Rays in the Garden is a short, pastoral instrumental, conveying the mood of blissfully roving gentle hills, on ancient tracks, as the summer’s day dawns.
My grandfather’s family on my mother’s side hailed from Cumnor, Oxfordshire. Mostly they seem to have been agricultural workers. Many reaching a good age, but dying on poor relief, or in the workhouse. I’ve found records online going back 300 years to 1720, the year Bonnie Prince Charlie was born. I like to think Rays in the Garden draws on the influence of this genealogy – a halcyon morn spent traversing field, lovers laid in a glade, dilly dallying in the gloaming.
During the recording of Rays in the Garden, The Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek passed away, so the title is a nod to him.
The song features just three instruments. Acoustic and electric guitars, and a vintage Lorenzo organ that features heavily on the Waking Up in Eden LP, of which Rays in the Garden is the 11th track.
Though busy with melody there’s still lots of space in the tune.
I have little knowledge or need of music theory, being fundamentally a self-taught, feel player, but I’ll have a go. Andante moderato, the ditty rises, glissando, in the key of E with mixolydian triads and descends, arpeggioed, with tetrachords in A major. I’m happy for anyone to dispute this.
A song inspired by counterculture revolutionaries. Days of Sunshine and Rage contemplates peaceful and militant struggles for social justice.
It was around 2008. I’d been watching a documentary on The Weather Underground and reading about Fred Hampton and the revolutionary edges of the 60’s counterculture. I felt an overwhelming sadness about the whole thing. The brutality and racism of the establishment, the desperation of youth confronted with being drafted into the horrors of the Vietnam War, the young lives lost or ruined, the colossal never-ending struggle to wrestle power from psychopathic, inhumane leaders.
John Jacobs (l) and Terry Robbins (r) at the Days of Rage, Chicago, October 1969. Photo: David Fenton / ITVS. THE WEATHER UNDERGROUND by Sam Green and Bill SiegelFred Hampton at a Stop the Trial of the Chicago 7 protest, 1969.
Days of Sunshine and Rage along with Mockingbird were the first songs I’d demoed for around ten years. Studies, work, running my own business, and parenting had consumed me. I’d kinda gone straight.
Yet, there’s no escaping the muse – if you want to be at all happy. My songwriting instinct is core to my world view. Music-making is what I do intuitively, it’s powerful mojo – light as a bee’s wing and dark as a jaguar’s shadow. I must have drinketh deeply of the sound sense as a kid, its bliss, an aural elixir to counter the mundane, like a grassy, glistening pathway for a bare foot wanderer to reach a higher place. From an early age, probably around four years old, maybe from previous lives, music was the truest thing about existence. Music expanded my mind – church music, rock, punk, ska, soul, jazz & blues, dub & reggae, folk & country, experimental, classical, electronic, hip hop, drum ‘n’ bass, house music, and a hoard of other musics played in a multitude of spaces and an endless number of ways. All the best and worst times punctuated with music.
As a devotee of The Byrds, C,S,N & Y, and all that West Coast country-psychedelia of the 60s, a highlight of publishing this song in 2015, was that founding Byrd and counterculture icon David Crosby commented positively about it on Twitter. Momentarily, the cats whiskers of the internet lit up like a rainbow. I can’t find the screenshot. I’ll keep an eye out.
Update
A few thoughts on the song…
Days of Sunshine and Rage is the fifth track on The Suns of Albert’s psychedelic trip – ‘Waking Up in Eden‘ (which is worth a listen, if you have an hour to spare and a chaise longue).
This song begins with a dark, destabilising soundscape, which represents a descent into the trip, a spooky space, penumbral, between the rushing dream and the ordinary world we find ourselves in. It ends with the passion of a Fred Hampton speech. Folky acoustic, and sparkly electric, finger-picked chords emerge from this, sucked into the aural plane, like a tuned radio station. It has a Laurel Canyon vibe about it. We all play and sing great. The bass is fabulous. Everyone cooks on a six-stringed guitar. I even get to blaw, blaw, sook on a harmonica for the instrumental. I almost like my voice.
When we released Waking Up In Eden (the LP that this song is on), maybe a year or so later, The British Library Sound Archive got in touch and asked if we’d like to archive it. So, we sent the files and they published them via their online catalogue. It felt like our soul-endeavours had been recognised, in a folk sense, that an Alan Lomax hologram from 2323 would discover its wonders. Sooner would be fine.
