Hold Everything Dear

by The Mighty Avon Jnr.

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credits

released September 9, 2018

all songs Daragh McCarthy except*
recorded between 1999 and 2018 at Softsleeper, Westland,
Asylum, Buddahbug, Guerrilla Sound, Bow Lane
produced by Daragh McCarthy
recording, programming, mixing Liam Mulvaney
executive producer TIGERROC
mastered by Harvey Birrell
sleeve design: Daragh McCarthy & Peter Maybury
bandcamp layout + bc tech: deet @ alphabetameta.io

Arigato gozaimashita Hiroyuki-sama @ Terayama World
(www.terayamaworld.com) for poem on track Jibutsu No Fokuroa
(The Folklore of Things)

With thanks to irish civil defence for the use of illustrations
by David L. Murphy from Bás Beatha, 1965
Insert photo: Women of Greenham Common Peace Camp 1982–2000
Longstanding cully on the road: Peter (W) Maybury

Released on Vinyl and Digital download

P+© 2018 SSiPP RECORDS. all rights reserved

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Track Name: Rapture Me Now
Ichiban fanboy
The Valium is working
Willing to travel
Washed in the jet-stream
Left in the jet stream

A fragment of cloth
A teaser for redemption

Diana Scarwid your time is up

Ichiban fan boy
The Valium is working
Walter Brennan
I have my own sidekick

Rapture me now
Pass the Kool-Aid
Track Name: Steeplejack Field Holler
You were smarter than me
But you broke a heel
We were running for the bus
That levelled the field

They put mercury in the oranges
Poisoned the village pump
Breath live nerve gas

You wield the cosh
I’ll hold them up
You wear the trousers
I’ll be the mystic

We’ll out those fuckers baby
We’ll out those fuckers

You were harder than me
But you broke a heel
We were running in the street
That levelled the field

I don’t see your name in The Lives Of The Saints
But you do get a mention in the book of evidence
Here’s your mention in the book of evidence

You wield the cosh
I’ll hold them up
You wear the trousers
I’ll be the mystic

Out if eth corner of my eye
You were standing on the corner
I asked you
Is that cigar smoke or teargas?
You said, “What’s the difference?”
But I was looking or an answer
I was kind of looking for an answer

You wield the cosh
I’ll hold them up
You wear the trousers
I’ll be the mystic

Scratching around
Holding our balls
Waiting for conquering lions
Taking our turns on the edge of town
On your knees on the gravel ground

Wheels are spinning kicking up dust
Waiting or conquering lions

Relax my friend
It’s only wishful thinking

If I lost you I would write your name in the street

Wishing won’t make you a soldier
Track Name: Underground
Under my life.
Under the country.
Under the barley. Under the potatoes.
Under the churches. Under the lunatic asylums. Under the cow shit.

Under the wild primroses on the hedges.
Under the schools. Under Bridget's cloak.
Under the courts that stole our children.

Under the Chieftains and Druids who sliced our sons' nipples and stuck them face down in the iron-age bog.
Under Patrick's staff that pinned me to the bed where the doctor held me down and attached electrodes to my head.
Under the connivance of monks that took our stories and twisted them into their own.

Under the Vikings who plundered our treasures.

Under the betrayers, the snitches, the deal makers that welcomed our enemies to the shore.

Under the Normans pouring tar at us from their freezing green zone castles.
Under the flight of the Earls who left us to ourselves as if we stood on the edge of the cliffs waving them off, poor miserable peasants that we were.
Come back, oh nobility, come back and fuck us again.

Under Cromwell who scoured the land of us and banished us to stony windy wet mountains where even the sheep lost their footing and plunged into the sea.
Under the Brits who beat our language out of us. Under the landlords who put us on the soft side of the road …..

Under the world where the fairies are.
Where limbo babies' tiny skeletons still cage their earth struck souls
Under the tangled roots of imported trees.
Under machines that stripped the bogs bare.
Under the world where the fairies are.
Under the music that squeaked out of the boxes, the air that rushes from flutes.
The bang of the drum.

