[ Capitolo tratto da: Mi puoi dire dov'è il mio paese? - Genesis - La storia, pubblicato su Prog Bar Italia ]
Per molti, il miglior album del periodo prog dei Genesis, e dunque della loro intera carriera. Si può anche non essere d'accordo. Certo è che si è trattato di un progetto molto ambizioso, anticipatore addirittura di un altro famoso doppio album: The Wall. Ma presenta angoli smussati e assai meno filigrana dei precedenti. E lo si può giudicare una digressione non da poco dai parametri del rock sinfonico.
Leggi la presentazione e le recensioni degli album:
From Genesis To Revelation (1969)Trespass (1970)
Nursery Cryme (1971)
Foxtrot (1972)
Selling England By The Pound (1973)
The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway (1974).
6: The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
Una mia breve recensione in inglese:
Genesis - The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway An intense hallucinogenic experience.
When it comes to making albums of epic proportions, few rival this magnificent production that a trip the band took to New York City inspired in 1973. The underlying story is of a street kid named Rael who, thanks in part to the realities of big city life, undergoes a weird and mystical transformation.The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway is an amazing trip through the imagination. Containing extended instrumental sections showcasing the extraordinary talents of Tony Banks, Steve Hackett, and Phil Collins, as well as the expressive vocals and often disturbing lyrics of Peter Gabriel, this is the album that located Genesis truly on the map.
"The Slipperman"
In alcuni articoli si afferma che, se invece di essere un album doppio The Lamb... fosse stato compresso a un disco di durata consueta (dunque: un LP - e poi CD - tra i 45 e i 55 minuti circa), sarebbe potuto risultare un capolavoro. Ma per spiegare qual è il concetto, di cosa tratta la storia che vede come protagonista Rael, nel 33 giri sono finite diverse canzoni estemporanee, e 85 lunghi minuti (o giù di lì) sembrano, a tanti ascoltatori, uno strapazzo.
D'altra parte però... Non sono proprio queste canzoni "di getto", che ricordano quasi il garage rock, a rappresentare il salto di qualità, uno sviluppo in chiave di sperimentazione ("The Waiting Room"), l'avvicinarsi deciso all'America babilonica, l'America delle sotterranee fumose, delle plurime razze... e a far sì che il progressive rock si togliesse di dosso un po' di muffa, la patina del risaputo?
Da un lato abbiamo "The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging" (non compresa da tutti, sebbene questa "marcetta" richiami a temi già trattati in Foxtrot e in Selling England...), dall'altro "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway", "In The Cage", "Carpet Crawlers", "Back In NYC", "It" e altri solchi di ottima qualità e di presa sicura.
L'ultimo progetto di Peter Gabriel con i Genesis non è soltanto rock: è una rock opera, ad un tempo compendio e parodia del rock bombastico in voga in quegli anni. E' sicuramente il lavoro più impegnato della band, ma occorre essere pronti, ben disponibili, per poter ben recepire tale impegno e tanta ampiezza. Un po' come con Tommy degli Who.
The Lamb... fa la spaccata tra le influenze oblique, eccentriche di Peter Gabriel e l'onesta professionalità (over the top, rispetto a tanti altri musicisti del settore) di una band dedita al folkrock britannico. In questo disco è l'ascendente di Gabriel a prendere il sopravvento, e così l'immediatezza spesso prevale sugli eleganti intarsi sonori.
1974
Per chi preferisce i Genesis della musica tipicamente inglese a quelli più concettuali, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway è un album da quattro stelle, non da cinque come tutti gli altri fino a Wind & Wuthering. Difatti, il fantasma che aleggia sull'operato e i suoni del gruppo è propriamente quello di Ant Philipps, il cui contributo - spesso sottovalutato persino dai migliori critici - riecheggia e viene preservato negli accompagnamenti alla chitarra acustica di Mike Rutherford.
The Lamb rientra nella stessa classe di Quadrophenia, del sunnominato Tommy, di Tales From Topographic Oceans, di The Wall... E forse, in questa classifica ideale di doppi e tripli "concept" storici, addirittura svetta.
I Genesis presentano The Lamb... in concerto
Come venne alla luce
Tony Smith, manager dei Genesis fin da Selling England By The Pound, ovvero fin da quando Tony Stratton-Smith decise di dedicarsi solo ed esclusivamente alla sua Charisma Label Records, aveva proposto come nuovo progetto un riadattamento in chiave moderna de Il piccolo principe, il celebre libro di Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Ma Peter Gabriel replicò che aveva già in cantiere un'idea sua.
Peter e PhilE' una rock-opera piena di situazioni oniriche e delle immagini distorte di una realtà a brandelli. In quel periodo, Peter stava attraversando una crisi personale; inoltre coglieva i cambiamenti che avvenivano intorno a lui: come un precog, "sapeva" che presto il nostro pianeta non sarebbe stato più lo stesso. Così, le (dis)avventure del suo Rael sono distanti anni luce da Ermafrodito, da Romeo e Giulietta e dagli altri archetipi con cui i Genesis avevano finora viziato i fans. (Frammenti di questa precognizione sono comunque presenti anche negli album precedenti.)
Ma di cosa parla esattamente?
The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway è il calvario ultimativo di un uomo senza particolari qualità, anzi: addirittura pieno di difetti, il quale, alla fine delle sue traversie, della sua odissea metropolitan-mitologica (se non addirittura mistica), si riscatta interiormente, scoprendo, finalmente, che il vero significato del suo essere nato - e della vita in generale - è... l'altruismo, l'amore.
Nathaniel Barlam ha illustrato l'intero album! Un suggestivo cartoon movie.
Nel dettaglio:
In una serata frenetica e illuminata a tutto neon in quel di New York City, il membro di una gang portoricana nonché eroinomane, tale Rael appunto, sbuca fuori dalla subway (dove ha dipinto dei graffiti) e ha la visione di un agnello; un agnello sdraiato sulla Broadway. Sbatte le palpebre, si strofina gli occhi, si domanda che cosa voglia dire. La visione è un avvertimento: gli viene notificato niente di più e niente di meno di essere prossimo a morire.
Ma Rael scrolla le spalle e procede lungo il viale dei sogni infranti, strafatto di ero. Improvvisamente, proprio sulla Broadway, viene investito da un camion e, mentre il suo corpo volteggia in aria, gli ripassa nella mente il film della sua esistenza.
È su un letto d'ospedale, in coma. Sospeso tra la vita e la morte.
Il resto dell'album racconta dei pensieri del protagonista, del panico che lo riempie mentre continua a giacere privo di sensi ed evidentemente non del tutto in preda all'incoscienza. Il suo cervello confuso cerca di dare un senso alla fine che sta arrivando.
