40 Years of Schoolin - Episode 5

Forty tracks. Forty years. One song per year.

Episode 5 of 40 Years of Schoolin’ moves from 1950 to 1989 through gospel testimonies, drum rudiments, home-recorded jug bands, French chanson, spiritual jazz, bluegrass harmonies, devotional electronics, private-press curiosities, dub pressure and late-night melancholy.

Some of these records travelled widely. Others barely escaped the labels, living rooms, churches, studios and cassette decks that produced them. Taken together, they trace another route through recorded music — one built from obsessions, accidents, persistence and the occasional brilliant misjudgement.

One year at a time.

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:19

Some of the furniture is moved. This isn't a history. And it isn't a journey. Sounds drift in, leave residue, and then disappear. No conclusions are drawn. Nothing is solved. If you want the voices removed, the pure transmission is already out there. Humming quietly to itself. We start where the clock resets, but the floor is already warm. A ten-inch shellac on specialty records spinning fast and cutting hard. It's all right, is Sister Wineona Carr and Brother Joe May in March 1950. Piano percussion and two voices locked in call in response. May was already known as the Thunderbolt of the Middle West, and you can hear why. His lines stretch and strain, pushing against Carr's low, husky calm, issued as the B-side to I see Jesus, written by Carr herself. This isn't gospel as comfort, it's gospel as insistence. Faith under pressure. Recorded before the sound learned how to smooth itself out.

SPEAKER_13 1:41

You know it's all right. It's all right. It's all right, it's all right. It's all right, it's all right.

SPEAKER_15 2:04

Jesus said it fixed it and it's all right.

SPEAKER_13 2:08

It's all right, it's all right.

SPEAKER_15 2:12

The board said it fixed it, Lord, and it's all right.

SPEAKER_13 2:16

Well, when it gets dark, it gets in my way.

SPEAKER_15 2:21

Jesus said it fixed it and it's all right. That'd be when death comes creeping in.

SPEAKER_13 2:47

God said it fixed the Lord and it's alright.

SPEAKER_15 2:54

It's alright.

SPEAKER_13 3:05

Jesus said it fixed the Lord and it's alright. Sometimes your best friend, what do you die?

SPEAKER_15 3:14

Jesus said it fixed the Lord and it's alright.

SPEAKER_13 3:17

Still keep your eyes on the every time.

SPEAKER_15 3:27

It's alright. It's all right. It's all right.

SPEAKER_13 3:46

It's all right. You don't say it fixed it on his song.

SPEAKER_01 6:25

Not a song so much as a document, Dodds talking you through the building blocks of New Orleans drumming while playing them in real time. Military patterns loosening into swing, technique turning into feel. Recorded by Moses Ash, pressed as instruction, but it ends up sounding like the past thinking out loud. And now straight into 1952, Los Angeles. Monte Easter Orchestra with Casablanca Boogie, first issued as a 10-inch shellac on Discovery Records. This is West Coast jump blues at street level. Club born, loud, fast, and designed to move bodies rather than impress critics. Trumpet out front, shuffle underneath, heat rising. Different coast, different pressure. Same need to keep things in motion.

SPEAKER_13 7:30

Now listen to this meeting. You can wag your tail, but I ain't gon' feed you no more. You told me you was hot cat, but I can see through that. Yes, you told me you was hot cat, but I can see through that. And daddy, I know you ain't no real cool cat. You ain't nothing but a hound dog. You just don't hound dog, which looped ramadog.

SPEAKER_16 11:02

You can wipe your tape. I ain't gonna fit you know this nightmare, how about it's not a little how no mess around, I love you at your tail Oh, get it now, get it, get it You made me feel so blue You made me weeping more You made me feel so blue Maybe you made me weeping more Cause you ain't looking for a walk Are you looking at spawn You ain't nothing but a hound dog Snoopy Ramado You ain't nothing but a How quit Snoopy Ramado You wag your tail But I ain't love for you no more That was Big Mama Thornton with Hound Dog recorded in 1953 for Peacock Records Two Minutes of Authority No irony No Wink Just a voice planting its feet and refusing to move the song was written by Lieber and Stoller, but Thornton owned it the moment the tape rolled.