Under the low lying ever thickening clouds.
Under the blight.
Under the boats shipping corn to England.
Under the deck of the coffin ships.
Under the people of 1916 - Children of the starved who crawled out of the west.

Under Padraig Pearse's gammy eye and bad poetry.
Under the stone yard in Kilmainham, where they tied the wounded James Connolly to a chair and shot him.
Under the Black and Tans.

Under the constant grey - sky.

Under failed negotiations of poor leadership. Under each other now.
Under the Blue Shirts. Under Beal na mBlath.
Under Arch Bishop McQuaid rasping in De Valera's ear in the back of the state car as they made plans for us.

Under the poets who ordered us to open the door without giving us the key.

Under the Sacred Heart offering us his inedible organ pressed with thorns.

Under the singers who made us shiver but would not warm us.
Under the endless decades of the rosary.
Under the museums that hid the Sheela-na -gigs.

Under the pricks of self-loathing men who stuck it into us and condemned us as dirty with their juice.

Under the Virgin Mary who will one day show no mercy to that child in Granard.
She is the one and only,
the Holy and Immaculate Virgin that renders all our mothers whores.


Under the cassocks of the bishops and cardinals and the popes with their useless cocks like ticking metronomes marking out time until the chickens come home to roost.

Under Ben Bulben.
Under the endless verses of rebel songs.
Under the drink.
The poteen that could turn you raw blind, the Guinness that blackens your shit, the uisce beatha that bursts your liver ...

Under the fierce watch of bad nuns who ate their sandwiches and drank their lemonade as the starved children in their care collected turf for their parlors.
Under the solicitors, the guards, the school principals, the doctors, the bank managers,
the decent people of Ireland who you need to sign for your passport.

Under the thud and hum of the laundries.
Under the heaps of banned books from exiled scribblers.
Under the shoeless bloody feet of slave children in the obscene care of the church and state – Uncounted. Lives, like melted snow off a ditch…

Under fairy forts in Meath, the hag stones in Beara, the disappeared Georgian buildings.

Under the UVF, the IRA, the RUC, the INLA, the SAS.
Under the bombs, the assassinations, the murders, the kneecappings, the man who was shot dead outside his house last night.

Under the toll roads that they built to slice through the Neolithic they refused to understand.

Under the tribunals, the confessions, the recessions, the depressions.
The brown bags of money under the tables. Under the triple chins of the dazed fat creatures who sold us to the IMF and went creeping off with huge pensions …



Under the heroin, the flats, the dirty canals, the coke come-downs, the cathedral-like shopping centres, the developers, the bankers, the crap-ugly buildings standing empty, the blank spaces in the sprawling housing estates built on floodplains.

The Great - ONGAR.

The un-signposted roundabouts.
Which way now? Which way now?

WHICH WAY NOW?

Under your shriveled breast, oh hag, that I sucked and sucked. But it was too late to come to you for nourishment so dried out were you with our neglect.

And when you cried out in pain it was only black crows that squeezed out of your tear ducts and flew at me as I lay in your embrace.
And all of these crows plucked chunks out of me, until I was taken off inside the black noise of that flock in small separate pieces and squawkingly digested and shat out onto the forest floor, and eaten by insects.
Under the canopy of trees, when the insects died and dried up, the soil of this land took me for what it could suck out of me which wasn't much by then,
was it,
oh Ireland ?

I was going underground.

Emer Martin * from the novel Affection of a Hag
Track Name: Wedding Chair
This night will not bring a dawn
She bares her teeth and smiles
All those blood red country lines
Remind us of unspoken wrongs

Drifting from town to town
Wedding chairs popcorn stand
Theses are just some small details
Waiting to be arranged

Smoke on the hillside
We can’t read the signs
Draws and repels
Catches the wind
Cold cars ghost malls
The white line stretches for miles
Dust of our past in the aisles

Drifting from town to town
Wedding chairs popcorn stand
Theses are just some small details
Waiting to be arranged

How can we tell the season
Always moving toward the sun?

