And so we are left with the final track, The Disenchanting. All 29 minutes of it! This track sums up the spirit of the entire album, moving as it does through several sound worlds.
It opens with Willow Hill, a straightforward song lamenting the faeries leaving England. This notion can stand as a metaphor for the aggressive rationalization that has beset humankind since the Age of Reason and the so called Enlightenment. It  protests  the rise of mechanistic science and the superstitious slavery to facts to which society seems to be in thrall. Facts are not truth! Any mature investigation into what has come to be called science these days may well  reveal a lucrative career built upon a theory that has been ruthlessly championed irrespective of its real merit. Often, political agendas overwhelm integrity in this area.
Anyway, Willow Hill keens the loss of our disconnectedness to what one might call the Real World as set out by the likes of Goethe, Steiner, Gurdjieff and any number of Indian Sadhus and Masters
It Goes:

Willow Hill.

This was my garden, sweet as May

For every living thing and a palace for the King.

I gave but a whistle and then I looked away

And when I turned around it was nowhere to be found.

I danced for the Midnight Court on Willow Hill

When the moon was low,

And the starry clusters trailed a glittering thrill

On the Earth below.

With a faerie’s child ‘cross the moonlight wild

Just to run through the even flowing hours.

By hedges and styles, through the meadows for a million miles

The universe was ours.

The wasteland sprawls across the distances unfurled

The long night falls upon a cold and tragic, daylight on magic

A phantom haunted world.

As good as gone.

I sat with the Vanished Gods on Willow Hill

A forgotten spark.

In a cloak of dreams against the evening’s chill

In the fire lit dark.

I heard chaos sing with the unborn king

In the silver hills of heaven

My heart fought to find ancient echoes on the Willow Wind

A gift from the Sacred Seven.

This was my garden, sweet as May

For every living thing and a palace for the King.

I gave but a whistle and then I looked away

And when I turned around it was nowhere to be found.

I watched the Atlantic roll from Willow Hill

 On its Western coast.

With a thousand sails across the evening spilled

The Enchanted Host.

To an ancient tryst in the distant mist

Where ocean to ocean roars

Their ships running free far across the swelling summer sea

Towards the impossible shores.

Now when the moon is very, very low and gusty echoes come and go

Down through the ages clear and far, the horns of Elfin blowing from the morning stars.

This was my garden, sweet as May

For every living thing and a palace for the King.

I gave but a whistle and then I looked away

And when I turned around it was nowhere to be found.

The Spring shall come again to Willow Hill

Down the primrose lanes

And Spring shall bring the bees and daffodils

Bring the April rains.

But from that blessed shore they will sail no more

Now the future is paying for the past

They have locked fast a door that was never ever shut before.

The withering spell is cast.

Betwixt and between the verses, there is a section that evokes a picture of the Atlantic Ocean. This leads into a cheery little Hornpipe and from there into a vision of Lyonesse, the ancient mythical land out in the Atlantic off the coast of Kernow. This glimpse of the legend is heralded by the words "Now when the Moon is very very low" and one could imagine standing on a high cliff gazing Westward into the mist and the mist parting in a blaze of gold and rose  to give a glimpse of the wonderful Lyonesse. All to quickly , though the vision fades and nothing is left but shreds of windblown mist.

We are then back to the Willow Hill theme by which we are led into a new realm. The Berceuse, or lullaby, called The Rain Curtain indicates a shift in reality. Gone are the symmetrical shapes and forms that went before, now everything is moving and flowing light and shade as we find ourselves in the forest of Broceliande, the garden told about at the beginning of Willow Hill. The world has changed, now form gives way to texture and shifting light and shade. I have tried to create this musically by keeping all the melodic lines asymmetrical and yet unchanged. Tricky. After wandering for a while we may come across the Oak tree in which the sorceress Vivienne entrapped Merddyn. 

The strings and solo guitar announce the Faerie's Funeral. At first just a hint in the distant wood  then moving into a funeral march that draws closer until it bursts into the clearing in which we stand and passes by in an angry blaze of drums and horns.

This album does not have a happy end. It leaves you with a question really.