SPEAKER_01 13:16

Slow, heavy, unbothered. Everything that came later is commentary. Now we cross the Atlantic. 1954, Paris. A theatre used as a studio, empty seats, microphones instead of an audience. This is Jack Brow with Zulaplas. Taken from a Seychelles song. Early Braille, smart piano, a strange delivery, still finding his physical language. The song itself is about public space. People watching, choosing not to look too closely. Even though the recording happens in silence. Observation without spectacle. The drama will come later. Here it's all held back.

SPEAKER_20 14:23

Une fille s'est mise à danser, une tour toujours pareil aux danseuses d'antiquité. Sur la ville, il fait trop chaud. Hommes et femmes sont à soupir et regarde par le carreau cette fille qui danse à midi. Ainsi certains jours paraît une flamme à nos yeux, à l'église où j'allais, on l'appelait, le bon Dieu, l'amoureux, l'appel, l'amour, le mendiant, la charité, le soleil à la pelle de jour, et le brave homme, la bonté. Sur la place vibrante des rochots, pas même paraît un chien, ondulante comme un roseau, la vie bondit sans rien, ni guitare, ni tambourlin, pour accompagner sa danse, elle frappe dans ses mains pour se donner la cadence. Ainsi c'est un jour paraît d'une flamme à nos cieux, à l'église où j'allais. On l'appelait le bandit de l'amour. Nous m'andions la charité, le soleil à la paix de jour, et le paravent la bonté, tout est tranquille, une fille, sur la ville, de bonté, sur la vie, ton temps, et pour le poids, tent, ferme, comme nous, voilà, nous ne voulons pas. Nous couchons les oreilles, et nous nous voilons les yeux, nous n'aimons point les réveils de notre cœur déjà vieux. Sur la place, un chien hurle encore, car la fille s'en est allée et comme le chien hurlant la mort, plein des hommes. L'art destinée, c'est un peu plus de temps.

SPEAKER_01 20:57

Eduardo Fallo with El Condor Peta, recorded in 1955, for his volume in two LP in Argentina. No pen pipes, no spectacle, just classical guitar. End melody and absolute control. Folk music treated like chamber music. And now a sharp left turn. 1956. R C A Victor. And a record designed not for dancing or praying, but for demonstrating hi-fi. Dennis Farnon conducting, orchestral colour pushed to the foreground, and a nursery rhyme stretched into something modern and slightly unreal. Sheepish Bo Peep features wordless, warbling vocals by Marnie Nixon floating above the arrangement, a sound that quietly anticipates the language of space age pop and even the Star Trek fame to come. Music as a showroom experiment. The voices come forward, the floor starts to move, and subtlety gives way to conviction. 1958. Swan's silver toned singers. Live so God can use you.

SPEAKER_23 34:00

You want to live so God can use you. God can use you. You want to live so God can use it. So God can use you in it well.

SPEAKER_16 34:22

You want to say it was such wonderful meaning when they're sincere and they're true.

SPEAKER_13 37:34

I'm sure they are too humble by fall, but these words are just for you for all you mean to me. My thanks to you for every memory. My thanks to you, my thanks for everything. We love to share for all joy when you are there. My whole life through I give my love and all my thanks to you.

SPEAKER_01 40:46

My thanks to you comes from an album cut at Abbey Road, carefully arranged and deliberately grown up. No teenage bounds, no jukebox urgency, just control, restraint, and a voice learning how to sit still inside the song. But the calm doesn't last. Because a year later the needle drops somewhere else entirely. New Orleans rhythm, Ellen Toussaint behind the boards, and Jesse Hill turning nonsense syllables into propulsion. No polish, no patience. Just groove piano sex in forward motion. From carefully folded sentiment to something that moves your feet before your brain catches up. This is Jesse Hill. Scooby Scooby-Doby.

