Ian's
fourth solo album is now released. All
Music Guide® raves "...Anderson's knack for writing simple,
yet endearing, melodies is evident...an extremely satisfying album: 4-stars."
Sample some of the music, review the lyrics, and Ian's comments on each tune.
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Track Lyrics and Commentary
1 Calliandra Shade (The Cappuccino Song)
2 Rupi’s Dance
3 Lost In Crowds
4 A Raft Of Penguins
5 A Week Of Moments
6 A Hand Of Thumbs
7 Eurology
8 Old Black Cat
9 Photo Shop
10 Pigeon Flying Over Berlin Zoo
11 Griminelli’s Lament
12 Not Ralitsa Vassileva
13 Two Short Planks
Plus bonus track from The Jethro Tull Christmas Album:
14 Birthday Card At Christmas
Track Comments and Lyrics
Calliandra Shade (The Cappuccino Song)
Ian Anderson Vocals, bamboo flute, guitars, accordion,
percussion, bass guitar
James Duncan Drums
Café society is as old as the hills. Starbucks and its imitators
are the coffee face of the new man in a hurry. Throughout the Old World,
the laid-back, knowing residents of towns and villages suspend time in
the post-luncheon long moment. Oh, well – the coffee’s only
ever as good as the water it is made with. And the froth on top is the
frilly knicker on a cheap tart’s bum.
Funny old cup o’ tea, coffee……
lyrics
I sit in judgement on the market square.
I have my favourite table and I have my chair.
Natives are friendly and the sun flies high.
All kinds of crazy waiters – they go drifting by.
Come, sit with me and take decaf designer coffee.
Come, laugh and listen as the ragamuffin children play.
Lame dog and a black cat, now, they shuffle in the shadows.
You got cappuccino lip on a short skirt day.
Hours last forever in the Calliandra shade.
Conversation going nowhere and yet, everywhere.
Kick off those sad shoes and let the bare toes tingle.
Slip off the shoulder strap: loosen the thick black hair.
Electric afternoon and shrill cellphones are mating.
Lame dog is dreaming, dreaming of a better life
where bed is fluffy pillows, table scraps are filet mignon
flicked indiscretely by the lazy waiter’s knife.
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Rupi’s Dance
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
David Goodier Stand-up bass
The sight of a dark-haired, sexy and alluring young female swaying and
swishing to the sound of CNN quietly playing in the background never fails
to captivate.
Rupi was, at the time of writing this song, about 14 weeks old and a bit
wobbly on her tiny feet and with not much of a tail yet to balance the
bodily gyrations.
Funny old girls, pussies cat… … …
lyrics
She dances through the flower-filled
room –
Sea-green eyes a-sparking.
Or are they blue? The message clear:
Seduce the master, winking.
Dainty feet circles inscribe
Upon the frozen parquet.
Arabesque in compound time:
Stately Pavane or Bourée.
Sultry smile, come hither gaze –
Black hair softly shining.
Calls me up to half-lit bed.
Sweet cloud with golden lining.
Oh, so young with ageless smile –
Born of ungodly maker
Draws me: moth to candle bright –
Fiery pleasure-seeker.
She dances through the flower-filled
room –
Sea-green eyes a-sparking.
It’s Rupi’s dance: the message clear.
Her movement does the talking.
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Lost In Crowds
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
Leslie Mandoki Drums and percussion
Laszlo Bencker Keyboards
Ossi Schaller Guitar
George Kopecsni Guitar
The Sturcz String Quartet
I am terrible at drinks parties. I do my best and try to chat happily
and meaningfully to complete strangers but something in my conversation
seems to bother them. Too intense, perhaps? Too fond of talking at people
instead of listening? Too condescending and patently bored with the whole
thing?
What the hell. I prefer the anonymity of being among the faceless crowds
in airports, on downtown sidewalks and in the ubiquitous mall haven of
tranquil and isolated suburbia.
Funny old things, crowds………
lyrics
I get lost in crowds: if I can, I remain invisible
to the hungry mouths. I stay unapproachable.
