LYRICS // Torch Song Singer (2000)

This was probably the last song that the band wrote together and was one of those tracks that formed in the rehearsal studio. We often ended a live set with it, as it was a song that picked up speed towards the end with all the members of the band going full throttle until they were utterly spent. A 'blisters on fingers and gasping for breath' kinda thing.

Wikipedia describes a torch song as 'a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love'. The song itself is more a full-on rock 'n' roll blast than a sentimental journey, so is certainly not an attempt at writing a torch song. As some of the original torch song singers would include people such as Edith Piaf, Marlene Dietrich and Billie Holiday, I don't think my vocals could quite reach those lofty heights anyway!

The studio we used to rehearse in was in an old underground arch near the sea in the Kemp Town area of Brighton. It's well known as Brighton's gay quarter and perhaps rehearsing in such salubrious surroundings led my lyrical aerials to pick up on what was in the area, as many of the original torch song singers are big gay icons nowadays.

As for the rest of the lyrics, they flowed from the title. 'Itchy trigger finger' rhymed well and I seemed to describe a character whose tragic life led to a loose gun hand. From there, it becomes some character from a mythical American past - wearing alligator shoes and holding up banks - some kind of mid-West outlaw.

It's also got a certain hint of my return to political interests in my writing, with talk of revolutionaries and bringing systems to their knees. I'd read Naomi Klein's 'No Logo' at the time and was beginning to feel radical again. The 'battle lines are drawn' line was a reference to the anti-capitalist movement that has picked up a lot of steam by then, culminating in the Seattle WTO riots (that led to the development of Indymedia). Looking back on that period from the perspective of 7 or 8 years later and post-invasion of Iraq, the losses of civil liberties that have accompanied the 'War on Terror' may well appear to be a reaction to that kind of street violence and opposition to untrammelled globalisation and profit grabbing by governments and corporations in recent years.

The song was only recorded as a rough demo and can be downloaded here.

'Pigeon Souvenirs' sleeve design by Dom Pates.

Torch Song Singer

I'll be your torch song singer,
With the itchy trigger finger,
And I'll take you on a white knuckle ride.
With your alligator shoes and your rhythm and your blues,
I'm holding up the bank where you're paying all your dues.

I'll be your touchstone sinner,
With a point to my finger,
To take the arguement outside.
Follow your caterpillar tracks,
And your trail of greenbacks,
You'd better learn to run before we make contact.

I'll be your revolutionary,
With my heart sown on my sleeve,
And trigger a reaction, bring the system to it's knees.
I'll look right through your public eye,
Find another alibi,
And check out that I haven't caught your last disease.

Take a look outside,
As the battle lines are drawn.
And we line them up against the wall.

Watch your back,
For the corporate apologists,
As they lose teeth to our fists.

Torch song singer with the itchy trigger finger,
And I'll take you on a white knuckle ride.

LYRICS // New Horizon (1999)

This is another one of my favourite Zamora songs, and is quite a rock 'n' roll blast from start to finish. It was probably the closest we got to a 'driving song', as tracks like 'Born To Be Wild' and 'Crosstown Traffic' are often described.

The lyrics appear to be fairly negative when just read on a page, but in delivery they are full of positivity. They don't necessarily make much sense as a simple message, like with many of my songs, but again is an example of wordplay and the juxtaposition of different images. Sometimes, words that rhyme with each other don't sit together as natural bedfellows, but the sound they make when they are put together brings its own flow.

The title might have come first, and is a positive start. '...boxes that you keep your eyes in' are contact lens cases, often hanging around the flat I lived in when the song was written and courtesy of the flatmate of the time. The 'water rising' is another reference to the flood I witnessed as a child that forms the backbone of the lyrics to 'Harry J (Gunslinger)'.

The next verse, about rocket launches, came to me in parts at the bookshop I worked in after college, and was scribbled on the back of till receipts in between serving customers, then shoved into a back pocket for safe-keeping, only to find a new life in this song (as with a number of others songs to, some of these lines previously surfaced in songs by Headland, the outfit I fronted before The Zamora).

It's also a song for outsiders. The chorus, 'Je suis l'etranger', aligns itself with Camus and the existentialist anti-hero Meursault in the novel 'The Outsider' (aka 'The Stranger', or 'L'Etranger' in the original French). Whilst certainly not condoning the actions of the protagonist in any way, it still empathises with the disconnection he feels from that which is going on around him. Perhaps the case with all outsiders.

