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If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

And then goes on to make the video below with a hellishly long 3 minute intro. People wont stay around to listen to Ogden Nash’s Great Poem read by Jarvis Cocker. They’ll skip it. You Avatar isnt that cool Dude. Ah well… perhaps they can watch the graphic above as well…?

O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad.
O Superman. O judge. O Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad.
Hi. I’m not home right now. But if you want to leave a
message, just start talking at the sound of the tone.
Hello? This is your Mother. Are you there? Are you
coming home?
Hello? Is anybody home? Well, you don’t know me,
but I know you.
And I’ve got a message to give to you.
Here come the planes.
So you better get ready. Ready to go. You can come
as you are, but pay as you go. Pay as you go.
And I said: OK. Who is this really? And the voice said:
This is the hand, the hand that takes. This is the
hand, the hand that takes.
This is the hand, the hand that takes.
Here come the planes.
They’re American planes. Made in America.
Smoking or non-smoking?
And the voice said: Neither snow nor rain nor gloom
of night shall stay these couriers from the swift
completion of their appointed rounds.
‘Cause when love is gone, there’s always justice.
And when justive is gone, there’s always force.
And when force is gone, there’s always Mom. Hi Mom!
So hold me, Mom, in your long arms. So hold me,
Mom, in your long arms.
In your automatic arms. Your electronic arms.
In your arms.
So hold me, Mom, in your long arms.
Your petrochemical arms. Your military arms.
In your electronic arms.

Requiem For The Americas:

Touch For The Volcano Site

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us
Be there, not afraid…
Sisters of moon ascend
Be there, not afraid…

As all my life ascended
There the angels sang inside of me
The more you realize the more you gain
As though there’s something living said
There beyond the garden of the windows
Rest upon the life
Lay it on the line

There lies the souls within the lost world
Where memory is forgotten
On the magic Horse of Fire
And all the world’s are locked in memory
Caught within our apathy
You get the picture not the story
Honor your past
Honor your life
Honor the history of the ancients
As every thought creates a backlash
The senseless death
The waste

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Should it be a mantra
Should it be a book
You give a little knowledge
Realizing the glory of the wise
And the ancient lives…

Sisters of moon ascend
Be amongst us,
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sky ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there, not afraid

Mothers of the earth ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid.

Sisters of moon ascend
Be amongst us,
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sun ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid

Brothers of sky ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there, not afraid

Mothers of the earth ascend
Be amongst us.
Be there not afraid.

LEAD VOCAL/LYRICS: Jon Anderson.

“Magic, chance, providence, whatever word you choose, it’s a powerful force in everyone’s life. I didn’t realize how much until I was down a trail that has occupied me and a great many others for the past couple of years.

I composed the songs on Requiem as a tribute to the spirit and vision of the Native American. … My wish with Requiem is to reflect the inspiration from all I’ve absorbed remaining attentive and true to the spirit of these native tales.” – Jonathon Elias, NYC, August ’89

Hiawatha not all but :

By the shore of gitche gumee
By the shining big-sea-water
At the doorway of the wigwam
In the early summer morning

Hiawatha stood and waited
All the air was full of freshness
All the earth was bright and joyous
And before him through the sunshine

Westward toward the neighbouring forest
Passed in golden swams the ahmo
Passed the bees the honey-makers
Burning singing in the sunshine

Bright above him shone the heavens
Level spread the lake before him;
From it’s bosom leaped the sturgeon
Sparkling flashing in the sunshine

On it’s margin the great forest
Stood reflected in the water
Every tree-top had it’s shadow
Motionless beneath the water

From the bow of hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow
As the fog from off the water
As the mist of the meadow
With a smile of joy and gladness
With a look of exultation
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be but is not

Stood and waited hiawatha
Toward the sun his hands were lifted
Both the palms spread out towards it
And between the parted fingers

Feel the sunshine on his features
Flecked with light his naked shoulders
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted leaves and branches

O’er the water floating flying
Something in the hazy distance
Something in the mist of morning
Loomed and lifted from the water
Now seemed floating now seemed flying
Coming nearer nearer nearer
Was it shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican the shada?

