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Silvertowers 1

by Phase Vier

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Story Teller 02:59
STORYTELLER I am still a story teller, and I tell my story now. I am still a story teller, and I hope I´m coming through to you somehow. I am still a story teller, with my head and with my mouth full of words of old an new ones from the past tomorrow and today, flying with the air to you. bringing what I want to say. (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
Yellow Cab 04:43
YELLOW CAB Taxi to Manhattan sounds groovy, really groovy. Taxi to Manhattan sounds like the title of a movie. That movie makes a backward roll, back more than over 20 years. Each frame is in my heart, each sound still in my ears. “And there is Queens, and here a cemetery, the skyline of Manhattan is right behind, you see, quite like a part of it it seems, and here the bridge East river crossing two dollar fifty toll is´nt it cheap?- for New York city almost nothing.” Yellow cab, the drivers name: Rhees Muhammad (its written there). “Tourist, or longer stay, or stay forever?” he asked and laughed and said: “Lets start the New York city game!” (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS Yesterday near Washington Square I found a penny on the street between the cobblestones it was lying there just a penny not a nickel not a dime but it hit me of my feet pushed me away into another time When I was young, long time ago, living in a very small city, everything so clean and pretty, except one man, you got to know. He ist walking down the streets day after day the same old way his eyes are always fixed on his feed. He is looking for something he lost, they say. He is speaking to himself constantely, making little small funny sounds maybe words, maybe numbers, that he counts in a certain kind of melody. He is crazy, he´s a fool (as) you see, walking dayly up and down the streets for years but they let him go and let him be, with his walkin in there eyes, and his sounds in there ears. If I know what you are thinking right now, if you know exactely what I am thinking, how could we ever be together, knowing, what in our brains is flowing? No secrets nothing to discover, made of glass and no adventure´s lover... (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
Coney Island 07:09
CONEY ISLAND (on a day in September 1990) A little red kite is nailed in the air over the almost empty strand. An old man sitting on a white beach chair holds in his hand the end of the long thin string. He´s sound asleep, seems he does´n t see anything. A merry-go-round with seats suspended on chains, once with kids waving with their feet, now without seats the chains swing to and fro in the light breeze. In a plot of land covered with weed a roller coaster ivy grows all over it. Nearby cars once new they were n´ t cheap, now rusty all ready waiting for the crap heap. The Riegelman board walk never ending, looking like a ghost town street, is constantly sending a feeling of complete loneliness. The strand, white sand, is covered with the crumbs of hot summer days. Over the sea in a streak of light the fisherman are silhouettes, small, tight, black figures in a backlit photograph. On my way back home I think of that old man with the little red kite hanging fixed on his hand over the almost empty strand of Coney Island. On the roadside a dead rat is lying there, makes me really sad, thinking of what (has to) will come. (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
PLASTIC BUDDHA A Buddha worth one dollar twenty five, a tiny little figure in my hand. It´s only plastic, it´s only chemistry but Buddha is for me also in plastic, hope do (if) you understand. His head round as a bowl and bald, he smiles, his lips stretched wide, his belly barrel shaped no chance to hide, moreover on flat feet he stands, up in the air his hands. He brings me luck- he is my lucky charm. He helps me out- of every situation. He comforts me- so many times. He gives me pieces of advice. He built me up- I´ m often down. It´s only plastic, it´s only chemistry, and costs one dollar twenty five, but what it means to me, but what it means to my whole life: you can´t buy, you can´t pay. (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
Bag People 05:37
BAG PEOPLE I´m like a snail: this is my house, this is my home. Nobody, no rat no mouse are here welcome. From place to place I move at a snails pace. I´m like a snail with a snail shell home. It may be a baby stroller, it may be a shopping trolley, I catch what i can, it even may be a toboggan, with what I come. I´m like a snail. “Bag people” we are called, because with bag and baggage we are in the street. But we are with our own home and on our own feet we move along all night and day restless until the end is told. I´ m like a snail. I might be woman or a man, African- American, Chinaman, an Indian, white or black, yellow or red, I carry on with my snail home but one big step and it is flat. (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
Time Bomb 05:58
TIME BOMB Its a time bomb, it (makes) sets you free. Its a time bomb, it brings you to eternity. “You´r not an Irishman, is that true? That you´r a German, that´s good for you.” It´s a time bomb... The seller says: “A perfect thing, even the cheapest that we got, it costs you almost nothing.” I bought it on the spot. It´s a time bomb... It is exactly like grandfathers clock: it clicks and ticks, and ticks and clicks. It hits me like a shock: It´s a time bomb... I have no chance, I have no choice. Like in a trance dance, I hear his voice: It´s a time bomb... (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)
STATEN ISLAND FERRY To leave Manhattan by sea only (for) a short time, an hour, a day no problem: with the two quarter ferry departure: Battery Park one way, it´s quite easy. “Away from the hustle and bustle of boom town Manhattan to the quiet life of the countryside, there is no place to show up, its a good place to hide” someone said to me on the ferry. “But I can only be lucky at home, -and Staten Island I call my home-, when I know, tomorrow I´ll have to go back (to the other side) over the water again back to the hustle and bustle of boom town Manhattan Manhattan and Staten Island together, you see, that´s it. Without one another it would be only half of (the) luck for me.” To leave Manhattan by sea only (for) a short time, an hour, a day, no problem: with the two quarter ferry departure Battery Park one way or, if you like, for a return journey you pay. (Lyrics by Alfred Gulden)



Independent Jazz + Rock Songs

Sabine Noß - Voice
Christof Thewes - Trombone
Hartmut Oßwald - Bass Clarinet
Jan Oestreich - Double Bass
Martial Frenzel - Drums


released February 27, 2021

Compositions by Christof Thewes
Lyrics by Alfred Gulden
Coverdesign by Martin Schmidt
Artwork by Christof Thewes
recorded, mixed and mastered by Martin Schmidt
© & ℗ 2020 Christof Thewes
glich music LC 85348


all rights reserved



Christof Thewes Schiffweiler, Germany


arbeitet als Posaunist, Komponist+Arrangeur .
leitet verschiedene Ensembles und Musikprojekte von Solo bis Big Band, die sich zwischen modernem Jazz, freier Improvisation und Neuer Musik bis hin zu experimenteller Rock, Funk und Popmusik bewegen. ... more

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