Cliff Diving

This one sounds a bit thin in context now but is a perfectly effective 80's pop tune with some tasty Duran Duran brit-funk guitar from Doug (and some tasty everything else from Doug, really). My offering is a bit meage here but the lyrics have some appalling puns and excrutiating rhymes so it's business as usual really...


I may be suffering from dementia,
As I pursue this Posiedon adventure,
Slipping under the ocean like a stone,
But I'm not going fishing,
I'm on a fact-finding mission,
Trying to find the crab's base on my own,

And it's dark, so very dark,

With the surface so far above me,
Come on in the water's lovely,

Once that surface tension's broken,
I'm free, free to be me,
Under the sea,
And with that undulating motion,
I'm free, free to be me,
Under the sea,

I'm not unaware of the danger,
There's a dog-fish in the manger,
With the sort of claws,
That are a liability,
But the sea gives a sense of freedom,
Albeit one with one with rocks and weeds in,
With a powerful undertow,
Of liberty,

And it's dark,
So very dark,

Got my confidence in the water,
I won't be like a lamb going to the slaughter,


Once that surface tension's broken,
I'm free, free to be me,
Under the sea,
And with that undulating motion,
I'm free, free to be me,
Under the sea,

But what's this?
Labarynthine caves,
An under-water maze,
And who's this?
Behind these rocks and boulders,
A plethora of crabby dozers,
And as I hide behind these rocks,
Here's a sentry with his eyes on stalks,

Bartholomew's Fare

This and Drinking constitute the breakaway pop-hits from the The Night of the Crabs. Which is odd because they are rather unconventional tunes; the former a music hall folly and this a folk ballad or shanty. That said it's
one hell of an ear-worm, with those shimmering weed fronds singing backing vocals and that shimmering African pop guitar on the chorus.

The title is a three fold pun: it riffs on the ancient London fair held on the 24th of August within the precincts of the Priory at West Smithfields. But also at this point in the stories narrative, and rather pointedly by the end of the song, Bartholomew becomes "fare" (in the sense of "fine fare") for the crabs. And lastly it's the price he pays for being deformed and disabled in Guy N Smith's peculiar world; where Pat thinks he's evil and Cliff genuinely considers shooting him because he's ugly. It's the ugliness that forces him to live on the beach and puts him in the front-line of the crustacean/human war. Lastly I hope he has his fare for Charon the ferryman to deliver him over the river Styx. Which as we know is just down the coast from Barmouth.

See, I don't just throw these things together. That's craft mate. You think puns just happen?


Oh my name is Bartholomew,
And don't let me collar you,
Cause I'm so very hard on the eyes,
My body is twisted, my palms often blistered,
From combing the beaches at night,
My teeth are ill-fitting,
My brows always knitting,
Though it looks like my stitches have dropped,
And the stench of putrescence,
Is my oily essence,
I stink like a squid gone to pot,

But I'm happy, I'm so happy,
Patrolling the beaches at night,
Flotsam and Jetsam; when I want some, I get some,
And who is to say I'm not right?

Oh my name is Bartholomew,
And don't let me follow you,
Cause I have an agenda concealed,
My secret passion is the splishing and splashing,
Of tanned lady tourists, un-peeled,
Their hot golden hides,
Hips narrow or wide,
Their bosoms that jiggle and bounce,
My ony goal when I go on a stroll,
Is tallying big nipple counts,

But I'm happy, I'm so happy,
Patrolling the beaches at night,
Flotsam and Jetsam; when I want some, I get some,
And who is to say I'm not right?


Oh my name is Bartholomew,
But don't ever holler "You!",
Cause on top of it all I'm quite deaf,
It's the thing that hurts most,
I'm as deaf as a post,
It'll probably contribute to my horrible death,
To give you an example, If I were to be trampled,
By a giant crustacean horde,
I'd not know a thing, till I'm sliced up real thin,
In fact it's just happened...Good LORD!

It's 8.30, It's Thursday...it's Top of the Pops!

Paraquatsi got 9 page views! A personal best for this deeply unpopular blog! Alright!

The Moon in the Dunes

The seduction scene from Night of the Crabs originally had slightly different, more, er, explicit words. So I dropped them as I am a fearful prude. Even though I'd written them in the first place. The replacement words are better anyway, giving the song a time and a place and adding a sense of verisimilitude. To a song about giant crabs attacking the Welsh coast.



You caught me off guard,
Keeping watch in the dunes,
And already my cords,
Are playing a tune,
A sensual samba,
A straight tarantella,
So tell me Pat,
Do you have a fella?

