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Skyclad
« The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth »
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1 | The Sky Beneath My Feet 5:41
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| 2 | Trance Dance 5:29
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| 3 | A minute Piece 1:10
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| 4 | The Widdershings Jig 3:40
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| 5 | Our Dying Island 7:07
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| 6 | Pagan Man 1:00
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| 7 | Cradle With Fall 6:26
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| 8 | Skyclad 5:01
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| 9 | Moongleam And Meadowsweet 4:35
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| 10 | Terminus 6:38 |
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Martin Walkyier - Voice
Graeme English - Bass Guitar
Steve Ramsey - Lead Guitar
Keith Baxter - Drums and Percussion
Mike Evans - Violin |
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Produced by Kevin Ridley and Skyclad ;
Mixed by Kevin Ridley ;
Engineered by Simon Osborne Recorded at Lynx Studios, Newcastle Mixed at Jacobs Studios, Surrey ;
Mastered at Townhouse, London;
Music by Steve Ramsey
Lyrics by Martin Walkyier |
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| 1. The Sky Beneath My Feet
O come ye young of Hamlyn--you who know my tune so well,
Where it beckons you must follow--be it Heaven (be it Hell).
Forget your mothers grieving as I pipe you down the street,
With a shilling in my pocket--and the sky beneath my feet.
Chameleons bask in the 'arc-l |
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Есть такая разновидность дебютных альбомов, выход которых поначалу особой сенсацией не является, однако спустя некоторое время они становятся своеобразной путеводной звездой в музыке и как-то незаметно уверенно переходят в разряд классики. Именно к данной категории дебютов относится "The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth".
Долгое время неизменный костяк Skyclad (М. Волкайер, С. Рэмси и Г. Инглиш) был сформирован экс-участниками Satan и Sabbat – представителей британского трэша второй половины 80-х. Судя по всему, родные группы не могли дать необходимой творческой свободы музыкантам, не позволяли полностью раскрыть свои таланты, что и послужило причиной «пассионарного толчка», породившего совершенно уникальную формацию, известную ныне как Skyclad. Что ж, первый альбом, как упоминалось, сенсацией не стал. Более того, группа сразу попала в разряд «нелюбимых детей», подвергнувшись всевозможным нападкам критиков, однако... Однако, "The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth" стал чем-то вроде первого больного, заболевшего редкой формой вируса. Вроде, поначалу никто и не обратил внимания на очередного пациента, а зря, поскольку в дальнейшем данный пациент стал причиной тотальной эпидемии, поразившей все и вся вокруг, и вот уже сотни врачей ломают головы над антивирусным препаратом и клянут себя за близорукость, проявленную ранее. Вот такая аллегория.
Ну а если серьезно, то мы имеем дело с на редкость интересной и уверенной работой. Для дебюта "The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth" звучит более чем убедительно даже сегодня! Сказывается прошлый опыт участников группы и желание играть свою музыку. Нам представлен отменный трэш второй половины 80-х в духе Heathen и Mandator, приправленный, однако, совершенно уникальной для того времени начинкой, имя которой "фольк"! Это сегодня от всевозможнейших коллективов и коллективчиков, играющих folk и pagan, отбоя нет (во многом благодаря тем же Skyclad). Однако для того времени это было неоспоримое новшество (его даже и оценили-то не сразу). Следует отметить, что фольк не довлеет над всей музыкой, а представлен лишь в виде острой приправы, то и дело проскальзывающей в виде эмоциональных скрипичных пассажей на протяжении всего альбома, исполненных, пока еще, в сессионном порядке. Так что, представленный музыкальный стиль можно смело назвать thrash-folk. Поражает обилие мелодий и структурное разнообразие песен, альбом чрезвычайно насыщен Музыкой. Большинство композиций имеет весьма развернутую структуру, поскольку продолжительность звучания доброй половины песен не менее пяти минут. При этом музыканты играют настолько слаженно и непринужденно, что звучание альбома буквально живое, в том смысле, что музыка, украшенная яркими соло, прямо-таки «дышит» и бьет живительным ключом. Конечно же, бюджет записи невелик (парни никогда не относились к любимцам Фортуны и часто считали деньги, чтобы поесть. А о такой «роскоши» как электричество в доме, порой и не мечтали), отчего звучание, увенчанное рявкающим вокалом Мартина, стало глуховатым и порой нечетким. Думаю, на тот момент группа просто не могла позволить себе большего, и так выжав все возможное в сложившейся ситуации. Однако, как ни странно, подобные недостатки лишь подчеркивают профессионализм работы в плане слаженности игры, исполнительского мастерства и искренности представленного материала. Все песни сыграны не только «с мозгами», но и с неподдельным чувством.
