Get all 3 My Imaginary Folk Singer releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Lukewarm Songs, Barbarossa!, and This Album is Shit.
1. |
My Crap Songs
01:29
|
|||
|
This song is not really here it’s in my head
And is that a part of reality?
Why do I write such bad songs?
I can’t really say,
They’re crap they lack originality.
Maybe it’s a deficiency
And it makes itself felt
In these dull, insipid melodies?
My songs are not really here, they’re in my head
And is that a part of reality?
Anyway…I don’t really care:
I love crap things,
Like shingles, dropsy & croup.
Goodbye from my own world,
My crappy world
It’s a strange solipsist fantasy.
This song was not really here it was in my head
And is that a part of reality?
|
||||
2. |
Guns & Ammo
01:12
|
|||
|
It is wrong to kill your family,
It is wrong to kill your family,
But what if it feels good?
But what if it feels good?
I am Psychic Hitler,
I am Psychic Hitler,
You know you are too!
You know you are too!
So…is it wrong to kill your family?
So…is it wrong to kill your family?
Well, not if it feels good!
Well…not if it feels good! …yeah!
|
||||
3. |
Blood and Europe
01:16
|
|||
|
I was listening to a programme on Radio 4
About small slaughterhouses & the new E.U. blood laws.
I was filled with such pity for the small slaughter-man.
I very nearly wept! One bloke has flogged half his fleet of white vans
From Rotherham to Riga, the story, it’s the same…
It’s the law…the slaughter-men of Europe can’t flush blood down the drain!
On the face of it, it’s a plan to save the European folk
From a calamity…oh do you remember salmonella & the yolk
Oh blood & Europe, Europe & blood
I hope that this new blood order will actually produce some good,
It’s a plan to save the European folk from blood-born bacteria
And it’ll hopefully yield positive results in the legislation-specific area.
|
||||
4. |
The Wandering Birds
02:06
|
|||
|
I’m proud to say that I brew my own beer…and that I want to be an allotmenteer,
Oh I’d like to live like Tom & Barbara Good, I’d nurture my own piglets if only I could
And then I’d roast them on a fire made from hand hewed wood.
It’s a human desire…to get back to the village…just look at Ghandi…& then ask Steve Hillage…
I reckon it’s because we’re descended from our cousins the chimpanzees…
That we can only feel happy when we’re frolicking amongst the trees.
Anti-capitalist teachings? Oh I feel they’re rather similar, to the folk-based ethos of Heinrich Himmler
Hitler, Marx & that other fella they all saw things the same…the strain of civilisation…oh dear what a pain!
Don’t cha’ know, it’ll drive the folk completely insane!
It’s a human desire…to get back to the village…just look at Ghandi…& then ask Steve Hillage… I reckon it’s because we’re descended from our cousins the chimpanzees…
That we can only feel happy when we’re frolicking amongst the trees.
|
||||
5. |
Executioner Pierrepoint
01:31
|
|||
|
Portrait of a hangman relaxing,
Pierrepoint after the kill
Maybe a game of bowls, nothing too taxing,
Winding his way back down Brixton Hill.
Double fried egg & black pudding,
A fried slice & a cup of tea.
Proud that he’s done his very best
To make England safe for you & for me.
And when his Missus hears that key in the door
After a difficult day upholding the law
He knows she’ll be there smiling with his slippers & pipe
And he can relax in the warm glow of the firelight.
Portrait of a hangman relaxing,
Albert Pierrepoint after a job
The money's not much to shout about really
Not much more than a couple of old bob
Not too much sign of pomposity
From England’s highest scoring hangman
His thoughts wander off to a holiday
Perhaps Bridlington in a caravan.
And as the night fades away
And he drifts off into sweet dreams
he can think of all the places & people he has known
And the many faces he has seen.
|
||||
6. |
||||
|
A 1000 years shall come to pass & the guilt of bourgeois intellectuals shall not have been erased!
Mr Pierrepoint we look to thee, set dear old England free: kill the unrighteous & the bad!
This is a single-issue protest song on behalf of: The Campaign for the Return of Capital Punishment!
In a fast song about our lives there would be no time to say why we hate!
England my England when shall your star arise?
England my England when shall your star arise?
With a hood, a strap, a length of rope we shall solve the problems of our nation at a stroke!
Oh technical apprentices we look to thee set dear old England free with your glandular take on hate!
Sewage staff & slaughterhouse workers arise in wrath against the mass of plutocratic shirkers!
Goodbye ‘Iron Law of Oligarchy’ it’s the phalanx of the angry British man’s party!
England my England when shall your star arise?
England my England when shall your star arise?
|
||||
7. |
Memories of Sewage
01:12
|
|||
|
Oh when I was in sewage in Grimsby town
I spent quite a lot of time underground.