SPEAKER_09 41:34

No, no, no, no Scooby-Doby David, Scooby-Dibby, Scooby-Doby, Dabba, no.

SPEAKER_13 41:47

Let's go.

SPEAKER_01 46:59

Some nineteen sixty-one British stuff there. The shadows, with See you in my drums, a hit band stepping aside so Tony Meehan could put the drum kit in the foreground. No tune to lean on, no theatrics, just control, repetition, and patience. Rock instrumentation treated almost clinically. Like an exercise in restraint rather than release. Now we drop the lights and the voltage. 1962, Tennessee Mess Around Us. I Love You Mama. A home cut funnotone 78 preserved through Joe Bassard's acetate archive. Mandolin guitar, jug, recorded without polish, amplification, or intent to modernise. Ted Cray singing into the room, not the future. Not revivalist, not performative. Simply music caught before it disappeared.

SPEAKER_07 48:04

I love you, Mama, but I don't like your low down wheel. I love you, Mama. Don't like your low down wheel. Spend it on your week. Where was you tomorrow? When the drink came rolling.

SPEAKER_01 53:25

Early bottom over before it hardened into export gloss. Piano, bass, drums, and an accordion doing something it was never supposed to do. No orchestra, no bleach fantasy, just close mic'd air. You can hear the room. You can hear the pauses working. Light shifts. 1964, a different continent. Different weight. Clarence Williams on Tina Records, a small label out of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A short run. The track is, I know it's true, it's all over. And it isn't dramatic, it's resigned. Mid-tempo, steady, built to carry the moment when you stop arguing and start accepting with emotional gravity. Jack the Ripper sounds like a band rehearsing menace rather than living inside it. Taken from the self-released album An Hour of Prayer with the Apostles by the Apostles out of Andover, Massachusetts, raw, local, and devoutly loud. A basement LP in every sense. Covers only, pressed in small numbers, heavy on intent, lighter on sweat. So let's drop the temperature. And the theatrics. 1966 now. Lightning Hopkins with cotton. No posturing, no storyline. Just a slow 128ths grind and a guitar that's been doing this work its whole life. Recorded for folkways where songs weren't dressed up, they were documented. Labour music, repetition, endurance, history pressed straight into the groove.

SPEAKER_02 1:01:15

You know I gotta pick on the morning Monday. Little girl, you know that's gon' be a solid myth. Whoa, I don't waive but ninety-five pounds. I don't waiver ninety pound, boy. Hundred pound is too much load for me to pull. I can straighten up in the field and stoop down lightning. Go ahead on board and get your sack full. They was talking about cotton. Look around tryna find me some shit. Poor light and tryna find him some shit. Poor mama sitting down with her pencil and paper Figging up every time that the family meets it.

unknown 1:04:28

I'm gonna pay it out.

SPEAKER_02 1:05:18

Kevin straight down that road. Come out of Mississippi too. My daddy was a sack shake. Kevin Eye straight down that rope. He was talking about cotton.

SPEAKER_01 1:10:13

British psychedelia had reached the point where charm and overload were happily coexisting. Blossom toes with the track Look at Me, I'm You. It comes from their 1967 debut, We Are Ever So Clean. An album that throws colour, humour, and restless studio trickery into every corner. Playful, clever, and just slightly unhinged, in the best possible London way. Now we step across the Atlantic and into something heavier, more devotional. Eddie Gales award with the taken from ghetto music. His astonishing blue note album where free jazz, gospel, and collective chant are welded into something communal and ceremonial. The swing loosens, the ground starts to move, and the music stops entertaining and starts testifying.

SPEAKER_13 1:19:44

And we'll be free soon it's gonna be one as anybody see my own friend Bobby.

SPEAKER_01 1:21:13

But this track is the exception. Williams was a close friend of Robert Kennedy, and you can hear that proximity in the performance. Everything is paired back almost awkwardly, so the moment he sings hobby, lands, noise theatre, something cold mid-breath, is easily the most affecting thing on the record, and one of the few moments where the album's restraint turns into real emotional weight. Next we step into a different kind of intimacy. Evie Sands with It's This I Am from her 1970 debut album, Any Way That You Want Me, where Williams mourns history. Sands turns inward. A strong way of introducing herself, not with a statement, but with a question, half whispered, and slowly unfolding.

