Good Life

impossible songs

impossible songs

The Good Life

The good life is paid for with the pure gold of guilt.
There really isn’t anything quite like it.
Its deep to the bottom, it’s tall to the top,
And nobody knows when the guilt will stop.

God given and demonstrated, remonstrated, white, Anglo Saxon or Scottish Presbyterian guilt. Mined in the highlands from water soft streams and springs, a Celtic mist of unrequited dreams, black Bibles and Hymn books and sermons on the dysfunctional dismount. Every bloody word and breath made to count. Something surrounding, spinning and dancing, like brave waves breaking, though that isn’t actually happening. It’s a ritual for the observer, a practice for the participant, some masturbation for the sycophant, a dash of mysticism, controlled and crippled in the shining candles and silver cups – all with wine and biscuits.

Guilty over money, guilty over sex, guilty in relationships, guilty about your ex, guilty about perversion, stealing, lying, not properly trying, standing still while inside dying.

Guilty about telling the truth, the shame of exposure and worst still losing your highly valued composure.

Family quilt, family guilt, do what thou wilt, do without guilt, do what thou quilt.

Standing naked before this made up God, imagined in some other mind, yet transferred so effectively over to mine.

Guilty if I deny Him (him), guilty for my unbelief but sick to the back teeth of this piss poor heritage, that sits me at this edge, pulls my loyalty to it’s limit for all the sins I failed so miserably to commit but am credited with.

Here alone, like a bad criminal, every guilty thought a taken prisoner of the subliminal:

God & Guilt.

Walking on egg shells in climbing boots.
Pulling hairs out by their roots.
The roots are deep in generation’s worth of ignorance, twisted.
Here come the black suits to keep you black listed.
Anger to pile on the guilt and squeezed,
Into the hardest bullet ball you could ever believe.
Never fire that bullet.

Jews, Hebrews, Muslims, Buddhists, Scientologists, Amish, Palestinians, Pictish, Catholic, fanatic, frantics, charismatics, statics, caravans and 4x4s, Solidarity Party, Buckfast smashed by the off-licence doors.

Bad Batch

impossible songs - faced with a bad batch...

impossible songs


Bad Batch Engineering

The drain hose on our dishwasher has a pin hole in it, we found it today, and it’s been leaking for months and has created a black, damp morass under the kitchen floor. Just what you like to discover on a Sunday afternoon after a few glasses of wine. I tried to phone the warranty company but they close at 1500 on Sunday (fair enough, try tomorrow). When the engineer arrives at either AM or PM some day next week I fully expect him to say “Ah! There was a bad batch of these hoses issued, you’ve been unlucky...” A few months ago when our oil tank leaked, (yes, we live in the sticks many miles away from the Russian gas fields so we only have oil and running water here), guess what? Our leaky tank came from a “bad batch” that somehow made their way into public use. Any “bad batch” 737s out there, or Space Shuttles or Coca-Cola or Aspirin? Beware folks, remember that quality systems, (you know, the things that numerous consultants are making big bucks from all year long), don’t always give you good quality, just consistently similar crap.

Jesus Camp

Somewhere in the buckle of the Bible belt the Army of God is stirring up it’s youngest and most easily controlled recruits, far away you may say, but it could still happen here yet. Camp out, figure out, work out and space out for George Bush, the right to carry arms and Jesus. Religious geeks wherever you are, stay busy brainwashing the 10 year old kids about “two kinds of people in the world, those who love Jesus and those who don’t”. And so the question is what do you want to do to those who don’t actually follow Jesus: Love them? Help them? Feed them? Do good Christian stuff as per the beatitudes? Be constructive in any kind of way? Hell no, let’s just burn the heathen masses out like the “good guys” did in the Old Testament, like the Israelis did last month when they left a million thirty year old cluster bombs in the villages of Lebanon. That’s God’s chosen people I’m talking about by the way, that’s how they treat their neighbours who don’t follow their God.

It never fails to amaze me how blinkered and intolerant people can be when they adopt fundamentalist beliefs of whatever kind. It’s a slippery slope, best stay away if you know what’s good for you. “White and red, black and blue, trying hard not to be like you”.

Ok enough ranting for one day.

Breathing out your soul.

Breathing out your soul,
In invisible smoke,
The chemical demons,
Explore the emotions,
Explore some kind of consciousness,
Export the emptiness,
So you may set sail,
Make a ghostly thing whole,
Breathing out your soul.

