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One Christmas
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This is not a Christmas song: it just uses Christmas as a reference point to show how time is passing. As I played a progression of seventh chords on the guitar, a couple of lines of lyrics came to mind and I took it from there.
singer songwriter musician uk acoustic guitar cubase reason sheffield bass guitar doncaster al stravinsky voxengo brian delaney
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Touching, funny, serious, award-winning songs about life and love; all penned, played, arranged, sung, recorded and mixed by Al.
So he never existed... not really, as a real person. He made himself up one day in 1969 and lived a dual existence: half of him surviving on dead-end jobs, the other half believing that one day he would write at least one song that the world would remember. Now half of him is dead, and, as with all conjoined twins (without major surgery) that sentences both of them. It would be sad if it wasn't so pathetic. Fairy-tales always end this way... well not always, rarely... and this was rarely a fairy-tale; so there the similarities end: the ending was neither sad nor happy - it just... was. The enigmatic and tragic Jackson C Frank was a hero of his... now he emulates that frail and failed soul. Maybe in 40 years people will still say 'Al who?', much as they do today. That would be both a great epitaph, and a fitting legacy. Below is the page as he inexplicably and hurriedly left it: hot meal still on the table; knife and fork still in place and at the ready; the drink untouched in the bone china cup... ************************************************************* I now have an album: 'The sentence that I serve' available from CD baby. Click on this mini album cover to take you there: INVALID -- CDBABY INVALID INVALID INVALID INVALID for AL STRAVINSKY: The sentence that I serve -- It's on iTunes too, where the whole album or individual tracks can be downloaded in mp3 format: http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?playListId=216015067 Thanks. I've been a professional musician for 24 years, and over 3000 gigs (I've stopped counting); always working, travelling, trying to make ends meet...nearly...if you could just hold these a minute please...er...thanks: my hands are now free so I can get on with actually (ironically) playing some music at last. I sing and play bass guitar and I play some acoustic/electric guitars also.
Song Info
Genre
Pop Pop Rock
Charts
Peak #234
Peak in subgenre #29
Author
Al Stravinsky
Uploaded
January 06, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.0 MB 128 kbps 4:19
Story behind the song
This is not a Christmas song: it just uses Christmas as a reference point to show how time is passing. As I played a progression of seventh chords on the guitar, a couple of lines of lyrics came to mind and I took it from there; trying to re-create a Small faces/Amen Corner type of sound, with the brass and overdriven Rhodes. Three guitar tracks, bass guitar, lots of backing vocals and a single lead vocal finish it off.
Lyrics
Chorus 1 One Christmas, four seasons, 52 Monday mornings, Three sixty-five times I turned out the light, Said goodnight to no-one. I'm just Counting the days Counting the days... Verse1 I'm like the Marie Celeste without the mystery Since you abandoned me. I'm an abject Aztec ruin without the history Since you deserted me. I'm the city of Troy locked in a stupid war, With a wooden horse: But no Helen of course... Chorus 2 One Christmas, four seasons, 52 Sunday papers, Three sixty-five times I turned to the right, Said goodnight to no-one, to no-one, to no-one, To no-one in particular. Counting the days Counting the days... Verse 2 I read that we've got a sieve for an ozone layer, And I'm supposed to care? So what? The world's getting hot: I'd love to live by the sea; Not sure where, but it'll come to me. And soon the only creatures on earth will be in a zoo, ...Well I've got problems too... Chorus 3 One Christmas, four seasons, 52 Monday mornings, Three sixty-five times I lifted my head, Crawled out of bed for nothing, For no-one, for no reason, No nothing in particular. Counting the days, Counting the days... Middle 8 No Royal mail, no voicemail, no email, no female: (Nothing but junk, nothing but junk). Nothing but junk mail... Guitar solo Chorus 4 One Christmas, four seasons, 52 Monday mornings, Three sixty-five times I turned out the light, Said goodnight to no-one, to no-one, to no-one, To no-one in particular. Counting the days, Counting the days... Guitar solo I'm just Counting the days, Counting the days...
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