After a couple of false starts and a difficult birth the long awaited Ian Bland CD “Everything and Nothing” and his first book of poetry “Bland On Bland” have sprung forth fully formed and lustily bawling.
“Everything and Nothing” is a cinematic special starring a motley company of individuals. The songs are each a musical story, whether semi-autobiographical gems, gleaned conversations or plucked from current events, each deliver a condensed and precise serving of observed truth.
The Lamington String band led by Ian Bland, featuring Ed Bates, Greg Hunt, Peter Anderson, Nathan Farrelly, Mark Stanley and joined by a host of other notable musicians, as usual add their own measure of polish to this the third Ian Bland solo album.
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lyrics
Last Night Of Summer
The post office closed, the bank followed in haste
The street signs were stolen and never replaced
The young forced to search for a future elsewhere
Now the houses are gone but souls remain there
It’s said they return to their old country hall
To sing and to dance and make sense of it all
The music spills out and puts flesh on those bones
It’s the last night of summer and they’re coming home
It’s years since the grand picture theatre was closed
Where lovers stole kisses up in the back rows
A poster still hangs well away from the lights
Selling next week’s attraction, “Arabian Nights”
Let your imaginings run for a while
You’ll hear the Jaffas roll down the aisle
And dream every movie, ever was shown
It’s the last night of summer and they’re coming home
The old wooden church where they worshipped and wed
Where they came to find comfort and farewell their dead
It was sold and removed to some place by the sea
Now day-trippers flock for their afternoon tea
The stories of those who once sat in those pews
Are lost to the clatter and breathtaking views
There are things you can buy that you’ll never own
It’s the last night of summer and they’re coming home
The cenotaph stands frozen in time
So many young lives cut down in their prime
Now there’s none left to honour and none left to weep
The garden’s kept tidy only thanks to the sheep
Some want it moved to a suburb in town
But they lived and they died with their roots in
this ground
Tonight every name’s gonna shine on that stone
It’s the last night of summer and they’re coming home