Anyways, the BLSA got hijacked by malicious bots and now most of their content has been taken down. I presume they don’t have the funds to republish it. C’est bummer. They have an email address, so maybe I’ll try and noise them up. Gently…
Update
I emailed them and they got back super promptly. You can’t listen online presently but the catalogue is live again, we’re still in it, and you can fill out a form for a free in-person listening appointment at the British Library. I like this digital/analogue solution. It’s old school. Libraries are delightful, magical places to visit. Long may they survive the tedium of Industry 4.0.
If you’d like to know how Days of Sunshine and Rage is played and what the words say…
Chords: Open G, Open F | C, Am, A | G, Bm, C, Am, A (When I say Open, I mean a wonky barre chord played over five strings with the thumb on the bass note, and the 1st string unbarred so it rings out like a drone)
Lyrics
Radiating sunshine Or organising rage Either one attractive In this degenerate age
Synchronising heartbeats To lighten someone’s load Marching with a message To carry it down the road
What is the message we transmit? Are we just children, trying to fit…in?
Johnny was a wild one Struggling with his heart ’til that explosion Blew his soul apart
Another dreamer left alone Until his ashes found a home
Instrumental
Syncopated footsteps Dance up to the door Truncheoned into apathy But forever making scores
One day their empire will be sand But in the meantime, hold my hand
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third is the absurd tale of an entitled young man who sees the truth of things after imbibing magic mushrooms during a game of golf.
As far as I can remember (with a memory like a polka dot shirt), the idea was to do a toytown-esque E.P, which became the extraordinary release “Gypsy Brae” (one person even commented on it). For non-Burgers, Gypsy Brae is a grassy hill, along the promenade from Silverknowes to Granton, where there was a well kent fare in north Embra every year. To go to it, felt a lot like being at the fare that Ringo works at in the Michael Apted film – Stardust. I’m not sure if Gypsy Brae fare still happens.
My songwriting contribution to the Gypsy Brae E.P., Eric Wheelbarrow III, is a dive into 60s-inspired pop-art. It’s recorded in mono, uses treble heavy guitars, old Italian organs, free-bass, seagulls, close harmonies, and even a baroque psychedelic motif!
The lyrics are insightful, a tad bolshie, but poetically playful too. Much of the song was written on the loo – bright acoustics, comfy seat, liberating. It came together very quickly, ah hem, apart from the introduction and instrumental. In those bits, I’m trying to de-construct and rebuild the A chord on the guitar, to loosen it up, to get free. I do this on Rays In The Garden as well, going up the fretboard in an open E and down in an expansive elementary A. There’s something magical about working out melodic patterns like this. Once you’ve unlocked the path, you’re bending and suspending time, your fingers bubbling away with their own unique energy. It’s aural voodoo. Boogie is like that – John Lee Hooker, a master. This song isn’t boogie though, it’s Kinksy, PsyPop Kink.
A little more background.
Ronnie, an old friend now passed, bless him, whilst merrily pissed outside The Guildford Arms, grunted,
“Aye, Eric Wheelbarrow the Third!”.
I can’t remember what we were talking about. I’m sure someone said Eric Wheelbarrow the Third is a character from an Irn Bru advert of yore. It’s beyond my ken, but the name stuck.
The internet/AI/mess knows owt about it, other than spewing out idiotic machine-code answers.
That makes it a hidden gem, pregnant with possibility.
Ultimately, The Suns of Albert are earthy, electric folksters, out there on the cusp of things, planting musical wildflowers, in the cracks of the city.
Over to Picasso – Computers are useless, they only give you answers.
The Old Guitarist – Pablo Picasso (late 1903–early 1904)
Fore!
Chords: A, G, D, G, A, F, C, D, G, A, F, C, E, Esus
Lyrics
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Emotionally green Socks and sweater lemon curd
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Son of the nouveau riche A microfiche absurd
Daddy’s a merchant His seed good stock Down the club He shows off everything he’s got Must be professional A handshake firm, but Best be careful what you yearn – for(e)
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Mind of a schoolboy Pornographic connoisseur Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Hoists the legion’s eagle Loves the regal Old Bird
At the 19th He braves the dare Swallows Mother Nature’s Mirrored silverware Deep in his bunker A holy One Score infinite As he drives – into the sun
Instrumental
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Soaring like an albatross On Calvados – my word
Eric Wheelbarrow the Third Happy in the out-of-bounds Now found beyond the herd.
