
i guess you won’t be home till late
take your shoes of and dance you can jam and you can jelly roll

are you ready to get on alone
are you ready to get on alone
are you ready are you ready to get on alone?

now it's getting close to eight
i guess you won’t be home till late
take your shoes of and dance you can jam and you can jelly roll




all words & music copyright john barclay & alison hutton may 2004 - all rights reserved
impossible songs - heartburst.

www.impossiblesongs.com

That was the sometime of 73

Confessions of the village idiot

It is autumn, 1973. I was working in a factory that made potentiometers, though I wouldn’t be today. It was early in the evening and I had to get the bus as rain looked very likely and I had some spare cash anyway. When traveling, for no reason I’d quite regularly think that I was falling in love with some girl seated close to me on the top deck of a bus. Bus trips were almost daily occurrence for me as a teenager unless I was staying in my room or out for a walk. I’d be going to a friend’s house or a pub some where along the coast, a half-hour journey punctuated with cigarettes and that girl or girls in general. School girls, factory girls, young mums maybe. Tarty stupid girls or students, hippy chicks or their dim pals who envied their make up and clothes and weren’t carrying some prog-rock LP or stringy handbag. I wished I could read their minds. They were all very mysterious creatures. I needed non-verbal confirmation and signals. Positive messages and blinding and unambiguous eye contact. I was not an experienced person and everyone else in the world seemed to know much more than me, mostly dark secrets that I should never know, so a protective umbrella of bluff and counter bluff to cover my misconceived ignorance was raised in innumerable boy-to-boy conversations. I found it stressful and exhausting but fun at times.

But on the bus you never knew, what were those girls thinking? And why were they giggling and was I so invisible? So invisible yet laughable, surely not. Despite my crippling invisibility that I was so conscious of any spot, greasy hair or aspect of my face seemed as huge on my person scape as Stonehenge or an Easter Island Statue. As a result few conversations were struck up on my outward journey. Silent and deep in thought, remaining mysterious and aloof was my supreme if unspectacular tactic. And girls came and went, tongues stuck out sometimes or a farewell with a simple derisory glance on alighting the bus.

Your bum slid on the seat as the bus hobbled along, tight turns and up and down hills, and of course there was in those days a bus conductor resident onboard and the sweaty ticket he’d provided in your hand, or stuffed at the top of the seat back in front, between the metal and the vinyl finish. Survival drill. Look at feet regularly; avoid direct eye contact unless she was a honey and then suffer the other problems, usually in the form of an accompanying brute of a boyfriend. The loving bloody couple smugly leaning into each other and maybe going to the same pub as me. Take care, contact later could prove hazardous later in the evening.

At each bus stop I’d scan the queue. Who is coming on? Which village would yield the best potential girlfriend, who would she be and where would she sit? What a bummer if she sat downstairs.

Of course if you can see across or if you were sitting on the opposite side of the bus you could catch sight of other girls, waiting on other buses that all were going in the wrong direction. Maybe to Edinburgh, always very bad, I’m off to some wee village pub and they’re going to the city. To meet who? Going to some cool Concert? That almost smacked of a level of sophistication, some joined up piece of planning and thinking that suggested that their night out (or was it a weekend away?) had actually been planned and mapped out. They were in some high flying social network, perhaps meeting boys with sports cars or flats and rich, generous parents and generally having a whale of the kind of time I didn’t know how to have and couldn’t ever replicate. How could I compete with boys like that for girls like those? Well I thought that was how it was.

Endless torturing questions don’t help. I’m not so bad really it’s just the measuring scale has never been explained to me and I don’t know what girls want (well not altogether), but what are the signs I need to learn to read. Perhaps they are as confused as I am and they going through this lonely turmoil but why are they giggling then?

The bus is pulling up a hill, gears grind, the air is smokey a warm. Backs of heads, dark hair and shoulders, cardigan tops, anorak backs, duffel coat hoods and shirt collars. Old man sits opposite, probably going to some Ex-Serviceman’s club for a night of beer and dominoes, his regular Friday. He ignores everyone and has the “ fear of the young” aura, a quiet contempt for stupid hairstyles and silly fashions that he ended up fighting in a war to defend the rights of.

I’m not sure who is behind eyes boring into the back of my head, or reading the pages of the Sun or Daily Record, Sounds or Diana. All those eyes boring me, seeing me from angles I’ve never seen myself from. I am unrecognizable to me from their point of view. My nose must stick out a long way and my hair must be greasy at the top and full of split ends, dandruff on my collar and some stain I cannot see on my combat jacket. I wish for an out of body moment to float above this bus and lift the lid like a sardine tin and expose the passengers lying there and see each one and observe them and pass judgement on them. I don’t dare turn around, well I would if some one spoke to me or I thought I might know someone or just have some other reason, but there is none.

