*
Beauty, your colours
Wash the eye with paint and pain
In rainbow prisms
*
Beauty, your music
Astounds the ear to silence
In cadenced rhythm
*
Beauty, your raw touch
Stirs the flesh to birth and death
In passion driven
*
Beauty, your deep scent
Calls forth sudden memory
In flash unbidden
*
Beauty, your rich taste
Licks the tongue to wild delight
In manna given
*
Beauty, your glory
Ripples water, shatters stones
In revelation
*
by Gail
by Gail
(the bells of St.John the Baptist, Devizes, go Pete Tong)
Sunday, summer, church bells chiming
Ringing patterns, sounding light
Ancient forms of echo, rhyming
Complex rhythms, bounded, tight
Resounding voices throng the breeze
As tower captains keep in time
Wise bells with personalities
In sacred music, old, sublime
Last month the bells went out of sync
And changed the soundtrack of the town
No one heard but me, I think, but
‘Twas the Stranglers, “Golden Brown”
(dum, dum, di dumdumdum…)
by Gail
(A sonnet for Seth, the Bath busker who made me cry)
Beneath the Stall Street Colonnades he sings
Of Vincent and his starry, starry night
The echo of his bright resounding strings
Infusing scintillating rain dropped light
As weary shoppers rest and take a breath
His voice falls low and sweet upon the air
By painted shades of Vincent’s starry death
Drawn forth, an ancient sorrow hard to bear
Hot tears spring and mingle with the mist
And brim and well and fall upon the ground
In blues and greys, like Vincent’s canvas kissed
By grief and madness; blesséd joyful sound
Of one man’s voice, uplifting, sweet and strong
The grave of Vincent opened, with his song
by Gail
Naomi Rush on voice and guitar and Kera from Echoic on cajon
at The Fold at The Lamb Inn, Devizes on Friday night
by Gail
Review published in Wiltshire Gazette and Herald Thursday 18th June (unedited)
Those of us who ventured out in Devizes on a school night to The Corn Exchange couldn’t quite believe our luck. The evening kicked off with the heavy sound of 2 Sick Monkeys, Wiltshire punk royalty. Pete “We just want to make people happy” and Fred Monkey, a man of few words, from Swindon, are an in your face two piece who steamed through their set with No Brakes and cheerfully instructed us to leave the building in no uncertain terms.
Then on came The Ruts DC, in their second incarnation since 1977, when they burst on to the scene as The Ruts, on the front line of punk and protest, rocking against racism and railing against injustice with their unique combination of roots, punk, reggae and ska. The book of the band is titled Love In Vain, after the hypnotic lament released only months before the death of the charismatic Malcolm Owen to heroin in 1980. Many bridges are under water since those days, and one might have expected world weary cynicism from a band so haunted by loss, but we were to realise swiftly that The Ruts DC have spent the years evolving their magnificent sound to the point of perfection.
Segs Jennings played mesmeric bass and sang with poignant tone, Leigh Heggarty surprised with intelligent riffs and the genial Dave Ruffy on drums co-ordinated the trio with a twitch of an eyelash. They’d got us with SUS, we were Staring At The Rude Boys and reminded that there is always a Jah War somewhere. We were no longer In A Rut and our Babylons burned with exhilaration and joy. We marvelled at the glory of this band and wondered where the years had gone, we remembered songs we had forgotten we loved, we danced and shouted and generally rejoiced. One bloke was heard to say that to his shame he had been just too out of it to see them years ago but is beyond excited to see them now.
The Ruts DC are still fresh, polished and relevant. They still rehearse diligently, and it showed. They kept up the quality and pace for ninety minutes, leaving us delighted and wanting to follow them on the rest of their musical journey. On the way out after the gig a band member whispered “Thanks for keeping the faith.” On behalf of those of us who were there, the pleasure was all ours.
by Gail
Computing Rhythm – the Computers at The Corn Exchange
Scary Beatle rock
Style, venom and melody
Blue soul crashing sound
Computing rhythm
Turning tables, turning air
Too cool for old school
Riff of rebellion
Tidy, tight, provocative
Rattling of The Bin
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 