Al Stewart

[madshutterbug]

If you've not heard his work, you really should track down Al Stewart. There's a great deal to like about his lyrics if nothing else; it is epic in the sense that it's always telling a tale, in rhythm and rhyme.

The fishing boats go out across the evening water
Smuggling guns and arms across the Spanish border
The wind whips up the waves so loud
The ghost moon sails among the clouds
Turns the rifles into silver on the border

This doesn't even count the guitar riffs. I heard fatfred say this about another artist recently: it's not just the notes he does play, it's the space, the silence between those notes. I discovered Mr. Stewart through a shipmate back in the Federally Subsidised Tourist days. Didn't purchase any of his albums then... no, wait maybe I did. If so, it's vinyl. LP. Not quite ancient technology. *G* Recently picked up three CD's to add to the library.

On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time

It makes for a nice way to ease out of a day when I put more nails in that box.

Comments

[tx-cronopio.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. Roads to Moscow is one of my all-time favorite songs ever, and the entire CD Between the Wars is worth a listen if you don't have it yet.

Here's wishing you a nailless weekend :)

[madshutterbug.livejournal.com]

Weekends are always nail-less. That's just the Box which is, 'The past 30 have been grand, Hospital, but you may now pay me not to come here any more.'

See, Hospital has a program: Retire on (say) Friday, and come to work on (say) Monday. Receive your retirement check, and your paycheck, and continue to contribute to your final retirement. Great program for retaining skills and experience. But if something, something very particular, doesn't change and fairly soon, it's gonna be that Box.

[fatfred.livejournal.com]

Yep. Was talking about Mark Knoffler.
Dire Straits does great lyrics for bad days too.

[fatfred.livejournal.com]

Brain is working slow today.
Another name you may recognise as working on three Al Stewart albums is: Alan Parsons.

[madshutterbug.livejournal.com]

Oh, absolutely!

[firesmith.livejournal.com]

On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turned back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a water colour in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations She'll just tell you that she came
In the Year of the Cat.
She doesn't give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow 'til your sense of
Which direction completely disappears
By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls
There's a hidden door she leads you to
"These days," she says, "I feel my life just
Like a river running through “ The Year of the Cat."
Well she looks at you so cooly
And her eyes shine like the moon in the sea
She comes in incense and pathchouli
So you take her to find what's Waiting inside the Year of the Cat.
Well morning comes and you're still with her
And the bus and the tourists are gone
And you've thrown away your choice and
Lost your ticket so you have to stay on
But the drumbeat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the newborn day
You know sometime you're bound to leave her
But for now you're gonna stay
In the Year of the Cat.
In the Year of the Cat.