We slide round more corners, passengers move in sympathy with the bus, some stand for the next stop and swing and grip on the chrome handles. All the clever and curvy twisted metal that makes up a bus. Functional and sweeping, banisters and treadplates, screws and rivets. Built by Scottish engineers and fitters in Falkirk and Bathgate, painted and pressed, once new and now in service relentlessly crossing this small Kingdom for the coppers and silver coins rattling and rubbing in the conductor’s black leather change bag. And those mysterious ticket machines, how they work and print tickets, dirty fingers twist the dial, numbers like a safe combination that mark and track and charge the fare stages and journeys. All this in the head of the conductor and metered out on the ticket. So when the Inspector comes on, each one of us is accountable and permitted to be there, oh yes. We belong to this bus and we can stay as long as we wish or till the money runs out.

More grinding and toppling, as if the bus in perpetual disagreement with the road surface. Rubber and asphalt jungleing against one another. Friction and traction and big wheels suffering the intrusive potholes and drains and kerbs as the driver struggles with that huge shiney black steering wheel that pilots us along at a steady twenty five miles an hour. Imagine those gears all spinning somewhere inside that big dark engine, slivers of metal escaping to drown in an oily sea, pistons and con rods and clutches all at work, pieces working loose, oil dripping and flowing through endless pipes and hot metal. Black dust and smoke, diesel fumes and water coolant, filters and parts from Midland’s factories that export to India and Kenya so that their foreign bus services will run too. Bonnets and rust and advertisements for Askit Powders and local services, carpet shops and driving schools on cardboard sheets, businesses with very short phone numbers. Whoever responds to these optimistic ads? And if you think Askit powders work, you’ll use them anyway. None of this is of any consequence, we are only here, trapped on this bus to move ourselves from A to B in a red procession twenty minutes apart and travelling in one of two directions.

Some one has a dog on board, it just puffs and pants and strains in protest. Paws skid on the smooth bus floor upstairs with it’s smoking old owner. Dog saliva on the floor, dog tongue touches bus floor as it struggles to find a comfortable spot on the bus linoleum. The owner, lord and master pulls the dog lead and forces the dog to sit but the rear paws loose grip and the slide continues and has he paid a half fare for the dog, or is that only on the train?

Who on this bus is there that could fall in love with me. Some of those girls are too young and too silly and laugh too much which is always dangerous because that’s the very thing that could be used against me and that would be like the end. So what about girls obviously on their way home from work? Nice neat clothes, make up a little tired, hair not quite right but these are minor infringements. Their jobs are clerical and tedious and stupefying, I imagine they are bored with them. They dream of successful marriages to sales executives and an early pregnancy, of wearing exciting underwear and going on shopping trips, holidays and living quietly in Lego houses anonymous in airbrushed estates. Those happy families you see and hate in advertisements, non-existent and played by actors and models whose real lives are completely the opposite. But if that’s what’s wanted I could do that, I could give them that, I’ve got all the right attributes and skills, potentially, but I simply don’t (think I) have the inclination yet The “yet” is a worry and a distraction.

I will not fall in love with the office girls. Here I am 18 years old, nearer 19 maybe. I don’t want to settle for settling down. I tell myself this without thinking or even knowing what it actually is I want. Sad to say I don’t know my own mind and clear and purposeful thought eludes me time after time. As soon as I start to think of them and what they may be, it all escapes and evaporates and even my memory of it goes with it. So I am constantly surprised when they return and follow a similar cycle again and again. As soon as I step down the stairs of this bus the focus will have shifted back to beer or music or football or girls.

The journey continues at a less than furious pace, constant jolts of stop start progress, junctions and zebra crossings to negotiate and the sporadic delay tactics of well placed and deserted sections of road works. Tree branches scrape the roof; birds cats and dogs dodge the lumbering monster. Through the traffic film encrusted windows, smeared and spattered with yesterday’s rain, I observe all the frantic efforts of avoidance used by those would dare to cross our path. The pedestrians. The old, the frail, the near-sighted, the drunk, the confused, the preoccupied, the couldn’t give a shit, the wreck less, the stupid, the pedestrians. Back in 1973 there were a lot of them on pavements and worryingly, agonizingly, straying increasingly onto the roads.

Older towns were laid out before traffic became king, traffic grew and an imbalance was created, an unhealthy imbalance. Few understood how quickly the car would become king. In 1973 it was Vivas and Cortinas and Morris 1000s and VWs and pizzy, busy little step-thru Honda mopeds. Lorries were great dirty Atkinsons, AECs, Leylands, Scammels and Fodens with the occasional Scania representing the foreign marques. They were slow, huge and beastly and belched diesel fumes everywhere. Traffic lights were rare and strange and buses ranged and wander far and wide on regular, understandable geometric routes. Routes that were forged in the 30’s and 40’s, the decades when the trams had died like dinosaurs in a meteor shower. Towns and buses seemed at odds with one another, particularly Inverkeithing. It hated buses, it made them turn at a turning spot wasting time, squeeze through narrow streets, made then climb and descend awkward hills and hang on great hill start bus stops while OAPS struggled with the steps and inclines. It hated buses. If only it knew how it would be smoothed and tamed by the relentless progress of traffic. One ways, through routes, mini roundabouts, pelican crossings, cut in bus stops and double yellow lines. Days numbered, design unplanned but credited to some huge master council plan organically grown to bury the town in street furniture, heavy handed road markings and confusing signs. Other towns that hated buses were Aberdour and Burntisland, Kincardine, Dunfermline and Kirkcaldy. Rosyth was a bus whore, easy meat; it laid down to every bus that came its way, straight roads, big roundabouts, no significant hills and trees in the street. It’s day of reckoning and divine retribution would come, unseen and unexpected when the Tories came to power and the Navy moved away and timber frame developers, kebab shops and single parents would move in.

