album name

The First Time

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by Cave Lions

The First Time Cover Art
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Reviews:

"Thom Carter just never stops working! With the release of The First Time under the psyeudoname Cave Lions, he has reached (an estimated) 21 official releases under 6 different names. It’s as though with each experimentation process he develops in his head, he titles it in such a manner that the depth of what he wishes to express is both fitting and appropriate. And anyone with half a bit of knowledge, or terrific search methods on Wikipedia, can tell you that a worldly inspired collection of blues and experimental instrumental songs can be likened to the now extinct breed of lion (or possibly even a tiger!). If anyone could rationalize this fact, the philosopher Thom himself could surely make you believe whatever he would like to believe".

"Carter’s previous work has been acoustic based, but never quite reaching the bluesy notes he went with on The First Time. His echoing vocals in “No Love Between Us” are reminiscent of the delta blues (or at least how they have been described by older folks who would know better). “Hell Inside Me” breaks out the Stevie Ray Vaughn of the new age with harsh guitar riffs and a plethora of experimental bells and whistles to steer the heart wherever our man decides it should go. And then it gets weird. Aside from a beautiful cover of Nick Cave’s “Into My Arms”, our wandering musician’s soul pulls us through a collection of highlights and occasional disturbing instrumentals. But the flow never changes; once again you will find yourself lost in the power of the same man who brought the world Menhirs of Er Grah and March Rosetta (his two most commonly used monikers). He really can do no wrong".

"Cave Lions probably won’t receive the attention and credit it deserves due to Carter’s laundry list of projects constantly in the works. Sure Thom could have skewed together a couple more blues tracks and made a different style of music for Black Crown or Minimalist State (two more of his monikers), but that wouldn’t fit his personality at all. Much like the cave lions used to prey upon bears in slumber, this is a multitasking and incredibly talented artist who will sneak up from the depths of eternal bliss and strike a musical mating call into our brains, leaving us yearning for more. Yeah, he’s that damn good".

(Fensepost, www.fensepost.com/main/2010/04/29/cave-lions-the-first-time-album-review/ )
credits
released 01 May 2010
Words of Track 4 are from the Bible.
Words of Track 6 are the poem 'The Eve of Saint Mark' by John Keats.
All other words and music by Thom Carter.
Copyright Verlaine Records 2010 [VR_008]. All Rights Reserved.

Thom Carter: www.thomcarter.co.uk
Verlaine Records: verlainerecords.co.uk
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tags: blues experimental guitar improvisation jazz klezmer piano rock swamp Hastings
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Track Name: Hell Inside Me
‘Hell Inside Me’.
Words and Music by Thom Carter. Copyright Verlaine Records 2010

Hell’s inside me,
Hell’s inside me,
Hell’s inside me,
Hell’s inside me,
Hell’s inside me.
Track Name: No Love Between Us
‘No Love Between Us’
Words and Music by Thom Carter. Copyright Verlaine Records 2010.

The power has gone from here,
The power has gone from here,

I’ll wait no more for you,
I’ll wait no more for you,

To free me from this discontent,
To free me from this discontent,

***

By the eyes of those who see,
There’s a hand that’s over me,
Well they’ll swear we were together,
Just as surely as they’ll swear to what they’ve never seen,

And they’ll turn their backs and faces,
As to them do you walk,
As each and every stranger,
Knows the secret of your gold,

Yeah, each and every stranger
Knows the secret of your gold.

***

So you make your way to Brighton,
To a paid for hotel suite,
And even the hotel registrar,
And the day-job porters can see,

That though you went there for the money,
That you come to like the man,
I don’t judge him anymore,
There are others who will do that,

***

There ain’t no love between two strangers,
Ain’t no love in this act,
Ain’t no love without danger,
But it will hold you and break you in the end.

***

As you noose and as you bind him,
As you cover his eyes with a mask,
As he consents for you to be there,
As your employer in his darkness,

So on the floor you lay him,
Till he looks as he’s asleep,
But in his mind he knows,
He’s getting his moneys worth,
And every pound he spends on you is cheap.

