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.