The rain began to beat on the bus windows. I imagined below the wiper scraping across the driver’s screen, the dodgy insulating tape on the steering wheel, the fog on all the windows downstairs. Being upstairs on the bus said a lot about you. You could smoke, you avoided bus conductress chatter, old ladies, you could climb the stairs and swing on the banister at corners or sudden stops, you had energy, you were virile, you were not with your parents, you could look down on the world, you could commandeer the big broad back seat or sit up front as if in a helicopter flying across the paddy fields of Vietnam. Upstairs was the only place to be.

I lit a cigarette and puffed out the match and tossed it to the floor, I sucked in a lungful of that hot, sweet, addictive smoke and blew it out through my nostrils. There was a smoky pattern that blasted the window glass and drifted away and I thought about Smaug the dragon guarding his lair and treasure in the Hobbit. Then, putting it simply I went into a daydream, just like Lennon and McCartney, it was just another day in my life after all. Whatever did happen took place just as easily as saying some magic word or spinning a spell or clattering a book with a wizard’s wand. The magic was tangible in the smoke. Music played far away, penguins at bus stops gawped at me and passing tigers revealed their huge unfriendly claws and bubbles blew in from the open liquid bus windows, pale blue horses galloped by completely ignoring the bus and a heavy scent filled by head and made my eyelids droop in an easy and safe upstairs sleep. But I didn’t feel asleep. The clerical girls loved me now and called my name, those tarty girls still laughed but liked my hair and ran their fingers through it and asked me questions. Candles were being lit and drinks were being passed around, there was an open bar downstairs one of the girls said. Someone handed me a bottle of beer, McEwen’s Export, and a Mars bar, in the old folded wrapper. Bags of chips in real newspaper were shared; I think it was the Daily Express, a broadsheet, printed in Scotland that they were wrapped in. It all tasted quite good though there was a lot of vinegar on the chips. I could hear Rory Gallagher on the guitar, he was using a lot of harmonics and showing off a bit and Paul Rodgers was singing lead vocal, Jack Bruce on a thumping bass riff and John Bonham hammering on the drums, John Lord was fingering the mighty Hammond keyboard far in the distance with a Roto-Sound Leslie Cabinet whirling away. Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda chugged past the bus on their hogs waving at us and Ritchie Havens was singing about freedom over and over whilst Arthur Lee said something, wagged a finger and dropped some acid right in front of me.

When we got to the stop at the Hillend Tavern who else but Melanie Safka and Sonia Christina got on, came upstairs and sat on either side of me and then began to sing quite sweetly whilst searching for some small change in my pockets. I tried not to giggle because their fingers were very tickly. In order to stop them I asked if they had tickets already but they only smiled and insisted that they had to have any change that was in my pockets. I remember touching their hair, both had single braids for some reason and long earrings. Following them upstairs was a disheveled looking Frank Zappa and a bouncy Germaine Greer both offering to sell the latest copies of OZ, for £1. I thought to myself “They’ve sold out, this is the end of the dream, it’ll be tree houses and wooden flutes next and hard backed books about sociology, the revolution is over, there is nothing new left in the universe.” I was almost getting angry but then Raquel Welch kindly offered to rub my brow with a warm soapy sponge that she had unexpectedly produced from her rucksack. The sudden eye contact with her was electric, her sparkling dark pupils drilling into mine as my jaw dropped open. Her hair was long, rich and brown and I stared at it for what I thought was a long time but really was only a few seconds, the sponge water was running down my face, trickling over my cheeks and relaxing me. “What a technique you have with your sponge!” I said rather lamely. “The magical world of movies and Hollywood have taught me everything I need to know,” she said and then she let out a slow, low growl as she touched the tip of my nose with her fingernail. She then threw her head back in a rather melodramatic fashion and uncrossed her legs, “I just might take you there one day and show you around, but only if you can be a good boy for me!”

I began to think that the bus was going very slowly now, possibly actually going in reverse. The trees and bushes in the outside world seemed disconnected from my journey, and my journey seemed disconnected from me. I wondered where on earth we could be, what fare stage were we at. I looked again and saw that we were at the industrial estate at Donibristle. The familiar factories and grey sheds and hangers stared back through the bus window and made their usual insulting, sneering faces at me. Raquel was rubbing my temple with her finger in an easy and gentle circular motion and my mouth was drying up inside. It was about then I think I first lost consciousness but looking back I don’t really regret anything.

Fairytale Management Theory

Fairytale Management Theory - the first few steps.