Dust of the past in our eyes
Ghost of our past in the aisles
Track Name: Jibutsu No Fokuroa
ORIGINAL POEM BY SHUJI TERAYAMA
recited by Sheena Fitzsimons


Jibutsu no fōkuroa

Ippon no ki ni mo

(The sole tree)


Nagarete iru chi ga aru

(Has the stream of blood)

Ki no nakade wa chi wa tatta mama nemutte iru 


(Within the tree, blood sleeps standing upright) 


Don'na tori datte
Sōzō-ryoku yori takaku tobu koto wa dekinai darou

(No bird could fly higher than imagination) 


Sekai ga nemuru to

(When the world sleeps) 


Kotoba ga me o samasu

(Language wakes up)

Ōtori no kuru hi kame no mizu ga nigoru

(On the day of the big bird's coming, water becomes muddy )


Ōtori no kuru hi shomotsu ga toji rareru

(On the day of the big bird's coming, they close the books)

Ōtori no kuru hi mada kijutsu sa rete inai rekishi ga tachiagaru

(On the day of the big bird's coming, the history as yet undescribed rises) 


Ōtori no kuru hi nanoru koto wa busō suru kotoda

(On the day of the big bird's coming, they attach train cars) 


Ōtori no kuru hi kōfuku wa kojin-tekidaga

(On the day of the big bird's coming, happiness will be personal)


fukō wa shibashiba shakai-tekina nodatta

(and unhappiness will have been social)

Senhappyakukyujugonenrokugatsu
No aru hareta hi ni
Ni jū ichi-sai no gakusei Gurierumo Marukoni ga

(On a fine day of June 1895 A 21-year-old student 
Guglielmo Marconi)

Chichioya no bessō no niwa de hajimete sōshin shita
Musen no mōrusu shingō ga
Tattaima todoita

(In the garden of his father's cottage Sent a radio Morse code for the first time Just now, it arrived to me)

Koko e kuru made ni dore dake ōku no
Shinda sekai o kugurinukete kita kotodarou

(How many dead worlds had it passed through before it arrived here)

Musen denshin no rekishi no subete ni henshin o utou to shite
Shōnen wa futo kanashimini kurete shimatta

(I wanted to reply immediately to the history of wireless telegraphy, 

A young boy suddenly overwhelmed by grief )

Kaku koto wa kaigo sokudode shika nakatta

(Writing was nothing but speed)


Musen denshin no rekishi no subete ni henshin o utou to shite
Shōnen wa futo kanashimini kurete shimatta

(I wanted to reply immediately to the history of wireless telegraphy, 

A young boy suddenly overwhelmed by grief )

Kaku koto wa kaigo sokudode shika nakatta

(Writing was nothing but speed) 


Oinuka reta mono dake ga kami no ue ni sonzai shita

(Only what had been outstripped existed on the paper )

Yomu koto wa kaigo de shika nakatta

(Reading was nothing but regret and misunderstanding) 


Ōkoku wa madamada tōi noda

(The kingdom is still so far away)

Kyō no sekai wa engeki ni yotte saigen dekiru ka
Kyō no engeki wa sekai ni yotte saigen dekiru ka
Kyō no saigen wa sekai ni yotte engeki dekiru ka

(Could it be possible to reproduce today's world by theater 

Could it be possible to reproduce today's theater by the world 

Could it be possible to do theater today's reproduction by the world)

`Sō sō chūgakusei no koro, kōen de tokage no ko o hirotte kita koto ga atta. 


("Well, when I was in junior high, I found a baby lizard in the park.)

Kokakōra no bin ni irete sodatete itara dandan ōkiku natte de rarenaku na~tsu chimatta.

(I bred it in a coke bottle and finally it grew up so big that it couldn't get out of the bottle.)

