WHERE BLUEBELLS BLOOM

Looking through old demo tracks I came across this version of one of my songs recorded with Marc Gordon at Studio 49 in Narberth in 2013 for our album of love songs “Ripples In The Water Of Love”. The song title was suggested to me by my old friend Colin Bodiam at Deep River Records in Depford, London. The Lyric is set in County Cork, Eire not far from Skibbereen.

Where Bluebells Bloom

On the road to Barlogie Cove
With an old friend of mine
I drive past that house of yours
That overlooks Lough Hyne
We’re off to empty lobster pots
On his old clinker boat
I hear a single seagull sing
A very plaintive note
You’re sitting in the window
Of that upstairs room
You look with longing at that
Hill where bluebells bloom

That hill
Where bluebells bloom
That hill
Where bluebells bloom

Where you took me in the springtime
Through the woodland glade so blue
To the summit of your universe
And swore that you were true
I see that his flash car is back
Parked up in the drive
The way that I was feeling
He’s lucky to be alive

I guess that I’ll keep driving
Down to Barlogie Quay
And let all of last year’s fantasies
Fade into memory
I hope you’ll not be crying
In your lonely room
As you look out that window
Onto Knockomagh Hill
There where bluebells bloom!

Harry Rogers in the Old Study 2012

TWADDLE TALK

This piece of performance poetry was recorded by The Chilly Dogz in 2010 at Red Kite Studios in Llanwrda. Words by Harri Rogers, Guitar by Marc Gordon. Still valid today as a critique of management speak.

TWADDLE TALK

Your office door is always open, I hear you on the phone 

Run it up the flag pole, Give the dog a bone 

It’s a nice little earner, Kick it in the long grass 

Stick it on the back burner , We’re gonna whup their ass  

I hear what you say 

I don’t like what you do 

I wish you’d go away 

Cos I can’t stand you 

You say you’re building your team 

But things aint quite what they seem 

Sharing Mars Bars in the Mendips, Where the glasses are half full 

It’s all singing and dancing, In the best of both worlds 

So throw me a bone, Give me a break 

The buck stops here, Let’s cut to the chase 

Gotta ramp it up, cos you’re off your face. 

I hear what you say

I don’t like what you do,

I wish you’d go away,

‘Cos I can’t stand you 

You’re a legend in your own lunchtime, 

But I know where your bodies are buried, 

So gather up your parrots and monkeys, 

Take those skeletons out of your closet, and clear your fucking desk 

Stop talking twaddle and GIVE US ALL A REST 

Harry Rogers, in the old study, Aberbanc, 23rd February, 2010

THE GIRL IN THE GARNET COLOURED DRESS

I wrote this after thinking about children dying by accident in Palestine.  Marc Gordon and I recorded the video very quickly in his monthly guitar shop in Cardigan in our usual let’s bang it down straight away manner.  We are having fun doing these Tuesday session videos and it looks like we will get out and about for more in the coming months as I am retiring from wage slavery next weekend.

THE GIRL IN THE GARNET COLOURED DRESS

SUCH A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE GIRL

IN HER GARNET COLOURED DRESS

THE PERFECT IMAGE OF SERENITY

CARRYING A PILE OF TABOON BREAD

 

FROM HER GRANDMOTHERS OVEN

GOLD COINS GLINTING ON HER CAP

SMILING AT LEMONS IN THE SUNSHINE

WITH ASSURED STILNESS OF HER HEAD

 

STOPPING BEFORE CROSSING THE ROAD

SHE CRUMPLES TO THE DUSTY GROUND

ANOTHER COLLATERAL OBSCENITY

AN ISRAELI RICOCHET LEAVES HER DEAD

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE CRYING YET?

 

ARE WE?

 

Harry Rogers: Sunday 16th September 2012

The Chilly Dogz – “Ray Bradbury Said”

This is the latest Chilly Dogz Tuesday session.  Every week we meet at my house and write a new song together.  I wrote this after seeing a documentary about deceased Sci Fi author Ray Bradbury in which he said that he never bothered to carry out research for his stories as all the information he needed was in his head.  His fiction is fabulous and has been a favourite of mine for more than 50 years.

