IntroductionMills and BoonBottle of LuckPushing up the weedsThe modern day festivalCastro pubsThe old cow diedNo housing benefit, smokers or petsA ja taká dzivočkaGrown men don't just drop down dead in the street like thatWeep in your beerThe people's piano

Recorded in August 2009, at the Cottage, Pendennis, Falmouth by Julian with Rory Pugh on drums, Dan Pye on guitar and Thomas Sharpe on bass plus additional guitars and keyboards recorded by Kester Jones on location in Spain.

Mills and Boon

Barbed wire and sleaze is all that I’ve known Where the rosebuds and romance used to roam Free as the covers allowed us to be
A ring made of coal and a bed made of ash

Is all that survived where the hearts used to crash When life’s simpler pleasures have bitten the dust Need a zimmer frame to lean on…

mills and boon, mills and boon
read one today, I’ll read another one quite soon
I’ll be content to sit alone here in a room
with a bottle of lambrini and some mills and boon
Mills and boon, mills and boon
It’s hardly started but the end is coming soon
I’d give it some more thought but I just ain’t got the room For seeing the words that I don’t want to see

ripe with this nonsense it beckons to me
Down moonlit paths where subscription is free Am I going to do something that we’ll all regret Strangers at weddings without invitations Offending the neighbours, friends and relations When life’s simpler pleasures have bitten the dust Need a zimmer frame to lean on…

mills and boon, mills and boon…

Mrs Mills, Mrs Mills
One tinkle on your ivories could cure all of life’s ills I’ll be content to be alone here with my fill
Of babysham and records by the late great Mrs Mills Mrs Mills, Mrs Mills
They’ve all forgotten but I love you still
They never listened to you so I’ve got no time
For hearing these things that I don’t want to hear

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2009

Bottle of Luck

I’ve heard enough about going to town, there’s nothing for us there
Just a queue of pissed stuffed animals who’ve not seen facial hair before I’d love to point and stare some more but I can’t pretend to care
So spare me this going into town

I’m getting too long in the tooth while I’m waiting for this pint
And my thoughts will all be sewage by the end of the night
Though it might save me from the details without turning out the lights Spare me this queuing for a pint

Cos I used all tomorrow’s good luck today What was I gonna do with it anyway?
Put it in a bottle, piss it all away
We used all tomorrow’s good luck today

I’m not having remixes and balkan beats
But I’d send them all to remedies just to keep them off the streets Though they might keep the DJ in new mirrors and satin sheets Spare me the remixes and beats

Cos I used all tomorrow’s good luck today want are we gonna do when it’s gone away? Put it in a bottle, piss it all away
We used all tomorrow’s good luck today

I’ve had enough of hearing about things and stuff
So many many fine words but the actions not enough Are we living in a time that has to look so rough Spare me the things and stuff
Since I used all tomorrow’s good luck today
want was I gonna do with it anyway?
Put it in a bottle, piss it all away
We used all tomorrow’s good luck today

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2008

Pushing up the weeds

Put the music in a coffin, bury it at midnight
I’ll save the plot beside it just for you
When your complaining days are over and you’re lying down beside the racket Feigned your death to get a mention in the packet
But your work round here is done

I’ll be pushing up the weeds
Cos everywhere I go there’s nothing
And everything we know means nothing Where there’s too much silence to be broken Pushing up the weeds
Cos every seed we sow gets nothing
And nothing ever grows from nothing
But it’ll take this place down, stone by stone

When the whole town is quiet and the billboards are all clean And curfews been placed on everyone and everything
You can sit over there safe in the knowledge the struggle’s over
no scratches on your bumper, your chicken tonight charm boiling over

I’ll be pushing up the weeds
Cos everywhere I go there’s nothing
And everything we know means nothing Where there’s too much silence to be broken Pushing up the weeds
Cos every seed we sow gets nothing
And nothing ever grows from nothing
But it’ll take this place down, stone by stone

From the tallest ship I surveyed your ivory towers Loaded up with gifts of out of date ales and flyers
A tribute act was playing but I heard a different sound Of a root in a crack in a hole in the ground

I’ll be pushing up the weeds
Cos everywhere I go there’s nothing
And everything we know means nothing Where there’s too much silence to be broken Pushing up the weeds
Cos every seed we sow gets nothing
And nothing ever grows from nothing
But it’ll take this place down, stone by stone

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2008
Contains excerpt of the Bulgarian traditional tune ‘Racenitsa’ (trad/arr. J. Gaskell ©2008)

