The Hour of Spirits
Sleevenote
A little something about Jan Burian for those a little less au courant. Burian always had a good head on his shoulders. The same cannot really be said, however, about the vocal chords in that head, but since he's been writing songs for so long now, he has in the meantime even learned how to sing passably. Together with his friend Jiří Dědeček, he spent about fifteen years poking fun at Communists. When they figured out what he was up to they paid him back by never letting him put out a record. This recording, Burian's first, came out only after the Changes of November 1989, but no one then had the time, or was in the mood, to listen to the lyrical songs which should really be seen in print at least once to get the gist of them.
Since that time, Burian has put out a few records. Each one sounds completely different than the other. With each new repetoire, Burian manages to get rid of his former listeners, sort of like a tree gets rid of its leaves in the autumn. Only the most faithful - and the most ignorant - have stood by him.
Recently, Burian got the feeling that it was all behind him, and he stopped writing songs: instead, he's putting Czech poetry to music (Poesie, CD Bonton Music 1994), and trying to use it to drown out the young people who come to his concerts at secondary schools. He also now hosts a regular television talk-show where the guests have thirty minutes to be intelligent and interesting, and, on top of that, they are forced to listen to a song by Burian. When he travels somewhere, he always writes a book about it (he's done that four times, so far!), because, after all, it was something his mother used to do.
Today, he no longer plays the synthesizer. Instead, he tosses various objects into a piano and pretends that his piano sounds that bad naturally. Sometimes his seventeen-year-old son Jiří accompanies him on drums (piano and drums, definitely the wave of the future).
After years of trying to get onto the hitparade, Burian has finally become a professional concierge, and he is said to be rising fast on the concierge charts at least for the time being.
Pavel Klusák
- The Nights Are So Long (mp3) 2:20
- For The First And Thousandth Time (mp3) 2:53
- Amnesia (mp3) 3:15
- Canary (mp3) 3:13
- Saying Goodbye (mp3) 1:40
- Morgenstern (mp3) 3:47
- New Year's Eve (mp3) 2:26
- In my next life (mp3) 2:34
- The Metamorphosis (mp3) 3:07
- My Baby (mp3) 2:56
- Good Morning! 2:48
- The Witching Hour (mp3) 2:48
- I'm Looking Up (mp3) 3:28
- Mommy, I Don't Want Him Coming Here (mp3) 2:55
- Playback Playboy (mp3) 2:52
- Addict (mp3) 2:28
- And Maybe A Little Dog (mp3) 2:51
- Things Are Goin' Alright (mp3) 3:01
The Nights Are So Long
You know that lately
Something's been scaring me
Something's laying me low
I've stopped reading books
Don't hear what's broadcast
Or the voice of God
The nights are so long
And there's no time for dreaming
And the pills won't take effect
The nights are so long
Like the queue round the butcher's shop
Which opens at seven
You know that lately
Something's got me dazed
Got me confused
Don't go to the movies
My jokes all fall flat
And nothing seems sacred
The nights are so long
Just like a conference
Where nothing happens
The nights are so long
Perhaps even for lovers
Longer than our hopes
For The First And Thousandth Time
You're in my room for the first time
Even though it's the thousandth
Like a statue that doesn't stand
Like a man on the moon
You levitate, turn cartwheels
Lacerate yourself on nails
Don't recognize the objects
That I use every day
What strange pictures!
What a strange array of books!
And then you knock me out by asking:
Are you mad, mendacious or a monk?
Then with the face of a moron
I ask one subtle thing:
Oh my love, where were you
When you were here with me?
I lost my memory
Somewhere outside
Where, I really
Don't remember
Along with it,
I lost my wallet
My house and my car
And my wife, too
I read the telephone directory
Whether I'm in it, I really can't say
I've got to admit, I don't know who I am
I say hello to myself in the mirror
Only the snowflakes from the sky
Fall down to my feet
I don't know what to do...
I've lost my memory
That's a worry
Most of all I'm bothered
That I'm getting used to it
I grab girls I don't know
Around their waists
And lock me up inside myself
Sometimes I learn to my horror
That with that old memory of mine
I've even forgotten that I once
Had an inkling of the loss
Only the snowflakes from the sky
Fall down to my feet
And time flies...
I'm a canary
A bought bird in a cage
And if I leave, I'll die
I'm a songbird
I'm a strange living thing
In my dreams I see a landscape
And in my dreams I see a little open door
And behind it the whole wide world
The tremendous depth
And dizzying breadth
From the wall to the door and back...
