Songs From The Bottom Of A Hilltop - Uphill Side

by Sven Olsen's Brutal Canadian Love Saga

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    This was a fun project and by word of mouth 300 have gone. 50 are heading off somewhere soon. So that leaves 50 left ... we figure anyone who has the perseverence to come to this site, play the songs and get in touch deserves one.

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about

16 love stories from Wellington, New Zealand

credits

released November 13, 2010

written and recorded by Nigel Beckford and Clyde Clemett, mixed by Dale Cotton.

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all rights reserved

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Sven Olsen's Brutal Canadian Love Saga Wellington

Our special limited edition fly swat and book deluxe combo has now sold out. The Almanac is an illustrated book and six albums worth of songs about a typical year of life in New Zealand, land of laid back catastrophe. You can still download this digital audio Everest here for next to nothing. Kapai! ... more

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Track Name: adams terrace
Adams Terrace

It’s the steepest street in my history
Wooden houses there where the sun gets scared
But there upon those slopes where only mildew grows
sowed we wild oats - mountain goats, take note!

There my needs were few
They were met by you
All my days were long …
trains of endless thought

When we climbed home drunk that hill was quite a bummer
You could hold the Winter Olympics in summer
But you’ll never find a place like that again

We couldn’t afford to heat
We lived in libraries
My mother sent me packs
of Big Wheels underpants
and a Woolworths’ book, of just what it took
800 photographs – Learn How To Disco Dance!

When we climbed home drunk, that hill was quite a bummer
You could hold the Winter Olympics in summer
But you’ll never find a place like that again
Track Name: Lighting Store
Lighting Store

In my dreams I’m in your lighting store
A gloomy place, 10,000 watts and more
I had to duck my head wherever I walked
Giant bulbs hung down on giant stalks

But for your love I’d gladly duck
For in the afternoons you’d come
We’d go back
to my basement flat
and we’d lay there and make love, love, love

I had a rivalry with Death
When we kissed I’d taste him on your breath
But then you’d go and whisper in my ear
The sort of things that only film stars hear

The footsteps on the path outside
made us hunker down and hide
Elbows like bats
We’d make them flap
On the ceiling up above, ‘bove, ‘bove

One or twice we trained out to the Hutt
Ancient concrete stations sat non-plussed
Sometimes unemployment is a blessing
for autumn is the season for undressing

I need no eulogies or prayers
Your Billy Idol takes me there
Your floury breath
We gave it death
In the reaches of the Hutt, Hutt, Hutt
In the reaches of the Hutt, in the reaches of the Hutt
In the reaches of the Hutt, Hutt, Hutt
Track Name: This kitchen doesn't clean itself
This Kitchen Doesn’t Clean Itself

This old kitchen doesn’t clean itself
but it sure knows how to blush
As I reach up to the dusty shelf
all the dirt reminds me of us

You were tender, you were tough.
A little desperate for love.
So roll it out and give it up -
your bed of nails and your wire brush

Steep are the valleys
And dark there the ways
And clinging the nettles and the vine
Steep are the valleys
And dark there the ways
A favour that pays you back in kind

It was over in a flash
All musket, rod and ash
First rowdy heat then sombre damp
These pots and pans remind me of you

This old kitchen doesn’t clean itself
But it sure knows how to fret
So I head into the world outside
To a place that knows no such regrets
Track Name: Willis Street
Willis Street

Regrets, I’ve had a few
I wouldn’t swap ‘em for all the ostrich meat they raise in Kumeu
Because a life lived safer,
it only sounds good when it’s written down on paper
And those lights - oh, those lights!
Blooming orange up above us just like flowers of the night
and how they glow, baby
as if they know, there’s a heart breaking below

On that night - oh, that night!!
You can think back all you want
and you will never get it right
At that bus stop, waiting
For your teardrops to get a lift down to the station

You are my weakness at the knees
You are my triumph in defeat
Your are my favourite Waterloo
No, darling I’m your Willis Street
You are my punishing desire!
You are my frying pan on fire!
You are my stolen Port-a-loo
You are my don’t what to do …

…with this gun
You could take aim down the motorway and never hit no-one
Because they’ve fled, baby
Back to their beds, though it’s only 2am
And those lights - oh, those lights
Looming orange up above us, like some flowers of the night
And how they glow, baby
as if they know
there’s a heart breaking below

You are my weakness at the knees
You are my triumph in defeat
Your are my favourite Waterloo
No, darling I’m your Willis Street
You are my punishing desire
You are my frying pan on fire
You are my stolen Port-a-loo
You are my don’t what to do …

… with these lights
What shall we do … with these lights?
What shall we do … with these lights?
What shall we do … with these lights?
Track Name: Unfunded Moments
Unfunded Moments

