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Gallows Man

by Ian Evans

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Sack Trick remind me Tate Modern with Nick (and the laugh of Sarah Cawood) “Mummer,” reminds me of the Lytchett Science trip (and Steve Jones’ gene language lecture) Bennett remind me of walks to the Joiner’s Arms (You couldn’t get every CD in my native town) The Trail of Dead make me feel sad Sky Magazine reminds me of Wish by the Cure (and school coffees) It seemed racy (and then Blur briefly made me popular) Hengisbury Head Cheval de Freese remind me of the Arts Café The Spitz and Pavement Dad’s Dorchester Fete and Icen Way “Murder Park” recalls Denise and Super Buys (and my third year hedgehog study) Mab make me think of the Cargo Club with Edd (and little jam jars of saki) Focus remind me of Dad’s spotted LP (and Salad of Xmas TV) Emma Pollock makes me think of Claire and me (where we both cried at each other) H.M.H.B. remind me of Wimbourne (stressed at Biogenesis) Induction fees remind me of Hernandez Bros cartoons Thomas Dolby reminds me of Airwaves and the forced quelling of romance The Divine Comedy of woodlice and Kew promenade with friends T.M.B.G.’s “No!” album reminds me of Launch Pad and of family gigging Louise Brown’s knees of singing the Monsoon Bassoon on my bike Wax and Hourglass remind me of the coach trip in ’87 Headmaster toys, Scelidosaurus/Mum in Huddesfield Now Scarlet’s Walk reminds me of the final kiss with Ariana Magic Malik reminds me of Foyle’s Jazz Bar with Karen Cabin Fever reminds me of a nice letter from their bassist Rolo Tomassi remind me of sadness at the Old Blue Last Vivian Stanshall reminds me of lying awake in Stoke Newington Oxes make me think of my first awkward week in London
Bamforth 02:12
It’s a relatively new occurrence, used in 70’s demonstrations Perhaps American at first (I do love them) Across the crease at Lords came Michael Angelo (a Navy cook) Leapfrogging stumps, whilst Ken Bailey might assist constables It’s what their helmets are for If you want to join the band you have to bathe in Lake Minnetonka Erica Rowe is my fave, whilst on This Morning’s map came Mark Roberts Chris McGlade wanted to make amends to a girl he’d caused offence And to save the Redcar Baths (he sadly failed) His deed did send a friend on the holiday of a lifetime… It’s more fun than the football and rarely leads to gaol Geordie Glyn Reade was a naked civil servant He ran along the Queen’s journey (she was professional in not smirking) I love the art of Simon Gane and Bill Pressing (I am professional in not smirking)
I want a creature that only breathes for non-romance, so we can fight Never will my sword sleep in my hand - but who can I fight in real life? Girls look much better than paintings, so stop painting Down with Mrs. Thatch Her hips are a lyre… Quay Brothers, thelema, numbers whizzing past At the Bistromatic - me and my mate with heartbreak beards History is taught to us as islands, but science and art are both life’s facts Cowgirls were Victorian Tube rides would have been taken by saucy Jack Everything is the same subject She would think that you don’t have things in common (if she fancied you she would) Jonathan Barnes’ Somnambulist There’s a statue to a brave, Park Lane insect Escoffier’s scoffing, Russian menu That’s a bad miss My first is in gallows, my second is in man My fourth is augmented and we’ll always make plans My third is a warm beer on Red Nose Day (you must take breakfast at my club) Wilkins’ and Sandwich’s card sharp battles April fools’ jokes, 666 As he attempted to raise Satan, Wilkes released the ape at him Betty and the Werewolves, Euston Archway, Fox and Firkin, Lewisham On Challenge Anneka, I’ll fight for kindness to the death. And I’ll win! I want a creature that only fights for non-romance, to take its head I want a guest ale, scampi fries, a good woman and crusty bread Julie Collins on the Dansette - Devil’s numbers whirring past Not Ice-nined oceans, Threads, Helvellyn and the World’s End deaths Home from Mildred’s restaurant, my friend’s rolling tobacco plate Subjects are taught in islands, but science and art are equal facts Dating is more important (so it might be time to grow up) Everything is the same subject She would think that you have big things in common… She fancies you not me Green Noah, Demon Tree Richard Francis Burton sees… Escoffier’s scoffing, Russian menu That’s a bad miss… One day, I’ll tell the story of how I met your Mum I’d bore her at the Hornniman Museum or something But I never had to pretend, when I was with the right one… I just want to snuggle up now I’m not cut out for wooing; I’m cut out for being a nice boyfriend and committing Come out of the shadows beast, so you can face me Multiply all primes and add one One of the stars we kissed under, might be the Earth’s sun My first is in gallows, my second is in man My fourth is augmented and we’ll always make plans My all is in life and love and hope God’s gift to Oxygen
