This is a spoken word piece which was recorded lo-fi during the Kitchen Sessions, in the kitchen, and partly via Skype sessions between Brighton and Jerusalem, hence the troubled sound. Here's the youtube: youtu.be/dQUsfL2pugw and here's a full band live version: youtu.be/DS-MokiyJIk
lyrics
The Artist's Nightmare, WHERE IS THE STAR
She's got brains in her head, so they said, and she's cool.
Only time was miss-playing her hand that was full.
Like a fool she let go of a handful of dreams.
They were gone where the wild things all go, so it seems.
They left her alone, and she looked at her face,
some one else in the mirror was taking her place;
that was not whom she knew as her great fucking self
that was moving along, just in time, like a dance.
It was minutes before she appeared on the stage
and her piano was calling, and it didn't make sense.
But she had to move on, and she let down her hair,
hoping something would trigger the magic to flair,
hoping somehow the brains in her head will restore
the person she was, into place, counting to four.
It was nothing, just something, a bit of, that's all;
the usual tremor, that's all, nothing more,
maybe stage fright that messed with her brains there before.
They were best mates and enemies in love and in war.
And she covered her scars with a couple of jokes,
toasting something like," here's to you, holiest folks".
And those folks, they were holy, but they couldn’t see through.
This wasn't the lady they thought that they knew,
and like the holiest wave they all started to boo.
"We paid all that money, we want to see YOU".
The piano was off key, the lady was ugly.
"Where is the star that we came here to see"?
She ran back off stage, she was scared of the holy.
She looked at her self in the mirror and slowly,
she called up her lost dreams, her heart breaking sorely
"Get me out of this place, out of this folly",
and they got her alright, out of light, out of sight.
It wasn’t the artist they knew, nor the artist they loved,
but the stark naked truth standing awkward and lonely,
paying the price for the crowd she thought holy,
but holy shit, the truth is forever taboo,
as the genius of crowd keeps shouting the boo.
They don't want to pay for the artist's career,
they come for the beer, and the cheer and the now and the here.
Anyway, folks, in an hour or two,
we'll be totally gone, and I mean, you too.
credits
from Love in the Wrong Times,
released June 25, 2017
Written by Hadara Levin Areddy
produced by Eliad Friedman Green (Brighton)
mastered by Fred Miller ( Denmark)
photo by Hilla Oz
A singer/song writer, a rapper, a writer, a determined iconoclast, a free speech advocate. She released 15 albums and
authored 3 books (poetry & prose). Loves Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, Tim Minchin. For further info, see: hadaralevin.com/frames.php?page=biography.php...more
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