I wear the landscape of the urban chameleon.
Scarred by attention. And quietly addicted to innocence.
So, who am I? Come on: ask me, I dare you.
So, who am I? Come on: question me, if you care to.
And why not try to interrogate this apparition?
I melt away to get lost in this quaint condition.
At starry parties where, amongst the rich and the famous
I’m stuck for words: or worse, I blether with the best of them.
I see their eyes glaze and they look for the drinks tray.
Something in the drift of my conversation bothers them.
So, who am I? Come on: ask me, etc.
In scary airports, in concourses over-filled,
I am detached in serious observation.
As a passenger, I become un-tethered when
I get lost in clouds: at home with my own quiet company.
Herald Tribune or USA Today. Sauvignon Blanc or oaky Chardonnay.
Asleep for the movie. Awake for the dawn
dancing on England and hedgerows –
embossed on a carpet of green. I descend and –
forgive me – I mean to get lost in crowds.
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A Raft Of Penguins
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, piccolo, wooden flute, acoustic guitars
Leslie Mandoki Drums, and percussion
Laszlo Bencker Keyboards
The Sturcz String Quartet
Having worked, over these many years, with various orchestral forces from solo
woodwind players through string quartets to the more-or-less symphony orchestra,
I remain entranced at the differences and misconceptions present in the mutual
understanding – or lack thereof – in such gatherings of minds
and music.
Who is the more terrified in such
encounters? Me or them? I play a bit out of tune, out of time and read
not a not a note
of those Dead Sea Scrolls
written so carefully upon the stave of life. But when the wind gets up
and the music stand blows over, I can busk it with the best of them. It’s
all in the head, you see. And in the heart. And that improvisational adventure
is a mystery to many a first fiddler and his tribe.
Here is an affectionate musing on the scary delights of fronting an orchestra
in the face of a paying public.
Funny old birds, penguins………
lyrics
A raft of penguins on a frozen sea.
Expectant faces look down on me.
Shuffle uneasy. The whistler plays.
Counting eleven, they begin to pray.
Tenuous but clinging, the missing link
Joins us, closer than we might think.
Some half remembered coarse jungle drum –
A naked heart-beat, trill and hum.
This world’s no stage
for the faint at heart.
Each symphony, a sum of parts.
Each overture, a sweet foreplay.
Let’s crash and burn some other day.
Bonded in terror or suspicion deep
Tentative tiptoe or giant leap
Call down the angels to guide them in
A raft of penguins take to the wing.
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A Week Of Moments
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
Leslie Mandoki Drums and percussion
Laszlo Bencker Piano, Hammond B3 organ, Keyboards
Vacations for me are a mercifully
short excuse for getting away from the rat race to find only that the
stress of yet
more hotels, screaming pool
children and fellow guests from Hades make for a mixed and dubious week’s
pleasure.
So here is my imagined idyllic,
romantic holiday for two. Don’t
tell Shona – she might hold me to this.
Funny old chap, holidays………
lyrics
A week of moments – a
clutch of days –
Ten thousand minutes of a Passion Play.
Medley of quavers informs the tune.
It’s all too much: over all too soon.
Sweet condensation on chilling wine
Traveler’s palm, flamboyant tree
Fast photos ripped and lost consign
A week of moments to faint memory.
A week of moments plucked from the page
Found far horizons, a sunset stage.
Suitcases bulge, in silence packed
A chapter closed: no looking back.
The lightest touch upon my arm
No fierce restraint, no call to stay.
Hushed room maids glide like pawns to king
With pool attendants in chess piece array.
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A Hand Of Thumbs
Ian Anderson Vocals, piccolo, flute, acoustic guitars
David Goodier Bass guitar and stand-up bass
Leslie Mandoki Drums and percussion
Laszlo Bencker Keyboards, Mellotron, Moog
Ossi Schaller Electric guitar
George Kopecsni Electric guitar
An imagined meeting with seductive stranger, glimpsed across yet another crowded
room. Must try to practise these social skills. Must try to do better. Must
try to be more confident.