Only a few small steps forwards
And then spread my wings
I fly round the table and the lamp in a flash
If the lady of the house doesn't see me right away
I'll land lightly over on the kitchen counter
I'm a canary
I'm a bought bird in a cage
But I've got my limits
The housefly told me really strange things
how it was living in a panic
That behind the curtain
Behind the windowpane
There are roofs, sunshine and streets
My bird soul hasn't complained though
Since I have my limits
I'm a canary...
Saying Goodbye
Stretch me out on the rack
Burn my chest with a cigarette
Drench me in blood and sweat
But please, please just be with me
Of all possible tortures
The worst is saying goodbye
I'd rather eat some mercury!
Go on and rip out my insides
Name everyone who's seduced you
Play that record by the band Elán
Pour honey into my ear
Of all possible tortures
The worst is saying goodbye
I'd rather take poison!
That'd do me in right away!
One night on the lake
(This is from a reliable source)
Half way to the moon
We met Morgenstern
He whispered promises to the willows
Now and then, softly, a shooting star
Fishes sang the accompaniment
Songs beyond your wildest dreams
After midnight it was cold
We went ashore for a coffee
The fishes swam away to the bottom
In pursuit of their vain glory
Then a woman friend came
To make wreaths of conversation
In the heavens gaped a black hole
A black hole left by the morning star
It's New Year's Eve, balancing-the-books time
I drink my sixth rum toddy
And feel like getting up to dance
It wasn't a bad year
My wife was unfaithful to me
My good friend seduced her
It's a strictly confidential matter
The whole world knows by now
My boss didn't ask me how I was
He just bellowed at me
I wasn't going to get a bonus
But he'd be giving me notice
My older child is taking drugs
and the younger is failing school
So don't be too surprised if you find
Us in such a wonderful mood
I've got a floor that needs re-doing
And nothing else but debts
And there are missiles aimed at me
And no god anywhere
It's New Year's Eve, time to put up
Those posters with their dates
I've made my sixth toddy and a resolution
I'm going to drink rum straight
And in my next life
I'd rather be a hippo
If only I could, oh!
It'd be oh so very comfy
And in my next life
I'd gladly slide down into the mud
Just like today
But with the bonus of not getting dirty
In my next life
What if I end up a mouse?
That would be a cross to bear
Well what a drag that would be!
And in my next life
Nothing but traps and horror abounding
Just like today
But with the bonus of not owning a tv
To be a mouse and eat dry Christmas cake
That'd be a life not fit even for a snake!
Lately I don't feel like going to sleep
I look through my books and try to write something
And when I lie down, I bury my face in my hands
Because my girlfriend talks in her sleep
What's she dreaming about?
What's on her mind?
Who on earth knows?
What's she dreaming about?
What's going on with her?
She won't answer
She'll barely have closed her eyes before she fires a salvo of words
And tells me everything I shouldn't know
Tells me everything that one blushes to say
Names all the names of people unknown to me
Where does she know them from?
Who is she dreaming about?
Who on earth knows?
Where does she know them from?
Who's that with her?
She won't answer
Every time I wake up I'm brought down
By the change that's taking place with her
I'm afraid one morning she'll ask me in a whisper
Who the hell I am?
My baby she gets up in the dark
Spiders are sleeping on the walls
And on the bed there's just a depression
Hot, warm and getting cooler
A depression like a top secret file
That no one is guarding
My baby she gets up in the dark
Without dreams or breakfast
She don't laugh like she used to
Don't sleep or even sing
Don't subscribe to the right magazines
And doesn't even try to hide the fact
Something strange has come over her
I don't think that I can stand it
She's melancholy and got herself
Caught up in the rat-race
Every morning when I get up
If I regain consciousness
I'm suddenly overwhelmed
By a planetary conscience
I've got a globe instead of a skull
A paternal approach to the world
I put on my dressing-gown and slippers
And head off in the direction of the toilet
Good morning! Good morning!
Maybe the détente process
Hasn't cooled over night
I bend over the basin
And gargle a good long while
I think about what's in China
I'm worried about Chile
I open the doors of my wardrobe
And go through my shirts
Good morning! Good morning!
I'm horrified at what's in Honduras
I quake at what's in Tokyo
I comb my last remaining hair
And drink a bit of juice
Terrorists in Constantinople
Disasters in Rabat, too
The familiar old hunger zones
And I put on a necktie
Good morning! Good morning!
