Playlist by Algernon
Time for a little music to soothe the soul after a week of teeth gnashing. Time to calm down the hoards.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTkhBuNdMgY
Girls talk – Dave Edmunds
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9GlC9GyF4Y
Alison – Elvis Costello
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDkKyBU7GCs
Rhiannon – Fleetwood Mac
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOGxBpMmPHw
Pamela Pamela – Wayne Fontana
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSzURtkp36k
Emma – Hot Chocolate
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b31L4P7G5j8
Eloise – The Damned
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBt3_TuhuEw
Janie Jones – The Clash
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nlX7P0nhaI
Shenna is a Punk rocker – The Ramones
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8srPkl2PzJ4
Oh Jean – The Proclaimers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otJY2HvW3Bw
Suzanne – Leonard Cohen
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3EmA-eJPxs
Roxanne – The Police
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RjqcTsxx-8
Ophelia – The Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5_QV97eYqM
Cecilia – Simon and Garfunkel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67BFvgOio58
Delilah – Tom Jones
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLvBpnaVHE8
Gloria – Them
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ixqbc7X2NQY
Lola – The Kinks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fX5USg8_1gA
Layla – Eric Clapton
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
Another Welsh giant.
It is a winter’s tale
That the snow blind twilight ferries over the lakes
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,
Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,
The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,
And the stars falling cold,
And the smell of hay in the snow, and the far owl
Warning among the folds, and the frozen hold
Flocked with the sheep white smoke of the farm house cowl
In the river wended vales where the tale was told.
Once when the world turned old
On a star of faith pure as the drifting bread,
As the food and flames of the snow, a man unrolled
The scrolls of fire that burned in his heart and head,
Torn and alone in a farm house in a fold
Of fields. And burning then
In his firelit island ringed by the winged snow
And the dung hills white as wool and the hen
Roosts sleeping chill till the flame of the cock crow
Combs through the mantled yards and the morning men
Stumble out with their spades,
The cattle stirring, the mousing cat stepping shy,
The puffed birds hopping and hunting, the milkmaids
Gentle in their clogs over the fallen sky,
And all the woken farm at its white trades,
He knelt, he wept, he prayed,
By the spit and the black pot in the log bright light
And the cup and the cut bread in the dancing shade,
In the muffled house, in the quick of night,
At the point of love, forsaken and afraid.
He knelt on the cold stones,
He wept form the crest of grief, he prayed to the veiled sky
May his hunger go howling on bare white bones
Past the statues of the stables and the sky roofed sties
And the duck pond glass and the blinding byres alone
Into the home of prayers
And fires where he should prowl down the cloud
Of his snow blind love and rush in the white lairs.
His naked need struck him howling and bowed
Though no sound flowed down the hand folded air
But only the wind strung
Hunger of birds in the fields of the bread of water, tossed
In high corn and the harvest melting on their tongues.
And his nameless need bound him burning and lost
When cold as snow he should run the wended vales among
The rivers mouthed in night,
And drown in the drifts of his need, and lie curled caught
In the always desiring centre of the white
Inhuman cradle and the bride bed forever sought
By the believer lost and the hurled outcast of light.
Deliver him, he cried,
By losing him all in love, and cast his need
Alone and naked in the engulfing bride,
Never to flourish in the fields of the white seed
Or flower under the time dying flesh astride.
Listen. The minstrels sing
In the departed villages. The nightingale,
Dust in the buried wood, flies on the grains of her wings
And spells on the winds of the dead his winter’s tale.
The voice of the dust of water from the withered spring
Is telling. The wizened
Stream with bells and baying water bounds. The dew rings
On the gristed leaves and the long gone glistening
Parish of snow. The carved mouths in the rock are wind swept strings.
Time sings through the intricately dead snow drop. Listen.
It was a hand or sound
In the long ago land that glided the dark door wide
And there outside on the bread of the ground
A she bird rose and rayed like a burning bride.
A she bird dawned, and her breast with snow and scarlet downed.
Look. And the dancers move
On the departed, snow bushed green, wanton in moon light
As a dust of pigeons. Exulting, the grave hooved
Horses, centaur dead, turn and tread the drenched white
Paddocks in the farms of birds. The dead oak walks for love.
The carved limbs in the rock
Leap, as to trumpets. Calligraphy of the old
Leaves is dancing. Lines of age on the stones weave in a flock.
And the harp shaped voice of the water’s dust plucks in a fold
Of fields. For love, the long ago she bird rises. Look.