We've just launched (?) a new blog that we intend to use to deconstruct, rewire and rebuild the world. Even for us this is quite an ambitious project but every journey starts ...etc. etc.

http://fairytalemanagement.blogspot.com

is the place. We have a storehouse of wisdom, wit and revolutionary ideas that are about to hit the FTMT blog and hopefully you.

A suitable soundtrack for this can be found at www.impossiblesongs.com $aving America!

Postcard from Titan

If we could hold our moments

In the cup of one hand

Touch rotate and examine

Could we understand?

If we could see through bubbles

Rising from the minds

Of those around us

Would we be surprised?

If we can land on Titan, and leap on the Moon

Can we not seed our galaxy, not a moment to soon?

If we could hear strange whispers

From other dimensions

Would it stop us drowning

In our own reflections?

Don't Disturb me.

A new lyric we've yet to use.

Don’t disturb me.

I don’t want to disturb the cat; I don’t want to wake him up,
You just tie your laces in the dark my love, and leave a memory for good luck.

I don’t want to open up the blind; I don’t want to see the light,
Comb your hair in the rear view mirror, and buckle up your seat belt tight.

I don’t want to find you floating in the lake, or face down in the swimming pool,
Don’t discuss with me the things you hate, let’s keep our relations pure.

So don’t disturb me as I try to sleep, don’t shake me as you leave,
Don’t whisper, blow a kiss or even breath, do I make my feelings clear?

I don’t need you sugaring my tea; you don’t have to spread my bread,
Don’t cream my coffee or run my bath or shower, keep yourself outside my head.

Do I make my feelings clear? Do you love me? Do I care my dear?
Do I make my feelings clear? Do I love you? Do you care my dear?

Syrus and the Great White Robot

Syrus is our cat and the Great White Robot is ...our tumble dryer....

Who are you to invade my universe?

Your chunky noises my space reversed

Who are you? You’re alien white

Unsteady my calm, keeps me awake at night.

Blinded by, frightened by, deafened by the great white robot

Beaten back, first attack, it has no heart, the great white robot.

GWR pays little attention

Purposely focused spinning intention

Occupied yet detached in its relocated situation

This case calls for human intervention

It’s ok boy

It’s ok

It’s ok boy

It’s ok

Who are you to usurp my rightful place?

Your growly breathing in my face?

What are you? You’re a geometrical sight.

Freeze my blood tense my muscles tight.

A polite breakfast 2

A polite breakfast ongoing.

Thursday: I have the cold. No breakfast. Feel like a dummy. Germs come and go and seem to be a lot stronger than we humans, curse these pesky little brutes. Came home from work at 1145 and slept for five hours. Better but not 100%.

Late chicken soup breakfast anyone?

No real breakfast plans for Friday right now, some thoughts about another hot toddy however, I'll see where these go...

A polite breakfast

A polite (series of ) breakfast(s).

Saturday: Eighteen Wee Willie Winkies sizzling in a pan, two fried eggs for Joe. Liv had the sausages. Ali had sausages and bacon on two rolls, I had sausages and bacon and the stuff Liv didn't eat. Orange juice, Sunny D and coffee. Dick & Dom on the TV. We decided to go to Ocean Terminal to seek out a SpongeBob DVD, peek at the Brittania and explore. Other things happened on this windy day.


Sunday morning dawned and everyone, for a change awoke in a good humour. There was a slight delay between each awakening, some sooner, some later but all eventually by 9.15. I was cook. I started with tea and coffee as usual for Ali and myself, the kids had Sunny D or at least what little was left. Then it was lorne sausage in the fry pan, rolls buttered and the toasting of the waffles. These are tricky little beasts, 30 seconds in a hot toaster, pop them up, grab them without burning your finger (a bit like a pop tart), flip them onto a nice white plate and then apply a dose of golden or maple syrup. The kids liked golden best, with a little butter. Naturally my waffle went through a kind of experimental phase and was rather burned, but I enjoyed it. Ali stuck with the tea and well cooked sausage and rolls, a waffle and gazed out of the window at those winter white horses that gallop across the Firth of Forth. It was a blustery, window rattling, warm inside cold out, stretched out and satisfying breakfast.

Monday morning finds me in the Holiday Inn Express in Bristol. Breakfast (polite and quite apart from a distant Sky news broadcast) is a self-service hotch potch that is surprisingly pleasing. The coffee from one of those mysterious machines that promises café au late is pretty good. I have two cups. All in all it’s a bowl of (normal) Alpen and milk, orange juice (not so good), pan au chocolate, strawberry yoghurt, brown toast and marmite, a banana and more coffee. Not as many suits in here, strangely quiet.

Tuesday I was back home and had no breakfast. Well coffee and a Christmas pie at work at about 9ish.

Saw J & O & E in the evening, no breakfast memories. Then saw J & G and baby Elijah. Good end to a no-breakfast day.

Wednesday: Wow! the Forth Bridge was closed to everything due to high winds. Sat in the car in McDonald's car for twenty minutes listening to the radio. Considered a Mickey D Bfast but decided to go home and sit out the storm. Eventualy got to work at 0845 - had a Beacham's hot lemon cold cure. This cold is a stubborn one.