The song was only recorded as a rough demo, and can be downloaded here.

Photo of Steve of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

New Horizon

If I could look over the new horizon,
And find the boxes that you keep your eyes in,
And a cheaper way of advertising,
I'd sit down here and watch the water rising.

I got invited to the launch of a rocket.
I found a flyer in my back pocket.
When I asked where the launch would be,
Got told the end of the armoury.

Ooooh, yeah!
Ooooh, yeah!

Life's a dream that I can't wake up from,
My sickness grows till I cannot hide it.
Life's a dream that I can't wake up from,
My sickness grows till I cannot hide it.

Sometimes I feel as young as a baby,
Sometimes I feel as old as the hills,
I pick myself up off the street,
And sit and peel the skin from my feet.

Why are we so cold about desire,
When we're at the heart of the fire?
I stick around on the underside,
If I'm right or wrong I can't decide.

Ooooh, yeah!
Ooooh, yeah!

Je suis l'etranger.
Je suis l'etranger.
Je suis l'etranger.
Je suis l'etranger.

If I could look over the new horizon,
And find the boxes that you keep your eyes in,
And a cheaper way of advertising,
I'd sit down here and watch the water rising.

Ooooh, yeah!

Ooooh, Ooooh, Ooooh, 1,2,3,4.

LYRICS // Tequila Mockingbird Pie (1998)

My first full-time job after university was as a bookseller at Sussex University Bookshop. Retail is always low paid, so I was always out of pocket, but I tend to look back on my time there very fondly. I was surrounded by stacks upon stacks of fascinating books, the shop was mostly patronised by female students and there was a most unusual cast list amongst the staff. It would provide enough material for a book in its own right! I also managed to get a pint in every lunchtime with a good mate that also worked with me and I developed a sideline as a window display artist there too. Good times.

One day, we received a stack of literary-related mugs to serve as merchandising and the title of one of them particularly struck me - 'Tequila Mockingbird' (depicting a mockingbird in a sombrero, or something like that). I took that line, baked it a little and the song 'Tequila Mockingbird Pie' was born - another example of wordplay and punning in a song lyric.

I was particularly happy with this set of lyrics, which included references to a former squeeze, the town I was in, Noah's Ark and reggae!

In my student days, I'd often crash out on the couch after a session and wake up the following morning still wearing what I'd had on the night before. This provided the first verse. The second verse refered to Brighton, which was a place that seemed to have a progressive musical culture and a retro fashion one combined. The line about the 'narcoleptic insomniac' (a contradiction in terms, of course) was lifted from some TV interview with Ringo Starr in which he claimed to be just that.

When the song became a part of The Zamora's repertoire, it turned into some kind of bouncy, Egyptian ska type number. It was great fun to perform, but was generally done with a little tongue in cheek! The song was only recorded as a rough studio demo, and can be downloaded here.

Photo of Dom & Justin of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

Tequila Mockingbird Pie

Woke up in my clothes again,
Must have slept through the whole weekend.
Don't know if I'm up or down,
Or if I've still got to pretend.

Parade in your sounds of tomorrow,
Dress in your clothes of yesterday.
The sun may have gone back in,
But I'll still be sitting here making hay.

Running away with a tequila mockingbird,
Tryin' to find my way back home.
Gave it away on a familiar block, I heard.
Couldn't seem to leave it alone...Alone.

Couldn't get to sleep last night,
I just lay there staring into space.
Baby, you were out like a light,
But you opened your eyes when I leaned to kiss your face.

I'm a narcoleptic insomniac,
Who can't seem to find his way back.
'Cause I've spent too much of my time,
Away from the beaten track.

Running away with a tequila mockingbird,
Tryin' to find my way back home.
Gave it away on a familiar block, I heard.
Couldn't seem to leave it alone...Alone.

Like a moth to a flame.
A hunter to game.
An aspirin to pain.
A face without a name.

Tell me what you were dreaming of,
Was I the olive branch or the dove?
I know it'll never be,
'Cause it's too much too soon now to love.

Tried to scratch at the clouds in my hair,
Knowing that we can't get any higher.
I saw your streets run with blood and fire,
Starting your own riot, you know I'll always admire.

Running away with a tequila mockingbird,
'Bout time I left it alone.
Took it all back in the usual way, I heard,
Guess I found my way back home.