Boxing Day 05:00
Guardian Special Brandy in Pollock’s Toy Museum bag of presents Viz enrazzlement Hamworthy home My first Hohner guitar (I always try to write one Xmas song upon it) Last year I was a child (Reading all my old Select mags and doing press ups) And now on Boxing day… My best friend Edd and I, like kids on Poole Quay The Antelope where his Dad stayed for his Plessey’s interview And in the cold, we were called divs The day after, I’m grumpy that I’ve missed… Jason and the Argonauts on TV (I’m sorry company) I’m 12 years old (encircling) and I am now trapped in a memory And now in Swanage, I mostly think of her and ignore those who do care I’m so grumpy… At this point my Grandma has got two more months left We always have toasted tea cakes in the Beaver Cafe Post my mortgage forms to George Ide The Mowlam… And now on Dave TV, it’s the 10,000 Fingers of Dr. T. Steam train heaves to the sea I’d love to hear all about their first meeting after D Day But I behave like a lovelorn fool Shooting Stars And I’m back in bedsit land for New Year I’m feeling lonely I love them so much (on the long trek from Waterloo, on the scruffy number 12 bus) Grampa rode back from Weymouth to his Bourneville home, because she was all he wanted Carillon… I should know more of this I should pull my unmatched socks up Edd’s album and “Big Behind” song (His family all liked Stevie Wonder) Remember grand folks and our Mums (His Hammond organ and Guy Fawkes’ Day bombs) We made our Boxing Day plays (His Mum’s exciting Jamaican stuff) BBC Micros and Maplin’s toys (This Xmas I’m trying out a beard) On Boxing Day… Somewhere over the sea I love you
Miss Lemon 04:37
I fell in love with a girl who I couldn’t have Or so I thought (I never told her) and so… I did my best to find another Briefly at Christmas I’d said… but she plays her cards so close to her chest and she didn’t quite believe me I don’t think she’d had such feelings Four or five times I wrote out an e-mail, to break through our friendship She thought it was passing But I really did… She’d said that she might leave London or want to go traveling So the signs weren’t there… Or was I just making excuses for cowardice? The amount that you love someone never relates to the amount that you’re loved back… How much you have in common never relates to whether it’s attractive or noticed Her friend’s band needed some bass, so I learnt their songs I thought that we could have nights out helping them… But they weren’t that good or close really Watching Stardust was more hard (Such well realised scenes) I couldn’t wait to talk about them with her… But I had ended up there with another Now we’re at Cumberland Lodge (where we spoke for the second time last year) I didn’t know if we’d ever speak… But she was sharing a dorm with Cathy. How lucky was that? So we got to speak This year I’m dressed as an alga for her research talk I’m wearing it stood at the party…. We’ve got G and T’s and I’m very nervous, because she really is that sweet I guess it’s like Stardust and that Sienna Miller’s character and caring
Smorrebrod 04:39
Manuka honey, Kobe and truffle mandolins Prunier, gentleman’s relish, quince from Fortnam’s and tansy poisoning Barkham Blue and Fairley Wallop Bloody Mary Oysters I do not like green eggs and ham I never have enjoyed Banting Marmite and Weetabix in Edwardian England Asterix and the feast Kedgeree, Max Tunra’s soup, Banana Bread beer and pork scratchings Butterfield diet, Pie Minister… IHOP’s not a pharaoh It,s Philip de Rothchild my love Baked Bree and Scottish tablet fudge … And if it’s 4:20, we’ll have Rox martinis We’ll have everything I can’t eat! Fluffernutters, bull-shots, Makers Mark, pickles in Co-Ops The Camberwell Flying Fish! I have no guilty pleasures - every pleasure is always guilt free All natural lemon and lime flavours My Granddad’s tricks with an after Eight Mint Lex says, “He lies like a hairy egg” Rock and chips with a spine track Geales in Notting Hill or the Castle Climbing chippy on Green Lanes HP Sauce, Larks’ tongues in aspic, Salt n’ Sos, Crepe Suzettes “McCallan for ladies, Laphroig for Men, everyone on Talisker by 10 past 10” You always eat the best banana (as Graham Garden would advise ya’) Or else you’re only making untrue savings Mum’s shouldn’t show that they take the smallest portions I love Sarastro’s avocados… Like a ripe fruit lusting for the knife I’d eat you like a land shark Now it’s triple-decker sponge cakes chaps Disaronno, Gorgonzola and pickles Geales (or that great one that’s near to Poole Quay) You’d go well with a warm fire and sweet pud
Watch 04:28