Начинаясь со стремительного трэша "The Sky Beneath My Feet", окрашенного в трагический оттенок, альбом подобен литературному произведению с четкой логикой изложения. Поскольку, продолжив скоростной "Trance Dance", в "A Minute Piece" музыканты словно дают нам время, чтобы перевести дыхание и прийти в себя перед "The Widdershins Jig", звучащей подобно завлекающему танцу цыганки в нищенском квартале, дразняще приближающейся к Вам. Одной из сильнейших композиций альбома является "Our Dying Island" – галопирующий трэш со стремительными соло. Несмотря на семиминутную продолжительность, песня слушается на одном дыхании и примечательна сравнением людей с микробами, которые обладают цветными телевизорами. "Pagan Man" – это кредо истинного язычника, каждое слово которого проникнуто глубинным смыслом: «Я – язычник. Мои слова обращены к таким же, как я. Я не приемлю ваших взглядов, ваших беспочвенных «мнений»... Вы называете меня животным?! Что ж, хоть это, по крайней мере, правда! Я – живое, мыслящее, человеческое существо. Но кто такие, черт возьми, вы?». На удивление, одноименная названию группы тревожная песня "Skyclad" исполнена в довольно традиционном трэшевом ключе. Одна из песен-фаворитов – это несомненно "Moongleam and Meadowsweet", которая, обладая в целом романтичным настроем, местами звучит подобно некому трагическому призыву. Завершает альбом "Terminus", которая содержит удивительно красивые лид-гитары, трэшэвые запилы и... ритуальные песнопения.
Отдельного упоминания достойно лирическое содержание альбома. Здесь нет текстов – только стихотворения, все, без исключения, написанные вокалистом Мартином Волкайером. Это настоящие литературные шедевры, как по форме, так и по содержанию. Его стихи – это развернутые истории, насыщенные образами, с четкой рифмой и логикой изложения. Все они повествуют о том, что происходит в нашем мире, только глазами язычника. Однако, здесь Вы не найдете призывов к древним богам и ставшего ныне модным псевдо-языческого фетишизма. Это своеобразный философский анализ реальности, пропущенный через призму языческого мироощущения. Это понимание глубинной сути процессов, дающее полную свободу мировоззрения и мышления! Лирика проникнута фатальным настроением и сводится к необходимости совершить осознанный выбор. Особенно интересна "Moongleam and Meadowsweet", поскольку поначалу нет никаких сомнений, что данная песня является признанием в возвышенной любви к любимой женщине. Однако позже становится понятно, что этой любимой женщиной для автора является родная Англия! Вот так-то! Следует отметить, что стихи Skyclad с первого альбома стали своеобразной визитной карточкой группы. Кроме того, чтобы разобраться в текстах необходимо недюжинное знание литературного английского языка, богатого на образы, в отличие от разговорного.
Итак, отличная работа, обладающая неповторимым характером и уникальным настроением. Одна из самых лучших работ Skyclad по сей день. Альбом порой не слишком прост для восприятия. Однако, если слушатель не поленится разобраться в происходящем, "The Wayward Sons of Mother Earth" станет ему верным другом, в компании которого он с радостью проведет не один вечер. |
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And here from the wings I have watched them and wondered if God does exist
after all.