Corre lungo le caverne della propria immaginazione, vedendo frammenti e sequenze della lugubre vita che ha finora vissuto. Cerca in tutti i modi di rientrare nel mondo reale, ma passa da un labirinto all'altro, osservando strane camere e creature favolose che simboleggiano le sue paure più profonde, i dubbi. E d'un tratto nota John, l'unico parente stretto di cui è a conoscenza; John, il suo fratello minore, con il quale è stato in un orfanotrofio e che, come sa, recentemente è deceduto per overdose.
Rael si rende conto di non aver voluto trascorrere neppure un minuto vicino al congiunto mentre questi moriva di "brown dope" (eroina impura) nel bagno di una stazione di rifornimento della Lower East Side. Il giorno in cui aveva appreso che John era trapassato, aveva maledetto l'imprudenza del fratello, sviluppando nel contempo forti sensi di colpa. Adesso, nel dedalo di passaggi e luoghi misteriosi, John a quanto pare è nuovamente in vita. Tuttavia si rivela essere un tipo fatuo, inconcludente, dall'aria e gli atteggiamenti scaltri.
Dopo qualche altra avventura terribile e bizzarra, Rael trova finalmente una via d'uscita. Si prepara così a risvegliarsi nella realtà come la conosciamo noi per proseguire la sua triste e altamente frustrante esistenza. Un grido però risuona alle sue spalle: è il fratello, che implora aiuto. John è sul punto di annegare in un fiume in piena...
Dopo qualche altra avventura terribile e bizzarra, Rael trova finalmente una via d'uscita. Si prepara così a risvegliarsi nella realtà come la conosciamo noi per proseguire la sua triste e altamente frustrante esistenza. Un grido però risuona alle sue spalle: è il fratello, che implora aiuto. John è sul punto di annegare in un fiume in piena...
Rael è determinato a salvare il consanguineo, o meglio la sua ombra, e dunque torna ad allontanarsi dalla vita. Dopo aver fallito nella realtà, sente di aver bisogno di fare ammenda almeno nella dimensione parallela. Riesce a tirare fuori John dal torrente impetuoso... e a questo punto accade la metamorfosi: la faccia del fratello si trasforma in quella propria.
Così Rael ha salvato la propria anima, pare.
Insomma: The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway è una specie di piccola Divina Commedia contemporanea. Una storia cupa dal finale trascendentale. "Siate sempre gentili e amate!" pare essere il messaggio, "giacché già domani potreste morire."
L'Agnello, ovviamente, è un'immagine di Dio. E anche se l'album è pieno di sturm und drang e sintetizzatori in spolvero, una volta superata tutta la drammaticità insieme ai rumori surreali, ci lascia un categorico suggerimento: devi aiutare tuo fratello. Non importa quale.
Che cosa ispirò questo coup de génie?
In quel periodo Peter Gabriel stava avendo dei problemi e, per quanto possa sembrare singolare, il portoricano è, per buona parte, lui stesso. I Genesis, nonostante il successo crescente, avevano ancora debiti e, con l'opera in questione, il vocalist prende congedo dalla band. Non si può mangiare l'Arte. Camminando lungo la famosa Broadway (la strada dello show business), Peter venne colpito dall'accecante consapevolezza che non sarebbe mai diventato un Elvis Presley e neppure un Michael Jackson: lui era troppo intellettuale e non abbastanza pop! Sua moglie d'altronde minacciava il divorzio: Peter era spesso on tour, non era mai in casa... La scena della Lamia nella camera magica potrebbe effigiare altri tre membri della band. La Lamia: un incrocio tra serpenti e ciarlatani... Ed è la voce di Phil Collins a dirgli quanto loro si divertono a mangiarlo!
Beh, questa è solo un'interpretazione delle visioni di Rael, ma non occorre essere un discepolo di Freud per traslarle, ricavandone una lettura veritiera. The Lamb... è anche il congedo di Peter dalla scena progressive. E IT chi è? IT è il presidente della casa discografica...
Peter Gabriel lascia i Genesis!
I Genesis cercano un nuovo cantante!
Alla fine dell'intero caos, culminato con l'addio del carismatico cantante, gli aficionados si sentirono delusi, traditi. Ma non avrebbero dovuto esserlo! Gabriel si è poi dedicato a un pop molto artistico... pop progressivo, per l'appunto! Facendo finalmente soldi. (Almeno a partire dal suo terzo album, quello del 1980.) E il suo genio si è dischiuso al mondo: ha lavorato con co-produttori del rango di Bob Ezrin, Robert Fripp, Steve Lillywhite e Daniel Lanois, ha collaborato con musicisti come Billy Cobham, L. Shankar, Youssou N'Dour, Larry Fast, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Sinéad O'Connor, Kate Bush, Paula Cole, Papa Wemba, Manu Katché, Stewart Copeland, Joni Mitchell, Tom Robinson, The Call, Tony Childs, Nona Hendryx. Raggiungendo il vertice della popolarità nel 1986 col suo quinto lavoro: So. E ha battezzato progetti fenomenali, quale il WOMAD (World of Music, Arts and Dance).
E tutto questo, senza i Genesis, sarebbe mai potuto accadere?
Lettura consigliata: Kevin Holm-Hudson: Genesis and The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (in inglese). Un vero e proprio trattato musicologico!
I perché di un addio
Fu durante la campagna promozionale per l'album, a Cleveland, nel 1974, che Peter Gabriel fece scoppiare la bomba: comunicò a Tony Smith che dopo la tournée avrebbe abbandonato i Genesis. La decisione in realtà era stata presa già prima ed era nota sia agli altri componenti della band sia al "patron" Stratton-Smith. Quest'ultimo pregò Peter di rimanere almeno fino alla conclusione del tour; e così fu.
I motivi dell'abbandono del cantante vennero spiegati da lui stesso in una lettera ai media. Paura di rimanere prigioniero del grande macchinario commerciale; di smarrire la libertà artistica se rimaneva insieme a un gruppo musicale ormai condannato al successo... Ma c'erano altre, più profonde e intime, ragioni.
La relazione tra lui e sua moglie Jill era entrata in una fase delicata. Jill aveva dapprima avuto un tête-à-tête con un roadie dei Genesis ("un patetico tentativo per ottenere più attenzioni", avrebbe spiegato dopo) e ora stava avendo un parto complicato.
Per lavorare a The Lamb..., i cinque musicisti avevano scelto di recludersi a Headley Grange, una casa di campagna che apparteneva ai Led Zeppelin e che veniva usata anche da altre band. La trovarono devastata e occupata dai ratti...