...Oh that's right he left you

We make love under,
The moon in June,
The moon is above,
And I, I am under you,
Isn't it sad that,
The the sand is abrasive,
And just like the crabs,
So very invasive,

One moment of bliss,
With the cosmos we're one,
I light up a cigarette,
And think, well that was fun,
We lie there in awe,
Barely daring to speak,
And I wonder how,
Tottenham Hotspur,
Are doing this week,

...Terry Neil's past his peak,


We make love under,
The moon in June,
The moon is above,
And I, I am under you,
Isn't it sad that,
The the sand is abrasive,
And just like the crabs,
So very invasive,

It looks like it's all up to me

Last one of these for a while. It's getting depressing typing up all this rubbish.

The army has failed and Cliff Davenport has had enough:


It looks like it's all up to me,

When there's a crisis to address,
The Officers leave us in a mess,
All of you big wigs must agree,
It looks like it's all up to me,

The army sent a couple of chaps,
There's been a crabby bridge collapse,
Who's left searching the debris,
It looks like it's all up to me,

When it comes to using your loaf,
Who do you trust? A bungling oaf?
Or a man with a briar and a college degree,
It looks like it's all up to me,

Some people drive tanks with nuclear fission,
People like that don't share my vision,
Some people wear brass and medals with ribbons,
But in a crab-based crisis they do my bidding,

Of course they do,

Don't talk about military intelligence,
My response would be both curt and inelegant,
I'm annoyed at the army you see,
Cause it looks like its all up to me,

The government to my dismay,
Have done little to ease this aquatic affray,
The depressing conclusion must be,
It looks like it's all up to me,

More dialogue from The Night of the Crabs

Giant Crabs have been terrorising the denizens of Barmouth, a small coastal town in Wales with a big heart. The military have been called in and General Grisedale has called a press conference.

Grisedale: Gentlemen, Gentlemen! Please, If I can have some order. Now I'll be allowing questions one at a time but I must ask you to keep things crab related.

Press Johnny: What can you tell us about reports of giant crabs attacking our coastal defences?

Grisedale: Good question. I can confirm that crabs HAVE been attacking our coastal defences.

Cliff: General, If i might interject...

Grisedale: Ladies and Gentlemen...Dr. Cliff Davenport. (smattering of applause)

Cliff: Gentlemen of the press. And, yes, I see we have one or two ladies here tonight as well. Hello ladies. Gentlemen, the reports have not been exaggerated. I'm an expert in this field and let me tell you these are not ordinary crabs. To use a layman's term of reference these crabs are as big as sheep but their leader, whom I've dubbed "King Crab", well - he's as big as a cow!

(Gasps)

Robson, Examiner: What are the army doing about these so-called giant crabs?

Cliff: Let me be clear. The army has no defences against these crabs. Bullets don't stop them, they just piss them off!

Tindall, Gazette: What can we do about them then? Is humanity doomed?

Cliff: Let's nip these rumours in the bud! (some laughs)Gentlemen this is no laughing matter. What I propose to do is swim down and find the crab's base and destroy it with limpet mines.

Grisedale: Cliff! We haven't discussed this! That's one helluva responsibility.

Cliff: I'm not afraid of responsibility, even if it is a helluva responsibility. I'm an expert in this field General. It has to be me!

More dialogue from Night of the Crabs

...whether you want it or not. Cliff Davenport, salt and pepper marine-biologist and proud own of an aquiline nose, has turned up in Barmouth following the disappearance of his nephew Ian Wright in mysterious circumstances. He stays with Mrs Jones, a Welsh land-lady. (Or lland-llady):

Mrs Jones: Mr Davenport!

Cliff: Please Mrs Jones, you can call me Cliff.

Mrs Jones: And you must call me "Mum".

Cliff: Er...alright.

Mrs Jones: Usual room Cliff? I'm afraid you've caught me at my busy time.

Cliff: I'm not here to relax I'm afraid, Mum. I'm here on grim business. I'm trying to locate my nephew Ian and his girlfriend Julie. Though I know in my heart they're dead. I've a presentiment of doom. I dont know how, I just know: I know they're both date.

Mrs Jones: Oh dear. And I've got some other bad news for you...you'll have to share a dining table.

Cliff: Christ! With whom?

Mrs Jones: Pat Benson, a petite brunette fifteen years your junior. She has pert, firm breasts and is recently divorced from her husband, a rotter.

Cliff: I see...well I suppose if I must I must.