LYRICS // Jaded (2000)

Justin, the lead guitarist, came up with the first two lines ('I know my future's blown...') and the melody for the chorus. I built the rest of the lyrics from there. It was a song that was written mostly in the studio and pretty quickly at that.

Although it has a certain negativity to it ('I'm jaded...'), it's also got plenty of positivity to it as well. The lines about having a broken home (yet there still being a key to the door) refer to forgiving one's parents and keeping up good relationships with them even after they break up and divorce.

The part about the chromosome refers to male inability to function well without women in their life. Women have two XX sex chromosomes (which determine their sex) and men have XY sex chromosomes, suggesting that there's a bit of woman in every man, and without that men are nothing.

Jaded was the first name of the group, which all five members took a very long time to settle on. The first attempt at building a web presence for the band turned up another American group who were already called Jaded. So instead, we switched to the name that we gave to the first demo EP we recorded, 'The Zamora EP'. Bobby Zamora was a rising star for Brighton & Hove Albion and it seemed not only a good tribute to a local hero, but also a great name for a rock band. So The Zamora it became.

The song was only ever recorded as a rough demo, which can be downloaded here.

Photo of Dom by Jayne Routley.

Jaded

I know my future's blown,
I just want to tell someone else about it.
Although I've a broken home,
I've still got a key to the door.

I know my future's blown,
I had to knock it down, just couldn't resist.
Without your chromosome,
I'm still learning to crawl.

I'm jaded.
I'm so jaded.

I know my future's grown,
I just want to find another way around it.
Although we're far from home,
We're already half way there.

You've seen my head explode,
But I didn't want to make a mess on your carpet.
You tried to soak it up,
Only using one hand.

I've made it.
I've just made it.

I know my future's blown,
I just want to tell someone else about it.
Although I've a broken home,
I've still got a key to the door.

I know my future's blown,
I just want to tell someone else about it.
Although I've a broken home,
I've still got a key to the door.

LYRICS // Closer To The Now (1998)

'Closer To The Now' was originally written as a poem to a former Valentine, expressing the hope that what was once a relationship could be rekindled into a friendship. In time, it both did and didn't, which is another story altogether that may or may not be told one day.

It also became a song for The Zamora and was the one that we sometimes closed sets with. The lyrics don't really need any decoding as they seem to stand up for themselves.

The picture was taken by Jayne Routley, at The Zamora's last show. The song can be downloaded here.

Closer To The Now

We may be poles apart, my love, we may be intertwined,
But just for this one day in time, be my Valentine.

We may be right, we may be wrong, we may be yours and mine,
Just for this one day in time, give me reason and rhyme.

I had so many dreams,
They're just continuations.
I'm closer to the now.

I'll take confusion,
And offer a solution.
We'll make it somehow.

We may be yin and yang, my love, we may be day and night.
Just for this one day in time, we'll know that something's right.

We may have known each other long, we maybe always will,
Just for this one day in time, let's only drink our fill.

I had so many dreams,
They're just continuations.
I'm closer to the now.

I'll take confusion,
And offer a solution.
We'll make it somehow.

We may be been and gone, my love; that maybe suits us fine,
Just for this one day in time, be my Valentine.

We may be been and gone, my love; that maybe suits us fine,
Just for this one day in time, be my Valentine.

I had so many dreams,
They’re just continuations.
I’m closer to the now.

I’ll take confusion,
And offer a solution.
We’ll make it somehow.

LYRICS // Stealing Your Smile (1995)

This was written after the year I lived in the US for a few months. I stole a little from some classic Americana - Jack Kerouac's 'On The Road'. As best as I can remember, the lines about 'God's empty chair' and the 'movin' from one falling star to another...' were either taken wholesale or borrowed and adapted. After a while, the origins of how a song was written become misty. For some reason, the theme of the song seems to cover the 'artist with God complex' idea.

I wasn't too sure about the melody when it was originally written, but The Zamora did it justice when it came to turning it into something more than some scraps on a page. The recording can be dowloaded here.

The picture was taken by Jayne Routley at what turned out to be The Zamora's last show, at The Lift in Brighton. I was handed a plastic skull that was lying around behind the bar somewhere and, delighted at the prop, grabbed myself a Bowie moment (he famously kissed a skull on stage during the 'Diamond Dogs' tour).

Stealing Your Smile

Lounging around in God's empty chair,
Tryin' to figure out how to wear my hair.
I never believed that I'd been unfair,
But then I don't think you'd ever cared.