Nel tentativo di salvare il suo matrimonio, Peter propose agli altri di pensare loro alla musica: lui avrebbe continuato a lavorare sui testi stando a casa propria.
Non era però l'unico a mostrarsi insofferente per una vita tipo college o caserma, con pasti consumati alla buona, i materassi buttati a terra, ecc.: anche Steve Hackett, che aveva appena alle spalle il suo primo divorzio, penava maledettamente. Se non altro, però, Steve rimase nel collettivo.
Il risultato complessivo di quelle sedute fu eccezionale... pur se tra attriti personali e alti e bassi di umore.
La parte musicale fu presto pronta. Dalle numerose jam sessions nacquero "The Waiting Room" e "Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats": improvvisazioni intramontabili. "Fly On A Windshield", "Ravine" e "Hairless Heart" sono altri brani che risultarono da sperimentazioni strumentali in quel di Headley Grange.
Non poca frustrazione fu causata dal fatto che Peter tardava a concludere i suoi famosi testi, e così Tony Banks e Mike Rutherford insistettero per dargli una mano.
I motivi dell'abbandono del cantante vennero spiegati da lui stesso in una lettera ai media. Paura di rimanere prigioniero del grande macchinario commerciale; di smarrire la libertà artistica se rimaneva insieme a un gruppo musicale ormai condannato al successo... Ma c'erano altre, più profonde e intime, ragioni.
La relazione tra lui e sua moglie Jill era entrata in una fase delicata. Jill aveva dapprima avuto un tête-à-tête con un roadie dei Genesis ("un patetico tentativo per ottenere più attenzioni", avrebbe spiegato dopo) e ora stava avendo un parto complicato.
Per lavorare a The Lamb..., i cinque musicisti avevano scelto di recludersi a Headley Grange, una casa di campagna che apparteneva ai Led Zeppelin e che veniva usata anche da altre band. La trovarono devastata e occupata dai ratti...
Nel tentativo di salvare il suo matrimonio, Peter propose agli altri di pensare loro alla musica: lui avrebbe continuato a lavorare sui testi stando a casa propria.
Non era però l'unico a mostrarsi insofferente per una vita tipo college o caserma, con pasti consumati alla buona, i materassi buttati a terra, ecc.: anche Steve Hackett, che aveva appena alle spalle il suo primo divorzio, penava maledettamente. Se non altro, però, Steve rimase nel collettivo.
Il risultato complessivo di quelle sedute fu eccezionale... pur se tra attriti personali e alti e bassi di umore.
La parte musicale fu presto pronta. Dalle numerose jam sessions nacquero "The Waiting Room" e "Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats": improvvisazioni intramontabili. "Fly On A Windshield", "Ravine" e "Hairless Heart" sono altri brani che risultarono da sperimentazioni strumentali in quel di Headley Grange.
Non poca frustrazione fu causata dal fatto che Peter tardava a concludere i suoi famosi testi, e così Tony Banks e Mike Rutherford insistettero per dargli una mano.
All'uscita dell'album, le prime reazioni furono di puro sconcerto. Lo stato di cult "L'Agnello" lo avrebbe raggiunto solamente quando i tempi fossero stati un po' più maturi.
Il disco possiede una continuità tematica, ma molte songs possono benissimo ascoltarsi singolarmente: "In The Cage", "The Lamia", "Carpet Crawlers", "Back In NYC", "The Light Dies Down On Broadway" e "Lilywhite Lilith" sono gli esempi migliori. C'è maggiore impulsività e maggiore naturalezza rispetto ai lavori precedenti, cosa che piacque al pubblico americano. Sull'altro piatto della bilancia pesano l'ermetismo del concetto di Gabriel (la storia di Rael è spiegata sulla copertina, per aiutarne meglio la comprensione) e la mancanza di entusiasmo, sia in fase compositiva che in fase esecutiva, fatta registrare da Hackett. In molti scorci dell'album i Genesis sembrano essersi ridotti a un trio: Banks-Collins-Rutherford. Cosa che del resto accadrà per davvero di lì a poco...
Rael
Ma chi è davvero Rael? Questo individuo che può solo fuggire oppure arrendersi è, chiaramente, l'alter ego di Peter Gabriel. Il quale, nella sua canzone "Solsbury Hill", che parla proprio della sua dipartita dai Genesis, riepilogherà:
Il doppio album The Lamb costituisce una sorta di processo autopsicoanalitico. Gabriel ne scrisse le lyrics nel momento più kafkiano della sua vita, quando sentiva di aver raggiunto un bivio pericoloso nella sua carriera di rockstar. Ma che i testi parlassero di se stesso - come disse in un'intervista rilasciata ad Armando Gallo - se ne rese conto soltanto mentre li cantava per la prima volta davanti a un pubblico. In "Cuckoo Cocoon" c'è questo verso: "I feel so secure that I know this can't be real". Un conclamato segno di schizofrenia. Peter si trovava veramente a una svolta delicata, come riflettono anche le parole "cushioned strait-jacket" ("camicia di forza imbottita") di "In The Cage".
Roger Waters dei Pink Floyd avrebbe realizzato The Wall, la sua propria rock-opera sull'alienazione, non prima di cinque anni più tardi. Anche The Wall è un doppio e, guarda caso, anche quel disco segnò l'inizio di un distacco che avrebbe avuto notevoli ripercussioni sulla band...
Il disco possiede una continuità tematica, ma molte songs possono benissimo ascoltarsi singolarmente: "In The Cage", "The Lamia", "Carpet Crawlers", "Back In NYC", "The Light Dies Down On Broadway" e "Lilywhite Lilith" sono gli esempi migliori. C'è maggiore impulsività e maggiore naturalezza rispetto ai lavori precedenti, cosa che piacque al pubblico americano. Sull'altro piatto della bilancia pesano l'ermetismo del concetto di Gabriel (la storia di Rael è spiegata sulla copertina, per aiutarne meglio la comprensione) e la mancanza di entusiasmo, sia in fase compositiva che in fase esecutiva, fatta registrare da Hackett. In molti scorci dell'album i Genesis sembrano essersi ridotti a un trio: Banks-Collins-Rutherford. Cosa che del resto accadrà per davvero di lì a poco...
RaelMa chi è davvero Rael? Questo individuo che può solo fuggire oppure arrendersi è, chiaramente, l'alter ego di Peter Gabriel. Il quale, nella sua canzone "Solsbury Hill", che parla proprio della sua dipartita dai Genesis, riepilogherà:
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery.