A sorrowful contemplation on the pursuit and arc of love.
Randolph Cliff is a corner block of flats overlooking the Water of Leith on the western edge of Edinburgh’s New Town. If you peer over the heightened parapet of the Dean Bridge there’s a sitting statue of a troubled-looking sailor staring up at you from one of the gardens. I took this as inspiration for the track. I read somewhere that he and another 160 people committed suicide, jumping from the bridge. That’s why they heightened it and put spikes on top, in the 1800s.
The song mentions a few other places around Edinburgh – St Bernard’s Well on the Water of Leith, St Margaret’s Loch in Holyrood Park, and The Citadel in Leith. Landscapes I’d been in love in.
The recording is really quite beautiful. The guitars play to one another, there’s no bass, and just a single bass drum beat, that switches to the off-beat on the choruses. Lots of space. Lace-like strings appear from the ether, as do a koto, and a sombre ukulele in the closing few bars. Occasional finger bells resonate higher frequencies at start, middle and end.
Listen to Randolph Cliff above
For the main vocal we patched the mic through the effects unit of an old portable studio. It transformed the feel, akin to pressing a sound-like John Lennon’s vocal mix button.
I seem to have pulled my soul out of the depths for this vocal. I was deeply in love when I wrote it, and channelling 80s Hall and Oates in parts. For once it feels authentic.
Underneath, Steve talks a breathy, bassy drone which adds more intensity to it.
Considering our DIY set-up, I think we really bagged this one.
The finger-picked chords are C⁶, Fmaj⁷, B♭, Dm⁷, G, Am.
Lyrics
Oh Randolph Cliff Perched upon the edge of town Prince of the abyss, below
Oh Randolph, Randolph The river flows beneath the bridge No matter where you are it is Forever changing A mirror and a thousand million songs
She drank from St Bernard’s Well A potion profound Hand in hand ’round St Margaret’s Loch He thought he was found
Oh Randolph Cliff Contemplating separation Cutting himself adrift, again
Randolph Will you ever reach the shore Heed the word for more than Just a day or two?
In a garden ‘neath The Citadel Their love grew in the sun Midst the dark of a New Year’s Day The weight was a tonne
The universe is nested In fingertips That touch the earth, the air The sunlight in her hair
She drank from St Bernard’s Well A potion profound Hand in hand ’round St Margaret’s Loch He thought he had found her
I’d been listening to Woody Guthrie on a loop, beguiled by his troubadour cowboy lifestyle, popular songs with socialist themes, and conspicuous anti-fascist stance. Who would have thought he’d be so relevant again.
Talkin’ Woody Guthrie Blues is my attempt at emulating Woody’s guitar technique.
The lyrics are vignettes, glimpses of sensitivities, situations, retrospections from early teenage wilderness and awakening, through family dysfunction, travelling revelations and tragedies to acceptance and awareness of things as they are.
The recording was made, perhaps 12 or 13 years after writing it. I was adamant that it should be recorded live, to have an authentic folky mood about it. So, apart from the sparse backing vocals it’s just me with my old beat-up, cheap Westfield acoustic, singing and playing the song through SM58s at mouth and soundhole. It probably took four or five goes before getting adequate levels. To make the guitar sound brighter I used a plectrum, but usually finger pick it. I could play it better but that’s not really the point.
The chords and finger-picking are C, F, C, G, C.
Lyrics
We jumped into the river Beyond the secret pool The crumbling bridge above us And the waters sparkling jewels I was drowning Whilst screaming like a mute But when I came up for air You were gone I can’t dispute
I’m lying on my bed In the depth of Wintertime And all that once was shining Is coated in grime Oh lies and death True as the burning sun Less easy to forget When all’s been said and all is done
An old man reads my palm In a shack up in the mountain My head’s in a rain-soaked cloud His wisdom like the fountain I don’t know who I am I can’t see the way I’m going But just now I’m sitting here For tomorrow, there’s no knowing
Jimmy’s leaning out the window Now he’s lying on the rails His life will never be the same And mine will seem so frail But the little man Whose smile engulfs the world Kept my head above the water And in a shell, put a pearl
There is no meaning to this song The journey’s what it is I want to get back home again There’s the bus I’m going to miss Oh beautiful eyes And hands to heal the pain Walk me through the long valley Show me love that never wains
