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Jet Black And White

by Russell Joslin

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1.
Make a note of his interference, ‘cos the devil, he told me to hold you. I don’t think too much alone these days my dear, Id rather ramble on the rooftops, underneath this blistered moon… painting pictures of the day I met your soul mate: He said ‘You can have her for a pot of gold but it’s a chance you take’. And he said ‘I know what I’ve got, but I know what I’m not, so if you think that you can love her like a saint, then take your best shot. ‘Cos she’s worth more than dreams and country lanes, take her on and try and love her if you’re feeling brave. ‘Cos she’s worth more than dreams and country lanes'. He said ‘That can be arranged but she cannot be changed, if you want someone you can paint over, then go and find a pretty Miss plain. She’s gonna wanna take you up onto the rooftops and peer through the windows onto people who have committed no crime. ‘Cos she’s worth more than dreams and country lanes. And when you think you’ve messed it up and given her the worst night of her life she’ll turn around and say ‘I love you’ 3 times. And that will be it, the spell will be made, you’ll be entranced by her forever, for you now it’s just too late. And when her soul mate comes around you will have to fight to the death for the life you didn’t even realise you’d found. ‘Cos she’s worth more than dreams and country lanes. And that country lane is warm with scent of lavender, and her hair will make you dream of the sounds that come out of her. The wind may start to blow and there will be crossroads where she’ll take you by the hand and lead you down to the devils lane. And its there that her spell will drag you out of hell and you’ll enjoy every second, and never look over your shoulder. ‘Cos she’s worth more than dreams and country lanes.’
2.
Red Rag 02:38
I found you in Spain, crying with pain, wet from the rain, completely insane - I’ll try to help you. Send me to your cynics, put me under your lights, I wont dodge their bullets or duck out of fights – I’ll stand here like a target. And I’ll be the Red Rag to your bull. I saw you up West with a badge on your chest, like ‘I belong to him, he lets my heart sing’ but your heart ain’t singin’. Its perfect and new, battered and bruised, another fake smile, another excuse. And I’ll be the Red Rag to your bull. And you think I can’t take it but I think that’s a shame ‘cos I’ve learnt to enjoy how they play this game – so place your bets. Its walls and ceilings, pains and feelings, another door closes, it’s so revealing. Oh lend me your powers for a couple of hours, lets see what they’ll do for a bunch of flowers. And I’ll be the Red Rag to your bull. Oh I’ll be the page that’s better left un-turned, from the book that’s better off doused in oil and burned. And I’ll be the peg that never quite fits in the hole that was made by them for it – for you. Call me a man who’s wasting his time - a peasant, an idiot, committing your crimes – a fool. And I’ll be the Red Rag to your bull.
3.
Liar's Blues 04:38
If you’re leavin’, go ahead and walk away, I never even wanted you to stay. If you think I’ve got the blues, you’re confused. Well I can hear people sing ‘Baby don’t go, I’ll lay down and die, slit my wrists if you go’. But that don’t apply to you – I’d love it if you left me alone. You’re a thorn in my side, a blister on my finger when I’m playin’ my guitar, imitating other singers. Won’t you leave me alone? Pack up your bags and go. And roll down your windows, let the motherfucker roll. Don’t let it be red or green or blue that tells you when to go. Well a wiser man than me – a wiser man than I could ever be, he was sittin’ there on the teevee, sayin’ ‘The blues is the truth’. Well I could barely see; my black and white teevee was so bruised and crackly. He started to sing, I knew the blues weren’t the truth. So roll down your windows, let the motherfucker roll. Don’t let it be red or green or blue that tells you when to go. So if you’re preachin’, go ahead and talk away, ain’t gonna listen to a word you say. If you think I love the blues, don’t delude. If you think I’m playin’ blues you’re confused.
4.
These shoes are not meant for a man like you. These shoes are gonna make everybody hate you. You need an audience and a national stage, a speakerphone, possibly a parade. But you’re never gonna get it; you’ll always be reviled – despicable entertainment and sordid smiles. You can keep on talking; no-one will ever care. You’ve got sentences and words, so lay them bare. These shoes are gonna make everybody hate you. You need minutes of tranquillity, pools that glisten, a hand to hold, and ear that will listen. But you’re never gonna get it; you’ll always be reviled – despicable entertainment and sordid smiles. You can keep on talking; no-one will ever care. You’ve got sentences and words, so lay them bare. ‘Oh there is a special patron on this bandit bus of yours – forlorn and damned, what you say? You left him in a drawer. He never wanted anything but respect that is due to a man who signed upon the line and went to war for you. Dressed in the garb of pre-educated man, carrying the load of the subject that you damn. There is a human being riding on your trip today. Care you to even turn around, hear what he has to say? Eat your zippy fast food and pollute your tiny brains with the celebrity of no-one and the humour of his pain. Bells for this, bells for that, ‘oh look’ its time to eat again, man ain’t you getting fat?!’
5.
Another year, reflections get longer, walls get stronger. But you and me can’t lose what we’ve found, and soon we won’t be able to look around. Its me and you. Oh ‘cos now you wanna creep to the one you think you wanna be with and compete with. Its me and you. Now I can’t escape, my body migrates. This leash around my throat is tied along a broken boat. Now I can’t escape, my body migrates to the place I wanna be, But this trip will be the death of me. And it could’ve been, this trip could’ve gone and not drenched me in sin. But as it is I’m driftwood returned with gouges and burns - for you. ‘Cos now I can’ escape, my body migrates. This leash around my throat is tied along a drifting boat. Now I can’t escape, my body migrates to the place I wanna be, But this trip will be the death of me.
6.
Pale Mary 07:30
7.
Great Things 02:00
