Get all 12 STEVE.E releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Lucy's Lullaby, Anton's Song, Joyride, Just a Show, Bumper Jumper 12, Princess Dancing In The Snow, Factory Gates, Get it Right, and 4 more.
1. |
Ignorance Is Bliss!
01:32
|
|||
|
IGNORANCE IS BLISS
The other day, I realised just how ignorant I am!
I can’t fathom or decipher any sort of diagram.
There are so many things I simply do not know;
Sometimes, I don't even know which way to go.
If I had to calculate the circumference of the moon,
My head might ache and then pop like a balloon.
I haven't a clue when the pyramids were erected,
Or how they got that mummifying business perfected.
I’m rather vague on a combustion engine’s quirks,
Vaguer still on the ingredients of Indian fireworks.
So many things remain arcane mysteries to me,
Including the exact anatomy of my right knee.
My dirty knees! How would I say it in Chinese?
In Tokyo, I would of course need Japanese.
If I happened to pitch up in the centre of Berlin,
Meine schmutzige Knie would be the thing.
I can't tell you whether it's a raven or a starling,
And don't ask me who invented the Penny Farthing!
Was it perhaps a Mr Farthing, by any chance?
I shrug my shoulders and lapse into a trance.
And anyway, what’s the use of being a polyglot,
And knowing the Finnish for forget-me-not,
If you have no clue about the basic things to do?
Laugh, dance, sing… and in love be true!
So, after all my musing it comes down to this:
I steadfastly contend that ignorance is bliss!
|
||||
2. |
Bumper Jumper
00:38
|
|||
|
BUMPER JUMPER
Poor Nicholas
Looked ridiculous
In his new Christmas jumper,
A gift not exactly bumper!
It sagged below the knee,
Dangling over his toes.
And he wasn't keen
On the colour:
A rancid green,
And crooked bows
On the right sleeve.
Quite a horror!
It made him sneeze.
But Aunty Betty,
Legendary knitter
And baby sitter,
Was so pleased he wore it.
Just before he fled the room,
She promised more of it!
For his birthday coming soon:
A scarf that would reach the moon.
|
||||
3. |
Not Scrabble
01:02
|
|||
|
NOT SCRABBLE!
Let the rabble babble and do battle at Scrabble,
Mumbling, fumbling towards linguistic jumble.
And if you want something more gripping to unravel,
Than watching your Monopoly properties crumble,
Here’s an activity you can do on rainy afternoons;
I relish it more than polishing spoons.
In fact, this game’s often a hoot to play.
It’s a tradition of mine on Boxing Day.
I like to do it after breakfast or brunch.
So when you’re ready, cut up a bunch
Of words and some random phrases,
Snipped from magazines and other places.
Stick them in a suitable receptacle!
A jar or hat is quite acceptable.
Then take out a few at random.
However, don’t leave it like that!
You may act with abandon!
Stick them together, rearrange them,
And see what occurs.
Nonsense most likely!
A jellyfish in furs?
But whatever the outcome,
It’s always fun,
A giggle, and a laugh.
The last time I put:
A cup of cake in the bath!
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
DEAD POETS’ APPRECIATION SOCIETY
T.S. Eliot is a towering figure.
In poetry, it doesn't get much bigger!
Unless you go and wheel in Big Bill,
Fan the flames with Dante Alighieri
And bung in some Chaucer too.
You know, go for the quill:
A motley, medieval scrivener crew.
The French boast Corneille and Racine,
Heavyweights of the literary scene.
And don't forget Rimbaud and Baudelaire,
Lest they kick you in the derrière,
Et peut-être give you the guillotine!
The Russians would have a seizure
If we didn't mention their bruiser:
Great Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin,
Who wrote epically of Eugene Onegin,
And died dueling at the weaker end!
And what about Herrs Goethe and Schiller?
The Germans had a few crack scribes.
Later on came Thomas Mann and Hesse;
They didn't always split your sides,
But Dr. Faustus was quite a thriller.
Going back, there was horribulus Horace,
Who bored us to death at school,
Though Byron and Shelley were pretty cool;
They smoked dope and hung out in bars.
Such kickarse Romantic poetry stars!
But you've got to hand it to Thomas Stearns.
He certainly knew his Grecian urns,
And all the parameters of iambic pentameters.