I’m not so sure that casual sex exists I think in the long term and I can’t see us with grand kids But we had fun and she likes Nick Drake and beers So I reminded, “I’d rather we didn’t, if it will hurt you” Because we’re friends it was really good… I like it as affection for friends or a true love But true love is rare and new friends they can not be hurt So I tend to leave it, or just talk them down. It would be nice to have someone around Until I get the real one… But no one should put one in that position She made me watch a dreadful teen movie But her enthusiasm for it was appealing Now I feel sad that we’ve made such a fake parody of what love’s like Maybe it’s better to only sleep with pretty people that you hate Or just get out more quickly Sarah advised Rumours or Tusk (They get you through and they had it worse than we both do) And so do the off beats of Necrophagist, which cheer me up when I need an unromantic mood She said that my options should stay open (as there’s little chance of it working out with the real one) Six months before, Frullis with Em seemed like a plan But she said, “I only showed the film so that you’d stay longer” I get the, “pair bonding hormone,” thing (so even although we’re not close, it’s still sad to part us…) It’s not as if I get an offer each day And I probably am the kind of guy who deserves to say yes
William Hope Hodgson had warned me of a woman Menaced by rats aboard a sinking ship So that night we set out, to find her anywhere After the terror of the water tank William had once chained up Houdini And the pair of them both weathered good punches Moskowitz had said that he’d be the friend to help to save her But the clock was ticking We teamed up with Jemima Shore A plucky young girl, who could solve a black and bloody business Now the Thames TV logo showed a scene of night… We knew the game was afoot Big D was come, through the evening sun As we made our journey…. Red Sails in the sunset We had last met in a Moscow shed Where his feline servant nearly took my head This time his niece, as a Cockatrice Fought me through foam, wherever we did roam I could now hear the girl that we believed was near As I battled the fiend Jem and I saw her, with no food left over I took her wrist, as we started the ship William ran away to the Navy Now I need advice with my own haunted mirror If you steel yourself, to ride your bike down a steep hill You’ll win applause and ales Nigel Kneale, he was scornful of radio men Then a rocket hit a home in suburbia After creating such a good metaphor for himself He was kind not to say, ”I told you so”
E.M.S. 04:33
Deliah Derbishire on the green lamp Small specks of mint snuff Bow ties, fine art (building Malcom’s blue sound) Building a Buggati from parts Zinoviev is writing a libretto for Birtwistle’s thing Cockerell built my Small Stone and Akai… he can build anything Oh in Putney studios Hanging out in ‘69 I wish I was moving pegs there on a plug board Everyone needs Synthi time… I’m tuning a Wurlitzer, with a small blob of solder Tristram is a radar engineer “Fag ash in the peg board holes,” noted Limb Dryly Howell’s psychedelic LP’s Blue veils and sand (Yule tide goose Noel) Fish paste and tea (Crumpets with Paddy Kingsland) To the galaxy… hitch hike in a flying shed Isnaj Dui, alcohol depression and SG’s The oxide likes to detatch itself from the backing tapes Unless you use an oven to bake it back on, it falls off in clumps This Wilf Lunn inventiveness will surely save you cash… 135 degrees for up to 2 hours, like the Valley of Death At the Albert with Lex, after the War Rooms, we always have pistaccios They have PM photo walls and a former Division Bell One afternoon we saw a drunk girl’s hair fire on the candle Kiss his hand and mend his socks, he’s feeling sad as he sits and sags A fish has not got ten fins. He has a fat leg and a hot hand One afternoon we helped a drunk girl
On Guiness’s Day the Churchill gave out oysters And they do taste ok CAMRA’s phrase, “Lager Boy,” was making us laugh Now Chock a Bloke is checking back to life I couldn’t go on but I did do “Burying a girl’s life,” the French say… If I ran all of the way home from Shunt (at night) I’d get a rush of happiness They kissed, so I pretend she doesn’t exist now And punched a Tooley Street escarpment She’d said that we were best friends and could confide And I do wish them all the best In time, I found other things to do with my life Life isn’t too tasty for me lager boys It’s all done by kindness This song was once called, “I want his job” Harrod’s music shop has had an orange sparkle bass in stock for years (I’ll east some oysters there, one birthday) John Byrne’s art was in my head as I walked past that Fleet Street shop I finally bought that Lysechenko postcard For a while my love prevented me from seeing a lovely group of friends And then the real ones stayed The Jugged Hare, the Albert, the Seven Stars, the Bree Louise, the Churchill, the Cheshire Cheese I saw the biggest love spoon I can no longer check the internet at work, but I can fit in minutes at lunch time Jogging is a rush of happiness