Il doppio album The Lamb costituisce una sorta di processo autopsicoanalitico. Gabriel ne scrisse le lyrics nel momento più kafkiano della sua vita, quando sentiva di aver raggiunto un bivio pericoloso nella sua carriera di rockstar. Ma che i testi parlassero di se stesso - come disse in un'intervista rilasciata ad Armando Gallo - se ne rese conto soltanto mentre li cantava per la prima volta davanti a un pubblico. In "Cuckoo Cocoon" c'è questo verso: "I feel so secure that I know this can't be real". Un conclamato segno di schizofrenia. Peter si trovava veramente a una svolta delicata, come riflettono anche le parole "cushioned strait-jacket" ("camicia di forza imbottita") di "In The Cage".
***
Roger Waters dei Pink Floyd avrebbe realizzato The Wall, la sua propria rock-opera sull'alienazione, non prima di cinque anni più tardi. Anche The Wall è un doppio e, guarda caso, anche quel disco segnò l'inizio di un distacco che avrebbe avuto notevoli ripercussioni sulla band...
Tracks:
Disc 1
1. The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
2. Fly On A Windshield
3. Broadway Melody Of 1974
4. Cuckoo Cocoon
5. In The Cage
6. The Grand Parade Of Lifeless Packaging
7. Back In N.Y.C.
8. Hairless Heart
9. Counting Out Time
10. Carpet Crawlers
11. The Chamber Of 32 Doors
Disc 2
1. Lilywhite Lilith
2. The Waiting Room
3. Anyway
4. Here Comes The Supernatural Anaesthetist
5. The Lamia
6. Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats
7. The Colony Of Slippermen (The Arrival/A Visit To The Doktor/Raven)
8. Ravine
9. The Light Dies Down On Broadway
10. Riding The Scree
11. In The Rapids
12. It
Disc 1
1. The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
2. Fly On A Windshield
3. Broadway Melody Of 1974
4. Cuckoo Cocoon
5. In The Cage
6. The Grand Parade Of Lifeless Packaging
7. Back In N.Y.C.
8. Hairless Heart
9. Counting Out Time
10. Carpet Crawlers
11. The Chamber Of 32 Doors
Disc 2
1. Lilywhite Lilith
2. The Waiting Room
3. Anyway
4. Here Comes The Supernatural Anaesthetist
5. The Lamia
6. Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats
7. The Colony Of Slippermen (The Arrival/A Visit To The Doktor/Raven)
8. Ravine
9. The Light Dies Down On Broadway
10. Riding The Scree
11. In The Rapids
12. It
Tutti i testi di The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
Keep your fingers out of my eye.
While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. The people in memory are pinned to events I can't recall too well, but I'm putting one down to watch him break up, decompose and feed another sort of life. The one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorised as 'Rael'. Rael hates me, I like Rael, - yes, even ostriches have feelings, but our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. Rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you won't see me directly anymore - he hates my being around. So if his story doesn't stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (ie. the rhyme is planned, dummies).
The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed.
And the lamb lies down on Broadway. Early morning Manhattan, Ocean winds blow on the land.
The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theater, having slept on pictures others only dream on.
Movie-Palace is now undone, The all-night watchmen have had their fun. Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show, It's the same old ending - time to go. Get out! It seems they cannot leave their dream.
The un-paid extras disturb the Sleeping Broadway. WALK to the left DON'T WALK to the right: on Broadway, directions don't look so bright. Autoghosts keep the pace for the cabman's early mobile race.
There's something moving in the sidewalk steam, And the lamb lies down on Broadway. Nightime's flyers feel their pains. Drugstore take down the chains. Metal motion comes in bursts, The gas station can quench that thirst. Suspension cracked on unmade road The trucker's eyes read 'Overload'
Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into day- light. Beneath his leather jacket he holds a spray gun which has left the message R-A-E-L in big letters on the wall leading underground. It may not mean much to you but to Rael it is part of the process going towards 'making a name for yourself.' When you're not even a pure-bred Puerto Rican the going gets tough and the tough gets going.
And out on the subway, Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid Exits into daylight, spraygun hid, And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
With casual sideways glances along the wet street, he checks the motion in the steam to look for potential obstruction. Seeing none, he strides along the sidewalk, past the drugstore with iron guard being removed to reveal the smile of the toothpaste girl, past the nightladies and past Patrolman Frank Leonowich (48, married, two kids) who stands in the doorway of the wig-store. Patrolman Leonowich looks at Rael in much the same way that other Patrolmen look at him, and Rael only just hides that he is hiding something. Meanwhile from out of the steam a lamb lies down. This lamb has nothing whatsoever to do with Rael, or any other lamb - it just lies down on Broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place, Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face. Somehow it's lying there, Brings a stillness to the air. Though man-made light, at night is very bright, There's no whitewash victim, As the neons dim, to the coat of white. Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid Wipes his gun - he's forgotten what he did, And the lamb lies down on Broadway. Suzanne tired her work all done, Thinks money - honey - be on - neon. Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn And the sawdust king spits out his scorn. Wonder women you can draw your blind! Don't look at me! I'm not your kind. I'm Rael! Something inside me has just begun, Lord knows what I have done, And the lamb lies down on Broadway. On Broadway - They say the lights are always bright on Broadway. They say there's always magic in the air.
Fly On A Windshield
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
The sky is overcast and as Rael looks back a dark cloud is descending like a balloon into Times Square. It rests on the ground and shapes itself into a hard edged flat surface, which solidifies and extends itself all the way East and West along 47th Street and reaching up to the dark sky. As the wall takes up its tension it becomes a screen showing what had existed in three dimensions, on the other side just a moment before. The image flickers and then cracks like painted clay and the wall silently moves forward, absorbing everything in its path. The unsuspecting New Yorkers are apparently blind to what is going on.
There's something solid forming in the air, And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square. No-one seems to care, They carry on as if nothing was there.
Rael starts to run away towards Columbus Circle. Each time he dares to take a look, the wall has moved another block. At the moment when he thinks he's maintaining his distance from the wall, the wind blows hard and cold slowing down his speed. The wind increases, dries the wet street and picks up the dust off the surface, throwing it into Rael's face. More and more dirt is blown up and it begins to settle on Rael's skin and clothes, making a solid layered coat that brings him gradually to a terrified stillness. A sitting duck.
The wind is blowing harder now, Blowing dust into my eyes. The dust settles on my skin, Making a crust I cannot move in And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
Broadway Melody Of 1974
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
The moment of impact bursts through the silence and in a roar of sound, the final second is prolonged in a world of echoes as if the concrete and clay of Broadway itself was reliving its memories. The last great march past. Newsman stands limp as a whimper as audience and event are locked as one. Bing Crosby coos "You don't have to feel pain to sing the blues, you don't have to holla - you don't feel a thing in your dollar collar." Martin Luther King cries "Everybody Sing!" and rings the grand old liberty bell. Leary, weary of his prison cell, walks on heaven, talks on hell. J.F.K. gives the O.K. to shoot us, sipping Orange Julius and Lemon Brutus. Bare breasted cowboy double decks the triple champion. Who needs Medicare and the 35c flat rate fare, when Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are dancing through the air? From Broadway Melody stereotypes the band returns to 'Stars and Stripes' bringing a tear to the moonshiner, who's been pouring out his spirit from the illegal still. The pawn broker clears the noisy till and clutches his lucky dollar bill.