Days of pain are yet to come,
Still you send your burnin' sun.
Send it to me to char my fun,
The light from your eyes burns no-one.

I get confused and hung up,
Movin' from one falling star - to another,
Till I drop.

I need to spend some time on my own,
Need you to crawl back under your stone.
Stay in the dark until the time is right,
For us to join forces and fight.

Head held high as God's only peer,
Knowing now there's nothing to fear.
Checking out that the coast is clear,
I dare you to come near.

I get confused and hung up,
Movin' from one falling star - to another,
Till I drop.

I can only hope, if you cannot cope,
I can only hope to steal your smile.

I can only hope, if I've enough rope,
I can only hope to die awhile.

I get confused and hung up,
Movin' from one falling star - to another,
Till I drop.

LYRICS // Harry J (Gunslinger) (2000)

Harry J. Anslinger was first Commissioner of the US Federal Bureau of Narcotics (FBN) for 32 years, and is widely considered to be America's first 'drug czar'. He is best known for his extreme campaign against cannabis, which followed in the wake of the collapse of prohibition. He is a very significant figure in the history of the development of not only America's domestic and international drug policies, but also on the drug policies of many other nations.

His position on illicit narcotics and its users often reflected the endemic racism prevalent across the US at the time. Key quotes from him include "[Marijuana is taken by] musicians. And I'm not speaking about good musicians, but the jazz type...", "Marihuana leads to pacifism and communist brainwashing" and "Reefer makes darkies think they're as good as white men."

During the nineties, as my reading lists grew in scope and scale, I became interested in what's generally termed as 'drug literature'. I regarded writers such as William Burroughs (see also here) and Aldous Huxley as literary outlaws and explorers, pioneering across the wild frontiers of human consciousness. Naturally, I also came across Anslinger's name a number of times during this period.

This song contains a number of allusions to the contradictions of a prohibition-inclined America which was founded on the principles of liberty and the freedom of the individual and which was also had a history of travelling medicine shows and a hemp-growing president (George Washington). It also links these themes with a childhood true story of mine about witnessing the evacuation of a local circus during a Christmas-time flood (the idea coming from the similarites between medicine shows and circuses).

'Homing stool pigeon' was another pun that I'd been waiting to use for ages and it seemed to fit in this song. Harry catching 'it all on video' refers to surveillance culture, more developed nowadays than in Anslinger's time, but not exactly something new. The chorus paraphrases the chants that were used by the anti-Vietnam War protesters against President Johnson, originally being 'Hey, hey LBJ! How many kids did you kill today?'

This is my favourite of all the songs that were written and recorded by The Zamora. It was one where all the musicians made a significant contribution to the creation of the song, I was proud of the lyrics and also had an interesting effect put on my voice during the recording which made it sound a little 'not of its time'. I've always been most impressed with Steve and Justin's guitar work on this track too.

In the version that was put on the 'Pigeon Souvenirs' anthology, I also included a number of samples from Alfred Hitchcock's 'North By Northwest', which fitted well with the slightly paranoid noir feel of the song. 'Pigeon Souvenirs' can be listened to in full when the site for The Zamora is redeveloped to include an online jukebox. In the meantime, the original version can be downloaded here.

Photo of Steve by Dan Paton.

Harry J (Gunslinger)

When I was just a boy, I looked out of my window during floodtime.
And watched the animals pass, down the street past my house, in a straight line.
Although I'm older now, I still look out with the same eyes,
If they evacuate the circus again, I won't be surprised.

Hey hey, Harry J, how many guys d'you bust today?
Hey hey, Harry J, you're living on in us today.

The other day Sonny got his hands on a homing stool pigeon.
Turned out to be the wrong king of place to hide his pills in.
He got it off the back of a travelling medicine show,
And Harry stuck around to catch it all on video.

Hey hey, Harry J, how many guys d'you bust today?
Hey hey, Harry J, you're living on with us today, so come on.

The other day Sonny got his hands on a homing stool pigeon.
Turned out to be the wrong king of place to hide his pills in.
He got it off the back of a travelling medicine show,
And Harry stuck around to catch it all on video.

Hey hey, Harry J, how many guys d'you bust today?
Hey hey, Harry J, you're living on with us today, so come on.

When I was just a boy, I looked out of my window during floodtime,
And watched the animals pass, down the street past my house, in a straight line.
Although I'm older now, I still look out with the same eyes,
So if they evacuate the circus again, I won't be surprised.