"Beneath the murky waters of the Irish sea something, something infinitely old and terrible, was stirring. Either a monstrous mutation or a creature thrown forward countless millenia by some sort of evolutionary sport; an evil genius now lurked in the briny depths. Waiting. Waiting for the dark. Waiting for the moon. Waiting for the night...of the crabs."

Water Works

More Night of the Crabs gubbins. This is from the start of the musical and features the following ripe introduction:

Julie: Look, there's Shell Island.They say the bathing is super there.
Ian: The bathing is better than here? It's the same water isn't it?
Julie: Ian! You know what I mean!
Ian: Seriously! Is the water wetter? Is it heated? Soothing bubbles?
Julie: It's less exposed...more private.
Ian: Oh...I see. Yes, well, okay then. You're right...there may be "busy bodies" about here. Busy spying on our naked bodies. With field-glasses.
Julie: Race you!
Ian: Oh ho! This could be sexy. Very sexy. That's why I love the seaside. It never fails..."

And the anaemic funk of "Water Works" begins...




Water Works

The smack of sea-salt in the air,
While the sun is gently beating us,
Off come slacks like inhibitions,
Goodbye London, hello lust,
That magic place where dirt meets water,
Middle England locks up its daughters,

If you're having a dry season,
Water works, water works,
And if the sea's not freezing,
Water works, water works,
The old lady and the sea,
Water works, water works,
Erotic possibilities,
Water works, water works


Driving down in my old two-seater,
My girl beside me, shot-gun style,
Hope she's got an itchy trigger finger,
Cause I've not had it in a while,
Her bikini and her small firm breasts,
Sun and sea will do the rest,

If you're having a dry season,
Water works, water works,
And if the sea's not freezing,
Water works, water works,
The old lady and the sea,
Water works, water works,
Erotic possibilities,
Water works, water works

Crab Attack

More from the wonderful and frightening world of Night of the Crabs by The Woods. Another song from the powerful grinding mandibles of King Crab himself. This is his war anthem: he's taking on the Welsh military in no uncertain terms here.

I should point out that the actual songs are available to listen to on The Woods Myspace page. So if you've been wondering what this exotic drivel actually sounds like you can hear practically the entirety of the musical in one foul swoop: http://www.myspace.com/nightofthecrabs

As you were.



Crab Attack,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
A sense of something truly rare,
That ozone heavy ocean breeze,
Pregnant with some fresh unease,
A challenge to the natural order,
A deep-sea army on your border,
Clicking claws and walking side-ways,
And I'd advise you to do like-wise,
Step away the fight's unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
And there's an army base over there,
Let's destroy it, prove we're best,
There'll be no more convincing test,
We're angry, ugly, bullet-proof,
Lend me your shell-like, here's the truth,
Your weapons aren't fit for purpose,
Against the denseness of my epidermis,
Step away the fight's unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

There's a nasty nip in the air,
And just admit that you're scared,
You've never met someone like me,
The biggest crab in history,
Though honestly there have been,
Giant crabs in pre-Cambrian seas,
But fossil-findings are all at sea,
And it's you that is history,
Step away the fights unfair,
There's a nasty nip in the air,

Crab attack, crab attack, watch my claw for the crab attack,

Go home humans,
You're just useless,
We will suck you,
Till you're juiceless,
We are hardened,
Here and ruthless,
You are squidgy,
Pink and toothless,

A King Considers...

This is my favourite of all of the songs in The Night of the Crabs
. It's King Crab's dark night of the soul, his moment of self-doubt on the eve of war. Unlike Guy N. Smith's original King Crab, ours is a diabolical, scheming genius, with a rich warm baritone not unlike my own (rather a lot of sibilance as befits an arthropod).

Dougs music is BRILLIANT: harpsichord, new-wave guitars and that superb slap-bass figure on the chorus. And, though I say it myself, the internal rhymes and misicality of the words puts this into a class of its own. This one's very good, I think.

See how you get on.

http://www.myspace.com/nightofthecrabs





A King Considers

Sitting here alone in my castle,
I parcel off all sense of doubt,
For life isn't just a rehersal,
And fortunes reversal must be stamped out,
Ruminating on the eternal,
I might start a journal, might start a blog,
Justifying my actions,
To my own satisfaction might be a slog,

But through it all that urgent whisper,
Still; quiet in my head, telling me that I'm bad,
A current ripples through the water,
A steady eddy of unease,
Bringing me to my knees,

Doubt's the King's disease,

It's lonely when you're clever,
I never get to have too much fun,
No one ever gets my jokes or laughs at all my puns,
Is that how I seek a connection?
Seend hawks when I could send doves,
In a game of tyrant top-trumps;
Fear Beats Love

But through it all that urgent whisper,
Still; quiet in my head, telling me that I'm bad,
A current ripples through the water,
A steady eddy of unease,
Bringing me to my knees,

Doubt's the King's disease,

Kill'em all, kill 'em all, kill 'em all sideways,

What can I do but fulminate,
Alone with all my thoughts,
How will history remember me? A Napoleon of sorts,
Again the voices start to sing out,
What right have you to kill,
The power of my own right arm,
The power of my will, renders the voices still.