Or the heron the shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose waw-be-wawa
With the water dripping flashing
From it’s glossy neck and feathers?

It was neither goose or diver
Neither pelican nor heron
O’er the water floating flying
Through the shining mist of morning

But a birch canoe with paddles
Rising sinking in the sunshine
Dripping flashing in the sunshine
And within it came a people
Can it be the sun descending
O’er the level plain of water
Or the red swan floatin flying
Wounded by the magic arrow

Staining all the waves with crimson
With the crimson of it’s lifeblood
Filling all the air with splendour
Filling all the air with plumage

Yes it is the sun descending
Sinking down into the water
All the sky is stained with purple
All the water flushed with crimson!

No it is the red swan floating
Diving down beneath the water
To the sky it’s wings are lifted
With it’s blood the waves are reddened!

Over it the star of evening
Melts and trembles through the purple
Hangs suspended in the twilight
Walks in silence through the heavens!

And This :

An extract from War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

During the interval there was a cool draught in Hélène’s box as the door opened and in walked Anatole, stopping and trying not to brush against anyone.

‘Allow me to introduce my brother,’ said Hélène, her eyes shifting uneasily from Natasha to Anatole. Natasha turned her pretty little head towards the handsome adjutant and smiled at him over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was just as handsome close to as he had been from a distance, sat down beside her and said this was a delight he had long been waiting for, ever since the Naryshkins’ ball, where he had had the unforgettable pleasure of seeing her. Kuragin was much more astute and straightforward with women than he ever was in male company. He talked with an easy directness, and Natasha was agreeably surprised to discover that this man, the butt of so much gossip, had nothing formidable about him – quite the reverse, his face wore the most innocent, cheery and open-hearted of smiles.

Kuragin asked what she thought of the opera, and told her that at the last performance Semyonova had fallen down on stage.

‘Oh, by the way, Countess,’ he said, suddenly treating her like a close friend of long standing, ‘we’re getting up a fancy-dress ball. You must come – it’s going to be great fun. They’re all getting together at the Arkharovs’. Please come. You will, won’t you?’ As he spoke he never took his smiling eyes off Natasha, her face, her neck, her exposed arms. Natasha knew for certain he was besotted with her. She liked this, yet she could feel the temperature rising and she was beginning to feel somehow cornered and constrained in his presence. When she wasn’t looking at him she could sense him gazing at her shoulders, and she found herself trying to catch his eye to make him look at her face. But when she looked into his eyes she was shocked to realize that the usual barrier of modesty that existed between her and other men was no longer there between the two of them. It had taken five minutes for her to feel terribly close to this man, and she scarcely knew what was happening to her. Whenever she turned away she bristled at the thought that he might seize her from behind by her bare arm and start kissing her on the neck. They were going on about nothing in particular, yet she felt closer to him than she had ever been to any other man. Natasha kept glancing round at Hélène and her father for help – what did it all mean? – but Hélène was deep in conversation with a general and didn’t respond to her glance, and her father’s eyes conveyed nothing but their usual message, ‘Enjoying yourself? Jolly good. I’m so pleased.’

There was an awkward silence, during which Anatole, the personification of cool determination, never took his voracious eyes off her, and Natasha broke it by asking whether he liked living in Moscow. She coloured up the moment the question was out of her mouth. She couldn’t help feeling there was something improper about even talking to him. Anatole smiled an encouraging smile.

‘Oh, I didn’t like it much at first. Well, what is it that makes a town nice to live in? It’s the pretty women, isn’t it? Well, now I do like it, very much indeed,’ he said, with a meaningful stare. ‘You will come to the fancy-dress ball, Countess? Please come,’ he said. Putting his hand out to touch her bouquet he lowered his voice and added in French, ‘You’ll be the prettiest woman there. Do come, dear Countess, and give me this flower as your pledge.’

Natasha didn’t understand a word of this – any more than he did – but she felt that behind his incomprehensible words there was some dishonourable intention. Not knowing how to respond, she turned away as if she hadn’t heard him. But the moment she turned away she could feel him right behind her, very close.