Slide more

impossible songs - slides

Nothing unusual here folks, move right along. If you want an stressful night out at the cinema go and see "Children of Men". The bleakest, starkest view you'll get of how the UK may be in 2027, until it comes along.






impossible songs

Impossibles...slipping away..

impossible songs: rockin' the impossible

impossible songs

Priory Ali Blur

impossible songs

Priory Ali Blur 06

impossible songs

Monthly Mouse Hunt Revisited

impossible songs

impossible songs

Monthly mouse hunt revisited.

A busy week for us and the cat. It seems like he’s been catching mice everyday. Possibly as a result of the harvesting work in the field nearby. This morning I got up to find a poor dead mouse placed on top of the barrel table outside our back door. Left there as an early morning gift for us no doubt. Funny how hard it is to appreciate this kind of thing at the start of the day.

The rest of the week has been spent drinking beer and playing music at various local venues with Martin, Heike and Siggi. Sunday’s gig was outside under the Forth Railway Bridge at the Two Bridges Hotel as part of Ferrystock II in the Arts Festival. A brilliant day with great performances from our friends Norman Lamont, Jill Hepburn, Ewan Michael Riley, Tommy Mackay and the Impossible Songs bigger band. The day was sunny, warm and the promenade was crowded with visitors, sightseers and all kinds of water borne activity on the river. I don’t think Martin, Heike and Siggi had ever expected to play in such a unique and spectacular setting.

Monday night we played at the medieval Priory Church with a far smaller audience but a fantastic overall sound (thanks to Martin), a fun and intimate gig that saw us all playing well and ending in an impromptu jam on a reggae version of one of Norman’s songs, the name of which escapes me. Then back to our house with a few friends in tow for more beer, cake and wine (the staples of the German diet it seems).

On Wednesday we played at the hot and sweaty Forest Cafe with special guests Confushion (Fraser and John) providing a blinding half hour set in the middle of ours. The Bohemian, candlelit, shambolic café atmosphere was great and though we made a few blunders and the drum programmes were temperamental it was a very enjoyable night. I was happy not to fall from the tiny stage and that the mountainous PA speakers surrounding us stayed in place despite looking likely to collapse at any moment. Again the night ended in a small beer fest lasting into the wee small hours. Martin, Heike and Siggi left to begin the long journey home next morning nursing the now familiar beer headaches and hangovers.

Set list (for the week):

Nobody Jones
Dancing
Old Enough
That’s my baby
Futon Blues
Happy Like
Rainbow
Tragedy Queen
Not Pretty
I miss that boy
Syrus’ Song

Thursday was the regular OOTB night and was a pretty quiet one though the quality of performances was high. I was compere for the night and Tommy Mackay started the evening with “Pink Floyd are shit”, his Syd Barrett tribute song. As I listened to the lyrics properly (for the first time) I realised how good a song it was and how poignant it had become. On the way home in the car we had our usual sing-song based around the Supreme’s “Happening” meeting Herb Alpert’s “Tijuana Taxi”, bizarre but a total hoot and ripe for a remix or a cover. This led nicely into the Chiffons “Chapel of Love” and the idea of forming a tribute band called the “Pish Supremes”. The name emerged when we realised we couldn’t figure out what the opposite of supreme might be. Two middle-aged men driving in a car singing MoTown, guilty pleasures? I suppose you had to be there..

The Empress Helena and her search for the True Cross.

impossible songs

impossible songs



The Empress Helena and her search for the True Cross.

This story was first recounted in the Golden Legend, a thirteenth century manuscript describing the lives of the saints. Helena, the mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, followed her son’s example and in AD312 adopted the Christian Faith. As an elderly woman she travelled with her royal entourage across the Middle East and visited Jerusalem and a number of other holy sites. When in Jerusalem she met an old man named Judas who claimed to know the exact site where Jesus Christ was crucified and where the cross once stood. Helena questioned him intently, paid him small amount money in the form of silver coins and tasked her servants to investigate the site that the old man had described.

Some workmen were hired and an excavation on the site of the Crucifixion revealed three crosses, buried flat in the soil not far below the surface. Helena decided that the remains of the crosses should be tested and prayed asking for a sign from God. A dead boy from a village near Jerusalem was placed upon each cross. When laid on the first two nothing happened, but when the boy’s body was laid upon the third cross he was miraculously brought back to life, proving that this indeed was the true cross. Helena wanted to take the cross back to Rome in order that her son could view it and administer its powers. Before she had the opportunity to arrange any of this, a war broke out with the King of Persia, Chosroes II.

