Roy Harper – The Lord’s Prayer – Extract from the On Track book.

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Lifemask – 1973

Harvest label 1973

Recorded at Abbey Road Studio

Pete Jenner: producer

John Leckie: sound technician

Roy Harper: vocals, guitars, synthesiser and bass plus all song writing

Jimmy Page: lead guitar

Brian Davison: drums on ‘The Lord’s Prayer’

Tony Carr: bongos

Steve Broughton: bongos

Ray Warley: flute on ‘The Lord’s Prayer’

Brian Hodges: electric bass on ‘Bank of the Dead’ and ‘The Lord’s Prayer’

Laurie Allan: drums on ‘Highway Blues’

For Roy this was a time of frustration, satisfaction, illness, triumph and confusion.

   He had just produced the magnificent Stormcock, an achievement of supreme quality on so many levels and he knew it. However the album did not sell brilliantly. EMI had not given Roy enough publicity and the album was not well received by the music press or general public.

   Yet Roy was being recognised as a major artist by the rock intelligentsia. Led Zeppelin, the Who, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd and Paul McCartney were dropping in to recording sessions, showering Roy with plaudits and singing his praises.

   EMI were still backing Roy, in a half-hearted way. He was still provided with studio time, a budget and Pete Jenner. Roy needed to create an album to equal the brilliance of Stormcock.

   Out of left-field came a film opportunity. Roy auditioned for a lead role in the John Mackenzie film Made co-starring Carol White. Against strong competition from Paul Jones (of Manfred Mann) Roy was given the part. He was to play Mike Preston, a touring rock musician, who formed a transient relationship with Valerie Marshall, played by Carol White. Carol was well known at that time, having starred in two successful films of social realism directed by Ken Loach – Cathy Come Home and Poor Cow. Made was going to be a similar type of film. Initially Roy was energised by the idea of becoming a film star but soon found the process became tedious and constricting.

   EMI were probably rubbing their hands with glee. They could see that the prospect of Roy in a major film would lead to a soundtrack and possibly a hit single.

   Unfortunately, that was not quite the way Roy saw it. Although he reluctantly worked on writing and adapting a few songs for the film his mind was fixed on a far more adventurous and artistically creative song and album. ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, along with the other songs for Lifemask, was already forming in his head.

   An even greater problem then arose. At around this time Roy became ill. He thought it was the effects of some particularly strong grass that he had been smoking which had left him dehydrated. It soon became apparent that this was not the cause. Roy was diagnosed with a condition called polycythemi, which means that he had too many red blood cells. The cause was a blood vessel disorder called haemorrhagic telangiectasia. It was a dangerous condition because blood was being shunted through interconnecting blood vessels instead of flowing through his lungs. It left Roy short of oxygen. His body was trying to compensate by producing more red blood cells than he needed. Roy constantly felt unwell and lacking in energy. He had to have pints of blood removed in order to reduce the red blood corpuscles. Roy eventually had a fairly major operation to close the shunt vessels and redirect the flow of blood through his lungs.

   The publicity department at EMI needed to keep Roy in the limelight and dreamt up a cock and bull story about Roy being ill from giving the kiss of life to a sheep on his farm!

   In the heads of EMI and film executives Made was giving Roy an opportunity to write a film soundtrack. Punchy two and a half minute songs from the film would be given airplay and propel the film and album to popular acclaim.

   In Roy’s head the film score was a burden. The idea of producing pop songs for the film was an anathema. Indeed, he hated the one song he did produce for the film – ‘Social Casualty’, which later, with different lyrics, became ‘Bank Of The Dead’. ‘Social Casualty’ in the film version, with the lyrics about the character Valerie and her baby, was not included on the album and has never been released.

   In the midst of trying to deal with his illness and make the film Roy was working on Lifemask in Abbey Road studio with the help of a full supporting cast including Jimmy Page.

