TRAVEL WORDS

Song Without Warning

This will be the last song from David’s extensive catalogue. It is sad to think that there really are many songs and scraps of words that he wrote that will never be recorded, but I am glad that there are many that he did. I hope you have enjoyed listening to the few that I have picked out and also the ones on Cornwall In Colours and if you do want to hear more then please visit his collection on Bandcamp where you can find all of his albums. No need to purchase them.

“When you’ve written as many songs as I have, and lived as long, and been so obsessed with songwriting, you have to wonder sometimes what will become of them when you’re not around to sing them.”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

Song Without Warning (Words and Music by David A. Harley)

This is my box of dreams, my nest of nightmares
Words and lines and verses in a cage
Fragments of conversation
Thoughts that barely made the page

Some days, I think someday I’ll write them
All the verses in vitro in this room
Someday these little birds will find the way to fly away
They won’t need me anymore and they’ll be gone

Some days I call myself a writer
Though I’m afraid I might have lost the paperwork
Till they tap me on the shoulder and remind me
My poetic licence hasn’t been revoked

When my last song has been written
When I’ve picked out my last chord
My box of dreams will still be here
Overflowing still with orphaned words

For every song without warning
That somehow made it to be heard
There’ll still be all these scraps of recollection
Thoughts and dreams that never found their words

Sometimes I call myself a writer
Though I’m afraid I might have lost the paperwork
Till they tap me on the shoulder and remind me
My poetic licence hasn’t been revoked

credits

from Kitsch and Canoodle, released August 22, 2021
Guitar and vocal by David A. Harley

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025

The Road

“In early 2023 an awkward medical condition brought it home to me that perhaps it was time to draw a line under any pretensions I have to live performance, so this version came about because I was trying out live versions that would work well with a single electric guitar for a concert set at the St Just Lafrowda festival in July 2023, my official farewell to the live stage.

I actually said my goodbye to the life of the wandering professional musician in the 1970s, so this is definitely not autobiographical, though it’s a fairly recent song, and it might have described my life if I hadn’t gone in a very different direction. I strongly suspect that if I’d persisted in trying to play music for a living, the road might well have been the ruin of me. And while my own biographical timeline is very different, I’m not unfamiliar with the psychology of a thwarted career in music.”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

The Road

It’s late and the driver has nothing to say
One more stop ahead
On an endless highway
One more place to be, and nowhere to stay
For the road was the ruin of me
The tour bus, the tranny,
The fluffed chords of fame
The days in the airport, the runaway train
You don’t care for my songs
And you don’t know my name
For the road was the ruin of me

I was never a drifter, I’d no urge to roam
But somehow the tour bus
Became my home
The scenery fades
And the scene is long gone
And the road was the ruin of me
The smoke and the pipe dream,
The whisky, the beer
There’s nothing to treasure
And nothing to fear
There’s no one here now
To send out for some gear
And the road was the ruin of me

The call of the wild,
And the song of the road
The end of the game
And the call of the void
There’s no one to meet
And there’s nowhere to hide
The road was the ruin of me
The heroes and villains,
The bait and the switch
The hole in my sock
And the travelling itch
I’ll never be famous,
I’ll never be rich
For the road was the ruin of me

I drank much too deep at the wishing well
I knew what I wanted but never could tell
Now I’ve only these dreams
And these few words to sell
For the road was the ruin of me
All that I’ve learned is how little I know
All I’ve come home to is a new place to go
And it’s never a place that I wanted to be
For the road was the ruin of me

credits

From Swan Songs released August 28, 2023
Words and music, Guitar and vocal, by David A. Harley.

The guitar was a Taylor T5Z, which generally works well for fingerstyle because of its unusual pickup configuration.

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025

Who Do You Think You Are

Long ago, in a university far away – well, North Wales – there was a loose accumulation of musicians that sometimes performed under a name that rather cheekily parodied that of a local Silver Band. Some 50 years on, Dave Higgen and David Harley somehow got back in touch, swapped some recordings, and eventually fell into recording and even occasionally writing together, through the wonders of internet communication. It seemed appropriate to relaunch as the New Prize Silver Jug Band. Other silver bands and jug bands are available.

“David Harley originally recorded this in a solo country blues style (not released commercially), but Dave pointed out that it would lend itself to a treatment closer to urban blues, and did most of the heavy lifting on the recording. David used his Gretsch resonator guitar for the slide part, but it does sound less country blues and more as if he’d washed his hands in Muddy Waters… To get that hybrid sound, Dave mixed the input from the internal transducer and from an external mic..”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

Who Do You Think You Are

I came home last night, just about the break of day
She’s got her suitcase packed, just about to make her getaway

(ch) She said, well now baby, who do you think you are
You stayed out all night, don’t know what you came back for

Five long years my baby walked the line
Now she’s gone, long gone, since she found out I was playing double time

Down at the courthouse, fell down on my knees
Said I love you babe, won’t you forgive me please?

