Category: songs

backup:

Last time I saw Jeannine, we lost most of our time
In the company of friends who were neither hers nor mine

Castaways in different cities, working through some breaks
Regretting our vocations, scared of making more mistakes

And we talked of where we’d been
How we’d passed the interim
Since the last time together, building up
A wall of coffee cups and cigarette ends
Keeping our last rendezvous
At least, it looks to be the last we’ll keep

The last time I saw Jeannine, we lost most of our time
Talking of ourselves in terms of once upon a time

Clinging to the wreckage of lives we’d left behind
Hoping for the miracle we lost somewhere in time

And shied away from conversation
Of ourselves but in relation
To each other, but together, building up
A wall of alibis half-spoken
And chances we were missing
At least, from here it seems we’ve missed them all

By David Harley, copyright 1973

The first line does, I suppose, invite comparison with Joni Mitchell’s ‘The Last Time I Saw Richard’, though I didn’t hear that until several years later. But I suppose you could also compare it to ‘The Last Time I Saw Paris’ or ‘Last Time He Saw Marie‘ if you really wanted, and you’d still be wrong. Personally I prefer the Mitchell song, but this has a certain nostalgic je ne sais quoi. See what I did there?

And for anyone whose interested in any biographical elements, the lady’s name wasn’t Jeannine or Richard, and it was Bangor (North Wales), not Paris. 

I just realized that I also used the line ‘Last time I saw…’ in Diane. Probably Diane is the better song, and written about someone completely different. Whose name was not Diane, Richard or Jeannine. 

Anyway, I promise not to use the line again. Probably. 

Backup:

Recent recording for Ian Semple’s show on Coast FM:

[/audio]

Backup:

So much of her life she’s spent on wards like this
With panic locked behind her eyes and dressings on her wrists.

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

They feed her love in millivolts, and faith in plastic spoons
Sometimes it all washes out, and she has to rush out of the room
Sometimes she hits out; mostly, she turns on herself
And in rage and desperation she seeks out the razor’s edge

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

There’s an old man in her mirror with his own tale to tell
He has words like “communicate” and “socialize” to sell
He’s promised her that she’s learning how to crawl out of her shell
She says “He’ll get my head together, on the next cool day in hell…”

Salvation comes expensive, by the litre or the gramme
But she holds on to her anger, if that’s all that comes to hand
It’s a sword that has two edges, but she’s learning to survive
And when she’s closest to dying, anger tells her that she’s alive

But last time I saw Diane, she was beating a long, long drop:
I like to think it’s not only the scum that makes it to the top.

Now she’s going out again, to meet her life head on
Hanging with the world, as it might be by her thumbs
Most of what I’d like to say sounds trite, sounds absurd
But we’ve been lovers and we’ve been friends, and we’ve never needed those words

Next time I see Diane, she’ll still be beating the drop
I wish I could be half the person she is, if only I had half the guts

Words and music by David Harley, copyright 1982

Words & Music by David Harley
All Rights Reserved

Speak My Heart (Words & Music by Don MacLeod)

Backup:

My love’s so many miles away
Makes it so hard to live through every day
Now I’m a watcher, a looker-on
I see my life as lived by someone I hardly know

Continue reading “Speak my heart”

Sheer Bravado (by David Harley & Don MacLeod)
All Rights Reserved

Backup:

Look at us now, back to back
And so choked up
That neither dares to say a word.
What is this crazy game
where losing doesn’t count
As long as no-one sees you’re hurt?

Continue reading “Sheer Bravado (the song)”

Everyone’s song but mine
Copyright David Harley 2015

Backup:

I don’t own the songs I’m singing
They found me by the road
And let me come along for the ride
Sometimes they’re only wordplay
Sometimes they’re almost true
Telling everybody’s history but mine

There’s a soldier just returned
Forever damaged from the war
There’s a sailor forever lost in time.
Songs to lift your spirits
Songs to break your heart
Telling everybody’s story but mine

Maybe I was killing time
While time was killing me
Ignoring all the people in my head
Peering out of broken mirrors
To tell their broken tales
All the people in my dreams and in my head

A city sleeps in sunlight
A seascape in the storm
A town that I might go back to some time
Words I heard from lovers
For a lifetime or a night
Singing anybody’s melody but mine
Friends and lovers past and gone
Places I should be
Dreams that died and others that came true
Time we spent together
Too much time spent apart
Someone gone forever, much too soon

I was only killing time
While time was killing me
Ignoring all the people in my head
Peering out of broken mirrors
To tell their broken tales
All the people in my dreams and in my bed

I don’t own the song I’m singing
It found me by the road
And let me come along for the ride
Maybe it’s just wordplay
Perhaps it’s almost true
Telling nobody’s story but mine

Thought I’d try this with a more-than-usually-period vocal feel to the demo, but perhaps 60s rock ‘n’ roll isn’t really me:

backup:

(Actually, I pinched that chord sequence between verses from Don MacLeod. Sorry, Don.)

There’s a desert wind pushing the leaves around
and rhythm on the radio
and I just picked up some headlines
you might just like to know

I’ve got high compression and four free wheels
and a change of scene is overdue
and I just can’t wait to get back on the road
– bumper to bumper with you

Keep your fingers off my stickshift
if you can’t take the pace
but there’s a tune-up behind my headlamps
to bring a smile back to your face

I used to get my kicks on a solo cruise
now the only thing I want to do
is step on the gas and get back on the road
– bumper to bumper with you

I used to be the hot-rod hotshot
straining every iron nerve
with devil behind me on a V8 trip
and my wheels on dead man’s curve

Now I’m in the mood for some locomotion
and burning off a little juice
and I just can’t wait to get back on the road
– bumper to bumper with you.

Copyright David Harley, 1984