Lots of Love

Francis xxx 

Even as I write, the mixed master of Far and Forgot is winging it's way into the very capable hands of Master Martin Russell, whom I sure you will all recall with great fondness. As soon as I receive the mastered master (!) back from Martin I shall send across to be pressed or cut or whatever the correct term for turning the master into a thousand playable-on-your-cd-players-at-home cds is. After that process is over, I will pop the appropriate number of cd's into their correctly addressed jiffy bags and you, esteemed listener, should shortly receive a shiny new copy of Far and Forgot, From The Lost Lands by Me, Francis Lickerish.
So there you go.
As I recall, I was giving you my take on the underlying resonance of Far and Forgot. I think I had more or less covered Brides of the Wind except for one quite important thematic item. After the opening horn call, you will here a short brass chorale. Notice, dear listener if you will, that the last chord of this brass chorale is both major and minor at the same time, that is to say it has both major and minor thirds sounding at the same moment in time. This is a clue as to the underlying tone of the whole album. Throughout and in every song there is an interplay 'twixt and between major and minor with the express intention of creating a sense of doubt and equivocation. Whether or not this device succeeds I leave up to your delicate judgement. It is especially pertinent in the final piece, The Faerie's Funeral as you shall see.
After Brides of the Wind comes The Shining Hour. A straight forward second movement minuet aimed at clearing the air and lightening the atmosphere. It's a kind of operatic duet between Hils and Jenny Russell that re-tells the age old Tam Lynn story with a bit of a twist. Here's the lyric.

The Shining Hour

When the light fades in the forest from a blue and breezy afternoon

When the shadows fly along the hills beneath a slip of a new moon

When the white owl sweeps the lowering dusk along the mirrored  river's glide 

Ah, it's now forgetful grow the valleys and the Elfin court does ride.

Where was he taken? 

I can't tell you.

By the mill bridge last I saw him in the dusk.

Dark eyed Queen of Elfin

Caught him in the twilight, in the Shining Hour  

Took him in the Shining Hour.

Now his eyes are strange

Yes and his cheeks are cold

As cold as the cold sea-shells

Strange and secret he grows 

Fell as a shadow he

Wills his own forgetting  hidden among the enchanted  hills.  

This night it is May Eve when the Elfin court will ride

And if you would your true love win back by the mill bridge you must hide.

And then First will run the black horse

 And then after her will run the grey  

Hold the white horse fast and fear not

You hold him fast till near day.

Dark grows the world

And the white star hovers low in the West

Now as evening  dews the flowers

With soft delighted showers

That fill the Shining Hours

Heartless she is 

As a frost upon a  May morning

All the Earth to her is young

Unkindness yet begun

All sad songs still unsung.  

In the dead hours after midnight she heard the horses bridles ring

And that fey sound and unchancy chilled her heart like no good or earthly thing

From the hollow and enchanted hills there rode out elf on elfin steed

And the new moon faded fearful and the stars grew dim with dread

This night being  May Eve by the mill bridge she did bide 

As she waits to glimpse her true love as the Elfin court does ride

And then first run by the black horse 

And then after her did run the greyAnd then raced by the white horseShe held him fast till near dayShe held him fast and feared him not

A-Crying my love I have won you.

The thunder rolled out across the sky and the stars they blazed as bright as day

And a cry came from the Elfin Queen " My young captive He's away"  

"My young captive he's away" she cried out in her anger and her pain 

"And alas tmy Young Lord he is lost and gone, and will never ever come again"

Where was he taken taken?

He won't tell you

She whom he loves is hard to catch and conquer

Dark eyed Queen of Elfin

Caught him in the twilight, in the Shining Hour  

Took him in the Shining Hour.

Is his heart still true?

Yes it is very true

To the fey queen in the hills.

By his return he was 

Dealt an unkindness

And now he waits by the mill  bridge till the Elfin court shall ride again. 

So that's The Shining Hour.

Then comes a sort of a scherzo called The Man Who Sold Magic. This is an instrumental portrait of an alchemist. Count St Germain, perhaps, or Fulcanelli. Think C19th, Vienna, Alps and a mystical midnight forest interlude. 

And then we have Seeds of the Sun. A lament. Not much more to be said about that.

The Disenchanting. This requires a whole blog unto itself and so I shall, dear reader, bid you adieu until such times as the internet weaves our lives together once again.

Light, Love and Life.

Fxxx

Yes I know it's late! What did you expect? It is, however, almost done. I am hoping that this weekend will see an end to mixing and then it is mastering and pressing. I think I have told you already that my old mucker Martin Russell has very kindly offered to take care of the mastering and then I just have to find the cash to have the thing pressed, or whatever it is they call it these days. I've spoken to Gareth, the presser as I like to call him, and all being well it could be out by All Hallows or Samhain as it really is. That flows quite nicely from To Wake The King which was released at Beltaine, the opposite end of the year and so a certain pagan  
symmetry is preserved that is not altogether in-congruent with the overall ethos of the stuff what I write. 
The main cause for delay has been funds. Don't get me wrong, I am not asking anyone for anymore cash. I don't subscribe to the "I'm an artist and so the world should recognize my worth and pay up accordingly" school of Arcadian pomp rock. People have been most kind and most trusting and a goodly proportion of the cost has been offset by advanced sales and donation, but nowhere near all of it. Unfortunately I am unable at the moment to give all my time and energy to music. I have other responsibilities and have to earn money in other ways to meet those obligations. Ne'er the less, all spare, and some not so spare, cash has been tipped into the gaping maw of this voracious project to the end that I shall be more than content if I manage to break even.
Anyhoo, patient reader, you need not concern yourself with these considerations.