Wrote her a letter, wrote it on my knees
Babe I learned my lesson, won’t you come back please?

She wrote back, well now baby, who do you think you are
Got my eyes wide open, don’t know what I’d come back for

credits

from Farewell Reunion, released January 7, 2025
Words, music, and vocal by David Harley.

Engineering and production by Dave Higgen.

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025

Let Me Lie Easy

“The first version of the lyric vanished during the breakup with an ex-girlfriend. The second vanished during my first marriage. (My wife hated it, so I don’t suppose she stole it.) This is number three – the lyric, that is. I have an ex-rated musical career.”

(Note to anyone looking at this post in the Reader or on a phone you may need to visit the actual site to be able to view and listen to the music track)

Lyrics

Let Me Lie Easy

I don’t want to hear that the show must go on
I know that the world keeps on turning
But how can you ask me to rise with the lark
With this pain in my heart still burning?

(ch) Let me lie easy, let me lie late/Let me lie low, let the world wait
Let me lie easy, let me lie late/Please let me sleep till it’s over

The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn
The dogs call in vain for their master
Just give me a while to untangle my threads
And Little Boy Blue will come after

The summer’s near gone and the year’s on the wane
The harvest stands ripened and wasting
Just give me an hour to unscramble my head
And I promise I’ll not keep you waiting

credits

from Kitsch and Canoodle, released August 22, 2021
Words & music by David A. Harley.

Vocals, guitar and synth by David A. Harley.

David A. Harley 1949 – 2025

Life as An Au Pair

Several people commented last week that they would love to hear about my life as an au pair in Geneva. Sadly there isn’t much to tell. I only lasted until Easter and I didn’t keep a diary. I found it a lonely life. My family were pretty good, an English woman married to an Italian man and both working for United Nations in Geneva. I worked long hours from 7am until 7pm with Saturday afternoon and Sunday off for £7 a week. Two young boys aged three and seven. Unfortunately the seven year old was showing signs of distress and bad behaviour. I guess that having different au pairs each year to whom you get attached and then they disappear is not good for a young child.

I was expected to provide a cooked lunch for the family each day, a list of ingredients and a recipe would be left for me and I would walk to the nearest shops for the food. I learned to cook many things that I had never done before including stuffed hearts, artichokes and oxtail. Not your normal Yorkshire grub. I cleaned and I did the laundry. The three-year old was at nursery in the morning and home during the afternoon and I would take him out for a walk, often to collect eggs from a farm close by. Did I mention it was winter? The ground was often covered in snow and it was cold, but a dry cold unlike the damp of an English winter.

Me by the Jet d’eau where the hippies used to meet up. I was wearing my favourite purple velvet jacket and loons

I would make tea for the children around 5 pm then bath them and get them ready for bed. I don’t recall any TV. Once a week in the evening I went out for French lessons. And I became friendly with a young English girl in the next block of flats, Lorraine, and I used to go out with her on a Saturday. Sometimes we would visit a live music bar in a cavern in the old town which was pretty good. (Unlike the very few photos I have from that time)

Lorraine and Suzanne outside the flower market and Café du Commerce, Geneva, March 1972

I had a small room to myself in the high rise apartment not too far from the airport and with easy transport links into the city. With a view out to the Alps it was better than my box room in Yorkshire. Saturday mornings would involve an intense cleaning session where dining room chairs were upturned and dusted. Usually it involved a trip to a supermarket and a drive into France (passports at the ready) to buy bottled Avian water.

View from my window in Meyrin, Geneva towards the French Alps

Some Sundays I accompanied the family to a ski resort in the French Alps where I was left in charge of the little one. I do recall once stepping into snow up to my thighs whilst pulling him along on a sled!

Once I had a weekend away when I visited a girl I had met on my European travels who was working in a ski resort in Les Diablerets at the far end of Lake Geneva. It was an interesting journey there, the last part on a cogwheel train. She also worked long hours, but at least didn’t have to look after young children.

My job came to an end when the mother decided to take a break from work and stay home with her children. So I contacted the son of a friend of my father’s who was teaching in Lyon and happy to give me a lift home as he was going home for the Easter holidays. It was quite funny though, as I was sneaked into his room in the boarding school overnight (most of the pupils had already gone home).

After that I took a job as a white collar worker in a factory in Bradford, living in a minute bed-sit before hitch-hiking to Zurich in September to fill in for another au pair friend whilst she went on holiday. I desperately tried to find work there without success so had to return to England until I could find another job, preferably abroad.

The most surprising thing about living in Geneva? Seeing cockroaches in the kitchen when I came home at night and switched the light on. Apparently they come up though the air vents.