Fri, 24 Apr 2026 04:34:34 +0200 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/ en-EN contact@hearthis.at contact@hearthis.at https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/ https://img.hearthis.at/7/0/0/_/uploads/5505/image_user/w1400_h1400_q70_ptrue_v2_----cropped_3335871b5b4683831e67601df62cbfeeimage007.jpg no no https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/i-miss-the-sun/
English people
On a train
End of August
Home again
Noses peeling
Every one
Just one feeling:
I miss the sun, I miss the sun

Look at Harry
Over there
Still got sand dunes
In his hair
Loved the niñas,
Every One
Hear him sighing
I miss the sun, I miss the sun

Grab the money
Grab the loot
Read the paper
Wear the suit
Live in London
Everyone
Me I'm leaving
I miss the sun, I miss the sun]]>
English people
On a train
End of August
Home again
Noses peeling
Every one
Just one feeling:
I miss the sun, I miss the sun

Look at Harry
Over there
Still got sand dunes
In his hair
Loved the niñas,
Every One
Hear him sighing
I miss the sun, I miss the sun

Grab the money
Grab the loot
Read the paper
Wear the suit
Live in London
Everyone
Me I'm leaving
I miss the sun, I miss the sun]]> 37253 no no Thu, 08 May 2014 22:02:20 +0200 2014-05-08T22:02:20+02:00 3:58 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/st-francis/ my brother. He brought some of sculptures over from Brazil and this one
really took my fancy.

This is a song I wrote in 1989 or thereabouts. On the face of it, it is a song about Brazil in 1989, it is an external view, how Brazil looked to somebody who has never been there. But in the end it's more about how people in a privileged position sit in judgement over people who are up against it at the sharp end. It's about how, in the same predicament, we all tend to behave in similar ways and only our circumstances make us different.

Carved in a southern land
Improbable birds in each hand
With your beard and habit you stand
My little Saint Francis

With no samba in the air
Through you wooden eyes you stare
At me, but you see

Children, climbing up things that we grow in pots back here
Girls in their summer clothes that they wear all round the year
You see poor people on rubbish tips and the politically unsound
Simply gunned down
But that's just life over there

The church upon the hill
Is kept by the jesuits still
With opulent beauty and Christ upon their lips
And I think about the ships
And discarded bodies floating in the sea
But maybe

It's party every night and at every time of year
It's carnival and samba school and some stupidly cold beer
While the multinationals bleed 'em dry
And the national debt just goes sky high
But that's just life over there

Guitar

His holiness the pope. Doesn't bring to much hope
He says 'no' to liberation and the pill
But only time will tell; maybe Francis thinks he's mad as well
But hell, you've got
Gilberto Gil, you saw Pele score that goal
You've got Volkswagen beetles that run on alcohol
In the darkness of the forest
They're slashing and burning, killing and dying
But that's just life over there

And on Corcovado, Jesus stands
He looks down on them with outstretched hands
He says 'forgive them for they know not what they do'
Instead of them, it might just as well be you
]]> my brother. He brought some of sculptures over from Brazil and this one
really took my fancy.

This is a song I wrote in 1989 or thereabouts. On the face of it, it is a song about Brazil in 1989, it is an external view, how Brazil looked to somebody who has never been there. But in the end it's more about how people in a privileged position sit in judgement over people who are up against it at the sharp end. It's about how, in the same predicament, we all tend to behave in similar ways and only our circumstances make us different.

Carved in a southern land
Improbable birds in each hand
With your beard and habit you stand
My little Saint Francis

With no samba in the air
Through you wooden eyes you stare
At me, but you see

Children, climbing up things that we grow in pots back here
Girls in their summer clothes that they wear all round the year
You see poor people on rubbish tips and the politically unsound
Simply gunned down
But that's just life over there

The church upon the hill
Is kept by the jesuits still
With opulent beauty and Christ upon their lips
And I think about the ships
And discarded bodies floating in the sea
But maybe

It's party every night and at every time of year
It's carnival and samba school and some stupidly cold beer
While the multinationals bleed 'em dry
And the national debt just goes sky high
But that's just life over there

Guitar

His holiness the pope. Doesn't bring to much hope
He says 'no' to liberation and the pill
But only time will tell; maybe Francis thinks he's mad as well
But hell, you've got
Gilberto Gil, you saw Pele score that goal
You've got Volkswagen beetles that run on alcohol
In the darkness of the forest
They're slashing and burning, killing and dying
But that's just life over there

