New Roger Waters Songs!
Resources & Links
Go Listen on Rogers Site | Chat on Forum about this | Info about Rogers Forthcoming album from RWO | Press Release | To Kill The Child Lyrics | Leaving Beirut Lyrics | Recording Credits | Roger’s New Album and Tour! |
 |
| Enlarge |
2 brand new songs from Roger Waters forthcoming album have been made available officially on his website for fans to listen to for free! The songs are called “To Kill The Child” and “Leaving Beirut”.
TWO NEW ROGER WATERS SONGS, “TO KILL THE CHILD” & “LEAVING BEIRUT,”
AVAILABLE EXCLUSIVELY AS DOWNLOADS BEGINNING TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7
Essential New Tracks Penned In Response to the Invasion of Iraq
Roger Waters, the co-founder and primary songwriter of the legendary rock band Pink Floyd, has written and recorded two important new songs, “To Kill The Child” and “Leaving Beirut,” the artist’s first new studio recordings since a pair of rarities–a demo of his composition “Flickering Flame” and his cover of Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”–appeared on an international compilation album, Flickering Flame: The Solo Years, Vol.1, in 2002. The last new album featuring original Roger Waters compositions to be released in the U.S. was his critically-acclaimed solo outing, Amused To Death, in 1992.
The two new Roger Waters songs–“To Kill The Child” and “Leaving Beirut”–will be made available on a variety of digital music stores–including SonyConnect, iTunes, BuyMusic, MusicMatch, MusicNet, MusicNow, Napster, Real/Rhapsody, and Walmart.com–beginning Tuesday, September 7.
Roger Waters fans may hear streaming versions of “To Kill The Child” and “Leaving Beirut” on Waters website, www.roger-waters.com, beginning at 12noon (ET) on Friday, September 3. Original artwork and lyrics for the songs may be found on the website in addition to Real Audio, QuickTime, and Windows Media stream links to the songs.
According to Waters, he began work on his new songs “…immediately after the invasion of Iraq, which is now fifteen months ago. It seems apposite to throw them out there on the Net, before the election. Historically, there have always been people within the artistic community who have spoken out about things they believe in and they should continue to do so. I shall certainly continue to do so, whether it has any effect or not, because I feel I have a responsibility to myself to do that.”
The two new songs represent a significant addition to Waters’ groundbreaking oeuvre, itself an ongoing work-in-progress. For these studio versions of his latest compositions, Waters assembled a small band consisting of stalwarts from his touring ensemble–Graham Broad (drums), Andy Fairweather-Low (guitar), Katie Kissoon (vocals), PP Arnold (vocals)–and Carol Kenyon (vocals). Waters himself plays guitar, bass and keyboards on the tracks in addition to performing the primary vocals. “To Kill The Child” and “Leaving Beirut” were produced by Roger Waters and Nick Griffiths.
# # # # #
Roger Waters co-founded the groundbreaking Pink Floyd with Syd Barrett in 1966. When Barrett left the group, Roger went on to create such classics as Dark Side Of The Moon (which spent nearly 15 years on the Billboard 200 album chart), The Wall (which has been certified 23x RIAA platinum), Animals, Wish You Were Here, and The Final Cut. Following the release of The Final Cut, Roger Waters left Pink Floyd.
His first solo album, The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking, was released in April 1984, to great critical and popular acclaim, generating his first solo tour. June 1987’s Radio K.A.O.S. continued the path of solo success, bringing Roger back to the stage. His last solo album, the darkly ironic Amused to Death–considered by many fans and critics alike to be an achievement comparable to Dark Side of the Moon or The Wall–was released in August 1992.