Echoes of the Broadway Everglades,
With her mythical madonnas still walking in their shades:
Lenny Bruce, declares a truce and plays his other hand.
Marshall Mcluhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand.
Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ship sailing.
Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline
failing.
Klu Klux Klan serve hot soul food and the band plays 'In the Mood'
The cheerleader waves her cyanide wand, there's a smell of
peach blossom and bitter almonde.
Caryl Chessman sniffs the air and leads the parade, he knows
in a scent, you can bottle all you made.
There's Howard Hughes in blue suede shoes, smiling at the
majorettes smoking Winston Cigarettes.
And as the song and dance begins, the children play at home
with needles; needles and pins.
Then the blackout.
Cuckoo Cocoon
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
Rael regains consciousness in some musky half-light. He is warmly wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he can hear is dripping water which appears to be the source of a pale flickering light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb, or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb.
Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real
but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked in some Brooklyn jail
- or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No - I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave.
what could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.
In The Cage
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
I got sunshine in my stomach Like I just rocked my baby to sleep. I got sunshine in my stomach But I can't keep me from creeping sleep, Sleep, deep in the deep.
He wakes in a cold sweat with a strong urge to vomit. There's no sign of the cocoon and he can see more of the cave about him. There is much more of the glowing water dripping from the roof and stalactites and stalagmites are forming and decomposing at an alarming rate all around him.
Rockface moves to press my skin White liquid turn sour within Turn fast - turn sour Turn sweat - turn sour. Must tell myself that I'm not here. I'm drowning in a liquid fear. Bottled in a strong compression, My distortion shows obsession In the cave. Get me out of this cave!
As fear and shock register, he assures himself that self-control will provide some security, but this thought is abandoned as the stalactites and stalagmites lock into a fixed position, forming a cage whose bars are moving in towards him.
If I keep my self-control, I'll be safe in my soul. And the childhood belief Brings a moment's relief, But my cynic soon returns And the lifeboat burns. My spirit just never learns. Stalactites, stalagmites Shut me in, lock me tight. Lips are dry, throat is dry. Feel like burning, stomach churning, I'm dressed up in a white costume Padding out leftover room. Body stretching, feel the wretching In the cage Get me out of the cage!
At one moment there is a flash of light and he sees an infinite network of cages all strung together by a ropelike material.
In the glare of a light, I see a strange kind of sight; Of cages joined to form a star Each person can't go very far; All tied to their things They're netted by their strings, Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings.
As the rocky bars press in on Rael's body, he sees his brother John outside, looking in. John's face is motionless despite screams for help, but in his vacant expression a tear of blood forms and trickles down his cheek. Then he calmly walks away leaving Rael to face the pains which are beginning to sweep through his body.
Outside the cage I see my Brother John,
He turns his head so slowly round.
I cry out Help! before he can be gone,
And he looks at me without a sound.
And I shout out 'John please help me!'
But he does not even want to try to speak.
I'm helpless in my violent rage
And a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek,
And I watch him turn away and leave the cage.
My little runaway.
(Raindrops keep failing on my head, they keep falling on my...)
In a trap, feel a strap
Holding still. Pinned for kill.
Chances narrow that I'll make it,
In the cushioned straight-jacket.
Just like 22nd Street,
They got me by my neck and feet.
Pressures building, can't take more.
My headaches charge, earaches roar.
In this pain
Get me out of this pain.
If I could change to liquid,
I could fill the cracks up in the rocks.
I know that I am solid
And I am my own bad luck.
However, just as John walks out of sight, the cage dissolves and Rael is left spinning like a top.
Outside John disappears, my cage dissolves, without any reason my body revolves. Keep on turning, Keep on turning, Turning around, spinning around. (round, round, round, round...)
The Grand Parade Of Lifeless Packaging
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: "This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery. It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of action of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others."
"It's the last great adventure left to mankind" - Screams a drooping lady offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices, and as the notes and coins are taken out I'm taken in, to the factory floor. for the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - All ready to use the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - I just need a fuse. Got people stocked in every shade, Must be doing well with trade. Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality. That evens out their personality. With profit potential marked by a sign, I can recognise some of the production line, No bite at all in labour bondage, Just wrinkled wrappers or human bandage. Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - All ready to use it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - I just need a fuse.
As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries about his own safety. Running out through the factory floor, he catches sight of his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.
The hall runs like clockwork Their hands mark out the time; Empty in their fullness Like a frozen pantomime. Everyone's a sales representative Wearing slogans in their shrine. Dishing out failsafe superlative, Brother John is No. 9. it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - All ready to use it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - I just need a fuse. The decor on the ceiling has planned out their future day I see no sign of free will, so I guess I have to pay, pay my way, for the Grand Parade... it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - All ready to use it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging - I just need a fuse.
Back In N.Y.C.
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh in his mind he moves into a reconstruction of his old life, above ground - Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than slow in the head. His momma and poppa had taken a ride on his back, so he left very quickly to join The Pack.
I see faces and traces of home back in New York City - So you think I'm a tough kid? Is that what you heard? Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood. The call me the trail blazer - Rael - electric razor I'm the pitcher in the chain gang, we don't believe in pain 'cos we're only as strong, yes we're only as strong, as the weakest link in the chain.
Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in the gang.
Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen, I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean. You say I must be crazy, 'cos I don't care who I hit, who I hit. But I know it's me that's hitting out and I'm, I'm not full of shit. I don't care who I hurt, I don't care who I do wrong. This is your mess I'm stuck in, I really don't belong. When I take out my bottle, filled up high with gasoline, You can tell by the night fires where Rael has been, has been.
Now, walking back home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.
That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous stainless steel razor.
As I cuddled the porcupine He said I had none to blame, but me. Held my heart, deep in hair, Time to shave, shave it off, it off. No time for romantic escape, When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No! Off we go... Your sitting in your comfort you don't believe I'm real, You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel. Your progressive hypocrites hand out their trash, But it was mine in the first place, so I'll burn it to ash. And I've tasted all the strongest meats, And laid them down in coloured sheets (laid them down in coloured sheets). Who needs illusion of love and affection When you're out walking the streets with your mainline connection? connection. As I cuddled the porcupine He said I had none to blame, but me. Held my heart, deep in hair. Time to shave, shave it off, it off. No time for romantic escape, When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Counting Out Time
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
The palpitating cherry-red organ was returned to its rightful place and began to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first romantic encounter.