And on Corcovado, Jesus stands
He looks down on them with outstretched hands
He says 'forgive them for they know not what they do'
Instead of them, it might just as well be you
]]> 34411 no no Sat, 19 Apr 2014 00:53:04 +0200 2014-04-19T00:53:04+02:00 4:40 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/surrender/ 33783 no no Tue, 15 Apr 2014 00:13:15 +0200 2014-04-15T00:13:15+02:00 4:08 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/roses-dont-talk-cartola-as-rosas-no-falam-with-steph-casey-and-joe-drzewiecki/ 21465 no no Sun, 12 Jan 2014 14:29:19 +0100 2014-01-12T14:29:19+01:00 4:20 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/autonomia-cartola/
I capoed the pitch up by one tone, even so it's right at the bottom of my range. Cardoso sang it less than an octave higher than this, absolutely at the bottom of her very low range with the low notes whispered pretty much as they are here.

The words are by me, closely modeled on the originals, thanks to a very good translation by https://soundcloud.com/barbarabrowning.

It took me abso-bloody-lutely ages to learn to play this. I'd like to express my gratitude to Stephanie Meyer for providing a book thick enough to rest my foot on for this performance. (It had to be good for *something*).
]]>
I capoed the pitch up by one tone, even so it's right at the bottom of my range. Cardoso sang it less than an octave higher than this, absolutely at the bottom of her very low range with the low notes whispered pretty much as they are here.

The words are by me, closely modeled on the originals, thanks to a very good translation by https://soundcloud.com/barbarabrowning.

It took me abso-bloody-lutely ages to learn to play this. I'd like to express my gratitude to Stephanie Meyer for providing a book thick enough to rest my foot on for this performance. (It had to be good for *something*).
]]> 21480 no no Sun, 12 Jan 2014 15:49:39 +0100 2014-01-12T15:49:39+01:00 3:46 https://hearthis.at/johnhollingum/peito-vazio-cartola-with-joe-on-flute-cello-and-mix/ Guitar and voice and mandolin: me
Flute 'cello' and mix: https://soundcloud.com/jomama-2

Massive thanks to Joe for indulging me on this

I like this song a lot and I could see the lyrics were untranslatable and I couldn't think of any alternative lyrics, so, unfortunate listener, I decided to have a go at singing it in Portugese. I have to stress I DON'T speak the language, although I know roughly what it sounds like. The untranslatable bit is in the title which is 'Empty Chest'. If we were in the 19th century, I'd be able to use the poetic words 'breast' or 'bosom' which would be nearer to the impact of 'peito' but... well you can't really use those words now can you?

The lyrics tell the regular samba story of tragic saudade, and a descent into drinking but with a remarkably upbeat ending where his friends tell him to sort himself out, which he promises to do with the realization that even an immensa saudade will pass in time.

While I was wrestling with the harmony of this song I accidentally put it into 3 time. Which isn't very samba.

The song was written by Cartola (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cartola) . I initially heard it in a version by Roberta Sa and Ney Matogrosso .

One of my favourite sambistas, Nelson Sargento, said a wonderfully poetic thing about Cartola, he said "Cartola never really existed: he was just a dream we had"]]> Guitar and voice and mandolin: me
Flute 'cello' and mix: https://soundcloud.com/jomama-2

Massive thanks to Joe for indulging me on this

I like this song a lot and I could see the lyrics were untranslatable and I couldn't think of any alternative lyrics, so, unfortunate listener, I decided to have a go at singing it in Portugese. I have to stress I DON'T speak the language, although I know roughly what it sounds like. The untranslatable bit is in the title which is 'Empty Chest'. If we were in the 19th century, I'd be able to use the poetic words 'breast' or 'bosom' which would be nearer to the impact of 'peito' but... well you can't really use those words now can you?

The lyrics tell the regular samba story of tragic saudade, and a descent into drinking but with a remarkably upbeat ending where his friends tell him to sort himself out, which he promises to do with the realization that even an immensa saudade will pass in time.

While I was wrestling with the harmony of this song I accidentally put it into 3 time. Which isn't very samba.

The song was written by Cartola (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cartola) . I initially heard it in a version by Roberta Sa and Ney Matogrosso .

One of my favourite sambistas, Nelson Sargento, said a wonderfully poetic thing about Cartola, he said "Cartola never really existed: he was just a dream we had"]]> 21488 no no Sun, 12 Jan 2014 16:08:17 +0100 2014-01-12T16:08:17+01:00 2:45