A Little Westbrook Music

by The Westbrook Trio

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05:15

about

The Westbrook Trio's first album issued in 1983 on vinyl & cassette. Now issued for the first time as a digital download. Taken from the digital master.

credits

released October 14, 2019

Kate Westbrook - voice, tenor horn, piccolo, bamboo flute
Mike Westbrook - piano
Chris Biscoe - soprano & alto saxophones, alto clarinet

Produced by Fiachra Trench
photo by Kate Westbrook

license

all rights reserved

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about

Kate Westbrook London, UK

Kate's musical career began in the mid '70s when she joined the Mike Westbrook Brass Band.

Kate has formed a new 7–piece group, The Granite Band to record and perform her latest work, GRANITE, inspired by Dartmoor and its granite quarries.

Kate's full Bio: www.westbrookjazz.co.uk/katewestbrook/kate_bio.shtml
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Track Name: L'Egalite Des Sexes
L’Égalité des sexes
Paul ÉLUARD

Tes yeux sont revenus d’un pays arbitraire
Où nul n’a jamais su ce que c’est qu’un regard
Ni connu la beauté des yeux, beauté des pierres,
Celle des gouttes d’eau, des perles en placards,
Des pierres nues et sans squelette, ô ma statue.
Le soleil aveuglant te tient lieu de miroir
Et s’il semble obéir aux puissance du soir
C’est que ma tête est close, ô statue abattue
Par mon amour et par mes ruses de sauvage.
Mon désir immobile est ton dernier soutien
Et je t’emporte sans bataille, ô mon image,
Rompue à ma faiblesse et prise dans mes liens.
Track Name: Apple Pie
Apple Pie
Adrian Mitchell

The wench sold you an apple pie
A hot and mushy apple pie
And she was eating apple pie
With a teaspoon made of tin

You laughed at her inviting words
Embarrassed her about her words
Till she denied her eager words
And you laughed at her again

You had to eat it with a spoon
And so you asked her for a spoon
So from her mouth she took her spoon
And she offered it to you
Track Name: Enfance
Enfance
Arthur Rimbaud

Cette idole, yeux noirs et crin jaune, sans parents
ni cour, plus noble que la fable, mexicaine et flamande; son domaine, azur et verdure insolents, court sur des plages nommées, par des vagues sans vaisseaux, de noms férocement grecs, slaves, celtiques.

À la lisière de la forêt - les fleurs de rêve tintent, éclatent, éclairent, -
la fille à lèvre d'orange, les genoux croisés dans le clair déluge qui sourd des prés, nudité qu'ombrent, traversent et habillent les arcs-en-ciel, la flore, la mer.

Dames qui tournoient sur les terrasses voisines de la mer; enfantes et géantes, superbes noires dans la mousse vert-de-gris, bijoux debout sur le sol gras des bosquets et des jardinets dégelés - jeunes mères et grandes sœurs aux regards pleins de pèlerinages, sultanes, princesses de démarche et de costume tyranniques, petites étrangères et personnes doucement malheureuses.
Quel ennui, l'heure du "cher corps" et "cher cœur".

English:
That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents
or court, nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;
his domain, insolent azure and verdure, runs over beaches
called by the shipless waves, names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt.

At the border of the forest - dream flowers tinkle, flash and flare -
the girl with orange lips, knees crossed in the clear flood that gushes from the fields, nakedness shaded, traversed, dressed by rainbow, flora, sea.

Ladies who stroll on terraces adjacent to the sea; baby girls and giantesses, superb blacks in the verdigris moss,
jewels upright on the rich ground of groves and little thawed gardens - young mothers and big sisters with eyes full of pilgrimages, sultanas,
princesses tyrannical of costume and carriage,
little foreign misses and young ladies gently unhappy.
What boredom, the hour of the “dear body” and “dear heart’
Track Name: Bordeaux Lady
Bordeaux Lady
Kate Westbrook

My Bordeaux Lady
Standing stately
With hair dyed black
Dyed black quite lately
In smock of blue
Musk rose and caribou
Blood red cherries
Lapwings in adoration too

The exotic story
That your smock tells me
Of dreams, of strangeness
And it sets you free
Free from this cafe
To some Hollywood lover
Where those turquoise eyelids
Fit a secret fantasy

Nice bourgeois lady
In her domain
I paid, I thanked her
So fine, so vain
Her touching dignity
Seems good, seems rare to me
Her image lingers
My Bordeaux Lady
Track Name: The Ballad of Billy Hughes
The Ballad Of Billy Hughes
Kate Westbrook



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lyric index

Billy Hughes the killer
Billy Hughes the slain
Billy's body lies in Chesterfield
In a grave that bears no name

The church spire of Chesterfield
Like an arthritic limb
Twists, it twisted so they say
When a virgin bride walked in

Billy went to Chesterfield
To find his woman there
"That Billy will kill one day" she said,
She spoke it like a prayer

Billy went out killing
Killed a family of four
A policeman trapped and shot him down
In remote Eastmoor

"Mass murderer" they called him
As they laid him out in grace
And bore him to the churchyard
To a sacred resting place

The market place was shuttered,
Rain fell on flint and stone,
On coffin bearers and police
As that winter day drew on

From the gate her voice cried out
"He'll not be buried here,
In Chesterfield churchyard
Lie the bones I Hold most dear."

She entered in the churchyard then
Down she knelt in rain and mire
Clawed the dirt from off his coffin
Beneath the crooked spire

She pulled the earth and called his name
Gravedigger and priest
Had to halt their Holy office
In the face of that wild beast

All looked askance at this macabre
Arms all caked with mud
"You look amazed at me" she cried,
"His arms were caked with blood."

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