Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Stretcher them in for Surgeon Tim
Stack 'em high lest they should die
Before he lets scalpel fly
Freshly wiped with a tear from his eye
From shell-shocked boys to mangled men
He'll try & hack them back to health again
I've seen him do it with my own eyes
Well, the one that he left, a pleasant surprise
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
So scrub them clean for Poor Surgeon Tim
Rinse off the filth then whisper a hymn
For those poor souls who go under his knife
Are almost certain to lose their young life
Judge not the swig of ether from the tin
When no one's around cos he's all out of gin
Don't judge a man who's lot is so grim
That he goes by the name of Poor Surgeon Tim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
I once heard a sapper whose tag named him Joe
Cry for his mother before they sent him below
Despatched with benevolence by Poor Surgeon Tim
Who knew the boy's chances were far less than slim
As the mask went over his face
I mouthed a silent prayer for the lost human race
And then as Poor Tim threw open the valve
I cried for a world that no peace could salve
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very, very, very, very, very........grim.
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Stretcher them in for Surgeon Tim
Stack 'em high lest they should die
Before he lets scalpel fly
Freshly wiped with a tear from his eye
From shell-shocked boys to mangled men
He'll try & hack them back to health again
I've seen him do it with my own eyes
Well, the one that he left, a pleasant surprise
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
So scrub them clean for Poor Surgeon Tim
Rinse off the filth then whisper a hymn
For those poor souls who go under his knife
Are almost certain to lose their young life
Judge not the swig of ether from the tin
When no one's around cos he's all out of gin
Don't judge a man who's lot is so grim
That he goes by the name of Poor Surgeon Tim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
I once heard a sapper whose tag named him Joe
Cry for his mother before they sent him below
Despatched with benevolence by Poor Surgeon Tim
Who knew the boy's chances were far less than slim
As the mask went over his face
I mouthed a silent prayer for the lost human race
And then as Poor Tim threw open the valve
I cried for a world that no peace could salve
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor, poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very grim
Poor Surgeon Tim
His lot is very, very, very, very, very........grim.
envoyé par Dq82 - 5/12/2018 - 15:46
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The Fall and Rise of Edgar Bourchier And the Horrors of War
La premessa è sufficiente a sgomberare il campo da ogni dubbio circa la levatura artistica di un musicista che, nonostante le notevoli prove d’autore fornite anche con la sua carriera solistica, è riuscito a rimanere, suo malgrado, sempre un po’ fuori dal circuito mainstream, in un’aura di marginalità nobile e per certi versi salvifica, che gli ha consentito di fare scelte creative talvolta ardite. Ne è la riprova questo suo ultimo, temerario lavoro, scritto a quattro mani con lo scrittore Christopher Richard Barker, per il quale ha musicato e interpretato le testimonianze immaginarie di un personaggio romanzato, il poeta di trincea Edgar Bourchier, che racconta in un variegato registro narrativo le efferatezze e le brutalità sul campo di battaglia della Prima Guerra Mondiale.
The Fall and Rise of Edgar Bourchier And the Horrors of War esce in occasione del centenario dell’Armistizio, e contiene in sé uno storytelling dall’approccio onnicomprensivo, che raccoglie frammenti multiformi di memorie immaginate, in cui entrano in gioco la paura, la giovinezza, la rabbia, la nostalgia, il senso d’inutilità. Dal punto di vista compositivo, è interessante constatare l’ambiziosa carrellata dei generi attraversati: dal folk tradizionale, che richiama un tempo perduto evocando strumenti antichi come le fisarmoniche, oltre all’inevitabile corredo di piani e chitarre acustiche (Pounding for Peace, The Poetic Clown), al post punk in pieno stile Birthday Party (Poor Por Surgeon Tim, The Expressionist #2, Corpse 564), sino alla dark wave vera e propria, con i sussurri di I Am The Messenger o The Lost Bastard Son of War, il cui riff pare emulare dichiaratamente She’s Lost Control dei Joy Division. Interessante anche l’esperimento di The Expressionist #1, dove una marcia militare e i cori che la scandiscono, sembrano voler diventare un ritmo punk.
In questo riuscito progetto atemporale, in cui sia la storia narrata che gli stili musicali richiamano il passato con un chiaro e costante riferimento al presente e una sapiente lettura contemporanea, troviamo il condensato di quello che dovrebbe essere un disco autoriale: una buona storia e un credibile incedere narrativo. Il messaggio è chiaro in tutto il suo ineluttabile pathos, eppure l’atmosfera in cui quel messaggio aleggia non appare mai enfatica e greve. Rischiava di essere un lavoro pretenzioso, è riuscito a non esserlo.
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