The child lay
In the starlit night
Safe in the glow of his Donald Duck light
How strange to choose to take a life
How strange to choose to kill a child
Hoover, Blaupunkt, Nissan Jeep
Nike, Addidas, Lacoste and cheaper brands
Cadillac, Amtrak, gasoline, diesel
Our standard of living, could this be a reason
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
__________
Allah, Jehovah, Buddah, Christ
Confucius and Kali and reds, beans and rice
Goujons of sole, ris de veau, ham hocks
Lox bagels and bones and commandments in stone
The Bible, Koran, Shinto, Islam
Prosciutto, risotto, falafel and ham
Is it dogma, doughnuts, ridicule faith
Fear of the dark, or shame or disgrace
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
__________
It’s cold in the desert
And the space is too big
The rope is too short
And the walls are too thick
I will show you no weakness
I will mock you in song
Berate and deride you
Belittle and chide you
Beat you with sticks
And bulldoze your home
You can watch my triumphant procession to Rome
Best seat in the house
Up there on the cross
Is it anger or envy, profit or loss
That we would choose to kill the child
That we would choose to kill the child
__________
Take this child and hold him closely
Keep him safe from the holy reign of terror
Take this child hold him closely
Take this child to the moral high ground
Where he can look down on the bigots and bully boys
Slugging it out in the yard
Lyrics by Roger Waters
© 2004 Roger Waters Music Overseas Ltd./Pink Floyd Music Publishers Ltd.
So we left Beirut Willa and I
He headed East to Baghdad and the rest of it
I set out North
I walked the five or six miles to the last of the street lamps
And hunkered in the curb side dusk
Holding out my thumb
In no great hope at the ramshackle procession of home bound traffic
Success!
An ancient Mercedes ‘dolmus ‘
The ubiquitous, Arab, shared taxi drew up
I turned out my pockets and shrugged at the driver
” J’ai pas de l’argent ”
” Venez! ” A soft voice from the back seat
The driver lent wearily across and pushed open the back door
I stooped to look inside at the two men there
One besuited, bespectacled, moustached, irritated, distant, late
The other, the one who had spoken,
Frail, fifty five-ish, bald, sallow, in a short sleeved pale blue cotton shirt
With one biro in the breast pocket
A clerk maybe, slightly sunken in the seat
“Venez!” He said again, and smiled
“Mais j’ai pas de l’argent”
“Oui, Oui, d’accord, Venez!”
______________________
Are these the people that we should bomb
Are we so sure they mean us harm
Is this our pleasure, punishment or crime
Is this a mountain that we really want to climb
The road is hard, hard and long
Put down that two by four
This man would never turn you from his door
Oh George! Oh George!
That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small
______________________
He beckoned with a small arthritic motion of his hand
Fingers together like a child waving goodbye
The driver put my old Hofner guitar in the boot with my rucksack
And off we went
” Vous etes Francais, monsieur? ”
” Non, Anglais ”
” Ah! Anglais ”
” Est-ce que vous parlais Anglais, Monsieur? ”
“Non, je regrette”
And so on
In small talk between strangers, his French alien but correct
Mine halting but eager to please
A lift, after all, is a lift
Late moustache left us brusquely
And some miles later the dolmus slowed at a crossroads lit by a single lightbulb
Swung through a U-turn and stopped in a cloud of dust
I opened the door and got out
But my benefactor made no move to follow
The driver dumped my guitar and rucksack at my feet
And waving away my thanks returned to the boot
Only to reappear with a pair of alloy crutches
Which he leaned against the rear wing of the Mercedes.
He reached into the car and lifted my companion out
Only one leg, the second trouser leg neatly pinned beneath a vacant hip
” Monsieur, si vous voulez, ca sera un honneur pour nous
Si vous venez avec moi a la maison pour manger avec ma femme ”
______________________
When I was 17 my mother, bless her heart, fulfilled my summer dream
She handed me the keys to the car
We motored down to Paris, fuelled with Dexedrine and booze
Got bust in Antibes by the cops
And fleeced in Naples by the wops
But everyone was kind to us, we were the English dudes
Our dads had helped them win the war
When we all knew what we were fighting for
But now an Englishman abroad is just a US stooge
The bulldog is a poodle snapping round the scoundrel’s last refuge
______________________
“Ma femme”, thank God! Monopod but not queer
The taxi drove off leaving us in the dim light of the swinging bulb
No building in sight
What the hell
“Merci monsieur”
“Bon, Venez!”
