1. |
Tape Machine
03:37
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At the age of just 22
I discovered my calling
Watching streets as they come alive
At 5 or 6 in the morning
You can really define a town
By the first light of day
Like a face before the paint goes on
Shadows carved out of grey
I'd been given a tape machine
It lived here in my satchel
I'd sneak it out to a cheap cafe
I'd hide it under the table
From Nagasaki to old Soho
Greetings cast on the rise
Voice hewn in the analogue
And there I severed my ties
In Jeddah I taped the prayer call
In Porto, Christ on the breeze
In Singapore, well I caught them all
Floating in from the seas
From a Tokyo window ledge
I heard the morning begin
Same way it does every day
From Tokyo to old Medellín
"Won't you please take good care of yourself?"
Then, without words, understand
"Because I love every part of you
Because you're all that I am"
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2. |
Spencer Walker
04:32
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Spencer Walker
Left on Sunday
Caught inside a song
Left in silence
Dazed and grieving
Longing to belong
We're here
Hold on
Days fell through him
As he wandered
Hoping for respite
By a fountain
Out in Clifton
He settled for the night
We're here
Hold on
In his slumber
She came to him
For to ease his fear
"Though this park bench
May seem homely
We're waiting for you here"
We're here
Hold on
Bonfire Tuesday
Early winter
In the dying light
Spencer Walker
Gently weeping
Stumbles into sight
Spencer Walker
Sits there quietly
Caught inside their songs
Wife and children
Rattling round him
Right where he belongs
We're here
Hold on
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3. |
The Broomway
04:45
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We are out to sea
We're off our own coast
Caught out on the Broomway
We've been searching for a ghost
From Wakering to Foulness
And here we are, embarked
Cornered by a tide
On a path unclearly marked
Light vessels on the line
Where the gray becomes the blue
The white mist closes in
And these dangers here aren't new
Visions here are beamed
From a place of vicious hearsay
Our pride is turned against us
And our knees will feel the doomsway
This path that never was
Unpassable but gleaming
A shard of Kentish ragstone
Overt in helpless meaning
The path was never there
Just a shadow in the frost
The wild compass reeling
And Shelford Head now lost
New Burwood Head now lost
And from Fairisle down to Biscay
All souls lost at sea
Last seen on the Broomway
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Jon Wilks Whitchurch, UK
'The sort of performer folk circles mean when they talk of the living tradition' - Mike Davies,
Folking.com
“One of the best of the New Wave of Folk Blokes. As a guitar player and arranger of traditional songs, Jon Wilks already deserves speaking of in the same breath as your Simpsons and your Morays.” – Ian A. Anderson, fRoots Mag
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