1971

Peter Gabriel & Rod Clements - The Six-Bob Tour - Lindisfarne - Genesis - Van Der Graaf Generator

Genesis's Peter Gabriel and Lindisfarne's Rod Clements discuss life on the road during The Famous Charisma Label's Six-Bob Tour, also featuring Van Der Graaf Generator.

From wateroftyne on YouTube

Jim Christopulos, coauthor of The Book:
"Great clip! I co-wrote the book on VdGG and loved seeing it.

North was somewhere years ago and cold:
Ice locked the people's hearts and made them old.
South was birth to pleasant lands, but dry...
I walked the waters' depths and played my mind.

East was dawn, coming alive in the golden sun:
the winds came gently, several heads became one
in the summertime, though august people sneered;
we were at peace, and we cheered.

We walked along, sometimes hand in hand,
between the thin lines marking sea and sand;
smiling very peacefully,
we began to notice that we could be free,
and we moved together to the West.

The BBC Radio One Sessions

1. Darkness (The Least We Can Do is Wave to Each Other)
2. Man-Erg (Pawn Hearts)
3. Scorched Earth (Godbluff)
4. Sleepwalkers (Godbluff)
5. Still Life (Still Life)
6. La Rossa (Still Life)
7. When She Comes (World Record)
8. Masks (World Record)

Peter Hammill - vocals, guitars, keyboards
Guy Evans - drums
Hugh Banton - organ, bass pedals and guitar
David Jackson - saxes, flutes

Produced by John Muir (1,2) for "Sounds of Seventies" and by Tony Wilson (3-8) for the "John Peel Show"

Spring came far too early this year:
May flowers blooming in February.
Should I be sad for the month,
or glad for the sky?
The birds don't know which way to sing
and, my friend,
neither do I.

Two days ago, a girl I truly thought I loved
suddenly didn't seem to matter at all.
Should I sing sad farewell to things
I'm really glad I've left behind?
The birds don't know which way to sing
and, my friend,
neither do I.

In another day, heavy snow will lie upon the ground
and buds prematurely bloomed shall fail;
and every creature living now,

I once wrote some poems of stillness and silence,
standing by rivers of reflected light;
my thoughts were on being loved and yet unloved, too -
I surrendered to the warmth of the night.
And now I feel like dying,
and if the water were still here, it would
hold me close.

I once wrote a poem while walking on gravestones,
as cobbles, rain and tears lashed down my face;
I then felt my whole world was fading
as memories jostled and fell into place.
And now I feel like dying,
and the pain of old fires still burns.

I never wrote poems when I bit my knuckles

Looking out forward over the prow of our long ship,
pulling our oars and listening to the foam;
helmets and sheepskins salt-damp in the sea-mist:
we're going home.

Aslak of Langadale, Einar Thorgeirsson,
Olaf the White and Sigurd the Powerful...

Looking for constellations above the horizon,
West wind cutting sharper than our blades;
smiling forever into an endless sunrise,
we're flying on the waves.

Thorfin Karlsefny, Aud the Deep-Minded,
Snorri Thorbrandsson, Thorstein the Black....