Anyway, trusting it won't spark any spats,
I like Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.
|
||||
5. |
O Frog!
00:45
|
|||
|
O FROG!
This morning I met a frog,
Who said it was God!
Ridiculous, said I,
A preposterous lie,
Amphibians don't qualify!
The frog retorted it wasn't ridiculous,
And it was hopping mad
That I could be so bad.
Well, it was indeed miraculous:
I was talking to a frog,
Who claimed it was God!
The frog went on to explain
In words that became a refrain:
ALL IS ONE…
You, me, that tree,
Your Auntie Beryl’s spaghetti…
ALL IS ONE…
You mean everything?
Including bubble gum?
Everything under the sun!
Make no mistake:
ALL IS ONE…
With that said and done,
God jumped into the lake.
|
||||
6. |
Jonathan Trelawny
00:26
|
|||
7. |
Abdul's Magic Beard
00:39
|
|||
|
ABDUL'S MAGIC BEARD
Abdul had a magic beard,
In which thrived nesting birds!
I know, it's rather weird,
And too absurd for words.
Abdul had a magic beard,
Hiding eggs in a nest.
And when chicks appeared,
It did become a pest!
Full five yards lush and long,
Bewitched was that beard,
Shrilling incessant song
When daybreak neared.
Abdul had a tragic beard;
It sang to him of sorrow.
Woe is me! Life's as I feared,
I'll shave it off tomorrow!
|
||||
8. |
A Right Royal History
03:06
|
|||
|
A RIGHT ROYAL HISTORY
The kings and queens of England…
Well, it's really quite a lengthy list.
It begins with William the Conqueror,
Going back to AD Ten Sixty-Six.
They had a big battle at Hastings,
The start of the Norman Conquest.
King Harold got an arrow in his eye;
French William stood the test the best.
The Normans finally became English,
And then sallied forth on crusades,
To rid the Holy Land of unbelievers;
Campaigns that lasted for decades!
After they got sick and tired of that,
They had a spat with France. Deranged
Or what? They'd recently all been French!
How did they become so estranged?
England's history drips with blood, guts,
Torture, beheadings and gory details.
One poor king, ‘twas Edward the Second,
Had a red hot poker stuck in his entrails.
Intrigues, plots and deeds most foul,
It was a dangerous business being king.
Your bro might appear at the midnight hour,
Stab you and purloin the Royal ring.
Henry the Eighth was a strapping lad.
In his youth, he was good at sports.
He's also known for bumping off his wives;
The girls often put him out of sorts.
And he famously had a row with the Pope:
Told him we'd be Catholic no more,
Which of course didn't go down too well
And embroiled England in holy war.
Liz, his daughter, the Virgin Queen,
Was left with an almighty religious row.
France and Spain, Catholic to the core…
(Zut alors!) were on the warpath now!
The two mighty kings were apoplectic;
It means they kicked up quite a fuss:
You can't be Protestant, they screeched.
You Brits are Catholic just like us!
Finally, all that religion hoo-ha died down.
The royals got on with war and stuff,
Signing pacts, getting rich, ruling
By Divine Right, until enough was enough.
Charles the First came to a sticky end:
They chopped off his head at Whitehall.
His nemesis was General Oliver Cromwell.
However, Ollie's jolly would shortly stall.
In 1660, Charles II ascended the throne;
It was the Restoration, of royal authority!
‘Round about that time business boomed
And England conquered new territory.
Mad King George figured America was his,
But the yanks kicked us out in 1776.
The unhinged monarch ranted and raved,
Stamped and raged, fretting his bits to bits.
But kings and queens lost their power
And governments began calling the shots.
The royals remained in the frame
As figureheads and emblems on teapots.
Today, Elizabeth II sits on the throne.
She's been on it ever such a long time;
It’s possible Charlie may not get a turn,
Although, of course, he's next in line.
|
||||
9. |
Are We Nearly There Yet?
00:51
|
|||
|
ARE WE NEARLY THERE YET?
Just after leaving home,
(We're barely out of the drive):
Are we nearly there yet?
If I've heard it once,
I've heard it a thousand, I bet.
‘No, we should be there by five.’
But it's only one o'clock!
‘Yes, I said it was a four-hour run!
Just play with your game, son.