His faced creased in pleasure, he set off in front of me
Swinging his leg between the crutches with agonising care
Up the dusty side road into the darkness
After half an hour we’d gone maybe half a mile
When on the right I made out the low profile of a building
He called out in Arabic to announce our arrival
And after some scuffling inside a lamp was lit
And the changing angle of light in the wide crack under the door
Signalled the approach of someone within
The door creaked open and there, holding a biblical looking oil lamp
Stood a squat, moustached woman, stooped smiling up at us
She stood aside to let us in and as she turned
I saw the reason for her stoop
She carried on her back a shocking hump
I nodded and smiled back at her in greeting, fighting for control
The gentleness between the one-legged man and his monstrous wife
Almost too much for me
______________________
Is gentleness too much for us
Should gentleness be filed along with empathy
We feel for someone else’s child
Every time a smart bomb does its sums and gets it wrong
Someone else’s child dies and equities in defence rise
America, America, please hear us when we call
You got hip-hop, be-bop, hustle and bustle
You got Atticus Finch
You got Jane Russell
You got freedom of speech
You got great beaches, wildernesses and malls
Don’t let the might, the Christian right, fuck it all up
For you and the rest of the world
______________________
They talked excitedly
She went to take his crutches in routine of care
He chiding, gestured
We have a guest
She embarrassed by her faux pas
Took my things and laid them gently in the corner
“Du the?”
We sat on meagre cushions in one corner of the single room
The floor was earth packed hard and by one wall a raised platform
Some six foot by four covered by a simple sheet, the bed
The hunchback busied herself with small copper pots over an open hearth
And brought us tea, hot and sweet
And so to dinner
Flat, unleavened bread, + thin
Cooked in an iron skillet over the open hearth
Then folded and dipped into the soft insides of female sea urchins
My hostess did not eat, I ate her dinner
She would hear of nothing else, I was their guest
And then she retired behind a curtain
And left the men to sit drinking thimbles full of Arak
Carefully poured from a small bottle with a faded label
Soon she reappeared, radiant
Carrying in her arms their pride and joy, their child.
I’d never seen a squint like that
So severe that as one eye looked out the other disappeared behind its nose
______________________
Not in my name, Tony, you great war leader you
Terror is still terror, whosoever gets to frame the rules
History’s not written by the vanquished or the damned
Now we are Genghis Khan, Lucretia Borghia, Son of Sam
In 1961 they took this child into their home
I wonder what became of them
In the cauldron that was Lebanon
If I could find them now, could I make amends?
How does the story end?
______________________
And so to bed, me that is, not them
Of course they slept on the floor behind a curtain
Whilst I lay awake all night on their earthen bed
Then came the dawn and then their quiet stirrings
Careful not to wake the guest
I yawned in great pretence
And took the proffered bowl of water heated up and washed
And sipped my coffee in its tiny cup
And then with much “merci-ing” and bowing and shaking of hands
We left the woman to her chores
And we men made our way back to the crossroads
The painful slowness of our progress accentuated by the brilliant morning light
The dolmus duly reappeared
My host gave me one crutch and leaning on the other
Shook my hand and smiled
“Merci, monsieur,” I said
” De rien ”
” And merci a votre femme, elle est tres gentille ”
Giving up his other crutch
He allowed himself to be folded into the back seat again
“Bon voyage, monsieur,” he said
And half bowed as the taxi headed south towards the city
I turned North, my guitar over my shoulder
And the first hot gust of wind
Quickly dried the salt tears from my young cheeks.
Lyrics by Roger Waters
© 2004 Roger Waters Music Overseas Ltd./Pink Floyd Music Publishers Ltd.
Music and Lyrics by Roger Waters © 2004 Roger Waters Music Overseas Ltd/Pink Floyd Music Publishing (BMI)
Roger Waters -Vocals, Guitar, Bass & Keyboards
Graham Broad -Drums
Andy Fairweather Low -Guitar
Katie Kissoon -Vocals
Carol Kenyon -Vocals
PP Arnold -Vocals
Produced by Roger Waters and Nick Griffiths
Engineered by Nick Griffiths
Mastered at Hilton Grove
Photographed by David Silverman courtesy Getty Images
Artwork by Hudson Wright
Source: [ RWO and Roger Waters ]