LYRICS // Taxi For Alice (1996)

'Taxi For Alice' was probably the first set of lyrics I wrote that I was actually happy with, after trying to write something satisfactory for about 9 years. It's another one of those attempts at wordplay and a stab at writing 'Dylanesque' lyrics.

The song kind of came together from scraps that had been hanging around for ages. The title came to me in a pub in Brighton. A cabbie walked in and shouted across a busy bar - 'Taxi for Alice!'. Lewis Carroll's fictional rabbit-following heroine immediately came to mind and the song almost wrote itself from there. 'Barbed Wire Fantasy' was the brief name of my first band at college, which later morphed into 'Boxed Prophet' (a kind of allusion to messianically-treated rock stars who are too gloriously fucked up to lead anyone, let alone set good examples). There's another religious joke in there too, with the pun about a 'Turin sample' (think Turin Shroud/urine sample).

I was always quite pleased with the first two lines of the third verse, about 'one in each crowd' and shaking foundations. Most people, particularly when in a group, are only too happy to follow rather than lead. For those that do want to take a lead in certains positions or issues, often it's easier to do so when starting from the 'underground'. For example, the Green Movement were dismissed in the 70's as hopeless hippies. In 2006, with factors such as Al Gore's 'An Inconvenient Truth' and British economist Sir Nicholas Stern's review of the longer term financial implications of radical climate change, environmentalism could be said to have fully hit mainstream consciousnesses.

The song was recorded with The Zamora and can be downloaded here.

Photo of Merlin, Steve and Dom of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

Taxi For Alice

There's a taxi for Alice stopped at the end of the road.
I'm sorry for sneezing, but I think I'm getting a cold.
She rode her motorbike right through my room,
Leaving me wrapped in a barbed wire fantasy.
I'd write you a letter, but my typewriter's been sold.

There's a frightened boxed prophet shouting to me to slow down.
I thought he had the answers until my questions left town.
My doctor thinks that he's omnipotent,
I gave a Turin sample and off I went,
And though I've tried for days, I can't get the gravy brown.

Whenever you've tried to find your way in
You always ask where the latch is.
Whenever I've tried to raise your smile,
You never give me the matches

There's always one in each crowd who won't accept limitations.
You've got to go underground if you want to shake the foundations.
I've seen you sniffing newly polished floors,
And exaggerating the minor details.
I'm not sure you're ready for my new creations.

There's a taxi for Alice stopped at the end of the road.
There's a taxi for Alice stopped at the end of the road.
There's a taxi for Alice stopped.

LYRICS // Not Letting The Grass Grow (1997)

A song about moving on after the end of a relationship and finding positivity in the change.

I've always found that either writing songs or listening to them are good for the healing/recovery process after a break-up. Anger or sadness can be exorcised well if externalised and put to verse. Similarly, listening to someone else's experiences can have a similar effect.

In the times that I've had these needs, I usually put on The Stones. Whilst there's often a misogyny in their music that I don't approve of ('Under My Thumb', for example), they nevertheless also have a certain reverence for women too (such as in 'Wild Horses') that I can definitely connect with.

The line about Bedfordshire's wooden hills (meaning 'go upstairs to bed') is a steal from The Small Faces, while the mention of 'my age of reason' was a shout to Jean-Paul Sartre. I read his 'The Age Of Reason' at the time and it seemed to encapsulate the transition between being in one's 20's to being in one's 30 (a stage that I had pending then) pretty well. The lines about judges and benezedrine don't have any particular meaning but seemed to flow in a 'wordplay' kind of way.

The song was recorded with The Zamora and can be downloaded here. It was also recorded by Headland, the 4-piece I fronted before The Zamora. That version can be downloaded here.

Photo of Steve, Pete and Dom of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

Not Letting The Grass Grow

I'll climb the wooden hills to Bedfordshire,
Even though my baby isn't here.
Go down the ragged steps to Santa Fe,
And push my last memories away.

Your words mean so much to me you said,
And I can't seem to keep you from my bed.
I'd carry you the way to New Orleans,
But you know I just don't have the means.

Have I reached my age of reason? Will we see another season?
Do I count my chickens before they hatch?

Wish that I could stop your sneezing, though I know, there ain't no pleasin'
you until I've finally turned my back.

Don't want the grass to grow under my feet.
Don't let the grass grow under my feet.
I'd hate the grass to grow under my feet.
Don't want the grass to grow under my feet.