Kokakōra no bin no naka no tokage, kokakōra no bin No naka no tokage

(A lizard in a coke bottle, a lizard in a coke bottle)

omae nya bin o watte detekuru-ryoku nanka aru mai

(I bet you don't have power to break the bottle and get out of it)

Nihon mondai ni ~yaosarabada

(Say good-bye to the problems Japan has)

rekishi nante shosen wa sakushi-ka sa reta sekai ni suginai noda!

(History is, after all, nothing but the world made of lyrics!) 


Urande mo urande mo urami tari nai noda yo, sokoku to iu Kotoba yo!

(The word homeland, how deep we hate you, we won't be satisfied!) 



Ōtori no kuru hi kame no mizu ga nigoru
Ōtori no kuru hi shomotsu ga toji rareru
Ōtori no kuru hi mada kijutsu sa rete inai rekishi ga tachiagaru

Ōtori no kuru hi nanoru koto wa busō suru kotoda
Ōtori no kuru hi kōfuku wa kojin-tekidaga
[See above]


`Daijigen wa ni-do arawareru' to Marukusu wa itta

('Great historic fact occurs twice,' remarked Marx) 


ichi-dome wa higeki to shite, ni-bame wa kigeki to shiteda!

(The first time as tragedy, the second as farce!) 


Daga shinsō wa kōda!

(But the truth is here!) 


Ichido me wa jiken to shite, ni-dome wa gengo to shite,da!

(The first time as an incident, the second as language!)

Buryumēru no jū hachi-nichi wa gengoda!

(The Eighteenth Brumaire is language!) 


Rengōsekigun mo gengoda!

(The United Red Army is language!) 


Soshite ore jishin no shi datte gengo-ka sa rete shimau no o kobamu koto ga dekinai noda yo!

(I can't even refuse my death transformed into language!) 



Ā, kigeki! '

(O theatre)


Mada ichido mo tsukura reta koto no nai kokka o mezasu

(To aim for the nation that has never been built before) 


Mada ichido mo sōzō sa reta koto no nai buki o motsu

(To hold the weapon that has never been imagined before) 


Mada ichido mo hanasa reta koto no nai gengo de senryaku suru

(To plot our strategy by the language that has never been spoken before)

Mada ichido mo kijutsu sa reta koto no nai rekishi to deau

(To encounter the history that has never been described before) 


Tatoe
Yakusoku no basho de deau tame no saigo no hashi ga yakeochita to shite mo

(Even if The last bridge to the promised meeting place was burnt down)

Tatoe
Yakusoku no basho de deau tame no saigo no hashi ga yakeochita to shite mo

(Even if The last bridge to the promised meeting place was burnt down)
Track Name: Cobra, Dear Heart
HICIMOS HISTORIA PERO NUNCA NOTICIAS

LA GOTA

ELLSO VIVEN
LOS AMAS

SIN SABER NADA

Exploding heart
Hungry belly
Wakes the night and steal our sleep
Who can tell that without darkness
Nothing ever comes to birth?

Exploding heart
Hungry belly
Wakes the night and steal our sleep

You don’t know what to name it
If/when you look deep in its eyes
It’s not our place to point it out
Or lay on hands

Hold everything dear

Dancing on the spine of the hoochie-coochie war machine

Cobra and the Mongoose spinning in the gyre
I’ve listened again and it’s still there

Ghosts within ghosts

I’ve listened again and it’s still there

Ellos viven

Machines all silent
Machines all hum

I promise to come while the world’s still turning

A palha a palha que arrio ou camelo
Track Name: We Made History But It Never Made The News
My old man looked like Glen Ford
Or was it John Ford
Maybe it was John Glen

At any rate I know I’ve started wrong
Let me begin again

The boys with their pack
And bold glassy eyes
Shoulder to shoulder
A step on a land between east and west

An axe on tarmac is not your style

They say our heels have wings
They hold us in their palm

Their grip is loose
My eyes are rheumy
Our gait is stooped
All fools are holy

And though they say our heels have wings
They hold us in their palm

Rosetta take our hand
Nina pass the glass