And the wild wings were raised
Above her folded head, and the soft feathered voice
Was flying through the house as though the she bird praised
And all the elements of the slow fall rejoiced
That a man knelt alone in the cup of the vales,
In the mantle and calm,
By the spit and the black pot in the log bright light.
And the sky of birds in the plumed voice charmed
Him up and he ran like a wind after the kindling flight
Past the blind barns and byres of the windless farm.
In the poles of the year
When black birds died like priests in the cloaked hedge row
And over the cloth of counties the far hills rode near,
Under the one leaved trees ran a scarecrow of snow
And fast through the drifts of the thickets antlered like deer,
Rags and prayers down the knee-
Deep hillocks and loud on the numbed lakes,
All night lost and long wading in the wake of the she-
Bird through the times and lands and tribes of the slow flakes.
Listen and look where she sails the goose plucked sea,
The sky, the bird, the bride,
The cloud, the need, the planted stars, the joy beyond
The fields of seed and the time dying flesh astride,
The heavens, the heaven, the grave, the burning font.
In the far ago land the door of his death glided wide,
And the bird descended.
On a bread white hill over the cupped farm
And the lakes and floating fields and the river wended
Vales where he prayed to come to the last harm
And the home of prayers and fires, the tale ended.
The dancing perishes
On the white, no longer growing green, and, minstrel dead,
The singing breaks in the snow shoed villages of wishes
That once cut the figures of birds on the deep bread
And over the glazed lakes skated the shapes of fishes
Flying. The rite is shorn
Of nightingale and centaur dead horse. The springs wither
Back. Lines of age sleep on the stones till trumpeting dawn.
Exultation lies down. Time buries the spring weather
That belled and bounded with the fossil and the dew reborn.
For the bird lay bedded
In a choir of wings, as though she slept or died,
And the wings glided wide and he was hymned and wedded,
And through the thighs of the engulfing bride,
The woman breasted and the heaven headed
Bird, he was brought low,
Burning in the bride bed of love, in the whirl-
Pool at the wanting centre, in the folds
Of paradise, in the spun bud of the world.
And she rose with him flowering in her melting snow.
Dylan Thomas
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Now you’ve got me thinking a collection of Welsh entertainers and poets.
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Don’t forget it is SIR Tom Jones. A giant in the music industry.
Having been awarded an OBE in 1999, Jones received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II for “services to music” in 2006. Jones has received numerous other awards throughout his career, including the Grammy Award for Best New Artist in 1966, an MTV Video Music Award in 1989 and two Brit Awards – winning Best British Male, in 2000, and Outstanding Contribution to Music, in 2003
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I loved hearing Tom Jones again and even used it on my own piece.
I don’t think there are any Welshmen that can’t sing.
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Must be the coal dust Gerard. Maybe I could do a “Welsh” list one day.
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Lola ?!.. 🙂
….
Thanks for this play list, Algernon. Great memories.
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Thanks hph.
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Algy – sometimes I really wish we lived in the same area. You are one very cool bloke.
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Well I may (emphasis on may) have the need to go to Albury for work in the next year. Part of the project I’m working on deals with some issue (not in a bad way) in the area. If I do perhaps we can catch up.
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RightO – if the time comes and you know the dates etc I’ll give Mike my phone numbers and we can meet up.
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Fanbloodytastic. Not just because it is a girl name list – just great. No female singers either! Though Gloria was sung by the late I’ve forgotten her name – two songs, big voice? Somebody help. Then there was the song Maxine sung by ex NZ lovely woman who recently appeared on RockWiz. Gee, I am terrible with names. I’ll probably remember at midnight just as I nod off.
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Laura Branigan – 1983 – Gloria. (the year my 1st daughter was born). The band was all female.
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Not the same song of course. Different Gloria. Both good.
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Maxine – by Sharon O’Neill. Love it heaps too. (had to do a Yahoo search to get the name)
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I hadn’t noticed the female singers bit, not intentional. Gloria was covered by many.
The inspiration for this list came from Algernonina the younger, who mentioned that one of her friends was named after one of the songs on the list. This girl found it rather humorous that she was named after a song. She also DJ’s on a local community radio station each week in a period dedicated to high school students. The younger went along one day and “helped out”. This girl prepares the playlist, she does well.
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Suzanne first, cos’ I still love ya, Leonard.
Tom Jones, Delilah, what a voice, what a song.
Cecilia of course, and WOW to Eric Clapton’s Layla…Fleetwood Mac;Rhiannon, they area ll pretty good…
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all
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Glad you liked it. A change from the week at the pigs. A list with something for everyone.
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