Requiem

Richard's ironical hymn about nuclear weapons, old men and cowboys posing as gods.

The only song where I used a flanger box on the fiddle - the idea behind the arrangement was to make it sound technical and alien. This was really too big a project for 4 track recording. We wanted it to end the record, so we had to place it on the innermost track on the LP - but didn't anticipate the resulting hiss and sharp treble. I've used hours to clear up the sound and think the present audio file sounds better than the original LP. This song deserves it! Song text below...

Text and music by Richard Burgess.

Lead song, guitar: Richard Burgess. Violin, synth: Øyvind Rauset, bass: Roald Thomesen, Drums: Pål Søvik, Choir: Richard, Marit Jordbræk.

Recorded 1992 on a 4-track Teac reeltape recorder.

Sound producer: Roald Thomesen.

MP3 file: 2.5 MB, 160 Kb/s VBR (encoded with iTunes/Lame).

Oyvind Rauset "13 Impossible Dances" CD cover

Cover painting by Øyvind Rauset

About sound quality: The whole LP was recorded on a 4-track Teac, so when recording more tracks, the first four would have to be mixed down in stereo to another machine before recording the next two, and so on. This made it almost impossible to do a good final mix.

Requiem
by Richard Burgess

It was a bright blue August day, not a cloud was in the sky
The shops had drawn their awnings down and the clothes hung out to dry.
And no-one heard the distant sound of a falling object, sleek and round
That seconds later hit the ground - and left Hiroshima dying.

Now who are we, poor mortal men, to ask the gods of favours?
Their wisdom hidden from our sight, their justice never wavers.
Deep in their bunkers underground they weigh our fortunes by the pound.
They deal and bargain town for town and sell us by the nation.

I've seen their thunderbolts in rows, like angels knelt in prayer.
Like arrows drawn on well-bent bows they wait to cleave the air.
And when you hear their final thud there'll be no tears, there be no blood,
No Noah's Ark to ride this flood: This war will soon be over.

We'll build a boat and we'll sail away on the river of Amnesia.
We'll choose our leaders, pay pur way, enjoy our anaestesia.
Forget the past, forget the doubt, and what the shouting's all about,
forget that time is running out, the waterfall approaching.

So let us sing a Requiem for those that died that morning.
Let's sing an epitaph for those who did not heed the warning:
"Whilst medalled generals counted odds, old men and cowboys posed as gods,
They shot us down with their iron rods, one bright blue cloudless morning".


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If you don't see the navigation menu on the left, click to get the full site: Rauset.no