During one of his early campaigns against Jerusalem he stole the cross and took it to Persia. After this Helena returned to Rome where she lived out her latter years as a nun serving the poor and tending to the sick. It is said she died of a broken heart, brought about by the thought of the cross of Christ falling into the hands of non-believers. She felt that she was responsible for this “abomination”.

However in AD629 the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius recovered the cross and brought it back to Jerusalem. He was about to make his triumphant and flamboyant entry into the city when the main gateway crumbled and fell down in front of him and his army. The gate to the city was blocked by rubble and dust and in the midst of the turmoil and angel appeared to Heraclius. The angel reminded him that Jesus was humble and that he would have ridden through the gateway on an ass and without any regal or military splendour. Heraclius took the warning to heart and so barefoot and without any insignia he carried the cross towards the gate. As he approached it, the gate opened and the rubble cleared before him as he entered the city.

From this point on the fate of the cross passes into the grey mist of history and no more is known of it nor are any further details recorded.

Some relevant pieces by Adam Elsheimer:

The Exaltation of the Cross.
The Embarkation of the Empress Helena.
The Questioning of Judas.
The Digging for the Cross.
The Testing of the Cross.
Heraclius on Horseback with the Cross.
Emperor Heraclius’ Entry into Jerusalem.

Two Bridges

impossible songs

impossible songs

Visitors

With all the speed of a champion bog-snorkeler our plans for the visit next week of Martin, Heike and Siggi are taking a surprising shape. Their arrival coincides with the week of the South Queensferry Arts Festival. We are expecting them to join us and to play along with us at some of the events – a kind of Impossomobil band (Their vintage rock band is called Mobil back home in Germany). We’re not sure yet how we will all sound but the line up will be:

John – guitar, Ali – vocals, Martin – bass, Siggi – keyboards, Heike – drum programmes. Anybody who feels qualified mixing the sound.

Definite dates:

10th at 2.00pm Ferrystock II – Outside the Two Bridges Hotel, South Queensferry.

11th at 8.00pm South Queensferry Arts Festival – The Priory Centre, Hopetoun Road.

13th at 8.00pm The Forest Café – 3 Bristo Place, Edinburgh.

Unfinished Work

impossible songs

impossible songs

Unfinished Projects

Unfinished projects
TV screens
A home away from home
Living in the dream.

Here today in glimpses
Yesterday in poems
Till tomorrow wakes you up
You all wake up alone.

Unrequited, unfulfilled
See how soft she feels
Take the long way back again
Clicking on your heels

Thursday was in Paris
Tuesday was in Milan
But that’s imagination
You try everything you can

Run away on credit
Beat the beastly bills
Bathing in a bath of milk
Sleeping safe in silk
Sleeping safe in silk.

After Ferrystock

impossible songs @
Ferrystock

A Nice 19th

Thankfully the sun shone on a fairly unrighteous bunch of musicians and "Ferrystock" took place without a hitch yesterday in the open air. Thanks to all those who played: Cloudland Blue Quartet, Tommy Mackay, Confushion, The Sultans of Swine, Big Jim, Norman Lamont & the Innocents, Whyte & Mackay and us. We all had a load of fun playing in a spectacular setting, between the Forth Bridges and looking out onto Fife, and we made a few quid for the Ferry Arts Festival.

Thanks also to the Two Bridges Hotel - a really good venue and a grand day out.




impossible songs

Ferrystock

Ferrystock 2006

Benefit gig at the Two Bridges Hotel, South Queensferry, Saturday 19th August at 2.00pm.

Everybody is welcome - hope the skies stay blue for the afternoon.

We'll be playing and raising funds for the Queensferry Arts Festival, due to take place in September.




impossible songs

Meanings

I'm a grouch but no Groucho.

impossible songs & ...............meanings

impossible songs

Meaning

I missed your meaning
Couldn’t catch your drift
You say things that don’t translate
Don’t fit the answer I heard in my head
Try to gain a grasp, then it all falls away
Searching for meanings in little things you say.

We are all unknowable and raw as red meat
Hard as the white frost and frozen beneath
Click a finger and call me
Wink an eye and I come
Whisper gently and tell me
Tell me snippets and splinters
Tell me pieces and fragments
Let them glisten at your feet
As I put them together
To find the picture is clearing
And the blanket uncovers
What it might be you are meaning.

