Get all 12 Michael Scott Dublin releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of SOLAR (music to make you high), Caoineadh/Lamentations, INTIMATE GOLD, Next To Skin, PIANO SONGS, The Cuchulain Cycle, I Love Christmas Eve, La Chunga, and 4 more.
1. |
||||
2. |
||||
|
The well is full of Hazel leaves,
the wind is from the west,
if there’s rain
it’s likely there’ll be mud.
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
I came like you
When young in body and in mind, and blown
By what seemed to me a lucky sail.
The well was dry, I sat upon its edge,
I waited the miraculous flood, I waited
While the years passed and withered me away.
The years passed and withered me away
I have snared the birds for food and eaten grass
And drunk the rain, and neither in the dark nor shine
Wandered too far away to have heard the plash,
And yet the dancers have deceived me. Thrice
I have awakened from a sudden sleep
To find the stones are wet.
|
||||
4. |
4. Circles (Hawk Dance )
02:35
|
|||
5. |
||||
|
He has lost what may not be found
Till men heap his burial-mound
And all the history ends.
He might have lived at his ease,
An old dog’s head upon his knees,
Among his children and friends.
|
||||
6. |
6. Circles (Aoife)
03:21
|
|||
7. |
||||
|
Come to me, human faces,
Familiar memories;
I have found hateful eyes
Among the desolate places
Unfaltering, unmoistened eyes.
Folly alone I cherish,
I choose it for my share:
Being but a mouthful of air,
I am content to perish;
I am but a mouthful of sweet air.
O lamentable shadows,
Obscurity of strife!
I choose a pleasant life
Among indolent meadows;
Wisdom must live a bitter life.
“The man that I praise”
Cries out the empty well,
Lives all his days
Where a hand on the bell
Can call the milch cows
To the comfortable door of his house.
“The man that I praise”,
Cries out the leafless tree,
‘Has married and stays
By an old hearth and he
On naught has set store
But children and dogs on the floor.
|
||||
8. |
8. To Baile Strand
02:27
|
|||
9. |
||||
|
Nothing he has done
His mind like a fire
His body that is sun
Has set my head higher
Than all the worlds wives
Himself on the wind is the gift that he gives
And all womenkind
When their eyes have my mine
Grow cold and grow hot
Troubled as with wine
By a secret part
Preyed upon, fed upon
By jealousy and desire
For I am the Moon to that Sun
I am steel to that fire
For I am the Moon to that Sun
I am steel to that fire
|
||||
10. |
||||
11. |
||||
12. |
||||
13. |
||||
|
A woman’s beauty is like a white
Frail bird, like a white sea-bird alone
At daybreak, after stormy night
Between two furrows upon the ploughed land:
A sudden storm and it was thrown
Between dark furrows on the ploughed land.
Between dark furrows on the ploughed land.
How many centuries spent
The sedentary soul
In toils of measurement
Beyond eagle or mole,
Beyond hearing or seeing,
Or Archimedes’ guess,
To raise into being
That loveliness?
A strange, unserviceable thing,
A fragile, exquisite, pale shell,
To the vast troubled waters bring
To the loud sands before day has broken.
The storm arose and suddenly fell
Amid the dark before day had broken.
What death? What discipline?
Bonds no man could unbind,
Being imagined within
The labyrinth of the mind,
What pursuing or fleeing,
What wounds, what bloody press,
Dragged into being
This loveliness?
|
||||
14. |
||||
|
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice ?
Can you not hear my voice
O my beloved, pardon me, that I
Have been ashamed. I thrust my shame away.
I have never sent a message or called out,
Scarce had a longing for your company
But you have known and come; and if indeed
You are lying there, stretch out your arms and speak;
Open your mouth and speak,
Open your mouth and speak for to this hour
My company has made you talkative.
What ails your tongue, or what has closed your ears?
Our passion had not chilled when we were parted
On the pale shore under the breaking dawn.
He cannot speak; or else his ears are closed
No sound reaches him.
|
||||
15. |
||||
16. |
||||
17. |
||||
|
The harlot sang to the beggar-man.
I meet them face to face,
Conall, Cuchulain, Usna’s boys,
All that most ancient race;
Maeve had three in an hour, they say.
I adore those clever eyes,
Those muscular bodies, but can get
No grip upon their thighs.
Na nana na nana na
Nana na nana daday
Na nana na nana na
Nana na nana
I meet those long pale faces,
Hear their great horses, then
Recall what centuries have passed
Since they were living men.
That there are still some living
That do my limbs unclothe,
But that the flesh my flesh has gripped
I both adore and loathe. Ho-i!
Ay didly ay dil dy
Didle ay dil dy – again!
Ay didly ay dil dy
Didle ay dil dy
Are those things that men adore and loathe
Their sole reality?
What stood in the Post office
With Pearse and Connolly?
What comes out of the mountain
Where men first shed their blood?
Who thought Cuchulain Till it seemed
He stood where they had stood?
Ay didly ay dil dy
Didle ay dil dy – again!
Ay didly ay dil dy
Didle ay dil dy
Nobody like his body
Has modern woman borne,
But an old man looking back on life
Imagines it in scorn.
A statue’s there to mark the place,
By Oliver Sheppard done.
So ends the tale that the harlot
Sang to the beggar-man
Ah dah dah dadah dah dah
Dadah dah da dah! Again
Ah dah dah dadah dah dah
Dadah dah da dah!
One more time!
Ah dah dah dadah dah dah
Dadah dah da dah!
Ta dah!
Ah dah dah dadah dah dah
Ah fuckit finish there!
|
||||
18. |
18. A Message To Emer
02:07
|
|||
19. |
19. The Battle
01:18
|
|||
20. |
||||
|
Why does your heart beat thus!
Plain to be understood,
I have met in this man’s house
A statue of solitude,
Moving there and walking;
It’s strange heart beating fast
For all our talking.
O still that heart at last.
Although the door be shut
And all seem well enough,
Although wide world hold not
A man but will give you his love
The moment he has looked at you,
He that has loved the best
May turn from a statue
His too human breast.
What makes your heart so beat?
What man is at your side?
When beauty is complete
Your own thought will have died
And danger not be diminished;
Dimmed at three-quarter light,
When the moon’s round is finished
The stars are out of sight.
Moving there and walking;
It’s strange heart beating fast
For all our talking.
O still that heart at last.
|
||||
Michael Scott Dublin Dublin, Ireland
Michael Scott is an independent international theatre director, composer and producer. Since 1984 he has been writing music for Theatre & Dance. His Album Caoineadh/Lamentations has been supported by The Arts Council/An Comhairle Ealaíon.
If you like The Cuchulain Cycle, you may also like:
Electronic music with a crisp, calm charm and ambient spaciousness from Osaka producer noda yûki.
go to album
The 1987 debut album by the pianist exudes atmosphere.
go to album
Sprawling and emotive, “Chronos” is a sweeping, soundtrack-like record big on heart and deeply moving melodies.
go to album
Mesmerizing and hypnotic, Finnish multi-instrumentalist Shakali crafts cyclical songs with strings, synthetics, wood, & wind.
go to album
Infinity Mirrors
by Patrick Sansone
Deep ambient drone that is both soothing and absorbing—long, dreamy tones that stretch out to the horizon.
go to album
A Certain Child of The 90s
by Ariel Kalma
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jan 23, 2024
go to album
Instrumental hip-hop that’s laid-back and soothing, with pillowy beats and gauzy textures.
go to album