Yes when I was in sewage a long time ago
I moved silently beneath a world carpeted with snow.
My memories of sewage are both bitter & sweet
I was that sewage boy beneath your feet.
And then, of course, there’s sewage & death…
Oh sewage comrade is that stinkdamp on your breath?
Oh a moonlit walk beneath the shimmering stars…
There’s the fish glue factory, now the abattoir.
My memories of sewage are both bitter & sweet
I was that sewage boy beneath your feet.
I was in sewage in a distant decade
The one in which Geldof rocked with Live Aid.
I dream of sewage & Grimsby town
But I awake with a smile and never a frown.
My memories of sewage are both bitter & sweet
I was that sewage boy beneath your feet.
|
||||
8. |
||||
|
The D.S.S. as inner-experience.
No sense of shame in Neasden Lane,
I’m gonna get myself a big fat claim.
Memoir of a Jobseeker as a dreamer…
The D.S.S. as inner-experience.
Restart grief in Harlesden House
I was terribly quite, timid as a mouse
Decent folk say, ‘the dole it’s soul destroying’
The D.S.S. as inner-experience.
A degree of fear near Euston Square,
Oh yeah, a Client Advisor in a swivel chair.
Confessions of, yeah, the artist as a schemer…
The D.S.S. as inner-experience.
Oh yeah!
|
||||
9. |
||||
|
Oh Black Madonna of Willesden
You who stand at the gateway to Neasden
A friend to every pilgrim who might breeze in,
I know it’s a cliché, yes…but you appear to be weeping.
So Black Madonna why are you crying?
Those boys from the Civil War they are no longer dying,
It’s just me…this wayfarer who passes by & I’m just a Jobseeker sighing
On my pilgrimage to my fortnightly signing.
Oh Black Madonna is your true time yet to come?
You Lady of Peace from before the age of the gun.
You’ve seen bad times go…will you see the good times come?
Under this limpid London North-West 10 sun…
Amen.
|
||||
10. |
Vagabond Arcadia
02:48
|
|||
|
Early morning crisis loan that builds the mood & sets the tone of another careless day.
A rustle in the ‘Morning Star’ a Frappuccino & a Lion Bar a swallow & a tit. .
But now as the light shines down upon this rain soaked ground oh…this vagabond arcadia!
‘Giroed up in Tavistock Square, an aristocrat without a care, or a worry in his life,
The scent of Texaco in the air, a cold Pot Noodle filled with tears…a stolen Peking duck.
But now as the rain pours down upon this sun soaked ground oh…this vagabond arcadia!
Modern youths dressed like giant babies…
a gaggle of veiled, Islamic ladies, a pigeon feasts on sick…
A JobSeeker laid on the ground, empty tinnies cast all around,
10 fags & a trashed kebab
But now as the light pours down upon this grimy old town…this vagabond arcadia!
A fragrance abroad of the dionysian sort can leave a chap feeling distraught, a giro finds its home…
|
||||
11. |
Sleeping Sickness Sea
01:39
|
|||
|
A warm wave of Tamarzipan is flowing gently through my head,
I have arrived, I am here this is nirvana under my duvet on my Argos bed.
Oh it’s lovely, won’t you sail with me, it‘s lovely, this is sleeping sickness sea.
The green torpid sun is reflected on a shimmering UPVC windows,
Something decent on the goggle box? Superb! It’s Quincy I like these shows.
Oh it’s lovely, won’t you sail with me, it‘s lovely, this is sleeping sickness sea.
|
||||
12. |
Memories of the Past
02:07
|
|||
|
Up the spiral staircase through the centre of my mind
So many delicate colours that a wayfarer might find
Memories of ‘Look North’ & Midge Ure & Styx
And beige tinted Skodas & multi-coloured sticlebricks
Thoughts that can almost make you vomit with grief
and deposit in their wake an uncomfortable belief
A feeling that haunts me…and it will forever persists…
In the philosophical sense it makes me a solipsist
An intellectual concept as bewildering as scotch mist,
I think what I mean to say is that… the past does not exist
Memories of Sky on Pebble Mill at One
enchanting Middle-England with a wordless song,
Memories of concrete drying in the winter sun
Memories of a roll up a cup of tea & a copy of the Sun
Memories of Saxon & Rainbow & Angelwych.
Memories of ruffians playing toga on a muddy pitch.
Memories of Genesis on Tiswas doing ‘ABACAB’,
Tarrant & happy kids… having a right old laugh,
Memories of Scunthorpe & Skegness & Mablethorpe…
Memories that can leave a chap feeling rather distraught,
Memories of aunties & uncles in garden sheds
They are no longer extant,
they are quite emphatically dead.