Long Day Away

Long Day Away

Long day, here and away and beyond
Said goodbye in the rolling hills to some one already gone.
Said hello in the pouring rain, dripping on our faces
Talked about all we could, but for the obvious, staring at us - we miss by miles.
Shared something and reflecting thoughts, still reflected on the stones and smiles.
The bones,
The hidden twisted shape of the church torn from trees and soil,
That proves with the emptiest of words
None of us really understand what has just occurred.

Take time to walk more roads, listen hard for the sounds of your own ideas growing,
Make each day as long as it can be, and in the final act the finale will not be black,
As you throw down more than some wasted memory of me, for me.

This is where we all must end, no through road,
And at the blunt and grassy head of some hidden glen, in more rain.
We Scots, a nation who have diluted and lost our basic powers of communication.
We really don't want to search anymore for explanations,
Inbred and crippled by those cursed believers who still tower in our eye's shadows.

Some long day, still to come...
Primitive or alien cultures may manage to reach us and teach with a purer missionary mind,
All that is right and what we should do next.

And as the night falls on us, still we do the best we can
With our passed down and stunted, mixed up belief of a universal plan.

Long day away, some are home, some still travel,
It's all for you to unravel.

What we did on the 2nd..

we sorted the house...

Prior to the party we did a few worthwhile domestic chores.


the hills are alive...

Well we had a small but perfectly formed party. Most of the day was spent rushing around Tesco then cleaning, then reading papers, then getting calls, emails and texts from those that (with mostly good reasons) couldn't come. Our small party began with the arrival of Erin and Guy + goodies at 6.30 and we started to drink and (as you do) electrocute one another with one of those reaction testing games whilst eating hot pickles and chilies. This went on for about an hour and then the guests arrived - in small numbers but none the less we carried on with the silliness, electrocuted more people, drank and drank, watched 3d Shrek, discussed various abstract things, nanotech issues and volume ratios, drank more etc. We also ate some of the food that we had shopped for...oh we watched the Live Aid DVD - disk 3. I had a good time.

with the sound of music...

At some time after midnight the guitars and drums, a bass and a finger piano came out. Now very much the worst for wear we championed some musical causes and lost - but it was fun. Fellow late night jammers, guilty men and women? www.normanlamont.com www.dailyreckless.co.uk www.impossiblesongs.com

I awoke at 0930 and ate a hearty fried egg roll - and then sorted a few more things including the giant panda that has come to live with us.

and I'll sing...

Well I won't, it's not really what I do best - happy new year blogheads.

2004 - review of the seer and what went by.

The thing is...

Tragically things bent back as much as they did forward though a positive trend remains. Custom and practice dictates that as ever we will reinvent ourselves at this time and the water still goes down the drain anti-clockwise or some other way. In many other ways it has been the best year but now who is glad it's over?

Some folks made up stories and told them as if they were true.

I've no idea how 2004 was for you, probably 360ish days about which you can't remember anything other than having a general impression of weather, darkness, some good jokes and the company of your fellow humans and a few small animals. Perhaps you were warm, cold, hungry or confused at some time also. You may also have misplaced a valuable item or at the critical moment completely forgot your pin number. Perhaps you were refused credit in a phone shop or you misunderstood an airport tannoy and joined the wrong queue. Your team may have been beaten in the cup final and your favourite mug lost its handle, you got diesel on your hands filling up a rental car or you broke the point of your pencil. For once I listened to some music, watched some films and took part in numerous unrecorded (I think) conversations, so it was all ok on balance.

others simply sat on park benches reading magazines and newspapers...

2004 has seen alot of things happen and I for one dont know much about any of them other than the things that actually affected me and some trivia. Well ok there was the election in the US, natural disasters (hmmmm- is God the No1 terrorist? How do you fight him?), olympic games, middle eastern battlegrounds - big big events, but rightly or wrongly my focus tends to be elsewhere most of the time.

children are being born.

I am grateful not to have been caught up in major events like these and really it's only a small proportion of people who are, the rest of us spectate and wait on our moment and continue to get by. So who will be your spokesperson?

there is however always room for,

idle thoughts:

Anyway what about smoke breaks? You smokers don't realise it but we non-smokers are watching you all the time, we watch your sneaky breaks, you scurrying away for a nicotine hit, we see you and we write down your times, in and out. We note who you go with, the sly phone calls and the liaisons, the moving as a group and the general hanging around that goes on between actual cigarettes. What are we doing with this information?
Passing it on - that's what. Who to - to whom? You can never ever know.

A new Subway opened in town.

I have yet to visit it however, likewise the KFC, Frankie and Benny's and the pub with the odd name. More next year.

Trees were chopped down.

Down by the beach in front of our house, what is going on? There also was a bonfire.

New baby number two!

28th December a second grandchild has arrived into the world. Elijah Jonathan all here and complete at a bigish 7 pounds and with a full head of dark hair- a cousin for Taylor Lewis who arrived in November. These two boys are of course fantastic and make me wonder why on earth I was moaning like I was on Boxing day - I am a happy if slightly misguided grandpa who is very proud of them and their parents and their uncles and aunts!

