AD Culvain and the Cuthalion

 I like being English. I'm lucky to be English (rather than, say Palestinian or an Afghan). I am happy to celebrate English culture - fish and chips, queueing, saying I'm sorry, understatement. Some English culture is crap - football violence, the class system, snobishness, fish rissoles. I am not willing to support the use of the St George's flag to express nationalism in a way that clearly smells of racism. You can be a patriot without being a racist. You can fly the flag without being a dick. [Verse 1] They’re shouting on the corner, waving flags in the air Screaming about strangers who were never even there But the man in the mansion is laughing with his mates While the people on the pavement swallow all the hate [Chorus] Look the other way, don’t look at the thief He’s selling off your future, he’s peddling your grief He’s counting dirty money while he points to the door And you blame the asylum seeker sleeping on the floor [Verse 2] The papers print the headlines, s...

I saw a report on the BBC about an Israeli attack on the Nasser Hospital in Gaza. It is appalling. [intro] [Verse 1] In Khan Younis the sirens cried, But the walls of the ward could not shield inside, They came with stretchers, hands shaking, bare, To lift the wounded from smoke-filled air. [Verse 2] First strike fell, and the dust was red, Bodies of the broken, the living, the dead. The cameras rolled, the world should see, The cost of silence, of cruelty. [Chorus] Nasser weeps tonight, under fire, under stone, The wounded left bleeding, the dying alone. A healer’s hand, a truth-teller’s eye, Struck down by the bombs as the world walks by. [Verse 3] A second thunder tore through the sky, The rescuers fell where the children lie. No warning given, no mercy shown, An ambulance burning, its siren moan. [Verse 4] Hossam held the lens, he told the truth, Till fire silenced his final proof. And still they write it, cold and plain, Collateral damage, another name. [Chorus] Nasser weeps...

I was wandering through Threads when I saw a post by a Christian about the clitoris - calling it the Devil's Doorbell and it sounded such fun! [Verse 1] They said don’t touch, don’t you dare That button’s wired straight to hell down there One ring, two rings, Satan’s on the line “Oh honey, I’ve been waiting, come on in, you’re mine!” [Chorus] Ding dong! It’s the Devil’s Doorbell Press it once and you’ll go to hell Ding dong! Ain’t it funny as hell That the Devil’s got a doorbell just for girls [Verse 2] They tell you it’s for babies, not for fun But the clitoris has one job (and makin’ kids ain’t one) Bad chemicals? Nah, it’s dopamine Science class called, they want their facts back, please! [Chorus] Ding dong! It’s the Devil’s Doorbell Press it once and you’ll go to hell Ding dong! Ain’t it funny as hell That the Devil’s got a doorbell just for girls [Bridge] If you keep on pressing, Satan might confess He just likes the music when you ring that address So play that little b...

  As I approach 60, I feel that my body has run it's course. With modern medicine, I could last another 20 or 30 years ... maybe. However, my body is severely compromised, and I do think about the wonder of sitting in an armchair, covered in a blanket, listening to the radio. [Verse 1] Well, I used to be fresh on the market, Crisp and shiny, bright on the shelf. But now my label’s curling at the edges, And I’m starting to doubt myself. [Pre-Chorus] The world keeps moving faster, But I’m slowing down each day. So stick me in a chair by the wireless, Let the violins take me away. [Chorus] I’m approaching my “best before” date, But I’ll age like a fine old wine. Give me Radio 3 and a blanket, And I’ll say, “Life’s still pretty fine.” [Verse 2] I don’t need no hustle or bustle, No meetings, no deadlines to chase. Just a teapot steaming on the table, And a soft light warming my face. [Pre-Chorus] The symphonies know my secrets, The cellos can soften the pain. Retirement’s not an en...

  This album isn’t about writing new songs. It’s about returning to old ones—songs I’ve lived with for years, sometimes decades—and seeing what happens when I give them another chance. Some came out radically different, others just a little sharper, but all of them surprised me. They’re not frozen in the versions I first recorded; they’ve changed shape, just as I have. Fight for Love This one started life in Cornish ( Lutar pelo Amor ) for a “Eurovision” project. I loved it enough to try an English version, but it never really worked. Here I aimed for a late ’60s shimmer, but it drifted into late ’80s/early ’90s indie instead—jangly, hazy, almost shoegazey. Very unlike the original, but it works. Echoes of Youth The original was synth-based, dreamlike. This version strips away the electronics and drops the song into a ’90s indie soundscape. It feels more human this way, like nostalgia sung not at a distance but right up close. Bedsit Morning Definitely one of my weirder lyric...