Woolly: Jede Menge Klotzen und Klötern; Retro-Sounds von einem Roland D50 Keyboard und mehr als nur etwas von "Ra". Es bereitet die Kulisse vor für ...

Woolly: Ich ging zur Ausstellung Körperwelten (Bodyworlds) und war begeistert! Aus dieser Begeisterung heraus kamen die ersten Ideen für "Blood and Bones". Irgendwie wurde es dann aber von Tod in Venedig und Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now überschattet. Ich mag besonders die Solovioline im "Requiem".

Text:

Standing on the Bridge of Sighs
And looking down, the water's out
We've had our run, there is no doubt
We're all washed up with the tide

Still standing on the Bridge of Sighs
Our cash is blown, it's all been spent
In every way we only rent
We're all washed up with the tide

Seems to me there's more to this than meets the eye
Something more than just the life we're living
Without a soul, we're nothing more than
Blood and Bones, Blood and Bones, Blood and Bones

Hanging from the Bridge of Sighs
The whole thing's gone and can't be had
From "Don't Look Now" that something bad
Is all washed out with the tide

Now falling from the Bridge of Sighs
The paper only masks the crack
Like Thomas Mann's von Aschenbach
We're all washed out with the tide

Seems to me there's more to this than meets the eye
Something more than just this life we're living
Without a soul, we're nothing more than
Blood and Bones, Blood and Bones, Blood and Bones

Requiem Aeternam. Requiem, Requiem

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: An einem Tag im Oktober saß ich in einem Wartehäuschen in der New Oxford Street und sah die schönsten Herbstfarben, als es mich plötzlich traf - Christmas is here! ... so dachte man jedenfalls, wenn man die Läden ansah. Die Vorweihnachtszeit rollte bereits an, und die Kassen klingelten weihnachtlich. Wenn Christus jemals zurückkehren würde, hätte er ganz schön zu tun, die Geldverleiher aus den Tempeln des Konsums zu vertreiben. Dunkle Strings leiten es ein, und ein Gitarren-Zwischenteil bringt uns zum Oboensolo. "The First Nowell" fiel mir erst im Studio ein, aber die Zeile "was to certain poor shepherds ..." faßt es alles zusammen.

Text:

Within October's golden glow
There is no sign of winter's snow
Yet Slade scream out from every store
A holly wreath on every door
No time to play a waiting game

The shining windows all attest
Three hundred shopping days are left
No childish innocence
Depressed we spend our way to happiness
And not for us a waiting game

Now everything just feels so wrong
The second coming won't be long
'Til then we'll play a waiting game

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: Ein Song aus den frühen 80ern - ursprünglich geschrieben für das TV Teendrama S.W.A.L.K. Der 'Sixties Mix' hier hat alle bizarren Kennzeichen - Drums auf einer Seite, Bass auf der anderen - aber man muß sich selbst die tanzenden Mädchen vorstellen.

Text:

You sit there in your room
The frozen moments fading
Some other's point of view
Can't be so all-pervading

Then, when you're down on your knees
Needing a helping hand
If I have to I'll make it clear
Will you finally understand
It's you

Why waste your precious time
on your bizarre position
Blame all the things you are
Upon your indecision

So when you're out on the street
With nothing to call your own
There's no way to make it sweet
It's the truth that you've always known
It's you

Now can you work it all out,
Who is landing you in the drink
I hope I don't have to shout
It's much closer to home than you think
It's you

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: Soup! Oder genauer Ziegen-Tagine mit Auberginen und Couscous. Dies fing als ein Instrumental von Steve Broomhead an und hieß "Miró", aber nachdem ich etwas verrückte Orgel und Percussion dazugefügt hatte, wurde es zu dieser Postkarte aus Nordafrika. Exotisch/erotisch? Es endet mit einem Minor 9th Akkord und viel Zimt und Kreuzkümmel.

Text:

Out in the blazing sun
Bedouins make their way
Wherever the desert runs
Everyday, fading away

But here where the town begins
And where the desert ends
Tribes with their kith and kin
All descend with money to spend
At night when the stars reveal their glory
The lights all tell another story
In the Souk

When we from our island home
Here for the camel ride
Finally leave for Rome
And are gone - the heat gets turned on!
At night when the stars reveal their glory
The lights all tell another story
In the Souk

Girls bathe in asses' milk
Then out to the market square
Dressed in their finest silk
And they wear gold in their hair
At night when the stars reveal their glory
The lights all tell another story
In the Souk

Steve Broomhead / Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: Erinnert Ihr Euch an Euren ersten verbotenen Schluck Whisky aus jener Flasche im Schrank? Machte einen dun, oder? Inzwischen, oha, ist es eher die ganze Flasche ... Stellt Euch vor, daß die Band und das Orchester am Abend vorher mehrere zuviel hatten und sich dementsprechend fühlen. Oh Gott, nie wieder.