LYRIC:-

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

 

HE TALKED IN TECHNICOLOR

NIGHT AFTER NIGHT AFTER NIGHT

HE TRANSFORMED LANGUAGE

INTO SOMETHING MEGA BRIGHT

HE COULD SEE THE AIR WE BREATHE

AND HE TOLD US ALL ABOUT IT

SHIMMERING WORLDS INSIDE HIS HEAD

HE MADE SURE WE KNEW ABOUT IT

 

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

 

FROM THE PEDESTRIAN

TO THE ILLUSTRATED MAN

DRINKING DANDELION WINE

CHRONICLING THE MARTIANS

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

RETURNING FROM THE DUST

FAHRENHEIT 451

SINGING THE BODY ELECTRIC

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN MY HEAD

RAY BRADBURY SAID

IT’S ALL IN HIS HEAD

RAY TOLD US ALL – IT’S IN OUR HEADS

Copyright: Harry Rogers: 17-08-2012

The Chilly Dogz – “White Poppies”

WHITE POPPIES

I WAS WALKING DOWN WHITEHALL

A THOUGHT CAME INTO MY BRAIN

SUPPOSING THE POPPIES WERE WHITE

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

COULD PEOPLE EVER CHANGE THEIR MIND

ABOUT THE REASONS THEY FILL THEIR

BUTTONHOLES WITH WIRE AND PAPER

DYED THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

THE LEGION COLLECTORS TINS

SHAKE IN EVERY CITY, EVERY TOWN

BLACK CENTRES TO THE FLOWERS

STILL THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

I WANT POPPIES FOR DEAD SOLDIERS

POPPIES FOR THEIR MUMS AND DADS

THEIR PARTNERS AND THEIR CHILDREN

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

POPPIES FOR THOSE DEAD CIVILIANS

YOUNG MEN THEIR WIVES AND CHILDREN

GRAND PARENTS BLEEDING IN THE STREETS

IT’S THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

I JUST CANNOT GET THAT THOUGHT

TO DISAPPEAR FROM INSIDE MY HEAD

IF ONLY THE POPPIES WERE WHITE

NOT THE USUAL SHADE OF BLOODY RED

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

WHITE POPPIES………. 

WHITE POPPIES……….

COPYRIGHT: HARRY ROGERS – 10-08-2012

Old Red Volvo Car – The Chilly Dogz with Dave Sutherland

I wrote this on the day I heard about Johnny Edgecombe’s death.  I was in the South of France on holiday at a place called Banyuls Sur Mer and sat in a bar drinking pastis and thinking about the 1970’s when Johnny and I had a lot of adventures in his vintage Volvo.  Recorded at Red Kite Studios with Dave Sutherland on Guitar and Marc Gordon on Roland Guitar Synth and on The Chilly Dogz 2nd album.

OLD RED VOLVO CAR

Playing chess with Johnny Edge

In The Tolly public bar

We spoke of blue nosed schooners

Sailing Caribbean seas

Johnny dreamed one day that he

Would journey there from Africa

 

He brought me a brown leather jacket

From the market in Amsterdam

He said “Harry man this fits you

Much better than it fits me,

I think that you should keep it

It won’t cost you a damn.”

 

Now Johnny had become a gentle man

In spite of his violent past

He loved his three children

Truly with all his heart

He was always a father

Right up to the last

 

Bringing Greenwich and Bermondsey

The finest in jazz

From Dudu, Django and Stan

Not forgetting Paraphernalia

The Edges were smooth, the music so cool

Johnny had living p’zazz

 

Now, no more pints of Guinness

Downed in one, by the jar

No more tastes or toots

To brighten up our days

No more midnight cruising

In that old red Volvo car……..

 

Goodbye Johnny

My Brother!

Copyright: Harry Rogers – Banyuls Sur Mer – 03/10/2010

The Modern Privateers – The Chilly Dogz

Another track from The Chilly Dogz second album with Marc Gordon on guitar and Roland Guitar Synth.  I wrote this after visiting a particular tower block in Swansea as part of my job as a social survey interviewer for ONS.  The dealers in the courtyard are really scary with their dogs just itching to get at you as you gingerly make your way to the lifts.  I was warned not to carry my laptop into the lift on my own on this estate, I did and luckily nothing happened but it is very representative of certain forgotten parts of the Coalition nightmare we all inhabit today.  Of course heroin has been rife in these areas for decades now….. as have the money lenders!

MODERN PRIVATEERS

This is the story of the Modern Privateers

Be careful ‘cos it just might, fill you up with tears

The Lift it is broken

We gotta use the stairs

This is because

No-one fuckin’ cares

(about) Who makes all the laws

Or who owns all the shares

(and why) Public it’s yours

And private it’s theirs

Living up the tower

For at least another year

Giving loads of money

To some goddam privateer

Outside in the courtyard

Stands an illustrated man

With his heavy chained bull-terrier

And his new black windowed van

In the flats on all the balconies

The casements have gone rusty

All the winter rain gets in

The furniture smells musty

Legions of people living here

Just can’t take it for much more

They’re reduced to spending all their time

Scrabbling around to score

The illustrated man has

A friend named Sharkskin Jack

Who will always loan you money

When you need to buy some smack

But, when you borrow money

Off of men like Sharkskin Jack

No matter how much you give to them

You’ll not finish paying back

They’ll string you out upon their rack

For years and years and years

Those two bastards and the rentier

Are the modern Privateers.

Copyright: Harry Rogers, 24/05/2010