I'm counting out time, Got the whole thing down by numbers. All those numbers! Give me guidance! O Lord I need that now. The day of judgement's come, And you can bet that I've been resting, for this testing, Digesting every word the experts say. Erogenous zones I love you. Without you, what would a poor boy do? Found a girl I wanted to date, Thought I'd better get it straight. Went to buy a book before it's too late. Don't leave nothing to fate. I studied every line, every page in the book, Now, I've got the real thing here, I'm gonna take a look, take a look. This is Rael! I'm counting out time, hoping it goes like I planned it, 'cos I understand it. Look! I've found the hotspots, Figs 1-9. - still counting out time, got my finger on the button, "Don't say nuttin - just lie there still And I'll get you turned on just fine." Erogenous zones I love you. Without you, what would a poor boy do? Touch and go with 1-6. Bit of trouble in zone No. 7. Gotta remember all of my tricks. There's heaven ahead in No. 11! Getting crucial responses, dilation of the pupils. "Honey get hip! It's time to unzip, to unzip, zip, zip-a-zip-a-zip. Whipee!" (Take it away Mr. Guitar) - Move over Casanova - I'm counting out time, reaction none to happy, Please don't slap me, I'm a red blooded male and the book said I could not fail. I'm counting out time, I got unexpected distress from my mistress, I'll get my money back from the bookstore right away. Erongenous zones I question you - Without you, what would a poor boy do? Without you, what would a poor boy do? Without you, mankind handkinds thru' the blues.
The Carpet Crawlers
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He returns from his mixed-up memories to the passage he was previously stuck in. This time he discovers a long carpeted corridor.
There is lambswool under my naked feet. The wool is soft and warm, - gives off some kind of heat. A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed. Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid. The fleas cling to the golden fleece, Hoping they'll find peace. Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid. There's no hiding in my memory. There's no room to avoid.
The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by strange insignia, some looking like a bulls-eye, others of birds and boats. Further down the corridor, he can see some people; all kneeling. With broken sighs and murmurs they struggle, in their slow motion to move towards a wooden door at the end. Having seen only the inanimate bodies in the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, Rael rushes to talk to them.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor. For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before. They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door, Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: "We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out."
"What's going on?" he cries to a muttering monk, who conceals a yawn and replies "It's a long time yet before the dawn." A sphinx-like crawler calls his name saying "Don't ask him, the monk is drunk. Each one of us is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there." Not asking how he can move freely, our hero goes boldly through the door. Behind a table loaded with food, is a spiral staircase going up into the ceiling.
There's only one direction in the faces that I see; It's upward to the ceiling, where the chamber's said to be. Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree. They are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're free. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: "We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out." Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite, And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright. Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight; It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: "We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out." The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack. The eager pack lift up their pitchers - they carry all they lack. The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack, And the tickler takes his stickleback. The carpet crawlers heed their callers: "We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out We've got to get in to get out."
The Chamber Of 32 Doors
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd, huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32 doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until Rael screams "Shut up!" There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new found recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster. Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it.
At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people, running around to all the doors. They try to find, find themselves an audience; their deductions need applause. The rich man stands in front of me, The poor man behind my back. They believe they can control the game, but the juggler holds another pack. I need someone to believe in, someone to trust. I need someone to believe in, someone to trust. I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman, You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can, He'll smile through his guard, Survival trains hard. I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands, He looks at you once, you know he understands, Don't need any shield, When you're out in the field. But down here, I'm so alone with my fear, With everything that I hear. And every single door, that I've walked through Brings me back here again, I've got to find my own way. The priest and the magician, Singing all the chants that they have ever heard; and they're all calling out my name, Even academics, searching printed word. My father to the left of me, My mother to the right, Like everyone else they're pointing But nowhere feels quite right. And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust. I need someone to believe in, someone to trust. I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found, There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound. If I choose a side, He won't take me for a ride. Back inside This chamber of so many doors; I've nowhere, nowhere to hide. I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me, Find a door That doesn't lead me back again - take me away.
Lilywhite Lilith
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He stands by a middle-aged woman, with a very pale skin who is quietly talking to herself. He discovers she is blind and asking for a guide. "What's the use of a guide if you got nowhere to go" asks Rael. "I've got somewhere to go," she replies "if you take me through the noise, I'll show you. I'm a creature of the caves and I follow the way the breezes blow."
He leads her across the room and they leave the crowd, who dismiss their departure as certain to fail.
The chamber was in confusion - all the voices shouting loud.
I could only just hear, a voice quite near say, "Please help me
through the crowd"
'Said if I helped her thru' she could help me too, but I could
see that she was wholly blind.
But from her pale face and her pale skin, a moonlight shined.
Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna take you thru' the tunnel of night
Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna lead you right.
When through the door, the woman leads Rael down the tunnel. The light of the chamber soon fades and despite her confident step Rael often stumbles in the darkness.
After a long walk they arrive in what Rael judges to be a big round cave, and she speaks a second time asking him to sit down. It feels like a cold stone throne.
"Rael, sit here. They will come for you soon. Don't be afraid." And failing to explain any more she walks off. He faces his fear once again.
When I'd led her through the people, the angry noise began to grow.
She said "Let me feel the way the breezes blow, and I'll show
you where to go."
So I followed her into a big round cave, she said "They're
coming for you, now don't be afraid."
Then she sat me down on a cold stone throne, carved in jade.
Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna take you thru' the tunnel of night.
Lilywhite Lilith,
She gonna lead you right.
A tunnel is lit up to the left of him, and he begins to shake. As it grows brighter, he hears a non-metallic whirring sound. The light is getting painfully bright, reflecting as white off the walls until his vision is lost in a sort of snow blindness.
She leaves me in my darkness, I have to face, face my fear, And the darkness closes in on me, I can hear a whirring sound growing near. I can see the corner of the tunnel, Lit up by whatever's coming here. Two golden globes float into the room And a blaze of white light fills the air.
Anyway
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He panics, feels around for a stone and hurls it at the brightest point. The sound of breaking glass echoes around the cave. As his vision is restored he catches sight of two golden gloves about one foot in diameter hovering away down the tunnel. When they disappear a resounding crack sears across the roof, and it collapses all around him. Our hero is trapped once again.
"This is it" he thinks, failing to move any of the fallen rocks.