Next my hat and my gloves
Maybe I won't get too cold
And when I get out onto the road
It's time to think about myself
Good morning! Good morning!
I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night
Assuming that I was home alone
But the ghosts had me completely in their power
They had a party here at exactly midnight
What a fright! But let me tell you
My spirits don't sink that fast
But they weren't just rookies
Each ghost had spirit to spare
So I crouched on a couch in the corner
And thought about who'd won the Noble prize
And which of those ghosts who'd crept in here
Might've composed, written or invented something
In the corner, there was Nobel with his dynamite
Next to him Einstein with relative sensitivity
Talked about his latest paper
Edison pulled pieces of wire out of his pockets
Amundsen waved a long white scarf
And Freud asked: `What on earth have you been dreaming about?'
In short, there were lots of special guests here
Marie Curie pounded her fist on the table
Picasso tried to make frescoes with his cigarette
And Albert Schweitzer put on old records
And Armstrong Louis and Armstrong Neil were laughing
And Kainar wrote his `Hail, my liege...'
The witching hour, I'm sitting up in bed
Thirty-three years old and what next?
The ghosts are frightening - educated and refined
They ask me `Who might you be?' - they've never seen me before
`Who might you be and what have you achieved?'
I'm looking up
The clouds sail by
And at home they're waiting with dinner
O Lord, down here we've got
Different kinds of fun
No one believes in you
By ourselves we run
Our own mammoth trusts
And programme our own history
Down here we're creating
Groups and castes for ourselves
We're slicing off slices of the scenery
Only sometimes perhaps
Someone runs out the door
Into the dark, deranged
He's looking up
Dumb and barefooted
And at home they're waiting with dinner
Mommy, I Don't Want Him Coming Here
Once or twice it seemed to me that he was just your type
That with time things would work out better for you two
Once or twice I'd the feeling you had things to talk about
But it was only a feeling and it turned out to be nothing
Mommy
I don't want him coming here
Mommy
Tell him not to come
Mommy
Let's face it, he's not right for you!
I know he always comes when I stay late at school
I think that you still feel the same about him
You're carrying on with him in secret and starting to lie to me
And I want to love only you
Mommy,
I don't want him coming here
Mommy
Tell him not to come
Mommy
Let's face it, he's not right for you!
I'm only fifteen years old -- barely started to live
And lots of girls say they want me
Loads of beautiful women try to seduce me - Come and sleep with me!
But I want to love only you...
So, I went into the studio
Directed by a perfect stranger
I thought that I wouldn't make it through
But, you know, I always do survive
Blinded by the glare of the spotlights
I'm refashioned in the latest style
Floating upwards, a glider, no motor
Me, the well known playback playboy
Just one or two more strokes of the golden pen
And all the wrinkles are covered by makeup
The producer says: That's a take!
That's the way people want us!
Everyone's looking responsible
And I, too, am obviously happy
That I'll again be haunting the tube
On Friday, before the nation goes to bed
The stagehand, a certain Vláďa Merta
(God, where do I know him from?)
Wearing a devil's mask, whispers to me during the break
Let's face it, you wrote it yourself!
And you just scribble with your golden pen
And try to cover up the wrinkles with makeup
And people say: We aren't going to fall for that.
That's the way they want us!
Send me a postcard, get on the blower
Reveal yourself to me at least for a moment
Give me your narcotics
And shoot yourself into my veins
Since morning I've been trying to score
But always without success
A little fix of your breath
A tiny vial of your expression
In my heart the snows will melt away
The ice will thaw, the metal burst
All I need is a hit of your affection
Just a little shot of your sweet words
I'm wandering the streets in the rain
In my heart and brain nothing but smog
I'm looking for you my connection
The queen of the drug smugglers
And maybe babysit the neighbour's children
And maybe bring the old folks their lunch
And maybe believe in the tv dreams
And maybe go nowhere on Friday
And maybe bring the coal up the stairs
Wait for the forecast on the radio
And maybe clean up just for the feeling
that all the grey in the flat will disappear with the dust
And maybe covertly read the adverts
But to answer them would only be indecent
Perhaps take in a little dog
A little dog - but never again another person
I got a flat
I signed on for ten years
I've got two children
I'll soon be forty years of age
I'm paying back a few loans
My wife's back at her job
We're all in good health
Things are goin' alright
Just sometimes there's something missing
Maybe I'll buy myself a dog
A dachshund or something small
That doesn't require too much work
Just sometimes there's something missing
And I don't quite know what it is
But then I secretly lock myself in
Into my prefab concrete room