Up on a hill in Brighton
lay the applicant
He’s trying to read the writing
of the letter that you sent
It’s raining heavens hard now
It’s freezing and it’s dark
He’s trying to find the meaning
of the dagger in his heart

The bright lights across the way
Are really quite inviting
But we were miles, miles and miles away
Drowning in a great, unfunded moment

My career is diving
It’s leaking in this tent
The thunder and the lightning
are making perfect sense

And with my spirits flagging
I trudge home from the pub
The rain no longer matters
It only tops me up

The bright lights across the way
are really quite inviting
But we were miles; miles and miles away
Drowning in a great, unfunded moment

The film scripts that never spooled …
The doors that never opened …
I just got tired, tired of all their rules
and the lines that went unspoken
You see I’ve frittered half my life away
and the other half just coping
And now we’re miles, miles and miles away
Drowning in a great, unfunded
Choking on a great, unfunded
Savouring this great, unfunded moment
Track Name: Minefield
Minefield

Once, once in a while
You get a glimpse of something beautiful
Desire that makes you smile
when nothing else can quite get through to you
Ah hah ah hah, ah hah ah hahaha

You’ve been bit by the bug
And the pain is just unbeatable
Life can see what you’re made of
and you thought it was undefeatable

I’m in a minefield
I’m doing cartwheels
I’m in a minefield baby
I’m doing cartwheels

Your worries abruptly stop
and you’ve been a worrier since 1959
Your misgivings, they drop
It’s called: ‘you’re-having-a-good-time’

I’m in a minefield
I’m doing cartwheels
I’m in a minefield baby
I’m doing cartwheels

You’ve been bit by the bug
And the pain is just unbeatable
Life can see what you’re made of
And you thought it was undefeatable
Track Name: Restless Spirit
Restless Spirit

Bring back the Resolution, and the Cuba and the Boyd
Cos we’re tired of rolling pastures, and we’re thirsty for a voyage
We could fly away from these islands to Berlin or Beijing or Brussels
We could fly away from these islands and turn all our pipis to muscles

Bring back the Resolution, and the Cuba and the Boyd
Cos we need a fresh Endeavour - somewhere better, somewhere warm
We could fly away from these islands forsaking our drab lives and lovers
We could fly away from these islands, because they’re really starting to bug us

Cos of all the restless spirits, we’re the most restless of all
Well, we’ve barely touched the tarmac and we’re waiting for your call
Cos the grass is always greener than the stuff we’ve got to chew
She’s not dancing, she’s just looking for somewhere new
Track Name: The Chairman of the Wool Board's Daughter
The Chairman of the Wool Board’s Daughter

She was the chairman of the wool board’s daughter**
She arrived like a lamb to the slaughter
She was a teacher but all that had taught her
Was wearing high heels helps keep law and order

Well, we shared a bed in Landcross street
It was the flattest part of somewhere steep
It was a shoe box hoisted over a ravine
Somewhere the rain turned the beer bottles green

Well, she came back from Greece wrapped in a towel
I could never look a gift horse in the mouth
She was a frozen shade of golden brown
except in three places which I got to count for myself …la la la la la la la

Well, we lived a life of constant peeling
Vintage fat used to drip down from the ceiling
The neighbours burned our letterbox for stealing
their milk whenever they went out

So we placed our speakers face down on the floor
At two in the morning or three or four
They used to beat with a broomstick on our walls
but all to no avail

The weekends were a search for sex
but our searching had the opposite effect
There didn’t seem to be any women left
prepared to fall in love with human wrecks

We’d drink three dozen at a single sitting
We sculled a hundred nips without even pissing
We drank ‘Blue Water, White Death’* and went missing
For a long, long, long, long time

We had five tvs stacked up in the corner
They were stacked up in a special order
Two nearly worked, one not at all and two sort of
We used to dive from the cliffs of the 19 inch … just like those guys in Acapulco

We shunned the daylight and we hugged the fringe
We never drank much, we’d only binge
It was a bottomless wok of stir-fried things
relieved by ham steaks and pineapple rings

Well, I stayed there for quite a while
It began with Boston and ended in the Blue Nile
I had no money, no hopes and no style
It was a tragedy of failed moustaches

Oh, when she left, she took the bed
I had to sleep on the Hessian instead
I’d go round and stay and get my ‘end’ away
Until she gave it back to me with interest … my ‘end’, that is

There was the mung bean-eating cellist who barfed
There was the bearded linguist from Canberra who laughed
There was old Hairy Back and his ring around our bath
that looked like Friar Tuck’s head

There was John, Chris, Tony, Brian and Steve
There was ancient Bill and his gold Ford Capri
There was Rod and Gyles and Jan and Gill and me
And now there’s you … there … too.

** Well, almost
*All the white spirits in a beer jug, coloured with a shot of blue Curacao.