   Roy’s creativity at the time was focused on the twenty three minute epic that would comprise the whole of side two on the album. His medical condition was giving him premonitions of early death. Roy had been told by the specialist that he was not destined to make old bones and so he was determined to pack everything into one great piece of work.

   The gatefold cover (designed by James Edgar), which opens centrally, has a ‘deathmask’ of Roy which is really a lifemask. This is symbolic of Roy cheating death and surviving to make the record – an affirmation of life! Inside the album cover there is a picture of Geronimo that James had coloured red and yellow, and which sparked the idea for the central part of the poem that became ‘The Lord’s Prayer’.    

Now on Sale at Burning Shed:

Roy Harper On Track (burningshed.com)

Roy Harper: Every Album, Every Song (On… by Opher Goodwin (amazon.co.uk)

Roy Harper – The Lord’s Prayer (Remastered) – Bing video

James Edgar – Jimmy Schwartz the Artist – and Roy Harper

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James Edgar – Jimmy Schwartz the Artist

No man is an island. We are all affected by the ones we are attracted to and the ones attracted to us. They leave their imprint. Some more than others.

James left an imprint.

I was reminded of him by an article on the Roy Harper Appreciation Society.

He is perhaps best remembered by me as one of Roy’s close friends from Roy’s Blackpool days and the man who provided the artwork that inspired ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, perhaps Roy’s greatest artistic creation.

James presented Roy with the image of Geronimo, included on Lifemask, that he had coloured in. Roy was incredibly moved by it and inspired to write the poem that became the spine of ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ – something that we all should be incredibly grateful for.

Some people are charismatic; they have an aura about them. James was one. He was a chameleon, edgy, always on the go, enthusiastically searching, delving, then retiring into introspection.

I first met James round at Roy’s infamous 58 Fordwych Road flat in Kilburn – a hang-out for musicians, artists and beatniks; a bohemian melting pot.

In the late sixties, early seventies we would meet up to sit around, talking, smoking and laughing. Always laughing. I remember a lot of laughing. I wish a tape recorder had been on to capture the spirit of those days – the philosophy, ideas and absurdities – and the laughter.

The flat was decorated with floral Indian bedspreads, dimly lit and often Roy would have a Kodak carousel flashing up slides – photos of birds and nature that Roy had taken. We’d sit around, often on the floor, passing joints. Sometimes there was music but often there was just talking and laughter.

One evening we’d been going at it for a few hours. Roy had some particularly strong grass that blew your socks off and opened your skull to the heavens. We were pretty hammered. James arrived.

I remember it well. He came into the room looking dapper, hair below his shoulders scraped back behind his ears, calf-length brown boots, a tweed jacket with many pockets, shaped facial hair, looking very stylish.

I’d met James.

He looked around at us and said ‘Aaah, I’ve got some catching up to do.’

He sat cross-legged on the floor and proceeded to take out items from various pockets – a lighter, a penknife, a pack of large rizlas, four big blocks of hash – different colours and varieties.

He stuck some rizla leaves together and proceeded to lay down a bed of Roy’s incredibly strong grass. He then progressed to carve off slices of hash with his penknife and lay them on the grass. He constructed a very large spliff, sat back and began to smoke it all himself. It was big enough to zombiefy an elephant.

Only then did he relax and, seemingly unaffected, joined in the conversation.

I was amazed.

I met James on a number of occasions following that – often memorable.

At one time, about twenty years ago, James was at one of Roy’s gigs in Hull. I was there with my son Henry. We sat around talking, reminiscing about old times and catching up. James was enthusing about his new art. He was into taking polaroid’s and photos, distorting them, making them into something else. He was taken with my son Henry, who was in his early teens, and wanted to use him as a subject. He took a number of photos of him and was going to do all manner of things with them. He was in a manic phase.

Unfortunately I never got to see any of the end products. I would have loved to.