"Looking back to my journals, I see that it was an unusually cold morning in the November of 1892. I'd recently returned from a case in Jamaica, and was unaccustomed to the bitter chill of the Old Brompton Road. Kind readers will recall that horrific case of the mechanical skull - owned by the pirate Higgins of ill fame. As usual I had become engaged by mistake, to a young friend of my aunt Yvette, and that had left me with something of a reputation for cheekiness on the island. Under strict instructions to extricate me without causing offence, my maid had a dickens of a time forging papers and convincing the swooning beau of my unsuitability as a fiancé. As she explained, the Sultan of Morocco had himself offered 12 camels for me, but had then fainted in disgust at my unladylike lack of a corset. As I approached the Museum, I was taken by a considerable desire for a pork pie with some mustard, and a pint of Guinness. In a moment I'd crept into a café and secreted myself at a table, my head full of the mystery that had been presented to me. The curator of the Knightsbridge Crime Museum had for many years been in possession of a kissing couch, said to have once born the weight of the murderer Paul Johnston. When the aforementioned had appeared at my office, I took the liberty of viewing him by clandestine periscope as he approached my doorknocker. Never have I seen a client in a more pitiable state of temper... I am a slight lady and, although skilled in Eastern wrestling, I cunningly hid my father's swordstick behind my back. I was fully prepared to offer the assailant a chance to taste my fists, but my surprise was great when I discovered that this brutish and dishevelled oaf was the curator of such public service. It was he who paid for my council, and I confess to wondering as to the cause of his horror, as I munched my pie. The Crime Museum is within walking distance of a corner shop, so I was pleased to feel the comfort of a chocolate bar in my be-mittened hand, as I viewed the evidence. As the curator recounted, the sinister couch had been seized from Johnston's grasp as he attempted to engage its lethal arms. True to its masters nature, I was unsurprised to find that all the mechanical apparatus for the disposal of a human form were concealed beneath the Arabic cushion of the second seat. As I tested one of the steam-powered arms with a mitten, I shuddered at the thought of the merciless springs and greased blades within. The mechanism struck me as the mouth and arms of a giant squid (over which it would be unwise to rest oneself) and the wooden chest beneath contained a pile of socks - all that was left of the unfortunate museum staff who had been drawn in. After dinner, my client regained his famous impression of nobility and I was pleased to see his horror averted. I was blessed with a fine payment and a choice of any item from the museum, as payment for my daring do. I'm afraid I had become very grumpy whilst wrestling the machine, and had complained bitterly at being lodged upside down for so long, my gallant companion holding my ankles. I still blush at the thought of my own language as I lost my hat, and I sat through dinner smudged with mascara and with my hair quite like a birds nest. As payment I chose a new hat."
A large world of wonders, in one closet shut What other professor than nature is met? John Hunter’s collection The Evelyn tables Moved to South Ken from the Barber surgeons Every tool has two ends working - One on the man and one on the specimen Ga coffins in Ghana Expaptation Ellis Inhalor Chris Curry versus Clive Sinclair, at the Baron of Beef Bairstow was too perfectionist to publish Stuck in a diving suit, he walked up Knightsbridge to seek help Polite and moustached Filing string too small to use Peter Purves survived a fall into the stripping tank when drunk Led the Tetrapod Club to the Goat pub Peter Whitehead was full of fish bile, but seduced each and every girl Breakfast from beyond Oxford, in first class Took his brother to court for the Lordship and wrote a satire on the corporate masters Discovered a lost Mozart score Disappeared to die in Mexico with a beautiful girl Heron Alan the violin maker and flowery novelist Persian linguist Keeper of the cursed, baleful amethyst Alan Hart’s cast of the Koh-i-Noor Never throw a thing away Digging the guru of the bones out of Lincoln’s Inn fray Towers of NHM are the furthust reaches of Gormenghast You could go mad Lankester Man on the Clapham omnibus Gavin de Beers - fleeing burning breakfasts, as they say A collapse of stout party, recorded by Richard Fortey Denis Tucker was fired for Nessie Anagram ploy I was into Touchstone and Magenta a lot (although they are cheesy) Ha ha thisaway, ha ha thataway,ha ha thisaway, my oh my!