Funny old business, fear of humiliating
failure………
lyrics
My hand of thumbs is shaking
I am so glad to meet you
All tongue-tied and twisted
My lips stuck like glue
More than a lifetime to say, “How
are you?”
More than an ocean to cross becalmed.
Less than a second to sink in silence.
Yours truly, I remain disarmed.
Saw you peeping from the corner.
Your eyes seemed to call hello.
I’m all too easily mistaken,
My feet unsteady as they go.
Was I a suave and confident trickster
I would sweep you up and carry you down
To raspberry meadows under diamond skies
and just mess around. Just mess around.
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Eurology (instrumental)
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
David Goodier Bass guitar
John O’Hara Accordion
Leslie Mandoki Percussion
Power-walking down London’s Baker Street in rush-hour some months
ago, I found myself humming this tune, bestowed upon me by the Euro-Gods – or,
at least, their angels-in-waiting.
Having popped in to the nearest
Sony Centre to purchase a digital “dictaphone” of
the cheapest variety, I repaired to the local Indian restaurant and furtively
muttered into the new device the melodic bones of this eclectic and varied
piece, between munches of poppadom and vindaloo. Well, you could forget
it by the time you got home, couldn’t you? Bet you wish I had.
I was trying to explain this piece
to a journalist as being a pun on the study of the urinary tract and
its diseases when
he asked me if it was
difficult to play. “No, it’s a piece of piss, actually”,
I offered.
Funny old things, Euro-tunes………
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Old Black Cat
Ian Anderson Vocals, bamboo flute, acoustic guitars
David Goodier Stand-up bass
For twelve years I enjoyed the
good company of a pretty average, unexceptional old moggy by the name
of Mauser. He was
so-called after the German armament
company of the same name but Deutsche-slang suggests his name might also
liberally translate as “Shagger” – quite inappropriate
since he was de-balled and disarrayed as a young sir. However, he may have
long considered eunuch meanderings of the third kind. Who knows?
He died of liver cancer quickly and painlessly just before Christmas and
I wrote the song in the hours after the go-to-sleep-now needle went in.
Funny old thing, sentimentality………
lyrics
My old black cat passed away this morning
He never knew what a hard day was.
Woke up late and danced on tin roofs.
If questioned “Why?” – answered, “Just because.”
He never spoke much, preferring silence:
eight lost lives was all he had.
Occasionally sneaked some Sunday dinner.
He wasn’t good and he wasn’t bad.
My old black cat wasn’t
much of a looker.
You could pass him by – just a quiet shadow.
Got pushed around by all the other little guys.
Didn’t seem to mind much – just the way life goes.
Padded about in furry slippers.
Didn’t make any special friends.
He played it cool with wide-eyed innocence,
Receiving gladly what the good Lord sends.
Forgot to give his Christmas present.
Black cat collar, nice and new.
Thought he’d make it through to New Year.
I guess this song will have to do.
My old black cat……….
Old black cat…………
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Photo Shop
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, piccolo, mandolin, percussion, accordion,
acoustic bass guitar
Just across the street from London’s Paddington Station, is a small
photo shop where I have occasionally taken in some film for developing.
The voyeuristic delights (and horrors) of processing the customers’ holiday
snaps must be a poor substitute for the chance to leave cold and rainy
old Paddington for the balmier climes of foreign parts.
And some of those foreign parts,
in all their gynaecological detail, doubtless show up in the work load
from time to time. Oh, well:
brightens up a drab
day doesn’t it? And most of the snaps get stuck in a bottom drawer
and forgotten; better remembered, perhaps, by the photo processor than
the picture-taker. Think about it when next you drop off the roll of film
with the bared buttocks of Auntie Maude by the swimming pool.
Funny old waste of trees, most
holiday photos……
lyrics
A Morris Minor, a café noir –
Banana smoothie, snails in a jar.
Three dodgy sailors, a girl on skates –
A little too muscled from doing weights.