The last occasion I saw James was at a Harper gig in Liverpool in the early noughties. I’d driven across from Hull in my old banger. The gig was great and we’d stayed talking and laughing. James looked worse for wear, dishevelled and unkempt. He was bumming around with a backpack and sleeping rough. This was in winter with snow on the ground.

I was setting off for home in the early hours of the morning. James said he was heading to London and was going to hitch. He asked if I could give him a lift. I explained that I had to go back to Hull. He said that was great. Could I drop him off at the M1.

We had a discussion. I was uneasy about dropping him off in the freezing conditions in the middle of the night. There were no motorway stops on the M62. He was insistent. He said he had his bedroll and he’d settle down in a field.

Reluctantly I agreed. I drove him to the intersection and he clambered out of the car.

The last I saw of Jimmy was a straggly figure disappearing off into the dark, into the fields, with a backward wave.

Jimmy Schartz, James Edgar – the artist – a ghost in the night, a ghost in the machine. A man who left an impression.

Roy Harper – The Lord’s Prayer – The Best Song Ever?

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Is this the greatest song ever recorded? Is it the very peak of Progressive Rock? A twenty Three Minute epic!

I certainly never tire of it.

There is certainly nothing quite like it. It combines Roy’s poetry with the most amazing music. It is a song that covers the spread of human civilisation using Geronimo as the way in to the stone-age mind.

The main part of the poem was written while on acid and looking at a piece of artwork of Geronimo that was produced by James Edgar.

The lines are each poems to ruminate on in some revelry of meditation. There is so much in it.

The song was actually created by melding together the various components – the opening poem (originally called lifeboat) – the central poem and a song that Roy had already written for the end.

It appears to be quite repetitive on first listen and difficult to get into but the sophistication builds with each listening and there is a masterly use of studio techniques that really enhance.

I was fortunate to be at Abbey Road studio for the recording of this album and watched Jimmy Page lay down the incredible guitar in one take. He was rocking with it totally absorbed and note perfect.

I have discussed this many times with Roy and we are in agreement that this is probably the greatest piece of work he has ever produced – the culmination of all the elements of his craft.

I love it.

Roy Harper – The Lord’s Prayer

 