All the pumping's nearly over for my sweet heart, This is the one for me, Time to meet the chef, O boy! running man is out of death. Feel cold and old, it's getting hard to catch my breath. 's back to ash, 'now, you've had your flash boy' The rocks, in time, compress your blood to oil, your flesh to coal, enrich the soil, not everybody's goal. Anyway, they say she comes on a pale horse, But I'm sure I hear a train. O boy! I don't even feel no pain - I guess I must be driving myself insane. Damn it all! does earth plug a hole in heaven, Or heaven plug a hole in earth - 'how wonderful to be so profound, when everything you are is dying underground.'
There's not much spectacle for an underground creole as he walks through the gates of Sheol. "I would have preferred to have been jettisoned into a thousand pieces in space, or filled with helium and floated above a mausoleum. This is no way to pay my last subterranean homesick dues. Anyway I'm out of the hands of any pervert embalmer doing his interpretation of what I should look like, stuffing his cotton wool in my cheeks."
I feel the pull on the rope, let me off at the rainbow. I could have been exploding in space Different orbits for my bones Not me, just quietly buried in stones, Keep the deadline open with my maker! See me stretch; for God's elastic acre The doorbell rings and its "Good morning Rael So sorry you had to wait. It won't be long, yeh! She's very rarely late."
Here Comes The Supernatural Anaesthetist
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
Exhausted by all this conjecture, our hero gets the chance in a lifetime to meet his hero: Death. Death is wearing a light disguise, he made the outfit himself. He calls it the "Supernatural Anaesthetist." Death likes meeting people and wants to travel. Death approaches Rael with his special cannister, releases a puff, and appears to walk away content into the wall.
Here comes the supernatural anaesthetist. If he wants you to snuff it, All he has to do is puff it - he's such a fine dancer.
The Lamia
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
Rael touches his face to confirm that he is still alive. He writes Death off as an illusion, but notices a thick musky scent hanging in the air. He moves to the corner where the scent is stronger, discovering a crack in the rubble through which it is entering. He tries to shift the stones and eventually clears a hole large enough to crawl out of. The perfume is even stronger on the other side and he sets off to find its source, with a new-found energy.
The scent grows richer, he knows he must be near, He finds a long passageway lit by chandelier. Each step he takes, the perfumes change From familiar fragrance to flavours strange. A magnificent chamber meets his eye.
He finally reaches a very ornate pink-water pool. It is lavishly decorated with gold fittings. The walls around the pool are covered with a maroon velvet up which honeysuckle is growing. From out of the mist on the water comes a series of ripples.
Inside, a long rose-water pool is shrouded by fine mist. Stepping in the moist silence, with a warm breeze he's gently kissed. Thinking he is quite alone, He enters the room, as if it were his own But ripples on the sweet pink water Reveal some company unthought of -
Three snakelike creatures are swimming towards Rael. Each reptilian creature has the diminutive head and breasts of a beautiful woman. His horror gives way to infatuation as their soft green eyes show their welcome. The Lamia invite him to taste the sweet water and he is quick to enter the pool. As soon as he swallows some liquid, a pale blue luminescence drips off from his skin. The Lamia lick the liquid; very gently as they begin, with each new touch, he feels the need to give more and more.
Rael stands astonished doubting his sight, Struck by beauty, gripped in fright; Three vermilion snakes of female face The smallest motion, filled with grace. Muted melodies fill the echoing hall, But there is no sign of warning in the siren's call: "Rael welcome, we are the Lamia of the pool. We have been waiting for our waters to bring you cool." Putting fear beside him, he trusts in beauty blind, He slips into the nectar, leaving his shredded clothes behind. "With their tongues, they test, taste and judge all that is mine. They move in a series of caresses That glide up and down my spine.
They knead his flesh until his bones appear to melt, and at a point at which he feels he cannot go beyond, they nibble at his body. Taking in the first drops of his blood, their eyes blacken and their bodies are shaken. Distraught with helpless passion he watches as his lovers die. In a desperate attempt to bring what is left of them into his being, he takes and eats their bodies, and struggles to leave his lovers' nest.
As they nibble the fruit of my flesh, I feel no pain, Only a magic that a name would stain. With the first drop of my blood in their veins Their faces are convulsed in mortal pains. The fairest cries, 'We all have loved you Rael'." Each empty snakelike body floats, Silent sorrow in empty boats. A sickly sourness fills the room, The bitter harvest of a dying bloom. Looking for motion I know I will not find, I stroke the curls now turning pale, in which I'd lain entwined "O Lamia, your flesh that remains I will take as my food" It is the scent of garlic that lingers on my chocolate fingers. Looking behind me, the water turns icy blue, The lights are dimmed and once again the stage is set for you.
The Colony Of Slippermen
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
The Arrival
Leaving by the same door from which he had come in, he finds some sort of freaks ghetto on the other side. When they catch sight of him, the entire street of distorted figures burst into laughter. One of the colony approaches him.
Rael:
I wandered lonely as a cloud, Till I came upon this dirty street. I've never seen a stranger crowd; Slubberdegullions on squeaky feet, Continually pacing, With nonchalant embracing, Each orifice disgracing And one facing me moves to say "hellay".
He is grotesque in every feature, a mixture of ugly lumps and stumps. His lips slip across his chin as he smiles in welcome and offers his slippery handshake.
His skin's all covered in slimy lumps. With lips that slide across each chin. His twisted limbs like rubber stumps Are waved in welcome say 'Please join in.' My grip must be flipping, Cos his handshake keeps slipping, My hopes keep on dipping And his lips keep on smiling all the time.
Rael is a little disillusioned, when the Slipperman reveals that the entire colony have one-by-one been through the same glorious romantic tragedy with the same three Lamia, who regenerate themselves every time, and that now Rael shares their physical appearance and shadowy fate.
Slipperman:
"We, like you, have tasted love. Don't be alarmed at what you see, You yourself are just the same As what you see in me."
Rael:
Me, like you? like that!
Slipperman:
"You better watch it son, your sentence has only just begun You better run and join your brother John."
Amongst the contorted faces of the Slippermen, Rael recognises what is left of his brother John. They hug each other.
A Visit To The Doktor
John bitterly explains that the entire life of the Slipperman is devoted to satisfying the never-ending hunger of the senses, which has been inherited from the Lamia. There is only one escape route; a dreaded visit to the notorious Doktor Dyper who will remove the source of the problems, or to put it less politely, castrate.
They discuss the deceptively-named escape for a long time and decide to go together to visit the Doktor.
Slipperman:
"You're in the colony of slippermen. There's no who? why? what? or when? You get out if you've got the gripe To see, Doktor Dyper, reformed sniper - he'll whip off your windscreenwiper"
Rael:
John and I are able To face the Doktor and his marble table.