A family wedding, a sushi bar –
Sand in the Seychelles, karaoke star.
Lads on the razzle get lost in love.
Paddington station, rain clouds above.
The crumpled sheets of a long hot summer.
Stored images like an acorn, drop.
Squirreled away, but still remembered
by the man in the photo shop.
Rush hour on Praed Street: behind
the glass –
a picture process, in one hour fast.
Intimate portraits of topless wives –
flashed indiscretions: snap-happy lives.
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Pigeon Flying Over Berlin Zoo
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitar
David Goodier Bass guitar
James Duncan Drums
Leslie Mandoki Udu
Laszlo Bencker Piano, Hammond Organ
Andrew Giddings keyboards
The Sturcz String Quartet
While I was going morning walk-about during a few hours off mid-German
tour, I dropped in, as I usually do, to the calm and orderly Berlin Zoo
to check out my little pals in the Cat Kingdom for the medium to small.
On my way to the cat enclosure,
I noticed a pigeon flying lazily over the other animals locked behind
wires in their enclosures
and thought, “Oh,
to be free like that pigeon…..”
But then, would the antelope,
the elephant and the flamingo really want the get-out-of-jail card after
all? I wrote
the song in my head – words
and music, top to tail and went for a curry. Put in on mini-disc back at
the hotel.
Funny old things, zoos………
lyrics
I’m thinking free - like
the bird
flying over, over the animals
in the zoo. How do you do?
What’s it like to be in there? Think about it.
You’re locked behind wires.
Safe and warm - under house arrest protection
from the wild, wild storm and tempest
raging here on the outside. Think about it.
Pigeon I. Pigeon toed.
I’m pigeon-friendly as pigeons go.
Pigeon lonely. Pigeon English.
What’s it like to be in there? Think about it.
Harsh spaces. Empty freedom.
Scary concept. Wrong side of the window.
Which one of us will wake imprisoned
come tomorrow? Think about it.
Give it due consideration.
Weigh it up. Kiss me quickly.
Pigeon friendly. Let me in there
to be with you. Mull it over. (Think about it.)
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Griminelli’s Lament (instrumental)
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
David Goodier Bass guitar
John O’Hara Keyboard
Andrea Griminelli is a famous Italian flautist who possesses good looks,
Latin charm, worldliness, exceptional musicality and, temporarily, no girlfriend
following a parting of ways.
That is why I wrote for him this
piece of music which we played together on some concerts with orchestras
in Italy in
2002. It combines Celtic and
Baroque influences to symbolise our separate musical and cultural backgrounds.
Didn’t do a lot to cheer him up, really. I play both flute parts
on this recording, as Andrea and James Galway both would have liked to
perform the second flute part on the piece and I didn’t want to upset
either of them. Now, I’ve probably upset both.
Funny old lip-smackers, flute-players… … …
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Not Ralitsa Vassileva
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
John O’Hara Accordion
James Duncan Drums
Leslie Mandoki Percussion
Laszlo Bencker Piano
Andrew Giddings Bass, keyboard
As an inveterate watcher of CNN after each Tull show, I clamber, naked
as a baby, on to the hotel bed to be with the young, and not-so-young ladies
and gentlemen of Cable News Network as they fill me in on the daily events
of this wicked world. Of course, Ralitsa (Bulgarian-born and educated journalist
of the most professional and responsible sort) is a CNN International gal
and therefore not viewable in the United States, but we see her over here
in the UK in the rest of the world.
The chattering classes love to
pontificate on the ways and wiles of the world and I am no exception.
This song is based
on the memory of a temporary
and slightly tipsy female dinner table companion who regaled me with the
day’s news stories as if she was the author of all-that-was-great-and-happened-today.
As if she could be the slick, tutored and elegant Ralitsa! Oh, Ralitsa
of the careless dimple.
Funny old things, CNN gals………
lyrics
Dinner table chattering classes –
tell all we need to know.
Like it. Lump it. Dig it. Dump it –
on your late, late show.
And do you think you’re
Ralitsa Vassileva?