‘Now what? Is he embarrassed? Is he angry? Should I put things right?’ she wondered. She couldn’t help turning round. She looked him straight in the eyes. One glance at him, standing so close, with all that self-assurance and the warmth of his sweet smile, and she was lost. She stared into his eyes, and her smile was the mirror-image of his. And again she sensed with horror there was no barrier between the two of them.

The curtain rose again. Anatole strolled out of the box, a picture of composure and contentment. Natasha went back to her father’s box, completely taken by the new world she found herself in. All that was happening before her eyes now seemed absolutely normal. By contrast, all previous thoughts of her fiancé, Princess Marya, her life in the country, never even crossed her mind. It was as if it all belonged to the distant past.

Ive worked in Mental Hospitals, I spent six months on a Psychiatic Hospital’s Acute Admissions Ward. I have Stories. An army Northern Ireland Sniper who wanted to be a tree surgeon and his girlfriend who used to write Baudelaire in perfect french…backwards, the moaning lady who spent 6 weeks rocking backwards and forwards saying No No No No , I tried everything including singing hymns, ECT knocked it out of her. Poor Margaret thinking everyone was against her, her friends were against her, of course the fact that she was forcibly admitted by her husband and Doctor….I used to rub cream into her cracked feet.. It worked….”Madness” hhmmm… Pink Floyd Dark Side of The Moon ” Ive been mad for fucking years, over the edge for yonks.. I know I am mad, Ive always been mad…” Ive worked in long stay places “One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest is real” Chemical Straight Jackets! …. He had been released from a mental hospital three months before, told to be a good boy and take his medicine. He didnt he took crack instead..He stomped on a guys face til the guy died of facial injuries. His brief asked for a three year hospital order. a probation officer I know delt with the case, he made a few calls, the guy got 16 years. … Kate knows … Heres a story:

Copied From : http://katebush.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=dreaming&thread=1712&page=5 THE WHOLE STORY: This house is full of m-m-madness...

“The quiet, aloof couple’s son, called Jackie, won a scholarship to a grammar school, and then went on to medical school, from which he graduated in 1943. He married Hannah Daly, three years his senior, a County Waterford Irish farmer’s daughter turned Epsom nurse, became a GP in Bexley, and bought East Wickham Farm.”
~ Waiting for Kate Bush, Mendelssohn (2004, p.38)

“Kate’s father was an exceptionally determined student who won a scholarship to Grays grammar school and went on to medical school. He graduated in 1943 and married Hannah Daly, a staff nurse at Long Grove Hospital in Epsom…”
~ Kate Bush, Vermorel (1983, p.52)

Long Grove Hospital was in the news recently, when historians working at the Surrey History Centre in Woking discovered two volumes of records in the ruins of Long Grove.

At least 43 female typhoid carriers were locked up for life in a mental hospital, the BBC has learned. The women were held at Long Grove asylum in Epsom, Surrey, in the period between 1907 and its closure in 1992. Nursing staff told a BBC investigation that some of the women may have been sane when they were admitted but went mad because of their incarceration. Most of the records from the hospital were destroyed after it shut down. But historians working at the Surrey History Centre in Woking discovered two volumes of records in the ruins of Long Grove. Former nurses have told the BBC how the asylum was run like a prison. Jeanie Kennett, a ward manager who worked at Long Grove for 40 years, said it was a “basic existence” for the patients. “They’re somebody’s loved ones, they’re somebody’s mother, or sister, everybody had forgotten about them – they were just locked away,” she said. “Life was pretty tough; they were seen as objects, it was prison-like – everything was lock and key.”
BBC News, Monday, 28 July 2008

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/low/uk/7528045.stm

LONG GROVE HOSPITAL

Previous names:
Long Grove Asylum (1907 – 1918)
Long Grove Mental Hospital (1918 – 1937)

Her record company knew better than to push Kate Bush.
KB: “I’m left alone to work on albums. If there was any outside pressure I’d completely go under and probably have to be put away in an institution somewhere.”
Tracks, “Love, Trust and Hitler”, November 1989

http://gaffa.org/reaching/i89_tr.html

Long Grove Hospital used to be a mental hospital in Epsom, Surrey in the United Kingdom. c1890 London County Council bought all the land belonging to the Manor of Horton in Epsom, Surrey, to develop a complex of asylums which was to become the largest in Europe. Long Grove Hospital was built 1903 to 1907 and opened in June 1907. It was the tenth London County Asylum and fourth in the Epsom Cluster.

