Loved and dismissed in equal measure, he had been around setting his poetry and thoughts and philosophy to the strums of an acoustic since the mid 60s. I first started this post in the Beerman Arm's thread after a few stiff pints of 7% bitter, but I think he deserves his own mention after a lifetime of doing it his way.
Harper was born in the Manchester, England. His mother died at birth and he was raised in Blackpool by his father and step-mother, whose Jehovah's Witness beliefs eventually alienated him. Harper's anti-religious views would later become a familiar theme in his music.
He Left school at 15, unwisely joined the Royal Air Force and then faked madness to get out again. Ironically he really was to suffer from mental illness later in his life.
Harper in the 60s
Sophisticated Beggar (1966), 9/10 Come Out Fighting Ghengis Smith (1968), 7.5/10 Folkjokeopus (1969), between 7/10 and 10/10
1966's The Sophisticated Beggar, was his first album. It's really sung poetry set to an acoustic guitar.
The Sophisticated Beggar, 1966
I'm just a sophisticated beggar living underneath your summer day Counting all my blessings as I'm counting all the money I've accumulated on my way I don't want your plastic Gods, Tin-pot religions and silly ideas. All I want is your money I listen to you but I know you have nothing to say I'm just a sophisticated beggar living underneath your summer day
I'm an emancipated firework exploding on your busy street Strumming my guitar as you pass in your car always trying to knock me clean off my feet I don't care if you own the whole world and the stars in the sky, or a heavenly body You're wasting your time if it's only that that you're trying to convey 'because I'm just a sophisticated beggar living underneath your summer day
I'm an emaciated hipster drinking dreams and eating consciousness Standing in the gutter in the middle of a splutter hiding horrors underneath my largesse I'd be hoarse for a million years trying to rescue my brain from the flood of my mind And all that I need, seems to me, to be needless to say 'because I'm just a sophisticated beggar living underneath your summer day
When CBS Records heard it they gave him a 1-off recording contract to record 'Come out Fighting Genghis Smith', a collection of his work to date including many tracks of the debut with a fuller production on some of the new songs to widen his appeal beyond the contemporary folk scene, they wanted to test his commercial appeal. Whether it was poor sales, or the prospect of working with one such an eccentric and underground character, I don't know, but they didn't ask him to make any more albums for them. It's still a mystery to me why Harper even did this album for a mainstream label. What's more he made most of his 70s albums with Harvest, a subsidiary of EMI. I'm not sure what EMI saw in him that CBS didn't or visa versa, the mystery works both ways.
Highgate Cemetery
Folkjokeopus
1968's Folkjokeopus contained the 15 minute giant of a song "McGooghan's Blues", possibly his greatest work and one of my all time favourite songs/poems by anyone. But it's a funny album with half of it being the work of a genius and the other half the work of a fool. Tracks range from 10/10 to 5/10 if you are feeling generous.
Roy Harper - Mcgoohans Blues... a song about The Prisoner, which refers to all members s of the underground that are self aware
Nicky my child he stands there with the wind in his hair Wondering whether the water the wind or the where I fear that someday he might ask me if mine is the blame And I've got no reply save to tell him it's all just a game And Heather and I lay together and I was in love She weighted up the gains and the losses and gave me the shove The fear of mankind's untogetherness pounds in my heart The deceit of my friends the betrayals of which I am part And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my two feet standing here questioning
And I'm just a social experiment tailored to size I've tried out the national machine and the welfare surprise I'm the rich man the poor man the peace man the war man the beast The festive consumer who ends up consumed in the feast And my five eyed promoter is clutching two birds in the bush He's a thief he's as bad as the joker they're both in the rush He's telling me Ghandi was handy and Jesus sold his ring Dunno who to, God maybe.... And everyone knows that this dough's gonna make me the king
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my two feet standing here questioning
Meanwhile the ticket collectors are punching their holes Into your memories your journeys and into your souls Your life sentence starts and the judge hands you down a spare wig Saying, Get out of that and goodbye old boy have a good gig. And the town label makers stare down with their gallery eyes And point with computer stained fingers each time you arise To the rules and the codes and the system that keeps them in chains Which is where they belong with no poems no love and no brains
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my two feet standing there questioning
Meanwhile the TV commercials are sweeping the day Brainwashing innocent kids into thinking their way The wet politicians and clergymen have much to say Defending desires of the sheep they are leading astray And Ma's favourite pop star is forcing a grin he's a smash Obliging the soft-headed viewers to act just as flash The village TV hooks its victims on give away cash The addicts are numbers who serve to perpetuate trash
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my stupid poetry shuffleing
And the bankers and tycoons and hoarders of money and art Full up with baubles and bibles and full of no heart Who travel first class on a pleasure excursion to fame Are the eyes that are guiding society's ludicrous aim And the village is making its Sunday collection in church The church wobbles 'twixt hell and heaven's crumbling perch Unnoticed the money box loudly endorses the shame As the world that Christ fought is supported by using his name
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my stupid poetry burbling