SPEAKER_13 1:22:48

That's neither larger heaven, it's neither light or small that always was and will be forever through all time. It's you know always it's this ash and my father. It's this such and a fat. It's this such a fat and all these one another. Yes, one is all compared, sure, we have just the flashway and I want to sound great and then you're gonna be able to do it.

SPEAKER_01 1:28:37

The strange gallop of Licornies fades out, leaving behind that peculiar Igor Rakovitch feeling. Part ballet score, part rock experiment, part of private ritual. Pulled from Dr. Faust, it's one of the album's few moments that feels almost extroverted. Rhythm forward, physical, briefly playful before the record folds back into its darker, alchemical concerns. From esoteric European theatre to sunlit American strings. Same key, same momentum. A completely different idea of what honesty sounds like. The lights come fully up. Country Gazettes, forget me not, from their 1972 album, A Traitor in Our Midst, steps in with nothing to hide, tight harmony singing Chris Banjo, and a confident West Coast take on bluegrass that values ensemble over spectacle. No mysticism here, just precision, warmth, and the sound of musicians listening hard to one another. Taken from an agitation freeze 1973 album Second, it's a defining example of their refined crack rock phase. Spacious, melodic, and unhurried, with the band settling into a collective flow that feels exploratory without ever becoming tense. Next up is a very different kind of presence. Yelp, mellow, rasp, etc. comes from men opening umbrellas ahead, released in 1974. This is Vivian Stanchall leaning fully into his solo world. Raw, blue-rooted, and deliberately awkward. His voice dominates the frame, turning breath, rasp, and physicality into the main event, with the backing band acting more as loose accomplices than a guiding structure. No polish, no smoothing out, just Stanchel performing at close range, letting instinct and character lead the way.

SPEAKER_08 1:43:13

Ah Ross Yo Bellow Bray B Nets Sorry, that's the way of blues just got started right now. It's always B Sometes I never pop a sister brother of grandma green gross and not even my news agent who special requested a mention if I can fit it in the way. Well I ain't got nothing to say boom boom boom boom boom boom bracket I stun it really goes down well in security and all that shit but uh i and uh put this in italic so I'm 14 and I can truly relate to you, man. Uh comma, thanks awfully full stop. Where was I? Close bracket. Oh yeah.

SPEAKER_09 1:44:34

Bah I'm gonna say it anyway. In a way to make you think there must gotta be something in it.

SPEAKER_08 1:44:43

You're wasting your time, right on, shut up.

SPEAKER_13 1:44:48

Woo!

SPEAKER_08 1:44:50

Bring me my hair shirt, bring me my whips. You gonna hear it from these lips? Cuss, I got what I gotta, I gotta nest a I gotta, I gotta, uh, uh, mmm, mmm build it up, I gotta build down, build up the state I'm in. Christ sake, don't understand me and bugger up my back stroke scene Trip Triton Trotters Mother It's blame me It's playing over get on to sit down Yeah, just relax and listen to the music Yeah Yay Yay Yeah Organs drop eyes Whistles on the snow go go straw pavement oysters on my palate Tobies upstairs painted in spots dot dot dot Gen chin violet on my mind Roman dust don't fade me out you beasts don't fade me out I intended to mention disappearing tigers and commitment Commit me mama Let's try to come with me come with him to the garden order come in strange town stop the tape I got spit long.

SPEAKER_13 1:48:08

So they say, that's what they say, they say that I won't reach my bo. So they say, that's what they say, there I say, I'll be shown in my saying that I just can make it but I know the road is the road, I'm the show, I'll boss up, yeah, I'll be shot, I'll boss up with another day I said not take my company's leg there's impossible they're saying that I just can't make it but I know the road, yes, they're roll, show up, many shows, I'm bossing.

