ON WHITE HORSE HILL

SAMPLE TRACKS

This is my debut album, of songs I've written myself.

I played and produced every aspect of this album myself, at home, other than getting physical CDs and sleeves printed. As such, it gains on spontaneity, while  having limitations such as ambient sound from multitracking acoustic instruments.
You can buy a copy of the album directly from me or from alicooper.bandcamp.com, where it is available as digital download on request.

BLODEUWEDD

Guitar, nylon strung harp, brass strung harp.
In Welsh folklore, Blodeuwedd was made out of blossom, to be a bride for Lleu Llaw Gyffes, then turned into an owl when she and her lover tried to kill her husband. The same story is the basis for the Owl Service (YA novel) by Alan Garner.
 
I am flowers, I am grace,
See the beauty in my face,
Dressed in gossamer and lace
I am Blodeuwedd
 
I am blossom in the spring
Sweet with nectar for my king
I’m the one for whom birds sing
I am Blodeuwedd
 
And I never chose to play this part
Nor to pledge my heart
To another
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For a mortal start
With my lover
 
I am daytime I am light
In the sun my life is bright
I’m the bride, the world is right
I am Blodeuwedd
 
I am magic I am charmed
From sweet petals I am formed
Of no earthly woman born
I am Blodeuwedd 
And I never chose to play this part
Nor to pledge my heart
To another
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For a mortal start
With my lover
 
I am hatred I am fright
I am banished from the light
Like a ghost that haunts the night
I am Blodeuwedd
 
I am silent on the wing
Only screech and no more sing
While the midnight church bells ring
I am Blodeuwedd
 
But I never chose to play this part
With the lonely darkFor my cover
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For the cold dead heart
Of my lover
 
Through the mist I softly glide
Gentle nighttime creatures hide
I’m no more the flower bride
I am Blodeuwedd
 
Velvet feathers, silent flight
Deadly beauty in the night
No good bird can bear my sight
I am Blodeuwedd
 
But I never chose to play this part
With the lonely dark
For my cover
And I would gladly tear this spell apart
For the cold dead heart
Of my lover.
 

SHADOWTIME

Nylon strung harp, brass strung harp, guitar.
Night visiting by my old friend, Kev/Epic Soundtracks, after listening to his music and writing the Kissing Game.
 
Why have you woken when you should be sleeping?
Was it my doing because I was weeping?
I wish you could stay, but know you are bound to the shadowtime.
 
You say you’re lonely, and came here to find me,
And all that you want is to lay down beside me
How can it be wrong, to comfort you now in your shadowtime?
 
All you are asking is for me to hold you
To reach out my arms and gently enfold you
How can I refuse, when I called you into the shadowtime?
 
Maybe a kiss – we’ve done it before
Would it break any rules, if there should be more?
Knowing soon you’ll be gone, but now you are here in the shadowtime.
 
You’re in the darkness before I am sleeping
But where do you go when daylight comes creeping?
And I’m here for you, but you’re only with me in the shadowtime.
 
Just for a moment our two worlds are meeting
But your time is passed, and with it our greeting
So gently move on, don’t linger too long in the shadowtime.
 
 
ON WHITE HORSE HILL

Guitar, xylophone.
The White Horse of Uffington and its magical surrounding landscape has much legend and folklore as well as archaeology.
 
On White Horse Hill
Where time stands still
The ghosts of ages linger still
On White Horse Hill
 
So softly step into the mist
And breathe the air that the past has kissed
Ancestral voices on the breeze
Drift forward through the centuries
On White Horse Hill.
 
On moonlit nights
In silver light
Down to the manger She takes flight
From White Horse Hill
 
And if the Horse should cast a shoe
Then Wayland he will forge one new
Along the ridge She’ll gallop back
And leave Her hoof print by the track
To White Horse Hill.
 
A day will break
When Arthur wakes
On Dragon Hill She’ll dance and shake
By White Horse Hill
 
So set your child down to lie
On the sacred ground of the Horse’s eye
And call upon its ancient charm
To grant a life that’s free from harm
On White Horse Hill.
 
 
 
 

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