Paintings, music, writing

Afrikaans musician, poet and painter Andries Bezuidenhout’s first English-language album. Translated tracks from his six solo albums, some with new arrangements. Quintessentially a South African album, with a bit of Afrikaans and IsiXhosa in the mix. Released on 5 July 2024.

Music and lyrics by Andries Bezuidenhout, except for:
“Explorer of Nahoon”, melody by Andries Bezuidenhout and Lukas van Garderen
“Umasizakhe”, words in the chorus from a Pan Africanist Congress struggle song
Recorded and mixed by Andries Bezuidenhout
Mastered by Willem Möller at Sharp Street Studio

Stream or download.

LYRICS AND MUSIC VIDEOS

[1] BEWARE OF THE DREAM

Something’s out of kilter, something isn’t right
The alarm clock’s dual dials have both taken flight
The shoes in the closet stomp an unpaired march
The whisky bottle’s label flies half mast

But beware of the dream, beware, beware
Of counting on sleeping through this nightmare
Beware of the dream, beware of the dream
The wages of dreaming are dreams

Oh look, a squint eyed television
And a radio with dials of indecision
The hoover electrical chord is on the loose
The boiler and the fridge declare a truce

But beware of the dream, beware, beware
Of counting on sleeping through this nightmare
Beware of the dream, beware of the dream
The wages of dreaming are dreams

From today, I say, I live on purpose
But I know, I have the wrong end of the business
Because every foundation harbours a ruin
And each straight façade ends in confusion

But beware of the dream, beware, beware
Of counting on sleeping through this nightmare
Beware of the dream, beware of the dream
The wages of dreaming are dreams

[2] ODE TO THE CIVIL SERVICE

Summer in Pretoria, the sun shines bright
Iscor sparks a furnace in the skies
Summer in Pretoria, the sun shines too bright
On the lenses that cover my eyes

Staring at the world through a pair shades
All I can do to protect
To censor and deflect reality
These images too bright for me
These images too bright for me
These images too bright for me

Civil service buildings like filing cabinets
Waiting for decrees, decisions, and verdicts
I’m in my Beatle, waiting for the light
That orders me back to my daily plight

Observing these fumes through a pair of shades
All I can do in this traffic
To censor and deflect reality
These headlights too bright for me
These headlights too bright for me
These headlights too bright for me

I see books and chairs and pens and my boss
Scowling and waiting for a moment to pounce
Waiting for tea time and for tjaila time
All I can do but meanwhile

I look at the world through a camera lense
With a focus on the present tense
I focus in shades of black and white
Because reality is way too bright
Reality is way too bright
Reality is way too bright

Staring at the world through a pair shades
All I can do to protect
To censor and deflect reality
These images too bright for me
These images too bright for me
These images too bright for me

[3] CALL OF THE RED-WINGED STARLING

If the sun could momentarily
Keep the morning light at bay
Then dreams might eventually
Spirit me away
But alarm clocks are not interested
In the content of dreams
An seconds keep on marching
To a military beat

If you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century
And if you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century

Heard you early in the morning mist
Before you settled on the roof
At first your call is tentative
And then becomes incessant.
My generation fears sentiment
Our hearts beat cold cement
Is this the reason for my projection
About a starlings wisdom and protection

If you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century
And if you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century

I know Central Park and Voldelpark
And Zanzibar’s old night market
I wonder if you’d flourish there
How do starlings choose their lairs?
Fewer lights where I am now
So the stars are brighter and somehow
Please remind me of this tomorrow
When your beak starts pecking at my window

If you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century
And if you land somewhere
Do you nest or do you flee
How did we end up, oh red-winged starling
In this troubled century

[4] EXPLORER OF NAHOON

Ocean wind in my hair, an owl hoo-hoos
Your bedroom light still on at your house in Nahoon
What I should do knows only Ballyhoo
They’ve got the number of the Man in the Moon

I’m Laika alone, in an orbit’s glue
Laika howling at you and the moon

I’m a discoverer of old of the streets of suburbia
Asphalt a bit like uncharted ocean
But around here waves move only through the air
I’ll send you a signal from here to there

I’m Laika alone, in an orbit’s glue
Laika howling at you and the moon

Sometimes I yearn for a land without borders
Nameless places, empty corners
Will you be there, on this empty plain
Or have you already disposed of my name

I’m Laika alone, in an orbit’s glue
Laika howling at you and the moon

Outside in the street, under the moon
I’m a moth and I sense the light bulb’s pull
I’m Vasco da Gama, I’m Magellan
In a revolution’s hold I cannot withstand
You are the pivot and I am the fan
Amid where you sleep and where I stand
From this eternal circle I cannot escape
Out of this carousel I cannot break
What this track means I still don’t get
But about Yuri Gagarin I cannot forget

I’m Laika alone, in an orbit’s glue
Laika howling at the moon and you

[5] HIGHVELD UTOPIAS

The sun’s bleak face sniggers up high
Through the icy filters of the Highveld sky
The sphere folded into a chilly blue
With crystal membranes on the morning dew

Block and cement endure cold saturation
That gives every house here a frozen foundation
Caravan on bricks, the bare, bare branches
Of an iceberg garden’s forfeited chances

How long does it last, what would you say
Or did this dry season come to stay?