Two Into One Will Go

The Wedding song from Night of The Crabs. I don't want to give too much of the plot away but the story does contain a wedding. It's toward the end. Dont read too much into that though. Theres all manner of plot twists. And giant crabs.



Two Into One Will Go

Do you take this man,
To have and hold and love and cherish,
Will you take his hand,
And keep on holding till you perish,
Do you take this girl,
In sickness, health or crab invasion,
Sweep her off the shelf,
And treat her nicely on occasion,
Weathring the storm,
In the oil-skins of affection,
Use constancy and tact,
And give up using contraception,
Travel broadens bellies,
So have a happy honeymoon,
Our presentation feature,
Is now listed "Coming Soon",

Proceed with caution down the aisle,
If you are an agorophile,

For two into one will go,
It's called marriage, don't you know,
There'll be fun-times,fooling around,
But now you share one bank-account,
For two into one will go,
You're a unit, you nit, you know,
No more living separate lives,
Now you're husbands, now you're wives,
Two into one WILL go,

I once had a dream,
And you and me, yes we, were in it,
We were lost in space,
The endless cosmos, infinite,
I was bobbing up there,
Rudderless, just like a hippy,
Till you took my arm,
And sloughed off all this entropy,
Taking baby steps,
On the outset of adventure,
Hope you're still with me,
At the onset of dementia,
I hope I won't be over cautious,
Hope I haven't made you nervous,

If infidelity is your thing,
Dont go swapping wedding rings,

For two into one will go,
It's called marriage, don't you know,
There'll be fun-times,fooling around,
But now you share one bank-account,
For two into one will go,
You're a unit, you nit, you know,
No more living separate lives,
Now you're husbands, now you're wives,
Two into one WILL go,

I Know In My Heart He's Dead

Another Woods song, once again from the fabulous, never before seen, musical review and chicken dinner, "Night of the Crabs: a Musical in Three Pincer Movements". This is a song for Pat, the female lead, waiting on the return of the hero Cliff Davenport to return from a crab-culling expedition. I sing this as it was very difficult to convince any women of our aquaintance to join in the spirit of the thing. Women aren't as silly as men, worse luck.

Here's the intro to Night of the Crabs.

"An inhuman mind was formulating plans drawn against us, plans to rule the world; puddle by puddle, pool by pool. An amphibious assault on God's clean earth was under construction. What's that clicking? That lateral scuttle into the shadows? The stench of salt and vinegar? Could it be ...THE NIGHT OF THE CRABS?"

I Know In My Heart He's Dead

While the sun dawns on a new day,
Still this shadow follows me,
Like the French Lieutenant's woman,
I'm still standing staring out to sea,
One single night of passion,
Match-light snatched from the abyss,
Incandescent in the moment,
A pin-prick in the emptiness,

A single nagging thought enter my head,
And I know in my heart he's dead,
Those simple words being left unsaid,
For I know in my heart he's dead,

He was just a man,
Only corduroy and bone,
But he had a nemesis,
To face on his own,
When others went running,
He stood his ground,
He had guile and cunning,
But now he's drowned,

chorus

Our very first date,
A pub called "Davey Jones' Locker",
Seems grimly ironic,
Now he's come a cropper,
Through his submarine death,
He'll be sadly missed,
But it's what he would have wanted,
As a marine-biologist,

Coda

He drifted off to sea,
Leaving no family,
I'd have married him willingly,
If he had just asked it of me,
Late at night standing on the groin,
Soaking wet and so alone,
It's true to say you cant go home,
With a heart as cold as stone,

I'd Rather be Drinking Than Thinking

This is the breakaway pop hit from the Night of the Crabs musical. It's sung by the drunken and ineffectual Colonel Goode, who pitches up in Barmouth in the aftermath of a wave of vicious and baffling crab attacks and does sod all. It comes with the this snatch of the libretto:

Goode: "Who the hell are you?" Cliff: "I'm Cliff Davenport, marine biologist and discoverer of the giant crabs. Who might you be? Colonel, is it?"Goode: Colonel Goode, if it's any business of yours. Now I understand you have a little crustacean problem? Why don't you run along and let my boys deal with it, like a good little civilian." Cliff:"With respect Colonel Goode you don't know what you're dealing with - these are no ordinary crabs." Goode:"Yes. I understand they're bigger. So maybe I'll invite you to the barbeque. There should be plenty to go round. Now why don't you run along?" Cliff:"Colonel, I must protest! I'm an expert in this field...I tell you these crabs are different..." Goode:"And I tell you these aren't the first crabs I've routed, as many an Algerian prostitute can well attest. Then again I was VERY drunk...story of my life I'm afraid..."