SPEAKER_01 1:51:13

The glow from Nothing Is Impossible still hangs in the air. A deep patient roots cut from the intern's 1975 single on Techniques. It's one of those records that doesn't rush you anywhere. Warm bass, steady pulse, and a vocal that sounds completely sure of itself without ever needing to push. Modest on the surface, quietly resolute underneath. The kind of track that earns its power by staying relaxed. Up next, things snap sharply into focus. MX80 sounds, boy trouble, girl trouble, from their 1976 EP big hits. Hard pop from the hoosias, waste no time at all. Short, fast, and tightly wound. It's all clipped guitars, brittle rhythm, and rich stims deadpan delivery. Art-damaged rock that feels deliberately awkward, confrontational, and alive to its own nervous energy.

SPEAKER_19 1:52:29

Over and over and over and over.

SPEAKER_17 1:53:29

We've got a shop and a chapel and a boozer. And a little jail. We've got a brainsick witch and a cricket bitch. We've got a pump and a dup on here, a vicar and a blacksmith and a local idiot. And a brigadier, a friggin' brigadier. Let the caravans come. Let the chalobans roll. Tripping our hills, picking our daffodils, getting stuck in our holes, we don't care. We don't like trippers and scouts and ramblers. They can come and stand in the rain all day. They give us money and beer and a right could belly laugh. Then they go away. But who pins medals on the chest of our children? Who pins a rose on the biggest pig's ear? Who pins a little red poppy on our cenneltuf? A brigadier. Friggin' brigadier. Let the bearded wonders come. Whether we like or not, they squat in the cottages of our ancestors, making bloody pottery, we don't care. We get drunk, we get rowdy, and we get nicked when the flat feet come. How are we judged by who's almighty? Finger and thumb. Not by Bacchus, not by Jupiters, not by Solomons with summers to appear. Underneath the beak of his weekday worship, a brigadier. A friggin' brigadier. Let the rain dot come. Spitter and spout and spout. At least he's a god who is impartial. He waggles it about, we don't care. On a Sunday when the vicar admonishes our wickedness, who's our men resounds down the aisle, who reads the sermon on the mount with a holy ghost of a smile. Who takes the wine, who takes the biscuit, who brings the plate, who bends the ear, singing of his hopes for a new Jerusalem? A brigadier, a friggin' brigadier. Let God's pale archangel, the grim reaper, come. He can hack my bones, he can step up on my gravestone, he can kiss my bone, I don't care. If he wants my chimneys, if he wants my acres, if he wants my trout, if he wants my grouse, if he wants gold and silver titbits, he's got the wrong house. He can rattle my lunch, bang my knocker. There's not one whit of a titbit here. Go tap with his dainty sickle on the windowpane of the brigadier, the friggin' brigadier.

SPEAKER_01 1:56:15

Jake Fat Ray has just finished skewing Small Authority with The Brigadier from his 1977 album On Again. On Again. One of those songs where the wit lands quietly, but the sting stays. A perfectly judged piece of English storytelling. Dry, observant, humane, and merciless in exactly the right places. We stay with thoughtfulness, but shift the setting entirely. Up next is The Soul by J.O.B. Orquestra, taken from their 1978 album, Open the Doors to Your Heart. Recorded in New York, it folds funk, soul, and spiritual jazz into something devotional without being preachy. Music built around belief, rhythm, and patience, rather than punchlines.

SPEAKER_22 1:57:30

It's all done. Give it up, give it up, give it up.

SPEAKER_01 2:05:53

Taken from a day of the sun, it's one of those tracks that doesn't rush to explain itself. Face moving with quiet authority, percussion breathing rather than driving, everything tuned to atmosphere and touch. Spiritual jazz, yes. But also deeply physical, grounded in texture and space rather than statement. Next, the mood tightens and becomes more playful. From Rasta Kraut Pasta, it is Mobius and Planck's nose, rhythms, and long chatter, and slow repetition. Turning scraps of sound into something hypnotic without ever breaking it.

unknown 2:09:00

I have the right I have wizard. But maybe suppressing all the glassoles.