Border Crossing - Cover Art

New CD Artwork - click on it to hear Border Crossing sound clips.

Border Crossing

impossible songs_border crossing

impossible songs

New CD on the way - track details as below:

Impossible Songs: Border Crossing.

Recorded March 2006 at Muffel Studios, Friedrichafen, Germany. Produced by Martin Freitag.

All songs written by John Barclay and Alison Hutton.

John Barclay – Guitars and vocals
Alison Hutton – Vocals
Martin Freitag – Bass, synths and drum programmes
Siggi Richter – Keyboards

Tracks:-

Nobody Jones: Inspired by break-up, adultery, second hand misery, Brokeback Mountain and the passions that squeeze the lemons to the last of their juice. Thanks also to the legendary Edinburgh singer/songwriter Nobody Jones for the temporary use of his rather splendid stage name.

I Miss that Boy: The sad tale of what might have been and what could have been. All for a brief moment reflected in a half full wine glass and staring wistfully out to sea to try to catch a glimpse of the shimmering sight of Tir-na-nog appearing through the Celtic mist.

White and Red: Whatever you’ve got we’ll happily protest against it and attempt to stamp it out, we’ll criticise in our most constructive way with a clear voice and try hard not to follow your lead, though you may have a valid point or two.

Tragedy Queen: Written while singing sweetly down the phone, speeded up and slowed down and dedicated to queens of all sexes wherever you may be. If you think it’s getting better it probably is.

Time of your Life: When I was at school I was an adult in a child’s body, now I am grown I am a child in an adult’s body. The truth is whatever age you are you don’t have to take shit because they can’t break you. Sticks and stones and well aimed words, it’s your choice what you accept or believe.

Not Pretty: Too small, too tall, too quiet, too loud, too fat, too thin, when it’s not right it’s not always all wrong and wit and wisdom are far better and last longer than looks, but if your face is your fortune use the time you have wisely.

Hunter: In every social group a food chain exists, so if and when some hungry hunter comes after you it’s always better to have bolt hole or stronghold you can quickly retire to.

God Bless the Witch: They burn them, they love them, they lampoon them and then they canonise them and ship them on to Hollywood for processing. Good people do bad things, bad people do good things. Look up, smile and make your choice.

Old Enough: Forget about your memory, become a parent or grandparent, have senior moments, complain about shopping malls, prices and call centres, refuse to vote or vote for love, take a long bus journey or buy a motor cycle. Be good to yourself.

Rainbow: The sunniest place is right up close to the sun but still a little rain falls on everyone.

Thanks to: Martin, Heike, Siggi, Emma, Paul, Joseph, Olivia, Erin, Guy, Timothy, Emma (S), Taylor, Finlay, Jonathan, Gillian, Elijah, the OOTB Committee, Crispycat, Confushion and all the good and talented people on the Edinburgh Songwriter’s circuit.

Lois Lane again

Don't mess with Lois.

What the world needs..

impossible songs v lois lane

impossible songs

What the world needs from Superman. By Lois Lane.

The coming of Superman to earth has to be one the greatest moments in the history of the mankind. This son of Krypton, a lone orphan from a dying planet has been gifted with a range of extraordinary powers that he is happy to use for the benefit of all regardless of their position or stature. On a daily basis he patrols our skies preventing man made and natural disasters and fighting crime, whether petty or major. Without the good force that is Superman the world would be a far more miserable and dangerous place in which to live.

It is clear to me however that Superman’s constant “fire fighting” of emerging problems and situations is perhaps not the best use of his talents. He is bombarded with requests for help, minute by minute flying at super speed to avert imminent improbable disasters, stem floods, stop accidents or hold back landslides. It seems that there must never be a time when does not have the cries of the needy, the helpless or the victims of some crime, ringing in his ears. Clearly this cannot go on, his work rate is enormous and his rescues and miraculous acts are beyond calculation. We cannot comprehend the scale of his exploits and the number of lives he has saved. Yet he remains reluctant to publicize the things he does and we will never know all he does, in time and in space. Carrying on at the rate he does cannot be healthy even for a Superman (even with apparently unlimited resources) or for the people of the world, in his constant charge to care for and rescue. His situation must be intolerable and frustrating whilst ours, as his constant parenting problem is one of stilted immaturity and dependence.