I've always tried pushing new frontiers.
This one I'm going to save until next year.
Leave my former life in disarray,
And start it all again on Saturday.

You asked me see what lies ahead,
I said take a look yourself instead.
You flashed me a smile like Benzedrine,
And waited for the judge to intervene.

Have I reached my age of reason? Will we see another season?
Do I count my chickens before they hatch?

Wish that I could stop your sneezing, though I know, there ain't no pleasin'
you until I've finally turned my back.

Don't want the grass to grow under my feet.
Don't let the grass grow under my feet.
I'd hate the grass to grow under my feet.
Don't let the grass grow under my feet.

I'll climb the wooden hills to Bedfordshire,
Even though my baby isn't here.

LYRICS // World Under My Feet (1999)

Let's face it, probably about 90% of songs written around the world are probably love songs of some sort or another. I'd say that those songs could then be broken down further into themes of (a) 'I want to love you', (b) 'I love you' and (c) 'I loved you'.

For example, Eddie Cochran's 'Something Else' would be (a) <"...that can't stop me from a-thinkin' to myself, she's sure fine lookin' man, she's something else">, The Beatles' 'Don't Let Me Down' would be (b) <"I'm in love for the first time. Don't you know it's gonna last..."> and Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive' would be (c) <"At first I was afraid I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side...">.

'World Under My Feet' would fall into the (a) category. It was written during one of those partnerless times, and is about the search for 'the one', that special somebody that we all want to find and how difficult it can be to find them. It was also an attempt to write in both the third person (for the verses) and the first person (for the chorus), unable to choose whether the song should be 'about someone else' or autobiographical.

Maybe it was a bit of both...

The song was recorded with The Zamora and can be downloaded here.

Photo of Pete, Dom and Justin of The Zamora by Dan Paton.

World Under My Feet

He's been away for such a long time,
Delivering shivers down her spine.
He's felt the world under his feet,
But without her by his side he still feels incomplete.

La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La

I'll be all you want if you want me to be.
You can take your pick if you want to be me.
I'll be all you want if you want me to be.
You can take your pick if you want to be me.

He doesn't know where to find her,
Although he's searched both near and far.
But he'll have won the game and claimed his prize,
The first time that they look into each other's eyes, now.

La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
La

I'll be all you want if you want me to be.
You can take your pick if you want to be me.
I'll be all you want if you want me to be.
You can take your pick if you want to be me.

LYRICS // The Shadowboxer (2000)

This was a song that was written for The Zamora, about a party that I attended back in the summer of 2000. The band was fully formed by then, with a set of material and a gig or two under our belts already. I was riding pretty high on it all, relishing the 'rock 'n' roll frontman' role to the hilt.

It seemed like the kind of party that a rock star should be attending - a flight attendant's 30th birthday bash, and in full fancy dress too. Most of the women there would also be flight attendants and 'I'm a singer in a rock band' ought to be a pretty good ice-breaker in such a situation!

I went for the 70's look in my outfit; fully clad in leather, with a garishly bright and large collared yellow shirt, plus an afro wig. Unfortunately, I did have a little bit of a habit of drinking myself into somewhat of a stupor at parties and sometimes making a bit of a fool of myself too.

At some point in the evening, I got chatting to a young lady named Caroline, who worked for Virgin Atlantic and spent the earliest parts of her life in Nigeria. After a while, she took a trip to the bathroom and we carried on our conversation through the closed door as she took off her dress. We were both quite smashed and she must have wandered off somewhere after emerging. I must have followed.

The next thing I knew, it was about 5AM and I was waking up on the pavement of some respectable Surrey neighbourhood, still clad in my pimp gear. I somehow ambled back to the house where the party had been held and tried to piece the rest of the night together. She'd gone already by then, but had woken up in somebody's hedge a block or two away.

Later on that day, I had a recording session with the band and a hell of a rock 'n' roll tale to tell them!

The recording of the song can be downloaded here.

Photo of drummer Pete by Dan Paton

The Shadowboxer

At five in the morning, I awoke on the pavement,
In an afro and pimp shirt, no idea how I got there.
Cordelia's perfume slipped out through her fur,
Sweet Caroline talked of Nigeria.

With a drink in my hand I made my way through the crowd,
To the girl in pink rubber and the air hostesses.
Got stopped at the gate by a man with a gun,
Who asked me for their names and addresses.

I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.