SPEAKER_00 2:12:51

I want to go back. I want to go back to the foot.

SPEAKER_18 2:13:59

You gotta be clean while you're being you wanna be clean on your beans. You gotta be clean while you're being You gotta be clean while you're being You wanna be clean while your being You gotta be clean while your beat You wanna be clean while your beans You wanna be clean on your beautiful be clean while your be clean while your beautiful be clean on your be clean on your beautiful bee.

unknown 2:14:58

You wanna be clean on your be. You wanna be green on your be.

SPEAKER_01 2:15:13

The opening jolt from Dinosaur L's 1981 album, 24 to 24 music. Arthur Russell at his most playful and perverse. Abstract disco pulled apart at the seams, voices and rhythms tumbling over each other. The groove never quite settling, but never letting go either. It's downtown New York energy distilled into four strange elastic minutes. Up next we shift to 1982, and the Zoomers Exist release. The track From the Planet Moon feels homemade in the best sense. A DIY cassette world transmission, where post-punk nerviness meets space age imagination. Simple lines, odd timings, and that sense of a band discovering the song as it goes rather than polishing it smooth. A small, strange record that's travelled a long way by word of mouth.

SPEAKER_06 2:16:14

My spaceship landed the other day. Take you by surprise. You got these problems, won't you go away? You got these problems, won't you go away? I think my problem is that I want you to stay. And I'm on the planet moon Is it wrong for you to lie? Is it wrong if I want to know why? Every time that I'll time that I was nice, I could tell. It was a friend, they want to swell. I want you go away. You got these problems, don't you go away? I think my problem is that I want you to stay. I have this other option And I'm going back to the planet mood I did not take you out the planet.

SPEAKER_13 2:20:11

But the butchadina, I'm cooking like you say, I'm sorry, I'm both your sick, I'm cooking like you send, come, the cause, in the meeting.

SPEAKER_01 2:25:23

Sharon Propaka riding one of Bappy Lahiri's peak early 80s disco productions. All punchy rhythm, bright synths, and sheer physical momentum. It comes from the 1983 soundtrack to Ecting Bahoo Car. And it's a great example of Lahiri at his most confident, dense, glossy, and unapologetically made for movement rather than subtlety. Up next, we stay in that dance-driven headspace with a shifty accent. Lizzie Mercier Des Close. From her 1984 album, Lizzie Mercy Des Clues. The sound of someone stepping fully out of the underground and doing it entirely on their own terms.

SPEAKER_04 2:26:34

Et je marche dans la soirée à bas. Seul à seul, je sentais mes papes de bras. Tout en fumant dans le noir à mes goûts à jour. Les echasses sortent écrits et la carabasse. Je pensais au sommeil pour demeurer. Mais au café au soudain, je les ai en train de tout. Mais au vent, elle déboulée à brûler la bateau. Attends qu'est-ce que vous l'êtes par des autos et parouch?

SPEAKER_03 2:27:14

Mais où sont passés les gazcets? Mais où sont passés les gazbettes? Mais où sont passés les gaznettes?

SPEAKER_04 2:27:28

Mais où sont passés les gaznettes? Dans le bras et lors de l'ordre, tout se boule passé. Je riais aux éclats ensemble. La reneau a jamais fini de me passionner.

SPEAKER_03 2:27:52

Mais où sont passés des gazettes? Mais où sont passés des gazettes? Mais où sont passés des gazelles?

SPEAKER_01 2:28:06

Mais où sont passés des gazelles des caser des caser des casins Et nous sommes passés des casins Pour la croyante bande vivant Et je mangeais dans la rue assoir à pas de prêts Seul à seul je comptais mes parents Mais je chante Webassing You want to be back on the boom at Hendon Lowing from the self release It's one of those tracks that seems to withdraw as much as it will be used electronics Melody someone thinking loud inside his music doesn't exist on Mood How would you get away I want you from blood and chocolate. Leaning into obsession with no way to hide. Electrical melody.