The Doktor:
Understand Rael, that's the end of your tail.
Rael:
"Don't delay, dock the dick!" I watch his countdown timer tick....
The Raven
They survive the ordeal and are presented with the offensive weapons in sterile yellow plastic tubes, with gold chains. "People usually wear them around their necks," said the Doktor handing them over. "The operation does not necessarily exclude use of the facility again, for short periods, but of course when you want it you must provide us with considerable advance warning."
He places the number into a tube, It's a yellow plastic "shoobedoobe". It says: "Though your fingers may tickle You'll be safe in our pickle."
As the brothers talk themselves through their new predicament, a big black raven flies into the cave, swoops down, grabs Rael's tube right out of his hands and carries it up into the air in his beak.
Suddenly, black cloud come down from the sky. It's a supersized black bird that sure can fly... The raven brings on darkness and night He flies right down, gives me one hell of a fright. He take the tube right out of my hands Man, I've got to find out where that black bird lands.
Rael calls for John to go with him.
And he replies "I will not chase a black raven. Down here you must read and obey the omens. There's disaster where the raven flies."
"Look here John, I've got to run I need you now, you going to come?" He says to me:
John:
"Now can't you see Where the raven flies there's jeopardy. We've been cured on the couch Now you're sick with your grouch. I'll not risk my honey pouch Which my slouch will wear slung very low."
So once more John deserts his brother.
Rael:
He walks away and leaves me once again. Even though I never learn, I'd hoped he'd show just some concern.
The bird leads Rael down a narrow tunnel, he seems to be allowing him to keep at a closed distance. But as Rael thinks he might almost catch hold of the bird, the tunnel opens and finishes at an enormous subterranean ravine. Casually, the raven drops his precious load into the rushing waters at the bottom. It's enough to drive a poor boy ravin' mad.
Seeing the dangers of the steep cliff, our courageous hero stands impotent and glowers.
I'm in the agony of Slipperpain I pray my undercarriage will sustain. The chase is on, the pace is hot But I'm running so very hard with everything that I've got. He leads me down an underpass Though it narrows, he still flies very fast, When the tunnel stops Catch sight of the tube, just as it drops. I'm on top of a bank too steep to climb I see it hit the water just in time to watch it float away...
The Light Dies Down On Broadway
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He follows a small path running along the top, and watches the tube bobbing up and down in the water as the fast current carries it away. However, as he walks around a corner Rael sees a sky-light above him, apparently built into the bank. Through it he can see the green grass of home, well not exactly; he can see Broadway.
As he walks along the gorge's edge, He meets a sense of yesteryear. A window in the bank above his head Reveals his home amidst the streets. Subway sounds, the sounds of complaint The smell of acid on his gun of paint. As it carves out anger in a blood-red band, Destroyed tomorrow by an unknown hand; - My home. Is this the way out from the endless scene? Or just an entrance to another dream? And the light dies down on Broadway.
His heart, now a little bristly, is shaken by a surge of joy and he starts to run, arms wide open, to the way out. At this precise point in time his ears pick up a voice screaming for help. Someone is struggling in the rapids below. It's John.
But as the skylight beckons him to leave, He hears a scream from far below. Within the raging water, writhes the form Of brother John, he cries for help.
He pauses for a moment remembering how his brother had abandoned him. Then the window begins to fade - it's time for action.
The gate is fading now, but open wide. But John is drowning, I must decide Between the freedom I had in the rat-race, Or to stay forever in this forsaken place; Hey John! He makes for the river and the gate is gone, Back to the void where it came from. And the light dies down on Broadway.
Riding The Scree
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He rushes to the cliff and scrambles down the rocks. It takes him a long time to get down to the water, trying to keep up with the current at the same time. As he nears the water's edge he sees John losing strength.
Struggling down the slope, There's not much hope. I begin to try to ride the scree but the rocks are tumbling all around me. If I want John alive, I've got to ditch my fear - take a dive While I've still got my drive to survive. Evel Knievel you got nothing on me. Here I go!
In The Rapids
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
He dives down into the cold water. At first he is thrown onto the rocks, and pulled under the water by a fast moving channel, which takes him right past John, down river.
Moving down the water John is drifting out of sight, Its only at the turning point That you find out how you fight. In the cold, feel the cold all around And the rush of crashing water Surrounds me with its sound.
Rael manages to grab a rock, pull himself to the surface and catch his breath. As John is carried past, Rael throws himself in again and catches hold of his arm. He knocks John unconscious and then locking themselves together, he rides the rapids into the slow running water, where he can swim to safety.
Striking out to reach you I can't get through to the other side, When you're racing in the rapids There's only one way, thats to ride. Taken down, taken down by the undertow I'm spiralled down the river bed, My fire is burning low. Catching hold of a rock that's firm, I'm waiting for John to be carried past. We hold together, hold together and shoot the rapids fast.
But as he hauls his brother's limp body onto the bank he lies him out and looks hopefully into his eyes for a sign of life. He staggers back in recoil, for staring at him with eyes wide open is not John's face - but his own.
And when the waters slow down The dark and the deep have no-one, no-one, no-one, no-one no-one left to keep. Hang on John! We're out of this at last. Somethings changed, that's not your face. It's mine - it's mine!
It
(Banks/Collins/Gabriel/Hackett/Rutherford)
Rael cannot look away from those eyes, mesmerized by his own image. In a quick movement, his consciousness darts from one face to the other, then back again, until his presence is no longer solidly contained in one or the other. In this fluid state he observes both bodies outlined in yellow and the surrounding scenery melting into a purple haze. With a sudden rush of energy up both spinal columns, their bodies, as well, finally dissolve into the haze.
All this takes place without a single sunset, without a single bell ringing and without a single blossom falling from the sky. Yet it fills everything with its mysterious intoxicating presence. It's over to you.
When its cold, it come slow it is warm, just watch it grow - all around me it is here. it is now. Just a little bit of it can bring you up or down. Like the supper it is cooking in your hometown. it is chicken, it is eggs, it is in between your legs. it is walking on the moon, leaving your cocoon. it is the jigsaw. it is purple haze. it never stays in one place, but it's not a passing phase, it is in the singles bar, in the distance of the face it is in between the cages, it is always in a space it is here. it is now. Any rock can be made to roll If you've enough of it to pay the toll it has no home in words or goal Not even in your favourite hole it is the hope for the dope Who rides the horse without a hoof it is shaken not stirred; Cocktails on the roof. When you eat right through it you see everything alive it is inside spirit, with enough grit to survive If you think that its pretentious, you've been taken for a ride. Look across the mirror sonny, before you choose decide it is here. it is now it is Real. it is Rael 'cos it's only knock and knowall, but I like it...
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