On life's Ferris Wheel all the dreamers ride free (from the top you can only
go down),
No-one but yourself is to blame if you presume to walk upon water then drown.
Now your bridges are burned--it is time that you learned there is no turning
back,
All your airs and graces should vacate their places for the qualities you lack.
Though empty vessels made most sound--not one wise word was said,
Vainglory hunters seek their prey where angels fear to tread.
FOLLOW ME--follow and I will lead,
With truth that hurts like stick and stone.
When rats that scuttled ships departed--
Birds of a feather sought their own.
To make their dreams a lantern that outshines the brightest star,
Turn whispers into battlecries the winds shall carry far.
When hearts shielded by conviction--keeping beats so pure and strong,
Are at last as one united (a communion of steel--The Sword of Song).
We gathered together as sister and brother to dance when the world was abed,
Until the next dawn in the grey light of morning these lambs to the slaughter
were led
Out of the shadows these vagabonds congregate (those who have stuck to their
guns),
While tinseltown satellites frantically circulate orbiting mirror-ball suns.
I will not play a part in this infantile farce--your offer I decline,
Building walls of pretension to conceal your intentions was just a waste of
time.
Though in your life of make-believe the best things came for free,
Why should I trust my plans in the 'capable' hands of a shallow fool like thee.
FOLLOW ME--follow and I will lead,
With truth that hurts like stick and stone,
When rats their scuttled ships departed--
Birds of a feather sought their own.
The goose that lays the golden egg--I'll sacrifice and bury it,
If you don't believe me watch me as upon its grave I spit,
Worldly treasures have no worth--but self-respect is beyond price,
And Hell's the best alternative when faced with your fool's paradise.
Some say I bite the hand that feeds--but to these disillusioned eyes
'tis sweet revenge to watch it bleed (it has only fed me lies),
The dead horses you were flogging could not rise and stand upon its legs,
Behold the leper-minstrel has been cured and nevermore shall beg.
2. Trance Dance (A Dreamtime Walkabout)
Where the past meets the present we walk hand in hand,
Barefoot and naked--but kings of our land,
The souls of my forefathers course through my veins as I watch the
sun sink 'neath these ancestral plains.
Outcast in the outback--forgotten by time,
Lie the fragile remains of a world that was mine.
What money could not buy--the strong chose to steal,
To them power and riches were all that was real.
Then sold into slavery (iron-ore digger),
I am your 'abbo'--your lacky--your 'nigger.'
Awaken the neo-neanderthal man that sleeps within all of us touched by his
hand,
He's the last grain of hope left unspoilt by our games--so tread
soft in his footsteps and whisper his name.
A DREAMTIME WALKABOUT--is all that remains of the past,
A DREAMTIME WALKABOUT--the 'missing link' holds the chain fast.
Watch us skip the dark fantastic--silhouettes against the sky,
Bodies bathed in starlit twilight--high above our spirits fly.
Every picture tells a tale of hidden wisdom they have found,
Man is just a part of nature--not the other way around.
This 'savage' nobility rule without thrones,
And by birthright inherit things we'll never own.
Though progress encroaches--the last of their kind still reach
from their bodies with prehensile minds.
We sons of the wilderness--unchained and free,
Cast our spirits to fly with the birds through the trees.
(See a bloodline that extends from Genesis to fiery end).
Over bushland and billabong astral forms soar--
'Til the therms of our passion can bear us no more.
(Its shadow cast upon the land still undefiled by human hand).
Unaware what you search for is already mine.
Awaken the neo-neanderthal man that sleeps within all of us touched
by his hand,
He's the last grain of hope left unspoilt by our games--so tread
soft in his footsteps and whisper his name.
A DREAMTIME WALKABOUT--is all that remains of the past,
A DREAMTIME WALKABOUT--the 'missing link' holds the chain fast.
As you cower in concrete boxes--sheltered from the light of day,
Pause a moment (stop and wonder)--who's most savage you or they?
Every picture tells a tale of hidden wisdom they have found,
Man is just a part of nature--not the other way around.