And the pin-striped sardine-cum-magician is packed in his train Censoring all of the censorship filling his brain He glares through his armour-plate vision and says"Hmm, insane"; The prisoner is taking his shoes off to walk in the rain And the luminous green prima donna is sniffing the sky She daren't tread the earth that she's smelling her birth was too high Her bank balance castle is built on opinion and fear Which is all she allows within three hundred miles of her ear
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my stupid poetry burbling
And I've seen all your pedestal values your good and your bad If you really believe them your passing is going to be hard And I've thought through our thought and I know that its blind silly season Occurs when our reasoning is trying to fathom a reason And if you really know it's all a joke but you're just putting me on Well it's sure a good act that you've got 'because you never let on But if all of that supersale overkill world is for real Well there's nowhere to go kid so you might as well start to freewheel
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see my two feet standing there burbling
And I had this dream in here same time as standing awake These various visions rushed through as I giggled and quaked The distant guns thunder my end and I duck for a while Auntie Lily is handing me candy she chuckles I smile And our village is where I was born and it's where I will die And I'll never be able to leave it whatever I try The ebb and the flow of the forces of life pass me by Which is all that I'll know from my birth to my last gasping sigh
And O how the sea she roars with laughter And howls with the dancing wind To see the dying lying there obeying
My age and my time The blood fire wine and rhyme That fills my dream reminds me of an atom in a bubble on a wave That held it's breath for one sweet second then was popped and disappeared Into fruitful futilities meaningless meaning Meaningless meaning
Under the toadstool lover down by the dream Everything flowing over rainbows downstream Silver the turning water flying away I'll come to see you sooner I'm on my way And there's a mirror that I'm looking straight through And I get it And there's a doorway that I'm ducking into To forget it But flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter
Over the mountain fairground Candy flies stay Under the moonshine fountain I'm on my way Lemon tree blossom ladies Poured my tea After the blue sky breezes following me There's a river that I'm making it with And I know it And I'm floating to I don't care where I just go it But flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter
Daffodil April petal hiding the game Forests of restless chessmen life is the same Tides in the sand sun lover watching us dream Covered in stars and clover rainbows downstream And the question in the great big underneath is forever And the fanfare that I'm forcing through my teeth answers "Never"; But the flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter
The pumpkin coach and the rags approach and the wind is devouring the ashes
Flat Baroque And Beserk (1970), 8.5/10 Stormcock (1971), 7/10 Lifemask (1973), 7/10 Valentine (1974), 10/10 Flashes From The Archives Of Oblivion (1974), 7.5/10 HQ (1975), 9/10 Bullinamingvase (1977), 10/10
Flat Baroque and Berserk
1969's Flat Baroque and Berserk captured an ethereal sound which was achieved by using a wah-wah pedal on his acoustic guitar. It also marked the beginning of his relationship with EMI records with 8 of his early albums recorded at the Abbey Road Studios and released on EMI’s Harvest label. Harvest began in 1969 as a response to the growing emergence of ‘underground’ or ‘progressive music’. So, Harvest was in effect a 'leave them alone as long as the money comes in' label for EMI, given an autonomy from their corporate over lords that rarely happens these days.
"Embedding Denied"... well this is EMI... don't forget the full screen button... right click and open in another tab if you want to carry on reading this thread...
"You can feel bonified if you ride with the tide, but you know it's not real"
Another day / Tom Tiddlers Ground
Stormcock
Comprising 4 long tracks, I have never managed to get excited by 3 of them. The exception is the excellent last track, 'Me and My Woman' which stands head and shoulders above the rest.
Me and My Woman (Parts 1 and 2)
Valentine (1974)
Forbidden Fruit
For years I have felt uneasy about this song. If Harper's intention was to be outrageous and make the listener shuffle in their seat, or get up and leave, then he certainly succeeded. It's clearly a song about a paedophile grooming a 13 year old school girl, as seen through the eyes of the child molester, hanging around the school for his 13 year old victim. Its sweet and innocent delivery is like his seduction, designed to trick the sweet and innocent.
Flashes From The Archives Of Oblivion (Live), 1974
Male Chauvinist Pig Blues (from Valentine)
HQ, 1978
When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease
The Game
Bullinamingvase (1977)
One of those days in England
One of those days in England that you said could never end As I was crashed out, living every chance One of those days in England we've been saving up to spend Buying rides on Mother Nature's funny belly dance
My love, it seems, so long away, since when we both together lay And yet it's only yesterday, dreaming of tomorrow, my love, there's no today. My love, my love
One of those days in England with the country going broke and Sunday's joint is cooking in my tree One of those days in England chomping baked beans in my coke Please tell me when it matters love, I might just wanna get out of bed to see
But until then my darling let's get down and make some fun There's really nothing better we can do One of those days in England and our love has just begun Half the fun in falling is you don't care where it's to
My love, it seems, so long away Since when we both, together, lay And yet it's only yesterday Dreaming of tomorrow, My love, there's no today My love, my love Today, my love Going to make my love to you My love, to you to you, to you, to you.