***

The power has gone from here,
The power has gone from here,

Because there is no love between us,
There is no love no more,
No, there is no love between us,
Between us that I can give you any more.
Track Name: 'The Eve of St. Mark' (Words by John Keats)
THE EVE OF SAINT MARK
by John Keats

Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell
That call'd the folk to evening prayer;
The city streets were clean and fair
From wholesome drench of April rains;
And, on the western window panes,
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of unmatur'd green vallies cold,
Of the green thorny bloomless hedge,
Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge,
Of primroses by shelter'd rills,
And daisies on the aguish hills.
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell:
The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies,
Warm from their fire-side orat'ries,
And moving with demurest air
To even-song and vesper prayer.
Each arched porch and entry low
Was fill'd with patient folk and slow,
With whispers hush, and shuffling feet,
While play'd the organ loud and sweet.

The bells had ceas'd, the prayers begun,
And Bertha had not yet half done
A curious volume, patch'd and torn,
That all day long, from earliest morn,
Had taken captive her two eyes
Among its golden broideries;
Perplex'd her with a thousand things,-
The stars of Heaven, and angels' wings,
Martyrs in a fiery blaze,
Azure saints in silver rays,
Moses' breastplate, and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in Heaven,
The winged Lion of Saint Mark,
And the Covenantal Ark
With its many mysteries,
Cherubim and golden mice.

Bertha was a maiden fair,
Dwelling in the old Minster-square;
From her fire-side she could see
Sidelong its rich antiquity,
Far as the Bishop's garden-wall;
Where sycamores and elm-trees tall,
Full-leav'd, the forest had outstript,
By no sharp north-wind ever nipt,
So shelter'd by the mighty pile.
Bertha arose, and read awhile
With forehead 'gainst the window-pane.
Again she try'd, and then again,
Until the dusk eve left her dark
Upon the legend of St. Mark.
From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin,
She lifted up her soft warm chin,
With aching neck and swimming eyes,
And daz'd with saintly imageries.

All was gloom, and silent all,
Save now and then the still foot-fall
Of one returning homewards late
Past the echoing minster-gate.

The clamorous daws, that all the day
Above tree-tops and towers play,
Pair by pair had gone to rest,
Each in its ancient belfry-nest,
Where asleep they fall betimes
To music of the drowsy chimes.

All was silent, all was gloom
Abroad and in the homely room:
Down she sat, poor cheated soul!
And struck a lamp from the dismal coal;
Lean'd forward with bright drooping hair
And slant book full against the glare.
Her shadow, in uneasy guise,
hover'd about, a giant size,
On ceiling-beam and old oak chair,
The parrot's cage, and panel square;
And the warm angled winter screen,
On which were many monsters seen,
Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice,
And legless birds of Paradise,
Macaw, and tender Avadavat,
And silken-furr'd Angora cat.
Untir'd she read, her shadow still
Glower'd about as it would fill
The room with wildest forms and shades,
As though some ghostly queen of spades
Had come to mock behind her back,
And dance, and ruffle her garments black.
Untir'd she read the legend page
Of holy Mark, from youth to age,
On land, on sea, in pagan chains,
Rejoicing for his many pains.
Sometimes the learned Eremite
With golden star, or dagger bright,
Referr'd to pious poesies
Written in smallest crow-quill size
Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme
Was parcell'd out from time to time:
"Gif ye wol stonden hardie wight-
Amiddes of the blacke night-
Righte in the churche porch, pardie
Ye wol behold a companie
Approchen thee full dolourouse
For sooth to sain from everich house
Be it in City or village
Wol come the Phantom and image
Of ilka gent and ilka carle
Whom colde Deathe hath in parle
And wol some day that very year
Touchen with foule venime spear
And sadly do them all to die-
Hem all shalt thou see verilie-
And everichon shall by thee pass
All who must die that year Alas
-Als writith he of swevenis
Men han beforne they wake in bliss,
Whanne that hir friendes thinke hem bound
In crimped shroude farre under grounde;
And how a litling child mote be
A saint er its nativitie,
Gif that the modre (God her blesse!)
Kepen in solitarinesse,
And kissen devoute the holy croce.
Of Goddes love and Sathan's force
He writith; and thinges many mo:
Of swiche thinges I may not show,
Bot I must tellen verilie
Somdel of Sainte Cicilie,
And chieflie what he auctorethe
Of Sainte Markis life and dethe:"

At length her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom;
Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine
At Venice,-