3. A Minute's Piece
[Instrumental]
4. The Widdershins Jig
A wise man's son and Wednesday's child in each other found a friend,
And searched together for the treasure hiding at the rainbow's end.
To wise man's son and Wednesday's child all is white that is not black,
They dance in symbiotic deadlock--one step forward two steps back,
Playing karmic snakes and ladders (all your sins will find you out),
When all your gains are lost in vain on cosmic wings and roundabouts.
At the roadside manhood's flower--blighted by a wayward youth,
Has cast its seed on well-worn pathways--borne on winds of whispered truth.
We march to drums of our own choosing--each of them keeps different time,
As you are free to live your own life so I am free to live mine.
Now wise man's son and Wednesday's child can recognise their own mistakes,
And to these ends they make amends for every promise that they break.
Both wise man's son and Wednesday's child view the world in red and green,
Await the day when they die laughing--thinking of the sights they've seen.
I tell you now if they were given chance to live their lives again--
Wise man's son and Wednesday's child would make the same mistakes as then.
At the roadside manhood's flower--blighted by a wayward youth,
Has cast its seed on well-worn pathways--borne on winds of whispered truth.
We march to drums of our own choosing--each of them keeps different time,
As you are free to live your own life so I am free to live mine.
5. Our Dying Island
I woke from my daydream--discovered my nightmare was real,
At the altar of progress to gods of ambition we kneel,
Our database deities--they cannot save us,
Microchip miracles only enslave us.
The high priests of high finance claim that their actions are wise--
But our planet still dies. . .
It dies for the want of more people who care 'bout the poisons we
pump in the seas and the air,
Yet blissfully ignorant--still unaware,
We strive for a future entwined with despair.
You say, "Why waste concern on the rivers and trees--they belong to
mankind to exploit as we please?"
Face up to the fact that mankind's a disease--irrelevant microbes
with colour T.V.s.
Tell me just what kind of fools would laugh and stare death in the face?
Only to worst kind of fools (like you and I--the human race).
If we laugh for long enough it could well be our epitaph,
Mother Earth will laugh the loudest--She will have the final laugh.
BUT WAIT--the time has come to realise,
BELIEVE--the truth our eyes will not disguise.
SPEAK OUT--to say, "It's no concern of mine,"
DECEIVED--is to be party to the crime.
We all toe the line and swallow the lies--and our island dies.
Let computers dictate our emotions--determine the way we should
feel.
Turn our backs to the future now our days are numbered,
And where will we run to when this world is plundered?
Your conscience a whisper drowned out when your avarice cries--
And humanity dies. . .
Without hot winds or tower blocks crashing--no silver-lined mushroom
clouds herald man's passing,
From the Garden of Eden--into death everlasting,
Such a high price to pay for what we took without asking.
Stupidity's legacy is passed down the years--as our knowledge
increases dispelling the fears
That the ghosts of the past may again reappear--as the dawn of the
silent apocalypse nears.
Tell me just what kind of fools would laugh and stare death in the
face?
Only the worst kind of fools (like you and I--the human race).
If we laugh for long enough it could well be our epitaph,
Mother Earth will laugh the loudest--She will have the final laugh.
(The advent of insanity--no future for humanity.
You pander to your vanity--it blinds you to reality.
In temples of indifference we hail the gods of ignorance,
And sacrifice our final chance--behold the death of innocence.)
BUT WAIT--the end is near so we must choose,
BELIEVE--that we have everything to lose.
SPEAK OUT--if empty words are all we're worth,
DECEIVED--it is the end for Mother Earth.
We all toe the line and swallow the lies--and our island dies.
If we think the world is our oyster we'll surely choke on the pearl,
It is ours for a while to respect not defile--but minds drunk with
power still whirl.
The lands we dispute are not ours to pollute--neither the air that
we breathe,
But how will we ever see reason when we can't see the wood for the trees.
Now we hold the future in the palm of our hand--place your faith
In 'Rainbow Warriors' not castles of sand,
The hourglass is empty time is slipping away--so prepare your
excuses for the Judgement Day.