So I guess impossible songs needs to get up some inspiration, ideas, flipchart moments, creative juices and whatever it takes to produce some top quality material to capture these moving times...so we'll get busy right now:

Interested in Fairy Tale Management Theory?
CDs scapes, heartburst, social enterprise or siatb??
Want your life changed?
Want to buy or commission some top quality art work?

Get in touch with us - all details/links/sales/info on www.impossiblesongs.com so go and explore a bit.

Boxing Day

Happy boxing day, whatever it's about... the industry that is Christmas rolls on in a pretend holiday, shop and drop, drive and survive, spend the money you don't quite have and try to be polite somehow.

These aspects of modern life are there only to be tolerated (just), not enjoyed, they are not pleasant, but for some they seem to be the justification for an existance - and I fully understand that. Everybody likes to get stuff, even us...

Today we have a new collie dog in our lives, sitting by the TV, looking at a pigs ear in a silver dish, surrounded by other similar stuffed (Christmas themed toys). We have taken in this stray, this refugee, how exactly he will behave and fit into our family we don't know, but he likes riding in the car...

But beyond these walls not a lot has changed: Other wars are being fought elsewhere, personalities are clashing, egos are interrupted, hurt spills out, and there is not much peace on earth - as far as I can see. Don't let it get you down. There are better days ahead.

We've been busy! Too busy to blog (so they say)

Frantic few weeks for the impossibles here at impossible towers overlooking the shiny blue river forth in the central belt of scotland, too busy to type capitals also.

Baby is doing well, fine boy and I'm the proud grandad, should see the new family over the next few days at christmas. There is also anotheer grandchild on the way, any day now over yonder in the kingdom of fife - more excitement than i can stand.

So on the music front last tuesday (14th) saw the launch of OOTB III - the third compilation cd from Out of the Bedroom, Edinburgh's No1 open mike/songwriters night. If you want to know more / buy a copy check out www.outofthebedroom.co.uk or email us for advice.


The cd was launched in the cabaret bar in the pleasance in edinburgh with most of the participating artistes there doing a couple of original songs - it went well and we've sold quite a few cds, so far so good. Some really fine performances on the night also....

Other than that, played OOTB twice in the past week, lots of christmas shopping, traveling with my job, fun and games with family and all the normal (?) stuff. looking forward to a few days off over the weekend - if only, and still waiting on grandchild number two.

Last minute chrissy pressy? Romantic songs for wife or girlfriend(have you fallen out again?) ? Soft rock to relax to? Puzzled guitar music to chill/get stressed to? Freaky stuff to unravel your brain cells? Clever and adult lyrics? Ping pong guitar music? Rock snobbery? Whatever you want it's probably somewhere within our eclectic range : Try www.impossiblesongs.com buy some of our stuff (you'll get it in a few weeks -kidding!) or try a download and squeeze us into a tiny mp3 player or piepod - we're on loads of providers, i.tunes, napster, rapsody, audiolunchbox, buymusic.com (to many to list) - in the UK buy the CDs from BURBs or CDReeves or email us at is@songs.fsworld.co.uk and we might even reply.

PS this blog is getting many more hits than I ever thought it would - thank you, please leave a comment, review a CD or song, or whatever...

He has arrived

Very happy to report the arrival of one Taylor Lewis Barclay in Aberdeen (Scotland) on the 25th November at 9.26 pm. My first grandchild.

He's a big boy at 7lb 2 oz and seems very well apart from some bruising to his little head as a result of the use of forceps (which I forgive).

Drove up to see him yesterday and he is fantastic - as simple as that. Children are great and small babies who are your grandchildren are particularly so. I would recommend this to anyone!
Very proud of him, his parents and the brace of new aunts and uncles he has.

New impossible songs CD "social enterprise" does make some mention of the importance of children and their often profound and simple take on things. Listen to what your kids are saying!

It's not always easy or acceptable but it can be pretty rewarding.

Check us out at www.impossiblesongs.com still (and always will be) rockin' in the twee world!

November - 55

Well this month I should become a grandad, tomorrow to be precise if medical predictions are to be believed. A grandson too, somewhere up north, far up on the Scottish coast he will be born, in sight of the sea and the fog and the crashing waves, gull sounds in his little ears. So strange, he will be born in a town a few miles from his great great grandfather's place of birth, born with a northern tongue in his mouth and a salt smell in his nostrils - 99 years after the birth of his great great grandfather, whom I never saw and who never saw me, who died in 1950. A man in a Naval Officer's uniform, framed on the wall in a strange picture of memory, whose name I share. I stared into his dead blue eyes in the frame, puzzled as a child could be. Was he tall or short? Happy or grumpy? Political or religious? Did he laugh, love and cry. I'm sure he was many things and lived a life but died as young as 55. I did not hear his stories, his son (my father) told me very little of him.

My father saw me and didn't see me. We lost each other. Then I lost him altogether, he too died at 55 and now watches over my guarded memory and keeps it from the sentimental and the painful, just enough. Years cause image and feelings erosion and the picture fades but the grandsons and their sons grow up in his and my place.