SPEAKER_11 2:35:26

I want you. Be careful, darling, you might fall. I want you. I woke up in one of us was crying. I want you. You said, young man, I do believe you dying. I want you. If you need a second opinion, as you seem to do these days, I want you. You can look in my eyes, and you can count away. I want you. Did you mean to tell me, but seem to forget? I want you. Since when were you so generous and inarticulate? I want you. It's the stupid details that my heart is breaking for. It's the way your shoulders shake, and what they're shaking for. I want you. It's knowing that it knows you now after only guessing. It's the thought of him undressing you. Are you undressing? I want you. He tossed some tatty compliment your way. I want you, and you were fool enough to love it when it says I want you. I want you. The truth can't hurt you, it's just like the dark. It scares you headless, but in time you see things clear and stark. I want you. Go on and hurt me, then we'll let it drop. I want you. I'm afraid I won't know where to stop. I want you, I'm not ashamed to say I cried for you. I want you, I want to know the things you did that we do too. I want you, I want to hear he pleases you more than I do.

SPEAKER_13 2:38:47

I want you, I might as well be useless for all it means to you. I want you.

SPEAKER_11 2:39:04

Oh no, my darling, not over that clown. I want you. I want you. You've had your fun, you don't get well no more. I want you. No one who wants you could want you.

SPEAKER_12 2:41:02

Water, water, water, our glory be to God the Son. Iron nature time. All glory be to God the Holy Ghost. Music, music, music, light, magic, blessing. Oh Jesus Christ I might again, what a flash of lightning from the sun. Hey ring. And the vice.

SPEAKER_13 2:41:38

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like the woman lion, scoot comment, kid, I'm scorched, safe the dunk, safe, okay, flash changes, the fishings at the sea, a whole unicorn, coming up the chill, rockstone without stone wheels, rockstone music, rockstone ship, the dump, the dumb. Like a room with the lion. Coming on the jungle. I am the kingdom. Coming from the juggle. I am the kingdom and I've been on the rocks to the eye. Oh, this is like this girl.

SPEAKER_12 2:46:29

I've done the cat.

SPEAKER_13 2:47:10

Let me see. Let me feel it. Scratch fairly on the fire. Scratch fairy ball and fire. Scratch very bad by scratch, fairy ball and fire, yeah. He scratched very bad wire.

SPEAKER_01 2:48:17

The dumb pressure of jungle was just roll through. That dense charging groove from Time Boom X to the Devil Dead. Where Lee Scratch Perry sounds completely at home inside Adrian Sherwood's on you sound machinery. It's physical music. Rhythm doing most of the talking. No excess explanation needed. It works because it moves. Relentlessly. What follows turns inward. Lonely Woman from the 1988 album E Tune. Charlie Hayden, and Jerry Allen, June unfolds slowly. Allen's piano carrying the emotional weight.

SPEAKER_06 2:59:31

I don't get ahead.

SPEAKER_13 2:59:40

Working night and day, the railroad and the fence. Watch the train go around the fence. Over the hill side. Over the mouth.

unknown 3:00:07

Over the hills and wave.

SPEAKER_06 3:00:15

Work a night and day. I tried to get ahead.

SPEAKER_13 3:00:23

Work a night and day don't make no sense. Walk me in the town, the fairy will be there. Carry us away to this.

SPEAKER_01 3:03:56

As the episode closes, over the hillside drifts to a halt, a song that never rushes its goodbye. It's the opening track on head, and it carries all the qualities that make that record so quietly devastating. Nothing here is flashy. The drum machine ticks like a distant pulse, the symptoms glow rather than the sparkle. And Paul Buchanan's voice sits right in the centre, weary, humane, and intensely focused. What makes it such a fitting final moment is its confidence in stillness. The song doesn't build toward a climax so much as it opens a window and leaves it ajar. There's melancholy here, but also dignity. A feeling of standing alone in a city at night and being strangely at peace with it. And that feels like the right way to end the two or so hours. We've moved across decades, continents, studios, bedrooms, sound systems, toilets, and scenes. From private rituals to public entrances, from chaos to control, from noise to clarity.