Court is now in session--Mother Nature presides,
The jury are our children--whose futures we've denied.
The evidence conclusive--we have no alibi,
The victim was our planet--the verdict: MATRICIDE.
BUT WAIT--the time has come to realise,
BELIEVE--the truth our eyes will not disguise.
SPEAK OUT--to say, "It's no concern of mine,"
DECEIVED--is to be party to the crime.
BUT WAIT--the end is near so we must choose,
BELIEVE--that we have everything to lose.
SPEAK OUT--if empty words are all we're worth,
DECEIVED--it is the end for Mother Earth.
6. Intro: Pagan Man
I am the Pagan Man--I speak for all my kind,
When I criticise your point of view--your hollow state of mind.
You say that I'm an animal--well this at least is true,
I'm a thinking breathing human being--what the hell are you?
7. The Cradle Will Fall
A species in its infancy--a living idiosyncrasy,
This 'naked ape' believes itself divine.
Assured of its supremacy--it dreams of immortality,
The first words that it speaks--"This world is mine."
But the time has come for us to realise,
That the animal instincts we deeply despise--
Are far more civilised than humanity.
Mankind has lived to curse the day it climbed down from the trees,
But still we keep our heads held high whilst crawling on our knees.
I hope I never live to see the 'perfect' world you crave,
Where ambition is the burden we shall carry to our graves.
We think that we are so superior--for in God's image we were made,
All other life we deem inferior--there to exploit, kill or enslave
No amount of remonstration could ever show a mind so small
that it is not 'the be and end all.'
Into the future we race driven on by our greed,
Like rats in a maze we will never be free.
Science is the 'new-religion'--scaples slash dissecting truth and reason,
Behind locked doors where no-one sees.
Down evolution's one way street mankind pursues his dream,
Of a race conceived in test tubes with the same designer genes,
But like a child who tries to run before it learns to crawl--
he'll go crying to his 'Mother' when he sees the cradle fall.
I am human--I was made to be the ultimate machine,
With the power at my fingertips to realise my dream.
Homo-sapiens--the 'master-race,' Nature's pride and joy,
Taking all the world will give me--what it won't I shall destroy.
In our hearts we yearn to be immortal--conquer all sickness and disease,
Create a world where even death's not fatal--then we can shape our destinies.
A populace of plastic people live genetically pre-programmed lives--and no-one
laughs and no-one cries.
Blinded by science the masses are duped and deceived,
By the faces that smile from their colour T.V.s.
They'll steal your dreams--remove them surgically (but leave you scars so deep
and lasting),
God is dead man has surpassed him.
Like children in our playground--we contrive such foolish games,
But fail to see the consequence of suicidal aims.
No matter how we bend the rules there's no way we can win,
Not even pleading Ignorance will vindicate our sins.
I am human--I was made to be the ultimate machine,
With the power at my fingertips to realise my dream.
Homo-sapiens--the 'master-race,' Nature's pride and joy,
Taking all the world will give me--what it won't I shall destroy.
Mankind a babe-in-arms,
Believes he's come of age--
And reaches for the stars,
With one foot in the grave.
I am human--I was made to be the ultimate machine,
I am human--I have the power to realise my dream.
I am human--an automaton--a mindless 'technoslave,'
I am human--I am servant to the monsters I have made.
8. Skyclad
I'll sing to you of days departed,
Times when men proud and stouthearted carved their names on history's bloody
page,
The corpse of chivalry long dead
Is turning in his loamy bed indignant at your new 'enlightened' age
White-collared knights at boardroom tables dream their own financial fables,
Fight to make their incomes larger--mounted on their 'credit charges.'
Held within the safety of this mundane existence--
Facing endless grey Mondays of dull nine to fives,
We all climb the social ladder with a dogged persistence,
Forging chains we shall carry for the rest of our lives.
We cannot see through clothes may maketh man they cannot give us shelter--
On this mortal helter-skelter if our loyalties are torn,
Between the values we believe in and the egos we are feeding--
We stand all together naked as the day we were born.