Chop Party 05:36
We’d meant to go there for years (since he’d been dating Cathy) PhD, Wetherspoons, bees… We woke up at 4:30 Smithfields Bus, from outside Katie’s kebabs Nathan Barleys… to the Butcher’s Cock pub (LOL) Took Lomus of the brill Port Authority sign And the white halls where Wallace was killed Andre Cabanban and Hubert and Kerascoet It’s not as massive a plate (Got your biggest plate Alan?) Salty Toms, Devilled kidneys, James Burke, I’m not unhappy We don’t meet that often, so what to do to hold the morning? Neither of us will say… I wish I’d suggested the Cartoon Museum Maccari’s and Rabelais If I buy that ukulele, I can give Claire my other one I’d like to buy that Black Dossier novel (but it’s already on Amazon) I’m tired now And oh if I could (and I could?) sleep now that the birds are singing Oh to Zavvi… There were so few record shops in London I bought Peep Show DVD’s And I’m not sure, I could laze and doze off and see them I didn’t know that Isy from Soul Mates had got in it “Pukklepop or Lowlands?” we thought Wolfson House was my home, from my first London days to 2009, when Laura Flynn corporatised And I knew no one… Next to the Magic Circle is the Galton collection, Edd’s Corona wins and Hannah Oh if I could (and I could?) be loyal to things that are loyal :- * Fox Fest (Saturday all days, with ale) life can’t be better… * Hindley, the Arndales, Local Girls, the idea of Lewis Taylor * Jess’s Beehive and Woodlarks at the Queen Boadacea * Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club and the Muffins, make me not unhappy * Square Pie with gravy and beans * Banger Brothers’ crispy shallots * Legendary Felix’s Laura Marling pocket watch * Nathan Persad’s set at the Church gig was where I next kissed Liz Significant end to this album (Hoy Hoopflex! Hopeful Chop Party!) * At bookclub with Magnus Mills, at the Cork and Bottle * Lex always advises on wines (at the Camberwell Castle with her, I can be happy) John Hannah Edelstein might think that I think unusually Iga Wyrwal might not Tim and Sam’s band loop pedal manly
I walked two miles through heavy snow Only to get from Oval Station home Bed sitting room, Brunchettas, onion and pepper Practicing open D My stolen bag, whilst watching the Postcards Things that you’re attached to can go any day Oh good lesson, that’s a good lesson! I will never turn away a stray Reading too much of Luke Haines’ book Bob’s Sainsbury’s whisky Nowhere I can cook Lex’s room is over the corridor She designed her own silver inner eye make up The Great Collapse and R. Stevie Moore Christian Vander waging magic war I can’t wash or sleep My books block the door If I watch Mulligan and O’Hare I’ll relax… Helen Duncan the blitz witch on UK Conquest I should record these, but the writing is the fun part Moving to this flat… I made a totally great friend Our laundry trips to the Crown Pub The Spar in the garage Two trips for more Gallo Jess the cat stayed for one Saturday Severence and Day of the Triffids Summer Heights High If You See God Tell Him DVD Alesha Dixon on the dancing A mouldy shower to the Wellcome Collection Then the Euston Head of Steam pub I’m reading about Laura Solon and Al Hirshfeld’s Nina My spoon is too big The Bevis Frond Xmas show at the lovely Luminaire Tim and I with heartbreak beards Lilywhites went from a Wooster or Jerome Idyll to a pound shop I don’t like sports and prefer cheaper options – it’s just the fucking ugliness The sandy chines and the Miramar hotel, on their diamond anniversary Oh he loved her so much. He loved her so much Moving to this flat I made a totally great friend Playing strip Morning Crescent with K. Jenkins Frenzied inspiration of mephitic inhaler I’ll always keep smiling, I will go down swinging


This is an album of all the music I wrote between 2007 and 2009. I was interested in folk songs at the time (and also had a big unrequited love for a friend) so I thought an organic, bedsit folk album would be the way to go.

I got a bit obsessed with leaving in background noise and anything natural, so you can hear my TV playing, friends voices and my fingers on the guitar strings. A lo-fi recording style suited these songs better than it might do some others. It has a lot of acoustic, oddly-tuned guitar, put through heavy distortion too! Distorted acoustic guitar is something rare and lovely (or horrible in an emotive way and therefore lovely!)

The download comes with complete pdf artwork and a booklet of the lyrics and references.

This album is free, but donations always help. Cheers, Ian E x


released May 12, 2010

Everything by Ian Evans, except the narration on Quite Like a Bird's Nest by the wonderful Vic. Many thanks to Vic for doing it


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Ian Evans UK

Pop/experimental/rock musician and songwriter from London

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