The modern day festival

The modern day festival, spectacular but lame
It started with the best intentions, now I wonder why I came For the modern day music? I don’t much care for it
Though it wound up on a hard drive, I’d never pay for this The modern day festival, so the sunday papers say
Will be coated in tarmac but pack your wellies anyway
For to be seen in a floral print is the order of the day
We may be standing in the queue but, man, we’ve lost our way

How did we let it get like this?
Where did it go wrong
Always slightly worse than before
That’s what progress means
The modern day festival, the organisers try
But health and safety took the joy and now we don’t know why We ever came here, for the touts and the tourbus
And the piles of shit all in the country to be cleared up for us The modern day festival – I blame the mobile phone
For turning anonymity to communication zone
Just a modern day weekend, a night on the piss
No observer’s book or usborne guide prepared me for this

How did we let it get like this?
Where did it go wrong
Always slightly worse than before
That’s what progress means

The moral of this story, the moral of this fable
Is that one should always pitch one’s tent far from this as one is able To afford, for this home in the country may be alright for some
But with the ID photos and debit charges, it seems we’ve all been done The modern day festival, is a long way you see
From a banjo in the backyard and a squeezebox on the knee
But if that’s the way it’s going to stay and how it’s got to be
Farewell ye modern festivals, and come back here when you’re free

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2008
Contains excerpt of the Macedonian traditional tune ‘Jovano, Jovanke’ (trad/arr. J. Gaskell ©2008)

Castro pubs

I never trust a man who says he don’t like Elvis
It’s down to ignorance or he can’t say what he means
But why the coca cola, why the bacardi
And the california white and the exxon anti-freeze
Now I don’t want to get judgemental
But it might be said that it
Sounded like a revolution was happening down the watering hole, but it Turned out it was just another
Prole display of capital
Though it sounded just identical
What did you expect?

I’d bring my donkeys in to chew on the carrots
Graze my mules on the dance floor, drive the stick through the swill But the door policy don’t extend to my livestock
This place will make us peasants though it came by our free will

Now I don’t want to get judgemental
But it might be said that it
Sounded like a revolution was happening down the watering hole, but it Turned out it was just another
Prole display of capital
Though it sounded just identical
What did you expect?

There’s no head on the block, no US blockade
Just a different dry white wine in the same lemonade
For all the che guevara prints and the exposed bricks
When we put them on a plate they serve a menu of our dicks

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2007

The old cow died

The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)
The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)

Well did you bring her any water?
Yes ma’am
Did you get her any soda?
Yes ma’am
Did you call for the doctor?
Yes ma’am
Did the doctor come?
Yes ma’am

How come the old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)
The old cow died (sail around)
The old cow died (sail around ladies)

Were the seagulls flying high?
Yes ma’am
Were the seagulls flying low?
Yes ma’am
Did you call the methodists round?
Yes ma’am
Did you make them tea and cakes

Yes ma’am

When the old cow died…

Trad/Arr.Julian Gaskell ©2009

No housing benefit, smokers or pets

The country I live in is called the UK
Nice enough to live in if you got a place to stay
But until the day I know where I’m gonna be keeping This same old dull programme just keeps on repeating

The landlords must have too much money
cos it’s offered up to them but all the can say is

No housing benefit, smokers no pets
No children no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no.

In the place that I live it’s a crying shame
they turned the whole thing over to one great board game If you can raise a deposit you can ride the boom
And sulk through the bust though you’ve still got a room

But their bedsit’s too small for the cash to fit in
cos when it’s offered up to them, all they can think is…

No housing benefit, smokers no pets
No children no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no.

..Put yourself on a plate but they’ll turn you away

I ain’t big or clever, just trying to put in song
The way we got it in this country, we got it all wrong
And while it’s given away before the works even done
There’s still some of us with two homes, some of us with none
Maybe we’re too good for their poxy holes
And they’re just saving the guilt from burying their souls by saying…

No housing benefit, smokers no pets
No children no sharing no DSS
If you want to rent it you better forget it
No housing benefit smokers or pets, no.

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2008

A ja taká dzivočka

A ja taká dzivočka cingilingi bom
rada vijem pirečka, cingilingi bom
rada vijem, rada dám, cingilingi bom bom bom aj za kalap zakladám,cingilingi bom

A ja taká jak i mac, cingilingi bom
čarné oči mušim mac, cingilingi bom
čarné oči mac mala, cingilingi bom bom bom ja še na ňu podala , cingilingi bom

A ty cigán šumne hraj, cingilingi bom
na dzivčata nežmurkaj, cingilingi bom
na dzivčata , na šumné, cingilingi bom bom bom naj nechodza po humne, cingilingi bom

Slovakian traditional song (trad/arr. J. Gaskell ©2008)