Sweet cyder is a great thing, A great thing to me, Spinning down to Weymouth town By Ridgway thirstily, And maid and mistress summoning Who tend the hostelry: O cyder is a great thing, A great thing to me! The dance it is a great thing, A great thing to me, With candles lit and partners fit For night-long revelry; And going home when day-dawning Peeps pale upon the lea: O dancing is a great thing, A great thing to me! Love is, yea, a great thing, A great thing to me, When, having drawn across the lawn In darkness silently, A figure flits like one a-wing Out from the nearest tree: O love is, yes, a great thing, A great thing to me! Will these be always great things, Great things to me? . . . Let it befall that One will call, "Soul, I have need of thee": What then? Joy-jaunts, impassioned flings, Love, and its ecstasy, Will always have been great things, Great things to me!
8.
If I go to you will I lose a piece of myself, never to be found again? If sex is a chore and you are a whore then I cannot be your friend. ‘Cos you pays out your money, you loses your voice, for you can never judge again. Or is that said, a remark of the brain-dead? And are you a bigger man than I am? All it took was a book from a man with a pen and opinions on how life should be, And all was forgot and the best looking spot on your body was staring at me. Oh the worlds oldest confession is the one that we make to our wives: the terrible phrase that; ‘we spent our days in the bosom of a destroyed life’. ‘Cos you pays out your money, you loses your voice, for you can never judge again. Or is that said, a remark of the brain-dead? And are you a bigger man than I am? Oh the worlds oldest confession is the one that is never made.
9.
Well I don’t feel like saving anything today, And it pains me to the core to say: That I’ll be locking myself away. Everybody else can show their face, I’ll be hiding away in my safest place, Sinking in and losing pace. And you’ll be out riding on waves of your bravery. You’ll be out wailing and scaling those mountains that I see out my window. I’m only alive if you say so And this journey got a way to go, So strap to my back the things I need, ‘Cos I’ll leave this house before I concede. I’ll travel down to your nearest sea And find what’s waiting there for me. Give in, return gracefully. And you’ll be out riding on waves of your bravery. You’ll be out wailing and scaling those mountains that I see out my window.
10.
David 06:21
In this putrid little city where David lives and David will die, David has looked one too many people in the eye. The only thing he cares about bleeds once a month and doesn’t die – blonde hair and blue eyes. Everybody’s on a journey, its just David started early, he a foreboder, bad luck owner, good luck proner. He’s a wannabe drunk and a try-to-be stoner. And this day, this week, this month David feels like the next person he will see could be his best friend or his enemy. And that? That’s the way it goes, it’s the only way he knows ‘cos he’d never trust any one of us. He goes to see an ‘angel’ for an hour at a time; she’s the only one who can satisfy his mind. He never tells his sweetheart, he cares more for her than for the stars that shine/the hands of time. He sits there and he tells her about his hopes and dreams, how he wishes he could punish all the queers and thieves – Davids only real crime is honesty. The Angel sits and listens with a lump in her throat, she knows that David could be great but he won’t – he’s too eaten up with the pain of this world and she really wishes she could’ve been his girl. She would’ve set her self straight, taken him away to all the places where he could forget about all the hate. And this day, this week, this month David feels like the next person he will see could be his best friend or his enemy. And that? That’s the way it goes, it’s the only way he knows ‘cos he’d never trust any one of us. David’s got this road that he likes to walk down, on the edge of town where even the landlords frown. On one side of the road is a little row of houses where he lies in wait to put in the final bid. On the other side of the road is a river of the purest black, where he could end it all if he felt like that. Underneath this bridge at the end of the lane is a place where David can go and go insane for a little while – write over other peoples graffiti and see what happens for a little while. And one day he’ll tell his sweetheart all of his secrets, take her to his places, show here the faces that get a reaction – that don’t make him feel so pale and unobserved like hers. She’ll smile and say in rhyme that she knew all the time, she’s been watching from afar, falling in love with the way things are, and Davids little reportage. She’ll say ‘I love you now, more than I ever did you fucked up little twister, now give me your kids’. This day, this week, this month David feels like the next person he will see could be his best friend or his enemy. And that? That’s the way it goes, it’s the only way he knows ‘cos he’d never trust any one of us.
11.
Fevered from the breeze on the lane, I called out for more. Fearing that I was insane, she opened the door. She said ‘There are so many roads through this forest, why’d you have to go and pick mine? I haven’t seen anybody for oh such a very long time’. She said ‘The love that is made in the cities is disgraceful and in-divine, The things I could show you within here would place you in a different mind. But there are so many years ‘neath my belt now and my motives I fear are unkind. There are so many hearts on the market, why’d you have to go and pick mine? You’ve been tapping on keys for pleasure, drinking gallons of poison for pain. And Oh if I could only befriend you, I’d leave you cleansed, renewed and changed. But I haven’t felt anybody, in oh such a very long time. There are so many minds to indulge you, why’d you have to go and pick mine?’ So the love that we made was half-empty and subdued like a 21 year old king. When things broke down there was nothing else to do, we’d just sip berry nectar and sing. And she remains to this day my bluest field of lavender. So for week upon week I stayed with her, learning everything I’d ever need to know About the birds and the bees and the breakdown of modern life and everything we know. She said ‘There are so many things that approach us, I could tell you but you’d be terrified. There are so many species to save now, why’d you have to try and save mine?’ She seemed to have enough love for men like me, but never quite enough for she. I really really wanted to save her soul, stay with her for the next eternity. And Oh if I could find my way back there, that future would surely be mine. There are so many lives that she could’ve started, why’d she have to go and start mine? So I stumble through this town with my daggers drawn and my eyes set to ‘Leave me alone’, dreaming of the girl who took me in – the only human I’ve ever known. And she remains to this day my bluest field of lavender.