Up the spiral staircase through the centre of my head…
images that occur as I philosophise in bed…
Thoughts of Beta-Max ladies from Electric Blue,
pensioner neighbours of a liver coloured hue…
Thoughts that might leave a chap feeling rather blue,
but the overall concept is quite clearly true…
a thought that worries me & it will not desist…
it’s the antithesis of any concept of eternal bliss
No matter how I try it will persist….
what I mean to say…is that the past does not exist.
|
||||
13. |
Folk Ways
01:29
|
|||
|
Folk music is a living tradition,
Our link to the ways of the ancient Britons.
I dream of an England that is entirely folk-themed
With Hugh Scully, pure folk & enchanting oak beams
And across the sea…the Emerald Isle…one giant Irish Pub
A pint of creamy stout…enjoy the craic…and a plate of grub.
There has always been a dark side to European nationalism
It’s there to see it in the well-crafted historical films of Mel Gibson.
But isn’t it time to do away with all of this…ism-schism?
And awake to happy days, Shakey plays, FolkWays!
But don’t get me wrong…it doesn’t matter if you’re a Hindu, a Sikh or a Gay!
Although I’m not sure that in ‘Braveheart’ that’s what Mel Gibson was trying to say
But we’re looking at the Mel Gibsonisation of European nationalism anyway
And you can bet your bottom dollar, in that, folk music, will have its part to play.
|
||||
14. |
Native British Wisdom
02:11
|
|||
|
Native British wisdom, native British ragas,
this is a home-grown raga and it’s for...
...a raga for a decent bloke who enjoys a pint and a burger
and a joke; who loves it when he’s down the pub
wolfing down some hot pub grub.
A raga for a decent bloke’s Missus & for his cheeky nippers.
A raga for an alright bloke who’s always cheery bright & chipper.
A raga for a CORGI installer: expert with gas, won’t work with water.
A raga for a carpet fitter who’s pint of choice is mild ‘n’ bitter.
A raga for a little chippie who also doubles up as a brickie.
A raga for a bloke with his own tools and van -
a raga for the common man.
Native British wisdom, native British ragas,
this is a home-grown raga and it’s for...
...a raga for the club comedians a raga for the funny guys.
A raga for the chuckle merchants, the Krankies and Jim Davidson.
A raga for Roy Chubby Brown, a raga for Roy Chubby Brown. A raga for the cheeky boys who lift a bloke up
when he’s feeling down.
A raga for the Grumbleweeds, you might catch them at a do near Leeds.
Woodbine smoke & beered up punters this must be Wheeltappers ‘n’ Shunters’.
Roy Hudd the Prof. of the Music Hall, this is a raga for Cannon & Ball.
For funny guys one & all. Pray silence ladies and gentlemen this
is a raga for the funny guys who’ve passed sadly on:
Bernard Manning, Bernie Winters, Charlie Drake “Hello my Darlings!”
Oh but don’t be a moaning Minnie.
Native British wisdom, native British ragas,
this is a home-grown raga and it’s for...
a raga for nuclear boffins & the secrets that they’re unlocking.
A raga for Uranium-235, it keeps our native customs alive.
A raga for a weapons facility that protects our British liberty.
A raga for instant sunshine! From the Aldermaston production line!
A raga for the dread lord Kali
the wrathful god of the Hindustanis.
A raga for a Guru and a Swami, a raga for the British Army.
Oh does my raga cause distress with its images of war & death?
Well, it’s a raga for a bloke called ‘Dave’ or ‘Geoff’
who’ll fight for Blighty till their dying breath!
Shanti, shanti, shanti – Om.
|
||||
15. |
Tory Rock
00:41
|
|||
|
What have any of these trendy bands ever done for our lads what did the Falklands?
I like the Manic Street Preachers but what did those Valley Boys sing for Castro for?
They should be Tory Rockers, like Queen & Gary Moore.
Is it me, am I just a fool? Or weren’t the Clash…well…a bit public school?
Trendy radicalism is not really right for rich bands in high tax brackets
They should be Tory Rockers, like Genesis, although I’m not sure about Steve Hackett.
|
||||
16. |
I Wanna be an Ombudsman
01:36
|
|||
|
I wanna be an Ombudsman, travel to municipal meetings in a clattering tram,
In a glass by my bedside a pair of grinning false teeth…
to escape from this modern world… oh what a blessed relief…
The beauty of the past is that we know what happens next,
Here in the here & now we’re all quivering nervous wrecks.
Oh to awake into a world of dripping & tripe! Old men in pubs puffing on shag filled pipes ,
Yes I want to escape from this world of panini & ‘Human Rights’
into that monochrome world where everything is alright,
The beauty of the past is that we know what happens next,
Here in the here & now we’re all quivering nervous wrecks.
