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Description
Does exactly what it says on the tin.
Written by Scottish musician and composer R J Stewart, a friend of my dad's, in 1975. I don't know what was in his head when he wrote it, but the song somehow chimed with me. Especially as we now have a prime minister hell-bent on concreting over the British landscape because it's good for the economy. My home town is full of sealed-up wells - a historic spa resort with no spas left. Our last working spa was demolished to make way for a splurge of luxury apartments which look like one of those Rotastak complexes you get for hamsters. This curse isn't aimed at individuals but at the whole culture of profit-before-people and environmental pillaging which seems to have infected our national consciousness.
Many thanks indeed to R J Stewart for permission to record and post this. You can check out his other music and books at www.dreampower.com.
And many thanks to Dick, who is a constant inspiration to me as well as providing his own distinctive contributions.
Song copyright © R J Stewart 1975. Recorded with permission.
This recording © Rebsie Fairholm/Dick Langford 2008
Rebsie: vocals, midi stuff (Fitch cello, sitar, drums)
Dick: more midi stuff (bass, extra percussion, horns, strings)
The cursing figure in the photo appeared one day on the wall of the (demolished) hospital where I was born. Luckily I managed to photograph it a few days before somebody embellished it with an unwieldy erect phallus.
Written by Scottish musician and composer R J Stewart, a friend of my dad's, in 1975. I don't know what was in his head when he wrote it, but the song somehow chimed with me. Especially as we now have a prime minister hell-bent on concreting over the British landscape because it's good for the economy. My home town is full of sealed-up wells - a historic spa resort with no spas left. Our last working spa was demolished to make way for a splurge of luxury apartments which look like one of those Rotastak complexes you get for hamsters. This curse isn't aimed at individuals but at the whole culture of profit-before-people and environmental pillaging which seems to have infected our national consciousness.
Many thanks indeed to R J Stewart for permission to record and post this. You can check out his other music and books at www.dreampower.com.
And many thanks to Dick, who is a constant inspiration to me as well as providing his own distinctive contributions.
Song copyright © R J Stewart 1975. Recorded with permission.
This recording © Rebsie Fairholm/Dick Langford 2008
Rebsie: vocals, midi stuff (Fitch cello, sitar, drums)
Dick: more midi stuff (bass, extra percussion, horns, strings)
The cursing figure in the photo appeared one day on the wall of the (demolished) hospital where I was born. Luckily I managed to photograph it a few days before somebody embellished it with an unwieldy erect phallus.
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Lyrics
The Cursing Song
Lyrics © R J Stewart
Cursed be they that have ruined a fair land,
And cursed be they that have sealed up the wells,
And cursed be they that abandoned the Gods hands,Â
And build a strange place for their people to dwell.
Â
Cursed be your breath and cursed be your breathing,
Cursed be your eyes and cursed be your sight,
Cursed be your hands that have blackened the harvest,
And closed the old ways to the joy and the light.
Cursed be your name all cursed and forgotten,
Cursed beyond memory, place, or recall,
And dust be your souls out of Nothing begotten,
Nothing to no-thing, and Nothing to All.
Â
Now cursed are they that have ruined our fair land,
And cursed are they that have sealed up our wells,
And cursed are they that abandoned our Gods hands,
And built a strange place for the children to dwell.
Lyrics © R J Stewart
Cursed be they that have ruined a fair land,
And cursed be they that have sealed up the wells,
And cursed be they that abandoned the Gods hands,Â
And build a strange place for their people to dwell.
Â
Cursed be your breath and cursed be your breathing,
Cursed be your eyes and cursed be your sight,
Cursed be your hands that have blackened the harvest,
And closed the old ways to the joy and the light.
Cursed be your name all cursed and forgotten,
Cursed beyond memory, place, or recall,
And dust be your souls out of Nothing begotten,
Nothing to no-thing, and Nothing to All.
Â
Now cursed are they that have ruined our fair land,
And cursed are they that have sealed up our wells,
And cursed are they that abandoned our Gods hands,
And built a strange place for the children to dwell.
caroline
and who better to know than you?? ;) - a fabulous colab - as usual and stamped with true rebsie style - lots of lovely sounds going on too - fat and delicious - which reminds me... thank you both - big loves xoxoxo