KB: “Well, one of the first records I ever bought was called They’re Coming To Take Me Away, Hah Hah by Napoleon the 14th. I thought that was great!”
MTV, Unedited, November 1985

http://gaffa.org/reaching/iv85_m1.html

The Epsom hospitals were at the forefront of advances in psychiatric medicine. Between the wars they were associated with London research departments and introduced new treatments such as electro-convulsive therapy, insulin treatment, and induced malaria therapy. When the Epsom hospitals were founded, they were intended to be cut off from the surrounding community. The first changes in this policy came after the War, and the use of chlorpromazine and related drugs in the 1950s led to further changes.

Recruitment of staff was a constant problem at first. The untrained male attendants and female nurses received between £18 and £39 per annum and free board and lodging. Men had to ask permission to marry and only single women were employed. Often several members of a family worked at the hospitals and their social life was often based there.

The Long Grove asylum was the third to follow the Bexley Asylum Plan for accommodation for 2,000 patients. The improved financial situation of the council allowed the use of red brick and marginally more embellishment as opposed to yellow stock brick at Horton and Bexley sites. Later additions included a nurses home (c.1910) almost identical to those added at Bexley and Horton but situated north of the laundry.

Interviewer: “But, you know, in one or two of the American reviews of The Dreaming, your music has been described as “schizophrenic”… And it seems to me that, in a manner of speaking, your music represents a virtual compendium of psychopathology; I mean to say, it is alternatively hysterical, melancholic, psychotic, paranoid, obsessional, and so on…”
Musician (unedited), Peter Swales, Fall 1985

http://gaffa.org/reaching/i85_swa.html

Peter Swales, for those who are interested, is a friend of the Bush family, and he is the author of several papers on aspects of psycho-analysis (Gaffa).

If Hannah Daly was a staff nurse at Long Grove Hospital in Epsom, then it seems likely that Kate’s mother was a psychiatric nurse.

At one time, just before leaving school, she had an ambition to become either a psychiatrist or a social worker. Both careers made sense to her as an alternative to her first love: “I guess it’s the thinking bit,” she told me, “trying to communicate with people and help them out, the emotional aspect. It’s so sad to see good, nice people emotionally upset when they could be so happy. The reason I chose those sort of things is that they are, in a way, the things I do with music. When I write songs I really like to explore the mental area, the emotional values. Although in a way you can say that being a psychiatrist is more purposeful than writing music, in many ways it isn’t, because a lot of people take a great deal of comfort from music. I know I do. It’s very much a therapeutic thing, not only for me. If [people] let it into their ears, that is all I can ask for. And if they think about it afterwards or during it, that is even more fantastic. There are so many writers and so many messages, to be chosen out of all of them is something very special. The messages are things that maybe could help people, like observing the situation where an emotional game is being played, and maybe making people think about it again.”
It was March 1978 when Kate Bush said those things.
“Stand By Your Mantra”, Classic Rock magazine, December 2005

http://gaffa.org/reaching/iv05_classicrock.html

After speaking to Kris Needs for over 90 minutes, KaTe said “It’s like two psychiatrists talking” (ZigZag, 1980) – a somewhat strange comparison to make! Kate’s father, Dr Bush, became a GP in Bexley. So maybe he was also a psychiatrist. And if both KaTe’s parents were involved in psychiatric services, no wonder KaTe had an ambition to become a psychiatrist or to write songs like Babooshka, The Infant Kiss, Get Out Of My House, Mother Stands For Comfort, etc.