Text:

Prologue by Mr. C. P. Fletcher (Reg. THESP)

We had a ball of it, but we drank all of it
Now we sleep a dreamless sleep
We had our fill of it, now here's the bill
For today we pay for yesterday

One drop in a dry world
One drop in a dry, dry world
One drop in a dry world
One drop that used to blight is no longer quite enough

Our veins are full of it, and here's the rub
For the chances are we went too far
We had a fix on it, but what a mix!
Was it Shiraz, Zinfandel, Lager, Gin?

One drop in a dry world
One drop in a dry, dry world
One drop in a dry world
One drop that made us tight is no longer quite enough

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Text:

We're off on our holidays again
And dancing in the street
Doing our utmost to offend
Everyone we meet
And if our urge to write has gone
We've got a phone to text it on
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing
This is a nothing summer song

Every club vibrates with sound
The raving's at its peak
We bring a chaos to this town
Seven days a week
And if our urge to write has gone
We've got a phone to text it on
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing
This is a nothing summer song
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing
This is a nothing summer song

Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ...
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ...
Nothing ... Nothing ... Nothing ...
Nothing ... Nothing ...
Nothing ...

Nothing.

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Text:

Here we lie
In broken body's sweat
Still waiting for a wave to come we know won't be coming
And still we try
To swim this world of wet
And reach the shore although we're sure
The river is flowing
To the end of the road

Dreams we had
But not the dreams of night
The dreams of day that drift away
Without us knowing
Oh and promises
Those birds of fleeting flight
And as they fly they can't deny
That where we are going
Is the end of the road,

The end of the road
The end of the road
Pretending we are blind
To every sign that points us
To the end of the road.

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: A.D. 1480: eine Taverne in Plymouth - wo ein enthusiastischer (aber dummer) junger Seemann erzählt, was er als nächstes wagen wird. Alle tropischen Inseln und einheimischen Mädchen in seinem Kopf. Aber der schreckliche Ort, den Anfang und Ende beschreiben, ist der Wirklichkeit viel näher. Und wie es zu einem Song über die hohe See paßt, enden die Strings auf ... einem hohen C!

Text:

Upon the Fifth of May we set our sails
It is departure day.
And if the gentle winds prevailing
Let us go, we're on our way
But were we to fail then you will make
Martyrs of us all
And tell of our fate
At every evening fall

Within a year we'll duly chance
Upon an island warm and kind
And lying in a paradise
We'll think of kindred left behind
But if we just sail on
To the horizon
Beyond the blue skies
It's then we truly prove our worth
By sailing off the earth

Upon the Fifth of May ...

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: Eine traurige "Hymne" für schlaflose Nächte überall. Zwei Zeilen sind von Gerard Manley Hopkins geliehen, dazu spornte mich eine Idee von Hofmannstahls Libretto für R. Strauss' Elektra zu diesem Stück an.

Text:

There's nothing here to make a sound
Only the rain that's pouring down
And even that won't make time pass
For all its tapping on the glass
I try to while the hours away
Rake through the ashes of the day
But end up where I first began
It's 2 a.m.

Can't hear the ticking of the clock
It seems for me all time has stopped
Like grey smoke in a greyer sky
Here's where our wrecked past purpose lies
Reviewing things we said in haste
But all my effort seems a waste
I go through everything again
It's 2 a.m.
It's 2 a.m.

All thoughts of pleasure (not of pain)
Softly dissolving with the rain
An endless jigsaw that just mocks
Lacking a picture on the box
No stars, no moon and what is more
No dawn to creep around the door
Some things to bother lesser men
It's 2 a.m.

Outside, the city is a lake
A million people lie awake
All hanging from their cliffs of fall
While others never wake at all
Are Tony Blair's eyes open wide
Through David Kelly's suicide?
It's 2 a.m.
It's 2 a.m.

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

It's Us!

Text:

The starving people of the world
all thank you for your time

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing

Woolly: Es endet mit einem Knall! (äh, oder auch vier.) Der fliegende Teppich hebt tatsächlich ab - in Runden von Sieben - und dann, über eine kurze Ganztonleiter ("Festival!") hören wir, wie vorhergesagt, die H148rner mit dem Thema von "Sunday Bells". Dann über jede Menge Durcheinander in F^# Moll dem Ende entgegen.

Text:

It was a magic carpet ride
But all your deeds were fratricide
You're like a train stuck on the track
You can't go forward; Won't go back
Was it the money, was it fame
That made you play a different game?
And now the sands of time have run
No faces in your setting sun

Stuart J. Wolstenholme
© 2004 Eclectic Publishing