My son's are the best men in the world. I am a puzzle and an embarrassment to them and as they become fathers the curses of expectation, disappointment and doubt will strike them.
The blessings of love and delight and opportunity will carry them, and I will make it my business to do all I can to live longer than 55.

impossible songs - reviews and other stuff

Well it's been a busy few days at work, play and impossibling. Main impossibling events have been of course the SoS download on Sunday, the "Songs for Change" event on 02/11 and OOTB on 04/11. Songs for change, brilliantly organised by David Ferrard featured loads of bands, singers and performers doing material focused on the US election et all.

We happily played a short set: "how I hate" a poem by Ali called "it could happen" check out "words waiting for music" at http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/is_stuff for the full version - and then an old song called "rainbow".

Also been piecing together snippets of reviews from live, cd and "other" sources. A mixed bunch of observations but fun and I guess informative, as follows:

Some selections from recent live reviews of our acoustic sets in Edinburgh over the last few months:

"Speaking of politics, we learned next that Ali from Impossible Songs (orImpossible Tunes, if you are a Scotland on Sunday reader - I’ll explain in a bit), fancies Tony Blair (no not at all! says Ali ). Naturally, she denied this vehemently, but it wasn’t enough to stop the playground chant of ‘Ali luvs Tony’. (I say playground, I mean me). A sterling atmospheric and harmonic set of songs (or tunes) included ‘Rainy Friday’ – a gentle, calming piece about looking outon the world from the Forth, whilst pondering the contrast of schemies and posh folks. I’ve heard this song/tune several times now and it really does grow on you. ‘Rainbow’ is another atmospheric grower with ‘love and pain intertwined with sun and rain fall together’ like the duo themselves. Somenifty fretboard adventures from John on this one. Congratulations to them,though, as they were featured in Scotland on Sunday last week, where they were described as Impossible Tunes. You can download their song at http://scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com/ayetunes.cfm."

04/11/04 Tommy Mackay

"First night back after the summer break and it was great to see so many regulars there to support the night, and many new faces also. The evening began with myself, followed by John and Ali with their “Impossible songs”. Quite aptly, they began with a song dedicated to all the music makers (you’ve got the right audience then). John employed a staccato strumming style with moving chords, while Ali clear high vocal with trademark phrasing told us of the pursuit of the ‘crazy vision’. John has quite a distinctive guitar; evident in the second number ‘heartburst’, short runs and mixed chords nicely illustrated a complex and well rounded song with some lovely melodic lines. ‘Waitress’ played on the idea of the title referring to some one who waits, this haunting song was augmented by harmony singing onthe chorus, great songs."

30/09/04 Fraser Drummond

"Social commentators, erstwhile critics and sales gurus for OOTB, Impossible songs gave us their perspective on Queensferry, "something’s always happening on the river", a sort of curtain twitchers (joking) look at the almond and its denizens. John and Ali's music has distinctiveness, it would be hard to sing and play this at the one time. They capitalise well on the independence between guitar and vocal. Ali informed us that these were"soft summer songs", another optimistic little ditty, "this boy has no chance with me, has he, happy like, a kamikaze", uplifting stuff. There was a curious layer of Japanese reference through this song, impossible songs almost sculpt a mood from song. A final work in progress, "Don’t push away my love" allowed John to coax a lot of melodic lines from a series of quite blue chords."

19/08/04 Fraser Drummond

"John and Ali, other wise known as Impossible Songs, started proceedings tonight. Ali’s breathy vocals needed a little more confidence I thought, or maybe a bit more power, for their first song. This was one I’d heard a few times before; I always remember the ‘pa pa pa’ sections and climbing chorus melody. The lines “how I hate to hate you now” and variations on the theme were apt for a song that seemed to be about the end of a relationship.“Dancing” was a new one to me though, gentler with some nice finger style playing from John, letting the open strings ring out. It made me think of a music box dancer, about the right tempo and feel to it but with a darker middle section to keep things in balance, and Ali’s voice fitted this one alot better. Their final song, “Daddy”, is another one I’d heard before, dedicated to Fathers for Justice, child support agencies etc. Nostalgic and reflective, there was no shame in the lines ‘daddies work good, daddies work hard’, ‘daddy’s there to clean the dirt’, it sounded like a song you might sing to your kids. John joined in with some harmonies, a nice addition to this one; it’d be good to hear them in some of their other songs as well."

29/07/04 Nick Rowell

"First up tonight we had a duo called Impossible Songs. The first song was entitled I Hate. I have seen these guys once or twice before and you can't really go wrong with them especially the melodic female vocals over the unique guitar playing. This song was well prepared and performed to a high standard with lyrics like "how I hate I loved you then" which to me illustrates how close love and hate can be together. The almost blue systyle, which Impossible Songs have, was a great way to start the night.Their second song was called Quiet Genius and sounds a little like SuzanneVega. A contrast with some male vocals in this song would be beneficial. Overall another well-structured piece with lyrics like "the lips I see but cannot catch just the tick of the clock to restrain me". There is somethinghere about the frustration of seeing someone attractive and being unable to go for it. Something that I am sure all the guys have experienced but the women pretend not to. The third song called Tokyo Skyline was a very relaxing number with unusual lyrics "carry me there carry me anywhere" which implies she wants to discover the world and the many great places on offer.Something fascinates me about this song and it has a good title. This was a case of going with the flow. "

10/06/04 Willie Fyfe

All the above from Out of the Bedroom www.outofthebedroom.co.uk and a big thanks to all responsible for reviews, sound, running and administering the night, the website and the events.

