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Westerlies

by Mikayel Abazyan

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Comes in gatefold card cover that holds an inner cover with printed spoken words and a 28-page booklet with lyrics, artworks by Artashes Stamboltsyan, and more. All is put in a Japanese mini-LP sleeve polypropylene bag - ideal for such a packaging!
    18-page digital booklet in PDF format contains the original poems with their publishing year, artworks, the book matters, etc., provides easy navigation (see the picture) and is supported with clickable URLs to the related external web-resources. Best viewed in Full Screen mode.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Westerlies via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days
    edition of 100 

      $12 USD or more 

     

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $8 USD  or more

     

1.
Westron wynde when wyll thow blow the smalle rayne down can Rayne Cryst yf my love were in my Armys and I yn my bed Agayne "Sweet and Low, part 1" Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!
2.
Despondency 05:13
Oppress’d with grief, oppress’d with care, A burden more than I can bear, I set me down and sigh; O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I! Dim-backward as I cast my view, What sick’ning scenes appear! What sorrows yet may pierce me thro’, Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne’er, But with the closing tomb! Happy, ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, No other view regard! Ev’n when the wished end’s denied, Yet, while the busy means are plied, They bring their own reward: Whilst I, a hope-abandon’d wight, Unfitted with an aim, Meet ev’ry sad returning night, And joyless morn the same; You, bustling, and justling, Forget each grief and pain; I, listless, yet restless, Find every prospect vain. How blest the Solitary’s lot, Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, Within his humble cell, The cavern wild with tangling roots, Sits o’er his newly-gather’d fruits Beside his crystal well? Or, haply, to his ev’ning thought, By unfrequented stream, The ways of men are distant brought, A faint collected dream: While praising, and raising His thoughts to Heav’n on high, As wand’ring, meand’ring, He views the solemn sky. Than I, no lonely hermit plac’d Where never human footstep trac’d, Less fit to play the part; The lucky moment to improve, And just to stop and just to move, With self-respecting art: But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, Which I too keenly taste, The Solitary can despise, Can want, and yet be blest! He needs not, he heeds not, Or human love or hate, Whilst I here must cry here At perfidy ingrate! Oh! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure’s maze, To care, to guilt unknown! How ill exchang’d for riper times, To feel the follies, or the crimes, Of others, or my own! Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush, Ye little know the ills ye court, When manhood is your wish! The losses, the crosses, That active man engage! The fears all, the tears all, Of dim-declining age.
3.
Sonnet LXVI 02:20
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscall’d simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
4.
- Honey! Honey! Come! Good girl!... Lie down, lie down. Gosh! The more I read those headlines in the newspapers, the more I fall into depression. What troubled times we are living in! Aha, look: "Royal Agony: Prince Harry's heartbreaking 'lifelong' regret revealed" "PM has turned party discord into a schism" "Ealing Abbey abbot resigns over failure to investigate child abuse allegations" OK, another newspaper... And... "Troops kill tribal leader in clashes over US aid" "charged with multiple counts of sexual abuse'" "Murderer was a 'serial killer in the making' who posted YouTube videos of himself playing violent Slender Man game" Honey-Honey, you see, everything has got rotten. Everything from the Houses of Parliament... to our own houses. Disgusting! ... Disgusting and terrifying at the same time.
5.
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King; Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn, – mud from a muddy spring; Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know, But leechlike to their fainting country cling Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow. A people starved and stabbed in th’ untilled field; An army, which liberticide and prey Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield; Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; Religion Christless, Godless – a book sealed; A senate, Time’s worst statute, unrepealed – Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
6.
ASHOT: Էհ, եկեք խմենք: Ի՞նչ ասեմ, ինչ ըլնումա ժեշտին ըլնի, մենք էլ ողջ-առողջ լինենք, իրար ջան ասենք, ջան լսենք... NAREK: Աշ, մի րոպե թարգմանեմ: ASHOT: OK, OK... (continues his speech soon after Narek starts). NAREK: OK, Ashot invites us to raise another glass. ENGLISH: Oh, that soon?!.. NAREK: Yes. This time his toast is generic. It says “whatever happens let it happen to tin... or iron... This means, whatever bad has to happen in our lives let it happen to something inanimate*. ENGLISH: Oh... I see... NAREK: Like when you’re in a car and you hit the wall... Let due damage happen not to you, but to that car. ENGLISH: Ah, sure! I see now. :-) NAREK: Then he says “let’s say ջան to each other and hear the same. And “ջան”... The word ջան expresses all your good feelings towards the person you address it. You might have already heard a lot of ջանs tonight ;-) ASHOT: Դե, անո՛ւշ արեք: NAREK: Cheers! ENGLISH: Cheers! ASHOT: Cheers, English ջա՛ն: ENGLISH: (smiles) (She Walks in Beauty starts) ENGLISH: Hey, Narek, who is that woman? NAREK: What woman? Where? ENGLISH: That one, that beautiful one! Who is she? Can’t you see her? There!
7.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
8.
MAN: ... so what he understood and what he wanted to deliver to the people was just a plain truth – so plain that you can spend your life trying to explain it to Mankind, and yet not be able to do it. WOMAN: Errr... Sooo, did you perceive that plain truth? MAN: Mmmm... Yes, I did! WOMAN: Disclose it! MAN: Oh... come on... WOMAN: Why not? Let us know the truth! MAN: Are you kidding? Do you really think that my path, which I have been following all my life, and what I found and lost while moving along it, will somehow affect people’s perception of Happiness and fill their hearts with Love? Especially all those bigots who count the bows in front of the icons, but - minutes after! - spit thrice over their shoulders to repel the evil eye. Actually, they don’t even spit – they pretend to. Now, just drop a hint about the similarity between that and some witchcraft - and be prepared to protect yourself from them wanting to scratch out your eyes! On their way home from the church they start whispering some spells and look into their mirrors if suddenly they have noticed that a black cat has crossed their way. They follow all those fasting rules, but in the evenings, in order to multiply their richness, show coins to the Moon and then bury those coins in the ground under some trees! And they keep on filling their days, their years - their lives after all! - with all these superstitions! Superstitions, and not faith! Bigots! WOMAN: Faggots! MAN: No, not faggots but bigots! I’m serious. WOMAN: OK, OK, but I am not one of them, so tell me! Come on, I want it now! MAN: What I would say will neither upset you, nor please you, because this is what I understood by myself, what was revealed to me alone, and basically this is the fact that I am happy only when I feel my immortality through the realisation of my mortality... I’ll say it again: I am happy only when I feel my immortality through the realisation of my mortality. WOMAN: Jesus! MAN: Sounds bizarre, I know. But only through that feeling do I understand how I love this Life. Only then do I see that my soul and the souls of a cat, of a fly, of a stone, of a tree... your soul, the soul of water, wind and fire – they all have the same core and the same nature, which is Love! And only then do I feel both the pain and the joy of every soul – of everything that is connected with me; and everything IS connected with me! That is Compassion that comes through Love. And at such moments peace comes to my spirit. At such moments, I am ready to leave this world, but instead I return into it reinforced, ready to create, to love, to spread this Love around and infect others with Life, to give joy, to explore and to lead. And to believe in all this! Believe! I wonder, if I hadn't meet you all, bigots, on my way, would have I been able to find my Faith? Would have I been able to perceive Mercy, Pity, Peace, Love?
9.
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress; And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is Man, his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew; Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell There God is dwelling too.
10.
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; “Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;” Desires compos’d, affections ever ev’n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav’n. Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp’ring angels prompt her golden dreams. For her th’ unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, To sounds of heav’nly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day.
11.
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest! who can unconcern’dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix’d; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me dye; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lye.
12.
Oh, Westerlies! When will you blow and bring a little rain? Christ, if my love were in my arms, and I in my bed again! "Sweet and Low, part 2" Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother’s breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west, Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