You get the idea. Douglas does an extraordinary job with the music here with the barrel-house piano and the marching feet. He's brilliant at putting sounds together...he should get paid for it. Not by me though.


I'd Rather Be Drinking Than Thinking



When I was a young shaver,
A scraper, a fella-me-lad,
I was a boffin, a brainbox,
Just like dear old dad,
Professor Goode's oldest boy,
Nose buried in a book,
But I had an epiphany,
With the first glass of beer I took,

I'd rather be drinking than thinking,
That's what they taught me at school,
I'd rather be drinking than thinking,
Dypsomania is the rule,
Though if you asked me to spell,
I'd call you a damnable fool,
I'd ather be drinking than thinking,
Cause being drunk is cool,

When I joined the army,
In the private's public bar,
An old timer, "Taffy" Tinsley,
Bought me my very first jar,
I gave a sniff suspiciously,
It was gassy as a broken oven,
I held my nose, I took a swig,
And polished off a dozen,

Chorus

That set me of on an Odyssey,
Though I don't have much Greek,
I kid you not, I had a tot,
Seven nights a week,
It's tough on the old bladder,
So I got the doctor in,
He said to me "Now Colonel,
This drinking is a sin,"
I thought "That's quite judgemental,
You hypocratic oaf,"
He looked at me quite sadly and said,
"Colonel, use your loaf,
Your bladder's fucked from drinking muck,
Your kidneys are a quiver,
And judging by your golden tan,
You've buggered up your liver!"
The words went in like tent pegs,
The prognosis looked quite grim,
I eyed the doctor warily, I thought,
"I won't go drinking with him,"

chorus

For boozing is my first love,
And it will be my last,
The bending of your elbow,
The falling on your arse,
Put Pernod in your cider,
It adds a touch of class,
Now which way to the pub son,
I'm on a 12 hour pass,
And mine's a balloon of brandy,
Seeing as how you've asked,

I know in my heart he's dead.

This is one of my favourite songs from our mooted "Night of the Crabs" musical, if not one of my favourite lyrics, though it certainly works in context. The band this was written for was The Woods , myself and Douglas Steel, and I think it's probably some of the best music I have ever produced. The key to that is of course actually enjoying the process. There were times I was bent double, tears streaming down my legs, during the recording of these songs.

As for the concept, well it's a musical based on Guy N. Smith's 1976 novel (novella really. if you take all the pictures of crabs out of it it's less than a hundred pages long!) and the libretto is fairly congruous with the text. There are one or two slight innovations: Smith only hints at an interior life for the villain, King Crab, whereas he gets the opening monologue and two songs in our musical. Also a number of minor characters get songs that are rather too good for their humble page time. I think in total we completed 12 songs for this before the project, as projects are want to do, petered out...

This song is a lament for a drowned lover. Pat, the heroine of the book, stares forlornly out to sea as Cliff, the romantic lead, last seen trying to locate the crab's subaqueous base, entirely fails to return home...

The comedian Robin Ince does something simillar based on Smith's book. But it's shit.


I know in my heart he’s dead

While the sun dawns on a new day,
Still this shadow follows me,
Like the French lieutenant’s woman,
I’m still standing, staring out to sea,
One single night of passion,
Match-light snatched from the abyss,
Incandescent in the moment,
A pin-prick in the emptiness,

A single, nagging thought enters my head
And I know in my heart he’s dead
Those simple words that were left unsaid
For I know in my heart he’s dead

He was just a man,
Only corduroy and bone,
But he had a nemesis,
To face on his own,
When the others went running,
He still stood his ground,
He had guile and cunning,
But now it looks as if he’s drowned,

Chorus


Our very first date was at,
A pub named “Davy Jones’ Locker”
It seems grimly ironic,
Now that he has come a cropper,
Through his submarine death,
He’ll be sadly missed but,
It’s what he would have wanted,
As a marine biologist

A single, nagging thought enters my head
And I know in my heart he’s dead
Those simple words that were left unsaid
For I know in my heart he’s dead




http://www.myspace.com/nightofthecrabs