A) Poem
B) Modal Song parts I to IV
C) Front Song
D) Middle Song
E) End Song (Front Song reprise)
There once was a man from the old stone age
And he used to follow the weather
But now he’s got hung up on filling a page
Upon whether to go or together
And he’s been around for so damn long
With his whooping and wailing
Crushing questions between right and wrong
And impaling
The best he can hope and the worst he can fear
On the solstices of an illusion
A massive erection of pushy defence
Up the whole of the prosecution
Great solace the wound, great relish the pain
To be loosing the reins of a poem
To bleed from the tip of my tongue yet again
That part of my heart that is showing
These children conceived in the womb of this crash
To be the sponsors of nothing much more
Than rearguard directions of crossfingered sections
Of purpose pot – looking for nothing
But what is this last desperate vestige of heart over head
But another conjecture
No more the tomb of the martyred dead
Than the ghost of our parting gesture
And a hundred billion crystal balls
Represent a remarkable failure
To swell the song each moment long
At the counterpoint of nature
As four thumbs flick the tarot deck
And two tongues fork eight aces
Maybe sixteen fingers feel
The fool lives in two places
Where rosy lee can read this tea
And leave me living the story
A white dove with a hawks’ head
And an open mind before me
To sail for a land where life is a high
Not a word to be heard or be spoken
But the soul – woven web of the endless touch
Of a child who could never be broken
Who plays a new world on the brink of the ebb
As the fish cats prowl in the harbour
And now soars high on the beckoning tides’ long arm
To weigh his last anchor
And the sou’westers sing as the lifeboat bells ring
In the heads on the faces of changes
The heavens collage on Excalibur’s edge
The star in his movie converges
With fate, in his task, and doom on his brow
And a ship in his eye in a bottle
Who speeds, to force, to want, to have,
To find, to further fortune,
Who comes from the north, west, south and east
Of the passions of a spirit
With all the flight of the wildest beast
To ever spur a stirrup,
Whose pulse is the master of action
Whose heart is an everlasting secret
Whose arms are desire
Whose lips are welcome
Whose eyes tell stories
Whose head is a journey
Whose hands unfold
Whose feet fly
Whose face is the stained glass window of a continuous orgasm.
Whose being is mine
Whose wounds are precious
Whose poem is a flower
Whose gentleness is the devil
Whose identity is naked
Whose magic is a gift
Whose power is the transparent tapestry of history
Whose stamp is a freak
Whose wits are battles
Whose cousin is dog
Whose times are well fought for
Whose stoneage is clever
Whose poets know
Whose music is barbarian
Whose artists are helpless spherical mirrors spinning on the horns of a tidal
wave
Whose information is belief
Whose complexes become religion
Whose foundation is spread
Whose word is god
Whose books are projectiles
Whose message is must
Whose excuse is holy
Who passed it down to me;
Whose enemies are landmarks
Whose fear is himself
Whose hope is lust
Whose wish is fresh
Whose position is wary
Whose mottoes are covers
Whose name is hidden
Whose nose is suspicious
Whose technology is a tangent
Whose strategy is dissent
Whose thoughts are games
Who shares his lot
Whose ace is death
Whose fingers invent
Whose tales weave
Whose knots are tied
Whose mouth is open
Whose ears pierce
Whose direction is out
Who is aware of disease
Who feels the need to cleanse his soul
Whose style is disguise
Whose dream is innate
Whose woman is soothing
Whose little children are the delicate blossom of an orchard of electricity
Whose spell is for conflict
Whose quest is strength
Whose war declared
Whose suicide is noticed
Whose shadow is cast
Whose vibes you feel
Whose pedigrees are haunted
Whose age is unknown
Who takes under his wing
Whose freaks are real
Whose reality is hunger
Whose words are jagged
Whose tears are shed
Whose sick hang
Whose weak are kicked
Whose cities are bad shelters
Whose sanctuary is an idea
Who sat round a fire
Whose teeth chew
Whose faith is change
Whose old age comes quickly
Whose youth burns
Whose systems are white sticks tapping walls
Whose prize possession is the planet;
Whose wildest lust is escalation
Whose cul-de-sacs are feelers
Whose main route is massive
Whose run is a dance
Whose vehicle is fantasy
Whose home is high
Whose role continues
Whose bearing is savage
Whose saints are dead
Whose sons bark
Whose daughters play
Whose strength is against
Who grows in the sun and sleeps in the moon
Who roams deserets, plateaux, mountains, forests and plains with vast armies
Who am I
The spirit of those who were not here
And never knew it
Who left this prayer to elope
A lover’s journey through it
So children leave your windows open
Across the sea
Join our hands across the many land
You and me
Never grown old
Seeing without ever being told
Something to say
Shut away
Blackboard so grey
Anyway
I’m dreaming
Out along the back row
Out the window
Cast away
Be free with me
Today
Great heart mean streak
Spare part speed freak
I set myself a problem when I built myself a wheel
I got myself another when I rode a horse to feel
The plains underneath my reins
As fast as running water
And the big lady I’m playing with
Has played a game of poker
With me and cat and this and that
Until she scored my joker
Now we ride in chariots
By the side of one another
Her soft side
My rough ride,
Nothing to fear
The unknown soldier’s grave is already here
Is it too late
To create
A world made with care
Is it there
Or fleeting
Here today and gone
Tomorrow’s child
Looking so wild and free
Are we a choice
With no voice
Can it be
Great heart, mean streak
Spare part speed freak

Roy Harper – The Lord’s Prayer – Probably the best song ever recorded.

Posted on by Opher

Not much comes near to this! Each line requires thinking about!