So I suggest that Superman, for his good and for the world’s good needs a manager. He needs to be given the latitude to rest from his regular endeavours, saving all manner of accident victims and fighting the endless stream of crime that pollutes this world. He needs to have his strengths focused on major geophysical, scientific, engineering and industrial projects that will allow his skills to be used to improve the quality of life for all mankind. He needs to be set tasks that are both challenging for him and beneficial for man. We need him to resolve planet wide, global problems, we need him to help us protect the environment, balance the ecology and restore the damage done by warming and pollution. He needs to help us irrigate the world’s fields, undo the damage of drought and tackle the huge and virulent outbreaks of disease and sickness that strangle entire populations. He has both the brain and the strength to apply himself quickly and intuitively to these issues, what he does not have is the time and the guidance with which he came prioritise the problems and so break these age long cycles of difficulty that slowly strangle mankind.

So I Lois Lane volunteer and nominate myself for the position of “Superman’s Manager”. I feel that I am eminently qualified for this task, I have the breadth of vision, I have the understanding, I have the passion and I have the trust and respect of Superman. This deep trust and mutual appreciation of the needs of mankind are the key to the success of this world changing venture. So I submit myself to this position for the greater good of mankind and for a better future for the world. I do not ask for salary or any reward for this unique position and its awesome responsibility. All I ask is that every so often Superman presents me with one of those big fat diamonds he squeezes out of carbon and the odd long weekend, alone with him on a white furry rug in his Fortress of Solitude. Anyone got any problems with that?

Forever Young

Islands of spark - throw off the dark
Seek the light and reflection.
Selection.
Here is the gap, crawl across and trap,
The light for all that is undone,
Those of you here, forever young.

impossible songs - forever young

impossible songs

Tir-na-nog

impossible songs

impossible songs

Dreaming of Tir-na-nog

Nations raging as indifference prevails
Night falls and the candles flicker and fail
In the sunset.
Reminders of the explosions in the past
The failures and the final gasps.
The evening draws its funeral watch
The mind claws for its conscious reward
Here are the efforts of the day
All things dreamt and imagined pass away

New to you I come
Tired and silent
To the beating of a hollow drum
Still in a Celtic fog
I lay me down in Tir-na-nog

Celtic beauty, American shade
Turn the world to purple the eyes away
I lay me down in this Western fog
Steal my soul for Tir-na-nog.

Motorway Services.

Young boy with a Ferrari and nowhere to go
Heads for the motorway services for a quick espresso
Scally friends out there, with a Porsche and a Jag
Never mind where the money comes from or who carries the bag.

Make a tidy living down among the duds
Spend the cash on this and that and steal the soapy suds
Have a scheme for getting out but never let it work
Trapped by the immobiliser, wheels spin in the dirt.

Spinning in the dirt.
Spinning through the dirt.
This is all the dirt.

A few days in Wales

impossible songs in wales

impossible songs

A few days in Wales etc.

Monday marked a trip to IKEA, meatballs and furniture and the grandchildren in tow. The cars are loaded with cardboard and polystyrene all the way home.

Tuesday a hot drive down the M6, top down in the blazing sun, then the twisting roads of North Wales, just made for an MX5. Llandudno is our main port of call, a random destination for us but filled with fading grandeur, sunglasses, Victorian hotels, promenades and more old people you’ve ever seen hobbling and zimmering across the streets. An odd but pleasant place to find yourself. Our hotel is enormous, empty and straight out of the Shining. We feel strangely at home in this architectural curiosity, the owner is eccentric but caring – we watch the standards slowly slip as our stay progresses, not an easy trade to be consistent in. The food is first class but the sense of collapsing weirdness prevails and lasts all week. Day trips, seaside, virile young surfers and the geriatric majority. Trams and pubs, walks along cliff top paths, a Bronze Age mine and empty beaches. I buy trousers, Ali buys a bag. The World Cup plays on in the background and we ignore most of what is going on in the wider outside world.

We take the train to the top of Snowdon, in a crowded, rattling condensation filled bathtub of a carriage. The peak is in the clouds and once there we drink coffee and eat sausage rolls in a weatherproof bunker of a café. The sights are however spectacular. Then Pirates of the Caribbean at the late night movies (a nice piece of flimsy fun), then back up via Manchester, the shops and the art gallery for a minor family gathering. A fine little holiday.