She took off her dress behind the bathroom door,
And fuelled my imagination.
But the words that fell and slipped from my lips,
Just ruined my good reputation.

At five in the morning, I awoke on the pavement,
In an afro and pimp shirt, no idea how I got there.
Cordelia's perfume slipped out through her fur,
Sweet Caroline talked of Nigeria.

I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.

Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria.

Nigeria, Nigeria, Nigeria.

I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.
I'm just doing fine watching shadows doing time.

LYRICS // Bad Hair Day (1995)

I wrote my first full set of lyrics at 16, in collaboration with the school friend that I started my first band with. Not wanting to write yet another silly love song and captured by the nonsensical nature of the wordplay, we tried to write our own version of 'I Am The Walrus'. It was ambitious in its own way, yet came out as a shoddy stab at schoolboy psychedelia with pretty awkward imagery and rhyming. Still, we all have to start somewhere.

This song was a little further down the line in my development as a lyricist, but still with some way to go. It was at least one of the first times that I started tackling better wordplay, running with the sound of it as opposed to the actual meaning. A song can sound fantastic musically, but if the lyrics don't cut it, the song's let down. Words can sound just as musical as a guitar line or a drum break.

Many writers will use their craft to mend a broken heart, and I'm sure there's a little exorcising an ex in here somewhere. I also tried to tackle that existential question about whether suffering for one's art makes one a better artist. It may help with inspiration and in England at least, there's the perception that the suffering artist is somehow more credible. It's a drag to live that way though and sometimes you just have to have the bread on your table, man.

The line about being cast for a film happened, but I did get the part (the male lead in a young filmmaker's show reel; my character ending up slitting his wrists in the bath, so a bleak ending to my film acting debut!).

A very rough acoustic demo of the song was issued on the collection of early recordings I put out under the Quagga moniker.

Bad Hair Day

I saw you crying in the neon afterglow
Of another broken summer painted fallout shades of red
I heard you trying on another Christ for size
Just to see what suited best what lay inside your head

I don’t want to wake up on a bad hair day
I just want to wake up another way

I thought of you as I turned over in my grave
Couldn’t find another way to announce my death
I know that you can’t ever forgive yourself
For not being the one wearing my wooden suit instead

I don’t want to wake up on a bad hair day
I just want to wake up another way

You said an artist should always starve for his art
But even great outsiders need to feed their head sometimes
You cast me for the film then tell me I’ve lost the part
So it’s about time for me to claim what’s mine

I don’t want to wake up on a bad hair day
I just want to wake up another way

You promised me the moon, the stars, and all that lay below
But you still can’t even think of me as someone with a name
I’d shave my head for you although I don’t know why
I’m getting kind of tired of playing your silly games

I don’t want to wake up on a bad hair day
I just want to wake up another way

Tried deep sea fishing in those caverns in your mind
Only to find a twisted line and nothing to bring home

POETRY // Ueno Melancholia (2004)

This poem was writtten in early spring, after trekking around Tokyo's Ueno Zoo in the rain. The cherry blossoms that sweep across Japan in a front were beginning to burst forth and I was feeling distinctly melancholic; being so far away from home and having just walked around the zoo with only an umbrella for company.

The animals were sodden and looked sad in their enclosures. I felt their sadness and the weight of my own distance, yet was also pleased with myself for having made it so far and managed to stay in a country and culture so different from where I'd grown up. After leaving the zoo, I sat at a cafe outside, ordered a coffee and a couple of slices of pizza and was compelled to write a poem about the experience.

Ueno Melancholia

There's a certain sadness to zoos in the rain,
A feeling that's hard to pin down.
Perhaps the weather reminds me of England,
And only serves to enforce the distance.

The prime attractions were placed at the front,
Like sweets in a supermarket display.
Their coats monochromal extremes, no blending,
Yet containment just muddies the poles.

A Tokyo boy and his prospective mate,
A female from Mexico City.
Will they get it on like so many wish for?
Pandas step to a whole different rhythm.

The lions inside displayed their majesty,
Despite the truth of their captivity.
They slipped in the mud as they gambolled around,
Either fighting or playing, yet through instinct.

Elephants were hidden from public display,
A fact of their current reconstruction.
And speakers in trees played out 'Auld Lang Syne',
As I was bowed at and escorted to exits.

The melancholy hangs like a force overhead,
Or the boughs that are laden with blossom,
Yet spring is arriving, with sunshine and laughter,
No more sadness, like zoos in the rain.