Q: Would you make a good therapist?
KB: “I really don’t know. When I was little, I really wanted to be a psychiatrist. That’s what I always said at school. I had this idea of helping people, I suppose, but I found the idea of people’s inner psychology fascinating, particularly in my teens. Mind you, it’s probably just as well I didn’t become one. I would have driven all these people to madness. I’m better off just fiddling around in studios… Having said that, I think some of my lyrics were just, well, mad, really. And why not! … ”
Q: You wouldn’t make a good Lady Macbeth?
KB: “Lady Macbeth? (Laughs) No. To tell you the truth, I’m not that intrigued by acting. If someone offered me something really interesting, especially someone I admired, I’d do it because I’d be crazy not to. But I’m no actress. I don’t have the talent or the temperament.”

Free Da Avatars!

Q, “Booze, Fags, Blokes And Me”, December 1993

http://gaffa.org/reaching/i93_q.html

LONG GROVE MENTAL HOSPITAL: Famous Patients

Famous patients include Josef Hassid (a Polish violin prodigy), Ronnie Kray (one of the Kray twins) and George Pelham (a man who survived the sinking of two ships, including the RMS Titanic).

KB: “I’d rather hang on to madness than normality…”
Record Mirror, “The Shock of the New” (1981)

http://gaffa.org/reaching/i81_rm.html

Josef Hassid was a Polish violinist. He was noted for his intense vibrato and temperament, causing Fritz Kreisler to say “A Heifetz violinist comes around every 100 years, a Hassid every 200.” Furthermore pianist Gerard Moore called him “possibly the most incandescent prodigy after perhaps Yehudi Menuhin.” He received an honorary diploma in the 1935 Henryk Wieniawski Violin Competition in Warsaw and traveled to London in 1938 with his father, since his mother had died when Hassid was young. However, the start of World War II prevented their return to Poland. He performed in London, where he suffered from a memory lapse while playing the Tchaikovsky Concerto in Queen’s Hall. He was first placed in a psychiatric hospital in 1941 after suffering from a nervous breakdown at the age of 18. He was admitted again in 1943 and was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia. He was lobotomised in late 1950 and died at the age of 26. Josef Hassid was one of several prodigies whose brilliant careers were short lived. Bruno Monsaingeon’s The Art of Violin commemorates Hassid.

Kate Bush has just done the Daily Express. Now it’s me…But no way does she just press her nose and gush out the conveyor-belt niceties. We talk for over 90 minutes, touching all manner of subjects in an enthusiastic flow. Quite deep at times–”It’s like two psychiatrists talking,” she said after…
ZigZag, “Fire in the Bush” 1980(?)

http://gaffa.org/reaching/i80_zz.html

Ronnie Kray was diagnosed as insane in 1958. He was placed in a straitjacket and sent to Long Grove mental hospital. Ronnie didn’t stay for long as he and his brother hatched an elaborate escape plan. Reggie visited his brother and wore identical clothes (they were identical twins too) and when a member of staff went to fetch some tea they simply swapped places and Ronnie walked out as ‘Reggie’ and remained on the run for 5 months.

“I think you’re all completely mad, and thank you very much.”
~ Kate Bush to her fans.

George Pelham survived the sinking of RMS Titanic, but suffered a breakdown. On 22nd January, 1935 he was admitted to Horton Psychiatric Hospital, Epsom, Surrey. On 28th August, 1939 he was transferred from Horton Hospital probably because of the outbreak of World War Two, when Horton Hospital became a general hospital serving the armed forces. He was admitted on that day to Long Grove Psychiatric Hospital, Epsom, Surrey and died there 42 days later at 1 am on the 9th October, 1939.

see more:
Long Grove Hospital Pictures

http://www.countyasylums.com/mentalasylums/longgrove01.htm

http://www.epsomandewellhistoryexplorer.org.uk/HospitalCluster.html

http://www.derelictplaces.co.uk/main/showthread.php?t=2950

Desert Island Discs: Kirsty Young’s castaway this week is the stand-up comedian Jo Brand. Her first career was as a psychiatric nurse – and for several years she would spend the day working in a psychiatric unit before appearing at a comedy club in the evening. Both careers demand an ability to be calm in extreme situations and to display a confidence that is often not felt.

Jo Brand’s Favorite Piece of Music: Oh England, My Lionheart by Kate Bush

Desert Island Discs: 18 March 2007

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/factual/desertislanddiscs_20070318.shtml