But if we could go back it might not be very nice,
the Folk might smell & they’d be crawling with head-lice…
So the message of this song is that we just have to keep buggering along: t
here is no road back, the present is frightening & black…
The beauty of the past is that we know what happens next,
Here in the here & now we’re all quivering nervous wrecks.
|
||||
17. |
Iain Duncan Smith
01:50
|
|||
|
Iain Duncan Smith, he doesn’t sport a quiff,
He was a teen when the charts rocked to Cliff,
He felt for Margaret during that cricketing metaphor tiff,
If it wasn’t for our lads the Falklands would still be Argie!
Iain Duncan Smith, the rightful leader of the Conservative Party!
IDS’s beliefs are shared by many folk in this country,
They feel that dear old Blighty is a place without honour & beauty,
The folk lament the passing of the concepts of decency & duty…
Because, without a stable upbringing a Briton can never be happy!
Iain Duncan Smith is concerned about the breakdown of the family!
A true Brit’s upper lip, in a perfect world, it should be stiff,
You know the sort of blokes, I mean: you can admire the cut of their jib,
They climb into a Spit’ & cry: Cheerio! Toodle-Pip!
If it wasn’t for our lads this country would be rather crappy!
Iain Duncan Smith should still be leader of the Conservative Party!
And we can only pray, pray that one day he will be…
|
||||
18. |
A Tune That Goes Nowhere
01:29
|
|||
|
I’m prepared to spend several years on the dole,
In order to cultivate my artistic soul…
Oh man! I’ll give it all for rock n’ roll!
Oh yeah! But at the end of the day man, I don’t really care…
I’m just gonna strum a tune that goes nowhere!
I’m gonna get rid of this bourgeois baggage!
Free my brain with some high-grade cabbage…
I’m gonna live the life of a rock n’ roll savage!
Oh yeah! But at the end of the day man, I don’t really care…
I’m just gonna strum a tune that goes nowhere!
Nowhere folks that’s the place for me…
Nowhere where my dreams can run free!
I once had a day job-oh man! It really stunk!
I’m gonna liberate my head from all of that junk!
Folks just call me a vagabond punk!
Oh but…it’s true what they say…folk are queer,
I’m just gonna strum a tune that goes nowhere!
I’m gonna fill a carrier bag with all of my shit
And escape from this crummy flea-pit
Yeah tunnel out of this existential bed-sit!
Oh yeah! But at the end of the day man, I don’t really care…
I’m just gonna strum a tune that goes nowhere!
|
||||
19. |
Sven Hassell
01:27
|
|||
|
All Sven Hassel fans agree:
Sven never lied,
He fought for Germany under burning skies.
Ride Sven Hassel ride,
Ride your silver Tiger
Under flaming skies,
Ride Sven Hassel ride.
All Sven Hassel scholars know, Sven perused ‘Vom Kreig,’
A Viking in the world war, with a Schmeisser rather than a sword.
Ride Sven Hassel ride,
Ride your silver Tiger
Under flaming skies,
Ride Sven Hassel ride.
All Sven Hassel fans accept,
the beauty of the text:
The fighter is equal to the writer,
the pen is brother to the sword!
Ride Sven Hassel ride,
Ride your silver Tiger
Under flaming skies,
Ride Sven Hassel ride.
|
||||
20. |
||||
|
Crap Songs on a Broken Guitar.
Won’t do you much good You won’t get very far
But good songs composed with verve & wit wouldn’t fit…
This album is shit.
|
||||
My Imaginary Folk Singer London, UK
If you like My Imaginary Folk Singer, you may also like:
Assorted Orchids
by Assorted Orchids
Hypnotic night music on the latest from Assorted Orchids, with spiraling acoustic guitars and drifting, beatific vocals.
go to album
Mind, Man, Medicine
by The Secret Sisters
The Alabama duo's fifth album exults in dusty Americana, showcasing rich vocal harmonies alongside blissful folk instrumentation.
go to album
The haunting new record from Canadian folk artist Avi C. Engel bridges old and new traditions with a minimalist approach.
go to album
The King Of Misery
by Daudi Matsiko
featured on Bandcamp Radio Nov 7, 2023
go to album
The instrumental ensemble Dt/IG straddles the line between folk and classical, stirring acoustics augmented by sumptuous arrangements.
go to album
The latest from the UK’s Chris Brain is a gorgeously wrought album of tender acoustic folk music.
go to album
they only talk about the weather
by Arny Margret
The Icelandic songwriter packs her stunning debut with sweeping melodies delivered via intimate, folky arrangements.
go to album
