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An original song by Peri Urban. Lead vocal and electric guitar live to camera.

Who are the real aliens?

Amy, I don't know How your mind can grow If your heart is slow And doesn't flow with love And sometimes The trick of knowing Is showing how you can Say goodbye, and in letting go But Amy What do I know? Amy, what your sister did Just another kid Who grew too fast for the curve And now you observe How love don't always serve We are immortalised In someone else's eyes

An original song by Peri Urban. Em/C/G Am/G/F#/C I'd like to take you on a trip down memory lane Yeah, I'll put on my boots on and hit the hill again Because there's something up there I need you to see Under the mountain near the stone and the tree Pushing up daisies He's going crazy Who is this crazy guy that lives underground? His head is full of clouds, they gather around They sing his name out loud, but he cannot hear So far from everyone, no-one comes near (more) (

Words and music Peri Urban. Performance Reid Baer (NewWarriorMan). OK, what happened here? This is a new thing for me. Everybody came over to my place Uninvited for a jamboree. Is this the power of poetry? Or of a disaffected minority? Or the cutting edge of community? Presently, it's all a mystery. Or was it the power of the word? The way it was said? Or the way it was heard? Did it resonate like a bell made of light inside your head? The morning sky holds a fragile star. Maybe it was the music, The singing strings of a new and extraordinary guitar, With no place for pitch to settle, You know, those little transverse rods made of metal. Frets, you call them. Zones of music, stoppers, The places where your fingers naturally descend. Applying lateral pressure So the note will bend Like blood filling a brass bowl The moment to transcend. You know, I think between us we set words free. Flowing and cascading but always under some kind of control. The meaning and the significance and the act of communication Being the part that disappears into a black hole, From which radiation Pours unexpectedly. What should be consumed and forgotten Is broken in two by its passage to another realm, An unknowable place, Where an invisible face Owns the hands that grip the helm. O yeah, we can set everything free - Words, rhythm, pitch, key, Meter, ideology, Compassion, hate, love and technology. We can make the kind of soup the gods themselves would sip As they tarry behind the curtain, Watching the fabric of reality rip. You can taste freedom, But it doesn't always sustain your mind. Sometimes your heart needs more, You know, when there is something you struggle to find In the debris, Without ever knowing What you're looking for. Freedom doesn't evaporate when you turn your back. What's behind you isn't just all black emptiness, Devoid of life. You leave a wake of possibility, Churning up the ocean of dreams, Making waves until it seems, In that final moment before sleep returns It is freedom itself that burns, Independence that weighs us down As if on our own we drown. And it seems to me That what we really seek Is to be meek Within the surrender of gentle and loving slavery.

Reading by Reid Baer. Words and music Peri Urban Yes, you have freedom of speech, But not here. In your own home perhaps But not on the streets (unless we agree). You can't preach hate Even if it's what you feel. By speaking aloud You risk making imagination real. Is that what you want? You do have freedom of speech But not here, do you see? Not now. This is our playground. This is our money tree. Of course, you can say what you like As long as we like it too And if we like what you say Things could turn out very good for you. It's only words after all. That's what we're talking about here. Words, not reality. Take a deep breath and hold on. Soon the need to speak will pass, As will the shadow of fear. Freedom of speech? Well, kinda. You can say what you like on your own lawn But step over that great divide Onto the next blade of grass (The one that isn't yours) And your neighbour owns your thoughts. That earnest thinking, That deep philosophy, Those magical ideas - None of them are yours any more If you express them on someone else's turf. Freedom of expression. Who owns that idea? Well, Kembrew MacLeod has the right to "Freedom of Expression" And now I owe him a debt, And if he calls it in these words will vanish. This diamond of structured consciousness Rendered meaningless by oblivion and regret. There was a thing I once thought, I even impressed myself, no easy feat. It might have been in the middle of the night. Yeah, that seems about right. Perhaps it was a song, And I vowed to remember and cherish and repeat, But it slipped my grasp, And it's gone. Now, that was freedom.

A reflective piano piece.

An original song by Peri Urban. Part two of an American trilogy? You asked me, how is America viewed overseas? Well, America’s envied and loved and despised by degrees You got everything, nothing and something But you don’t know what You are young and you’re brash And you’re taking the cash Take the lot And your people are fat But the rich and the poor never meet You got vile politicians With media whores at their feet And you like to shoot guns, you got pizza You sing for your flag You got Christians, pagans And those who think God is a drag (queen) You got lawyers and mountains, freak shows And deserts and all kinds of pain You send your young men into battle for freedom Again and again and again But the freedoms they win are just chains Wrapped in velvet and padlocked tight Yeah, America stands for the light Or she is the bringer of the night And America sucks If you don’t live there And America sucks If you are poor there And America sucks If she is bombing you And America sucks If she don’t love you

America - sex capital of the world!

An original song bt Peri Urban. I'm portable I go where the sun goes I'm portable I flow where the rain flows Deep underground I reach where the moon is unknown And I shiver In the cold light of dead stones I miss the surface I miss the turning of the day I played the fool I played by your stupid rules I found my name in you I found my shame in you I miss the surface I miss the turning of the day

An original piece direct to camera by Peri Urban and Danny Ebdale. Guitar and bass - Peri Urban. Drums - Danny Ebdale. Dancing and finger cymbals - Lily Urban. www.youtube.com/dannyebdale www.myspace.com/dannyebdale

The annual Dumfriesshire and Cumbria Greyhound Rescue President's garden party. Please see www.dgrescue.org.uk for more information on the charity. Stills by Leslie Murdoch (used with permission).

My father's garden, my mother's piano.

Bass by azeraelisa (over on YouTube). Guitar by PeriUrban. Based upon a melody by Azeraelisa called "This Could Be Love". Recorded on separate continents.

An original song by Peri Urban. Thanks to Alec. From one King to another. There's a man who burns up water Burning up the ocean To save the world And if you don't know what he's doing You might believe it's true That he can save the world But when the big rock hits Canada tomorrow And your teeth are hurting And all you feel is sorrow And you hate the moon You hate the moon A dozen of us went there And came back empty handed Pictures of the few who were first Where the eagle landed There we stay Looking for Jesus' footprints in the moondust And if the sky falls upon my head I will remember everything you said And when the lunatics take over the asylum And the tide runs in my head I stand beside them They're burning up the Sea Of Tranquility Look out at the Ocean At everything in motion We hate the moon We hate the moon

An original song by Peri Urban, recorded direct to 3 cameras. Get the album at www.periurban.com/page19.html

An original song by Peri Urban, performed direct to camera. Get the album at www.periurban.com/page19.html For all my LiveVideo friends, may we never slip away.

Direct to camera composition. Thanks to Olegbach for the title.

Music - The Great Western Road by Expo '79 (featuring Gerald Bruce - bagpipes; Michael Cobley - synthesiser; Alan Martin - tapes; Peri Urban - tapes) The tune is a traditional rendition of "The Massacre of Glencoe"