And so cast off the lies that are our lives and find the truth within.
SKYCLAD--the veil has lifted,
SKYCLAD--now I see through,
SKYCLAD--your mask of illusion,
SKYCLAD--to the fake that is you.
Financial wizards read their spells from filofaxes
Concrete hells of their own making pass for Avalon.
These men self-made by shrewd investing spend their weekends child-molesting,
Lost in 'green-belt' dreams they do no wrong.
Your mortgage payment rocket--
Like your blood pressure rising,
Executive stresses are the dragons you fight.
In your Armani armour you are practically shining,
So have no code of honour--you must always be right.
Just give me a simple life--my tastes are not demanding,
And whatever life may hand me I'll accept it with good grace;
For I'm just a simple lad with few ideas about my station,
So ale and song will apt suffice to keep me in my place.
How can you know the cost of everything yet never see its worth?
If you think because you've paid the piper you should call the tune--
Well think again my friend life is a gain of chance,
By Fate's command we win or lose,
But still retain the right to choose
If we should stumble on--or shed our cares and dance
SKYCLAD--the veil has lifted,
SKYCLAD--no I see through,
SKYCLAD--your mask of illusion,
SKYCLAD--to the fake that is you.
You charge each other for the time and breath it takes to say 'good morning,'
But the truth is slowly dawning--things are getting out of hand,
We all pursue our shattered dreams along the roads to our own ruin--
Watch our empires sink and wash away like castles made of sand.
And so cast off the lies that are your lives and find the truth within
9. Moongleam And Meadowsweet
See her face shine in the moonlight--
Soft as silk and white as cream,
Silently I watch her slumber--gently kiss her cheek,
Then I lay my weary head beside hers--close my eyes and dream.
In the morning she'll awake--
Cast off the night and shine like summer,
As she dances all about me she sparkles like a stream,
Her hair is full of meadowsweet--she's wrapped in leafy green.
On bended knee before you with tears in my eyes,
I pledge that till my dying day my sword is on your side--
Forever on your side.
And I love you more than life--
I swear that you mean everything to me,
Everything I'd sacrifice--
If my lady you would favour me.
Far brighter than the stars your smile,
You hold the richest sunset in those eyes--
You are England.
Fear not lady I'll defend you--
In your cause lay down my life,
When 'concrete dragons' threaten they shall see my mettle gleam,
And die if they should try to steal your cloak of leafy green.
Of all the things worth dying for--
None sweeter have I seen,
Than the rose that is my England--
In her cloak of leafy green.
10. Terminus
[Intro:] 'Megeddo's Gateway.'
Hunter of the silent darkness--
Mighty steel leviathan,
Rise from your nocturnal vigil--
'Davey Jones' the time has come.
Send spitting fires and roaring thunder--instigate Poseidon's wrath,
Unleash the terrors of the deep uncertain of the aftermath.
Attack is the best form of defense--fingers on a keyboard play,
When genocide's a numbered sequence death is but a breath away.
I. I hear sirens screaming--
C. See lightning rip the sky,
B. Be afraid my darling--
M. Embrace me as we die.
Dark clouds gather (tensions mounting)--current tides are making waves,
They navigate a sea of tears--above them storms in tea-cups rage.
Only Jonah 'neath the ocean witnesses the damage done,
But can't turn back the hands of time--none can unload a smoking gun.
I. I hear sirens screaming--
C. See lightning rip the sky,
B. Be afraid my darling--
M. Embrace me as we die.
The lords of Fleet Street speculate--as noble statesmen mediate,
They tread on thin ice cracked by hate--one slip could spell disaster.
We gave you power to decide--but now you gamble with our lives,
We've all been taken for a ride--next stop the hereafter.
These implements of science-friction--
Are the pawns of power play,
By splitting hairs and splitting atoms--
They'll kill us all the 'new-clear' way.
Entice us through Megeddo's gateway on this final exodus,
As flesh is turned to ash and vapour by the fires of 'terminus.'