Grown men don’t just drop down dead in the street like that

What with the distance and the tv
A stay at home protest I thought was best for me
Though this apathy’s a vote for all the things I don’t agree with
For extinction at some point between the cockroaches and bees
TSG, SPG, CCTV
Theres never any witness where there ought to be
Don’t want any trouble, don’t want to start
But theres a mute dark canyon between the voice and the heart
It was like I wasn’t there
Like he wasn’t there
Like no one was there
Don’t need a high vis vest, steel toe or hard hat
To know that grown men don’t just drop down dead in the street like that

Spare me the worry and unpleasantness
Keep your sins to yourself theres no need to confess
Get to the punchline without waiting for it
Swimming for the cockles without wading in through shit
TSG, SPG, CCTV
How many acronyms will it take to set us free?
Don’t want any trouble, don’t want to start
But theres a mute dark canyon between my voice and my heart…

It was like I wasn’t there
Like he wasn’t there
Like no one was there
Don’t need a high vis vest, steel toe or hard hat
To know that grown men don’t just drop down dead in the street like that

Hit by a car, trod underfoot,
picking up the roadkill, put in the boot
half a million reasons to get an umbrella
so when they look at me they see the other feller
TSG, SPG, CCTV
But somebody turned a blind eye to the one that could see
Don’t want any trouble, don’t want to start
But theres a mute dark canyon between my voice and my heart…

It was like I wasn’t there
Like he wasn’t there
Like no one was there
Don’t need a high vis vest, steel toe or hard hat
To know that grown men don’t just drop down dead in the street like that

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2009

Weep in your beer

The weather’s all gone funny, water’s on the rise
They said that this would happen but we didn’t realise
That the flowers would wilt and die
Before our very eyes
And the words we quoted only seem to over-emphasis
That the world’s gone down the toilet
We flushed it round the bend
The era that we thought we knew is coming to an end
But before the last bell toll upon us
Listen up my friends
We have but little time before us and so much to mend so..

Weep in your beer with me my friends
Weep in your beer with me
The world is full of things that I’d rather forget
Got my eyes set on the glory but I ain’t seen it yet
So weep in your beer, weep in your beer
Weep in your beer with me
Laugh and be content with the court summonses and rent
And weep in your beer with me

But if I had my time back over, it wouldn’t be like that, it’d be like this I’d be looking down over happy days all overcome with bliss
And I’d dance a merry tango through the situations there
Instead of terminating everything that made us what we dare to be and Flushed it down the toilet, send it round the bend

The misery I’ve caused for you is never going to end
But before the last boat leaves
Listen up my friends
We have but little time before us and so much to mend so…

Weep in your beer with me my friends
Weep in your beer with me
The world is full of things that I’d rather forget
Got my eyes set on the glory but I ain’t seen it yet
So weep in your beer, weep in your beer
Weep in your beer with me
Laugh and be content with the court summonses and rent
And weep in your beer with me

Words and music by Julian Gaskell ©2007

The People’s Piano

Trying to get a lie in in a basement cave in bedlam
what is the racket going on upstairs?
I could spare some silence from the landlord’s piano-playing daughter hasn’t learned that much this week, but who cares?
Oh but I wish they’d use some of my hard-earned dough
To buy that little brat a casio
But when they fall beneath the hammer of the people’s piano
These things won’t matter any more

There’s a deposit on this cup and the rent is going up
And what is that scuffling going on next door
Next door’s an overstatement, more a cupboard than a bedsit Where our tight fisted masters store the heirlooms and the shit But I tell you the one thing I know is true
That archive of rubbish is worth more than me and you
But when they fall beneath the hammer of the people’s piano Their values won’t matter any more

And all the years we spend making do and mending
To get another tune out of this thing
I wore out my shoes between the office and the boozer
But this piano will play for evermore

There’s a sofa on my bed and a tune inside my head
How can a poor man sleep through times like these?
Count the ticking of the meter, though I’ve turned off every heater Watch the cash flow through every hole in every wall
But though they always seem to have their share
Long after they’re gone the tune will still be there
And when they fall beneath the hammer of the people’s piano
These things won’t matter any more

And all the years we spend making do and mending
To get another tune out of this thing
I wore out my shoes between the office and the boozer
But this piano will play for evermore

Found a fiver on the floor to keep it going for some more
But the iron frames all wonky from the damp
To invest it in the future would be wise but I’m too used to seeing
All I have in someone else’s hands
So lets have three cheers for bailing out the banks and to the landlords and the harpies give our thanks
Maybe when they fall beneath the hammer of the people’s piano
These things won’t matter any more

And all the years we spend making do and mending
To get another tune out of this thing
I wore out my shoes between the office and the boozer
But this piano will play for evermore