For the cd “scapes” July 03 onwards:

7/10 for this CD: More good stuff to come from impossible songs Reviewer: Jim@ootbThis CD expands of impossible songs' acoustic performances, introducing electric guitar, fretless bass, synths and drums. The song EASY utilises this instrumentation, which is a highlight of the collection and is pure pop. Alison's breathy vocal works well with the funky backing and the cheesy keyboard solo is class.

Very sexy vocals from Alison Reviewer: Jim@OOTB The opening track HAPPY LIKE features a very sexy vocal from Alison and the song swoons along wonderfully. On the evidence of this track, Alison could actually be Scotland's answer to Jane Birkin (Francophile vocalist on the banned 1969 No 1 hit "Je T'Aime".

Interesting and original - spacey and ethereal Reviewer: JG Atmospheric songs with at times whispering vocals, spacey and ethereal with thoughtful lyrics coupled with mean riffs and guitar twiddling.

Unexpectedly wonderful Reviewer: PG Has surprising bite and character, well written and thoughtful songs containing an eccentric and engaging set of sub-plots and odd but beautiful observations. Unexpectedly wonderful.

Belle and Sebastian meet Fleetwood Mac Reviewer: JB On crisp cold days some where in Southern Germany these songs were recorded with the distant alpine snows muffling and holding and forming a serene studio backdrop. This seems to have given this CD a clear and crystalline 80's style German production sound coupled with the Scottish and Celtic roots that these songs grew from. Needs listened to and explored - accompanied by a decent bottle of red wine. Worth the trip.



For Heartburst: From Music News Scotland – Oct 04 www.mnscotland.co.uk
September 5, 2004

New cd album "heartburst" out now from South Queensferry's (Scotland) intellectual rock snobs and heroes of crisis "impossible songs". They will change your world.
This month Scottish duo John Barclay and Alison Hutton - "impossible songs" have released a new cd album "heartburst". The cd is available direct from cdbaby, by download (soon) or direct from is@songs.fsworld.co.uk

NEW ALBUM FROM IMPOSSIBLE SONGS - HEARTBURST

"Heartburst" is the latest cd album release from impossible songs (John Barclay & Alison Hutton) a rock/pop duo based in Scotland in the village of South Queensferry in the shadow of the Forth Bridges. It's the third impossible songs cd in three years following on from "early eurosongs" and "scapes". It's also a further mixture of the dark and disturbing and quirky and ironic rock style that has made "impossible songs" very popular in the Edinburgh area. It's clear now however that their work is reaching a higher level, the songs are stronger and more polished and this cd is deserving of a wider audience. The cover artwork (you must see the inside lyric page!) is a masterpiece.Heartburst was recorded in May 2004 in Germany at Muffel Studios with the valuable assistance and input of Martin Freitag. The original wonder world soundscapes, wide open and bright guitar work and ethereal vocal styles are thanks to his studio disciplines and production work. The songs are all labours of love from John and Ali's seemingly never ending well of songwriting styles and musical imagination.Ten great tracks are featured, the standouts being "dancing" a crazy sad lament over love gone wrong accompanied by an acoustic guitar swinging on a trapeze and booming fretless bass work and then "all the vows" a grinding metal riff battling with a housewife's frustrated rant. Another superb song is the gentle ballad "tokyo skyline" which masks a complexity of enigmatic meanings and themes as we are caught up in the heat of city life with its hope and ambitions. The final track "cold fish" is a ball-bursting rocker that's just good clean fun.You have to hear it all.

Scotland on Sunday v Impossible Songs

This may be posted too late to be effective but..

We're the download of the week on Scotland on Sunday's (a rather decent Scottish Sunday newspaper) free downloadable web service. AYE TUNES. You, an ordinary and well meaning member of the public can down load one (1) of our fine tracks for free thanks to these good people and our song being jolly decent. The song is of course "dancing" from our 2004 album "heartburst". This free and ridiculous offer ends soon (when?) so download us now (otherwise its 59c from i.Tunes) the link is:

http://scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com/ayetunes/

the mystery password is "impossible" - easy as pie, or even easier.

Had a bunch of fun also being featured in the paper, small article & photo, texted, phoned and emailed loads of folks and rushed a press release out - you just never know!

We've also got a few free cds to give away - three tracks: tokyo skyline, east of z and dancing. The special white label cd is only available from us for a limited time and only to people we really like or people who promise to perform some useful task for us - if you think you may fall into either catagory then email us on is@songs.fsworld.co.uk it may work for you.

incidentally our cds are now available in the UK from a new source, please try out www.cdreeves.co.uk
they seem to sell a lot of interesting stuff - both mainstream and independent.