We'll be there before... too long.’
So, we trundle on passed the shops,
Round the roundabout, passed plots
Of land for sale. Then the motorway,
Heading West for a Cornish bay.
We go every year for a holiday.
And every year: Are we nearly there yet?
I bite my tongue so as not to get upset.
‘I told you five minutes ago how long to go!
So it's now THREE HOURS FIFTY-FIVE,
Or thereabouts, until we arrive!’
|
||||
10. |
The Dog's Story
00:38
|
|||
|
THE DOG’S STORY
This is the dog’s side of the story:
He locked Mother Hubbard in the cupboard,
For which he wasn’t in the least bit sorry.
He then pranced off to the pantry
And discovered a culinary fantasy,
A feast beyond canine dreams:
A nice juicy leg of lamb;
Bacon hanging in reams;
A barrel of salted pork,
And a whole side of ham.
Gosh, what nosh! he thought.
Let’s get stuck in and dine in style.
So old Mother Hubbard
Stayed in the cupboard a while!
|
||||
11. |
Johnny Guitar
00:52
|
|||
|
JOHNNY GUITAR
Johnny’s got this guitar thing.
They call him TWANG,
Cos that’s the sound it makes
When he hits a string.
And sometimes his amp goes BANG!
Johnny likes to rock n roll,
But Mr Brown next door
Doesn’t like it at all.
He says it’s a racket and a din,
And why doesn’t Johnny pack it in?
Johnny loves to rock n roll,
So Mr Brown can take a stroll.
Johnny shreds with choruses of cats
And drives the neighbours totally bats.
Johnny plays Rock n Roll till dawn,
And Mr Brown looks pale and drawn.
But then Johnny breaks a string
And his amp blows a tube,
Right in the middle of
Don’t step on my blue suede shoes
So the neighbourhood gets a rest
And Mr Brown feels blessed,
With silence for an hour or two.
|
||||
12. |
Can I Tell You A Secret?
01:32
|
|||
|
CAN I TELL YOU A SECRET?
Can I tell you a secret, children?
Some of us never grow old!
Oh, we may be wrinkly and grey on the outside,
And look like we belong in a hospital.
I admit old bones do feel the cold.
And sometimes we can’t see straight
And bump into the garden gate!
But on the inside we’re still children,
And the sunlight is still golden,
And everything is still possible!
How to tell us apart from other oldies?
Those groaning, grumbly, crotchety ones…
They often have sharp tongues,
And you may have to watch it
If they happen to have a stick!
Oh no! We aren’t like them at all.
We still know how to have fun.
We’re delighted when you come round to call.
We don’t drone on about rules and regulations.
We stimulate your brains and imaginations,
And your taste buds with fizz and a bun!
Instead of complaining,
We laugh when it’s raining,
And still point joyfully at rainbows.
We never say: In my day…
Or bore you with all our woes.
Anyway, I’d like to invite you to my birthday.
It’s really such a great feeling
To fling jelly at the ceiling,
And have a jolly good feed.
I hope you’ll agree to come and play.
I’m looking forward to your presence;
It’s the only present I really need.
I’m 64 years young today.
|
||||
STEVE.E London, UK
Singer-songwriter from London. Advocate of real instruments & musicians all playing together at the same time. News, views and grooves at stevee.ru
STEVE.E recommends:
I'd have to eat a thesaurus to describe the wonders of this album! It's neat, great, thought-provoking, comfortable on the ears, beautiful, sublime, poetic, oh and rather musical...
go to album
Salems Bend is three guys who must have bleeding fingers considering the passion they play with. This is an album of modern rock with tough, grinding guitar sounds, tight drums and bass.
go to album
Ethereal, gorgeous, fabulous, alternative, superlative, moody, groovy, mighty, alrighty, sad, mad, crisp, clean, lean, a dream... buy it!
go to albumIf you like STEVE.E, you may also like:
The Art Of Losing
by The Anchoress
The second release from Welsh artist The Anchoress is a devastating and powerful meditation on loss.
go to album
Introspective bedroom pop with a literary-narrative bent, touching the mundane horrors of everyday life.
go to album
Parque México
by Kevin Dickerson
Spoken word storytelling spun into a delicate web of acoustic guitar, from the Bay Area.
go to album
