A New Emperor and Stage Clothes

These two fun items have the dubious distinction of being the last songs I wrote for Red Atlas. The last ones, certainly, that made it as far as having tunes and parts that most of the band-members agreed on. They were actually pre-written pieces of music from individual members of the band (or possibly both were written by Si). As previously mentioned the Red Atlas song-writing approach was entropy; the gradual erosion of dignified silence into screeds of noise over which I intone nonsense words which ultimately graduate into a sort of shopping-list of rebukes (general) and disgust (mainly self). As such the formation of songs comes over periods of time that would get Professor Brian Cox tapping his foot in frustration. Fearing that my time on earth was ending I attempted to giddy-up the process and requested each member of the band write a song. In the end only Si obliged with these two snippets. (To be fair to Martin he often attempted to get songs of his own into the set and to little avail - I never knew why - he's a prolific and, eek, populist song-writer. The marriage of his song-writing style and the band's (his fierce creative energy and the band's crafty, detailed honing) should have been a brilliant stylistic fit. But it wasn't.

So these are the last two songs proper from Red Atlas. What are they about? Well, god, it's the usual stuff isn't it? A New Emperor is about death and failure and as such could as easily be a Club of Queer Trades song. Stage Clothes is about...well it doesn't really need picking apart does it?



A New Emperor

Life’s slipping through your fingers,
Frictionless and fast,
The future is an exclusive post code,
That’s why I live in the past,
Under-valued and undertaken,
Under six feet of earth,
Held in aspic, a preservation
Of the things you thought you were worth,

When I said that the sky was falling,
It was never meant as a warning,
They will bow to a new emperor today,
Stand up; it’s far too late to pray,

You never knew what it was that hit you,
No registration plate,
No distinguishing characteristics,
On the shirt-tails of fate,
You can’t plan when the drawing board,
Is in bits upon the floor,
Never hope or dream or yearn cause,
Life is a slamming door,

When I said that the sky was falling,
It was never meant as a warning,
They will bow to a new emperor today,
Stand up; it’s far too late to pray,





Stage Clothes

Washed in the blood of a saint,
I find I’m brilliant,
I accepted it without complaint,
I’ve never been penitent,
I walk abroad in raiment of white,
I fairly dazzle,
Showing off is half the fight,
And I don’t need the hassle,

Stage clothes in the rain,
Nothing washes whiter,
Stage clothes in the rain,
Nothing washes whiter,

Take me down to the river,
Wash me in the mud,
No grudges, I’m a forgiver,
Lend us an armful of blood,
Lie for lie, truth for truth,
Pound my flesh,
Never knowingly over exposed,
No thought unexpressed,