Category: Songs

backup:

Last time I saw Jeannine, we lost most of our time
In the company of friends who were neither hers nor mine

Castaways in different cities, working through some breaks
Regretting our vocations, scared of making more mistakes

And we talked of where we’d been
How we’d passed the interim
Since the last time together, building up
A wall of coffee cups and cigarette ends
Keeping our last rendezvous
At least, it looks to be the last we’ll keep

The last time I saw Jeannine, we lost most of our time
Talking of ourselves in terms of once upon a time

Clinging to the wreckage of lives we’d left behind
Hoping for the miracle we lost somewhere in time

And shied away from conversation
Of ourselves but in relation
To each other, but together, building up
A wall of alibis half-spoken
And chances we were missing
At least, from here it seems we’ve missed them all

By David Harley, copyright 1973

The first line does, I suppose, invite comparison with Joni Mitchell’s ‘The Last Time I Saw Richard’, though I didn’t hear that until several years later. But I suppose you could also compare it to ‘The Last Time I Saw Paris’ or ‘Last Time He Saw Marie‘ if you really wanted, and you’d still be wrong. Personally I prefer the Mitchell song, but this has a certain nostalgic je ne sais quoi. See what I did there?

And for anyone whose interested in any biographical elements, the lady’s name wasn’t Jeannine or Richard, and it was Bangor (North Wales), not Paris. 

I just realized that I also used the line ‘Last time I saw…’ in Diane. Probably Diane is the better song, and written about someone completely different. Whose name was not Diane, Richard or Jeannine. 

Anyway, I promise not to use the line again. Probably. 

I went to university a very indifferent guitarist and came back able to play Anji/Angie (more or less) and Light My Fire a la Feliciano, and with one or two fairly average songs, so I guess my time there wasn’t entirely wasted. Though you might disagree if you actually listen to this.

Once upon a time back in the very early 70s I and a friend scored a lift back to Bangor with a lorry driver who clearly believed that student life was all “boozing and [something that rhymes with nagging]”, to which our first reaction was “so who’s getting my share?”.

But I was a late developer… Just as well, I guess. If my life had really been like this, I probably wouldn’t have made it to my present ripe old age.

Anyway, this was, I guess, one of the first of my own songs to make its way into my repertoire, even if it was a bad case of wishful thinking. 

Baby what a groove: Words and Music copyright David Harley, 1970

Remastered:

Backup:

 

The landlady called today
and asked me what I had to say
she said “All these parties night and day
and where’s the rent you’re due to pay?”
I said “I’m sorry I can’t talk now
I’ve got to get some gin
But don’t you worry about me
‘Cause baby what a groove I’m in”

My banker wrote me just to say
I’m way out in the red
But since they stopped my council grant [Remember those? -DH]
There’s nothing to be said
I hope Dad lays a little bread on me
To keep my funds in equity
Now I’ve got 25 hippies living off me
But baby what a groove we’re in

My tutor told me only yesterday
“Your work’s not up to scratch:
We don’t expect you to work all the time
But you’ve not done a patch
It’s all these parties I can see
No wonder you’ve no study time free
And I’ll have you kicked out if you don’t invite me
‘Cause baby what a groove you’re in”

The doctor told me just the other day
“Son, you’re getting in much too deep
You see your trouble is, basically,
Too much bed and too little sleep
Too many fags and too much booze”
I said “I know it’s not the life you’d choose
But I’d rather be dead than have the 9-to-5 blues
‘Cause baby what a groove I’m in

David Harley

One of my earliest songs, written in the late 60s (though it’s been through a few changes since then: haven’t we all?)

backup:

There’ll never be a better time for starting something new
I’m spending too much time alone, brooding over you
But nothing comes that easy, and I’ve got so insecure
Since the angel I was slowly learning how to trust is surely finding
Strange ways of turning long-time dreams into nightmares after all

The sun will rise and fall and the night will win again
So I’m promised with no guarantee of stars
And in my street-lit room I will sing some different tune
To the futile rusting chords of my guitar

The beggar-clown will weep as he tiptoes through my sleep
If he knows, he will not tell me where you are
In his hand he holds a candle I reach out to pluck its blossom
And it lies between the strings of my guitar

This may well be the first song I ever wrote that I can still remember all through, though it’s changed a lot since 1969. It contains some of the original lines, but the tune has changed completely.