On October 12th 1966 Roy Harper asked 21 Questions. This was my first post on Doom-metal.Com. I remember, even today, how ignorant the responses were. They seem to come from kids with no idea about life. I guess that's the price you pay in letting the world overhear things intended for those that understand. Anyway here it is again, one of my favourite poems...
Why throw flowers on my grave when I'm dead?
Why paint pictures with the blood that I shed?
Why try to copy any word of what I said… when I hated you or when I was living?
Why do I waste time trying to create?
Why do I still try to communicate, when you do nothing except coagulate, making bad pretences of pretending?
Why do you just sit around counting the days?
Why do you act in so many fickle ways?
Why does it have to take your types to make this world rotate, when almost all of you are hardly breathing?
And who can tell me what religion is for?
And which idiot thinks that a religion is any more, than just another product of that same religious sore, that flows through time as through a wretching body?
How can you ban the bomb, without first you ban the war?
How can you ban the war, without first you ban the peace?
Why does someone talk of peace and someone else of war, when each one is a product of the other?
And how many immortals did you ever see?
And how many gods do you think there can be?
And how much leaning-post do you need, before you find the tree is dead and just about to fall upon you.
How do you go through living without seeing yourself?
And how can you see yourself by searching someone else? Keeping someone's nightmare of a place you labelled hell, not knowing how to live life without fearing.
You teach the children theatre games some easy applause, instead of teaching fact you feed them all on Santa Claus, slowly their poor minds are disillusioned by your laws. Is goodness hard to come by without lying?
Why do I sit here and sing you this song?
Why have I worried about people for so long?
I think you're all right and it's me that's all wrong
How does it feel to be completely unreal How does it feel to be a voter How does it feel to be a voluntary heel I wonder who's it is I see you queuing up outside Saint Peter's gate, You can feel bonafide if you ride with the tide But it's not real
How does it feel to be out on your own How does it feel to be thinking How does it feel to be out on the run With the mindless world at your heels I wish I had no answers to put to you because they got me so high tied I feel like most of me has died And it's real
And outside on the dragon And inside in the cold Mummy's on the bandwagon, daddy's just getting old And through the blood spew heavens The roar of lust complains: Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I'm not real
And how does it feel to be the master's right hand nose How does it feel to be lieutenant How does it feel to be stood on someone's toes With a leech bleeding you for rent, When you say you want a bit more rank You wanna be a big wheel You can feel magnified if you hide in that kind of pride... but you know it's not real
And how does it feel with a white flag in your fist How does it feel to have two faces How does it feel with your god strapped to your wrist And him leading you such a chase You got one set of words for him, and you got another for me You're gonna feel mystified when you're identified Don't worry kid it's not real
And outside on the dragon And inside in the cold Mummy's on the bandwagon, daddy's just getting old And through the blood spew heavens The roar of lust complains: Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I'm not real
And through the blood spew heavens The roar of lust complains: Please let me in I have no sin, but you know I'm not real
"Oh Girlie with your brown eyes and your long flowing hair A lantern shining through your lips, slipping through my stare"
Blackpool
Legend & October 12th
"The maps in the tube train will tell you where you're going They'll also tell you everything worth knowing"
From 3:44 "Why throw flowers on my grave when I'm dead? Why paint pictures with the blood that I shed? Why try to copy any word of what I said… when I hated you or when I was living? Why do I waste time trying to create? Why do I still try to communicate, when you do nothing except coagulate, making bad pretences of pretending? Why do you just sit around counting the days? Why do you act in so many fickle ways? Why does it have to take your types to make this world rotate, when almost all of you are hardly breathing? And who can tell me what religion is for? And which idiot thinks that a religion is any more, than just another product of that same religious sore, that flows through time as through a wretching body? How can you ban the bomb, without first you ban the war? How can you ban the war, without first you ban the peace? Why does someone talk of peace and someone else of war, when each one is a product of the other? And how many immortals did you ever see? And how many gods do you think there can be? And how much leaning-post do you need, before you find the tree is dead and just about to fall upon you. How do you go through living without seeing yourself? And how can you see yourself by searching someone else? Keeping someone's nightmare of a place you labelled hell, not knowing how to live life without fearing. You teach the children theatre games some easy applause, instead of teaching fact you feed them all on Santa Claus, slowly their poor minds are disillusioned by your laws. Is goodness hard to come by without lying? Why do I sit here and sing you this song? Why have I worried about people for so long? I think you're all right and it's me that's all wrong and I hated myself when I was living"
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