You’re just hand-me-down news in a cookie jar.
It’s a long way from here to CNN in America
and a red-eyed opinion too far.
Dish the dirt or dish the gravy.
Spill the beans to me.
Sinking fast in terminal boredom –
Feigned interest flying free.
And do you think you’re
Ralitsa Vassileva etc.
Talking monkey, breaking news junkie, tragedies to reveal.
Light and breezy, up-beat squeezy, close in to touchy-feel.
Pass the Merlot, dance the three-step
Cut to a better chase.
Align yourself with no proposition
and simpler thoughts embrace.
Let’s talk about me. Let’s
talk about you.
In a world of private rooms.
Hide awhile from dark stormbringers –
sad messengers of doom.
Sadly, you can’t be Ralitsa
Vassileva etc.
And do you think you’re
Ralitsa Vassileva etc.
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Two Short Planks
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars, percussion
David Goodier Bass guitar
When I was a short-trousered pre-teen
schoolboy, I had an easy ride at primary school in Scotland. But, aged
twelve, and
having relocated to a
more competitive environment at the North of England’s Blackpool
Grammar School, the full horror of the regular examination process had
me in a tizzy. Some subjects caused me great anguish and difficulty: Algebra,
Trigonometry, Chemistry and some aspects of Physics brought on the jitters
due to fear of loosened sphincter, hot flushes and migraine attacks.
I decided that I was not academically blessed and took refuge in the strangely
comforting notion that I must be naturally a bit stupid (as thick as two
short planks). Of course, sufficiently relaxed and resigned to a distant
and soon-to-be-forgotten acquaintance with academia, I quickly went on
to rise to the top of the lead class and take all my exams successfully
a year early!
Funny old thing, school………
lyrics
Find some way to square the circle.
Feet slipping, sliding on the level.
Connect to reason, is there anybody there?
Drum it in to me now if you dare.
Triangles by Isosceles.
Principles by Archimedes.
Amo, amas; even amat
make for one less way to skin the cat.
Two short planks –
Try my luck on another day
Must be thick as
two short planks –
That’s about all that I have to say.
Two short planks –
Pop the question: I sit the test
Must be thick as
two short planks –
Spin me round till I come to rest.
They say truth comes flooding if you let it.
But what happens if I just don’t get it?
I’m blissful in my sweet ignorance
and delight in my incompetence.
Two short planks – Try my luck on another day Must be thick as two
short planks – That’s about all that I have to say. Two short
planks – Pop the question: I sit the test Must be thick as two short
planks – Spin me round till I come to rest.
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Birthday Card At Christmas
(Bonus track from The Jethro Tull Christmas Album)
Ian Anderson Vocals, flute, acoustic guitars
Martin Barre Electric guitar
Andrew Giddings Keyboards and bass
Doane Perry Drums
My daughter Gael, like millions
of other unfortunates, celebrates her birthday within a gnat’s
whisker of Christmas. Overshadowed by the Great Occasion, such birthdays
can be flat, perfunctory and fleetingly
token in their uneventful passing.
The daunting party and festive celebration of the Christian calendar overshadows
too, some might argue, the humble birthday of one Mr. J. Christ.
Funny old 25ths, Decembers… … …
lyrics
Got a birthday card at Christmas: it made me think of Jesus Christ.
It said, “I love you” in small letters. I simply had to read
it twice.
Wood smoke curled from blackened chimneys. The smell of frost was in the
air.
Pole star hovered in the blackness. I looked again: it wasn’t there.
People have showered me with presents. While their minds were fixed
on other things.
Sleigh bells, bearded red suit uncles. Pointy trees and angel wings.
I am the shadow in your Christmas. I am the corner of your smile.
Perfunctory in celebration. You offer content but no style.
That little baby Jesus. He got a birthday card or three.
Gold trinkets and cheap frankincense. Some penny baubles for his tree.
Have some time off for good behaviour. Forty days, give or take a few.
Hey there, sweet baby Jesus: Let’s share a birthday card with you.
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