about

The starting point for the "Westerlies" album is the 43rd International Byron conference, for which I was asked to try recording a song based on a Byron's poem. The successful implementation of this idea and the release of "She Walks in Beauty" (now carrying "original mix" in the title) in July 2017 gave me a push to do what I was thinking about then - to come up with an entire album of songs based on the classic British poems.

At some poem, a story started figuring out, and here is when the story helped me in finding the absent fragments. For some of them I did not want to force myself to write something in the sake of filling the gaps. Instead, I wrote a monologue and two dialogues and invited my friends from NCA Small Theatre (Yerevan, Armenia) to play. We all had a great fun.

The resulting work is here for your entertainment. Let the story begin!

“Long ago, in a far-away land...” or, maybe “Here, today...”?

credits

released October 28, 2019

Produced by Mikayel Abazyan.

Music for all songs written and arranged by Mikayel Abazyan.

The Musicians (in no particular order):
Levon Hakhverdyan - drums, SFX, percussion (11)
Ashot Margaryan - guitars (5)
Rima Mirzoyan - violins (5)
Mikayel Abazyan - vocals, piano, acoustic guitar, electric guitars, classic guitar, bass guitar, fretless bass guitar, MIDI-keyboards, percussion (9)

The Actors (in order of appearence):
Arda Khachaturian - vocal (1, 12)
Ashot Marabyan - voice (6)
Narek Minassian - voice (6)
Christina Danielian - voice (8)

Recorded (between March 2017 and July 2019), mixed (between August and October 2019) and mastered by Levon Hakhverdyan
at Brevis Recording Studios, Yerevan, Armenia.

Binaural recording by Aram Hovhannisyan at Brevis Recording Studios, Yerevan, Armenia.

MIDI tracks recorded at home by Mikayel Abazyan.

Guitars for England in 1819 recorded by Ashot Margaryan at his home studio, Saint Petersburg, Russia.

Artwork and computer graphics by Artashes Stamboltsyan,
to whom I would like to extend my words of thanks for enriching my work with his vision, as well as for showing professional courage
when replying with “No! Never!” when I wanted him to do something irrelevant or inappropriate.

Layout and packaging by Mikayel Abazyan.

Web resources:
Mikayel Abazyan: ‘Mikayel Abazyan - The Musician’ Facebook page www.facebook.com/mikayel.abazyan.music/
Artashes Stamboltsyan: www.behance.net/artashes
Brevis Recording Studio: www.facebook.com/brevisrecording/
NCA The Small Theatre: www.facebook.com/nca.smalltheater/

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about

Mikayel Abazyan Yerevan, Armenia

Born on July 9, 1971.
Self-trained playing piano, guitar and later - bass, which allowed me playing and making a few recordings with various bands in Yerevan.
In 2014, joined a special project dedicated to the music of Peter Hammill and Van der Graaf Generator, which brought me back to studio work. Having released yet another successful solo tribute, started producing my own music.
And I like it!
... more

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