credits

released January 3, 2010

Recorded and produced by Russell Joslin in the kitchen of 2+2 studios, Dalston.
Mixed by Russell Joslin.
Some additional recording/production done at Supine Studios, Dalston.
Mastered by Hippy at Metropolis Studios, Chiswick.

Drums on The Worlds Oldest Confession, Pale Mary and My Bluest Field of Lavender by Jacob Wheeler.
Viola/Strings on My Bluest Field of Lavender by Holly Dawson
All other sounds made and instruments played by Russell Joslin.

All songs written by Russell Joslin except Great Things – written by Thomas Hardy/composed by Russell Joslin

Artwork by Russell Joslin - containing photos by Gary Keenan, Debbie Lorraine Jackson and Russell Joslin.

all content, musical and otherwise © 2009 Russell Joslin

Thankyou to America for the stories and for sucking me in and spitting me out a little bit different.

Special thankyous to Esther O’Leary, Dan Nation, Jake Wheeler, Carl 2bob and the fox crew, Will Sadowski and Gary Keenan the photographers, Holly Dawson, my family. The special person who put up the money for this album. Mark Schubert, Meah Jo for Portland, Rob Nightingale for New York, Rob Rorison, Luce O’Driscoll, Hippy, Tom Robinson, Kate Weston x ……anyone I’ve missed and anyone who takes the time to listen.

www.russelljoslinmusic.co.uk

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