What I would like to do is provide something in the way of programme notes to Far and Forgot. This is not to impose any meaning upon you as an esteemed and respected listener, far from it. It is merely to give you a glimpse into the beliefs and processes that swirl and cackle around my inner world.
So then, today let as take a peep at Brides of the Wind. Here are the lyrics.

Brides of the Wind

 Sisters awake! The Sun is on the mountain

Wake with the widening world

Ride out on the rising wind.

Sisters arise! The bees are in the heather

The song of the nestling air.

Ride out with the gathering wind

Aieah! Aieah!

Ride again through the deep sea rain to old world’s end.

Sisters well met! The moon is on the water

Walk with the Vanished Gods

Ride out with the wandering wind.

Sisters well met! New stories must be woven

Wild as an old wives tale

Ride out on the whispering wind

Aieah! Aieah!

Ride again through the deep sea rain to old world’s end.

The year’s sick and cold and the iron skies are grey and old

Home ever home where the Western stars ride high.

Sisters awake!  The long dream is ended

Wonder and war await

Ride out with the warrior wind.

Dana, Danuna,

 Diana, Damoyna.

Dark and dread are everywhere

Ride out with the wind

And Earth shall answer the wild air

Brides of the world wandering wind.

Les jour de paix arrivera

Quand les cloches de Ciel se sonnera les Fleurs D’Avalon

Touts les joli oiseaux  vont chanter comme les rossignol

Sur le Verte Secret.

The days of peace shall surely come

 When the bells of Heaven shall carillon the Flowers of Avalon

All the birds of the air will sing with the nightingales

On the Secret Green.

Sisters awake! Tree and leaf have spoken

The land poisoned at the root

Ride out with the travelling wind

Sisters arise!

The final oath is broken

The curse of the half-made men

Ride out on the levelling wind.

Aieah! Aieah!

Ride again through the deep sea rain to old world’s end.

The year’s sick and cold and the iron skies are grey and old

Home ever home where the Western stars ride high.

Sisters awake!  The long dream is ended

Wonder and war await

Ride out with the warrior wind.

Dana, Danuna,

 Diana, Damoyna.

Dark and dread are everywhere

Ride out with the wind

And Earth shall answer the wild air

Brides of the world wandering wind.   X2

So what's it all about then? Well, before we embark on any exploration of meaning I think it is right, proper and necessary to have some discussion about hats.

If one holds certain beliefs, hats can become something of a problem. Let it be generally known and acknowledged that I seldom wear a hat, and so find it a little tricky, not to say galling, to be often having one thrust upon my head.

Let me clarify. If I were to say, for example, that I find a great deal about the current theories of evolution and Darwinism quite preposterous and not to say rascally! Immediately I am aware of several hats being forced upon my unwilling head. The Creationist hat, for example, or the Intelligent Design hat being another. Let's have none of it! If I have to wear any hat it id the It's still a mystery hat! All else is dogma and wiseacring in my view.

So I hope that makes my position clear and lets have none of this "So you don't accept Darwin so you must be some sort of religious creationist!" tripe.

Brides of the Wind is in the nature of a prayer or supplication, if you will, to the Earth Goddesses to intervene on the behalf of us humans. Dana, Danuna, Diana, Damoyna are all the names of Mother Goddesses from different parts of the world and various ages of mankind.

That's it really. The rest you can surely piece together without my help or intervention. It is, however, worth noting that all these names begin with the letter D, which is a particularly earthy letter. Try it for yourselves. If ever you are feeling fragmented, disconnected or discombobulated pronounce out loud several times the sound "Duh" whilst walking on your heels in time to your pronouncing. If you don't believe me, try it and see.

You will notice there is a French bit in the middle. This is just because I find the French language to have a certain bird-like quality which to my ears suits the melody at this point very well.

Then we have an instrumental passage that uses the English tune "The Cutty Wren". Possibly one of the oldest songs in England, it dates from the peasant's revolt of 1381. The Cutty Wren may have been Richard II or more likely, the name given to the special police force that was raised to quell the rebellion.

 Oh where are you going said Milder to Moulder

Oh we may not tell you said Festel to Fose
We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose

                                     We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose. 

It goes. 

We could do with an uprising here in the UK just now, and with the help of the Mother Goddeses, we may be able to affect some very positive changes. I roundly know that we ignore the Durgha energy, the Goddess energy at our profound peril.

Now I'm off to Crystal Palace to hopefully finish mixing. Wish me Luck!!

See you soon.

Light, Love and Life

Francis