Cool at dusk, chilly at night
as Nigel and Balfour wait on the light
For marrow and vein and pipe to thaw
And the shivering in bodies to briefly withdraw

The reefs were traded for power plant blasts
But those scorching fires could never last
Headgear topple, mineshafts collapse
Under Main Reef Road the tunnels are traps

How long does it last, what would you say
Or did this dry season come to stay?
How long does it last, what would you say
Or did this dry season come to stay?

Perhaps clarity in crass, resolve in cold
When simple answers can no longer hold
The bleak resignation of the winter skies
Wraps your shoulders like expedient lies

How long does it last, what would you say
Or did this dry season come to stay?
How long does it last, what would you say
Or did this dry season come to stay?

[6] CAMDEBOO DREAMING

In the rearview mirror a sunrise on full blast
Paper cups with coffee from the Stanley flask
Concrete chairs and a table under an age old bluegum
Down the mountain pass lies the Camdeboo

The speedometer is fluent and fully bilingual
It speaks kilos per hour, but can also tell miles
Its dial does not rotate, but swings from side to side
As we sail past a kestrel on a telephone line

Trunk with tailfins, red leather seats
Mixtape on the deck with a steady beat
Between Pearston and Graaff-Reinet my greatest wish
A shining convertible seventies Benz

Leave Lucy Jordan in Paris to make her own amends
Of Thelma and Louise I can just recall how it ends
And Bagdad Café you won’t find around here
Jack Kerouac got lost, for decades now, I fear

Matchbox full of diamonds, and Riders on the storm
In the valley at distance a whirlwind being born
Valiant Swart and Kerkorrel sing about locusts and rain
As shadows lose their way between mountainsides and the plains

Trunk with tailfins, red leather seats
Mixtape on the deck with a steady beat
Between Pearston and Graaff-Reinet my greatest wish
A shining convertible seventies Benz

Nowhere to be, nowhere to go
And how we got here concerns no one
Cirrus clouds above and an open road
Just us and plains of the Camdeboo

Trunk with tailfins, red leather seats
Mixtape on the deck with a steady beat
Between Pearston and Graaff-Reinet my greatest wish
A shining convertible seventies Benz

Is this something I remember, is it even real
Or maybe a yearning or a beautiful dream
But I’m at the wheel and you’re next to me, I bet
From Pearston all the way past Graaff-Reinet

[7] SONG FOR BERLIN

From the Fernsehturm, Berlin from up high
You get to know a new city best from the sky
City of gates, city of walls
Checkpoint Charlie, Brandenburger Tor

In the Waldbuhne theatre Leonard Cohen takes a bow
And shortly thereafter turns his back on the crowd
Down Unter den Linden a breeze of perfume
At the Hauptbahnhof the sounds of Lili Marleen

City rebuilt, city of ruins
Fallen walls reappear in dreams
Never-ending circle of the S-Bahn tracks
My balance faltered at Alexanderplatz

Polished concrete in the winter sun
Rows of light a blinding abandon
Words disappear down Kastanienallee
As the past recalls the future from somewhere or nowhere

Rosa Luxemburg’s ghost at Kreuzberg’s canal
On a statue shoulder Wim Wenders’ angel so small
The Palast der Republik’s shattered glass
Nightmares and hope in a cabaret dance

City rebuilt, city of ruins
Broken walls reappear in dreams
Never-ending circle of the S-Bahn tracks
My balance faltered at Alexanderplatz

In Prenzlauer Berg I met you for a Steh Kaffee brew
My coat’s lining too light for the colour of your mood
City of belonging, city of hate
Checkpoint Charlie and Ishtar’s gate

City rebuilt, city of ruins
Fractured walls reappear in dreams
Never-ending circle of the S-Bahn tracks
My balance faltered at Alexanderplatz

[8] RESTAURANTEUR

Stop, stop, pull off right here
I’m waiter, cleaner, chef and sommelier
Guests here are treated more like friends
These walls protect you from the madness out there
Cutlery arranged to fit with the rhyme
In support of the melody the table tops shine

Our menu offers peace and rest
Those two dishes are what we do best
Our unique recipe for a break from eternity

No one has the answer to all the world’s troubles
So focus on the coffee in the cup on your table
We have cellars with casks filled with harmony and wine
Pantries that turn longing and yearning to sunshine
Piping hot bread, newly ground coffee
Orange juice from our orchard, freshly squeezed

Our menu offers peace and rest
Those two dishes are what we do best
Our unique recipe for a break from eternity

In the cold, cold kitchen, at night on my own
In the morning hours I hear the refrigerators drone

Our menu offers peace and rest
Those two dishes are what we do best
Our unique recipe for a break from eternity

[9] LUKAS IMPOSSIBLE

Lukas from Johannesburg
Does heelflips at Boogaloo’s
Urban X and Revolution
Nose blunt slides in Hillbrow
Frames freeze with a backflip
Time stands still with an ollie impossible
As spine transfer’s big sky moment
Suspending you up high

Wind, water, earth and fire
Things here don’t seem so dire
When time suddenly pauses

Days do pop shuv-its
Hours can also five-o grind
The no-slides of the seconds
Bring calendars to a stand still
Can Shaka do a heelflip
Can Paul Kruger do a Smith grind?
Can Cecil Rhodes do a tail-slide
All the way to the Suez canal?

Look forward, look back, or look away
Things don’t look so bad today
When time suddenly pauses

Lukas likes to read
About history’s history
About mummies and pyramids
About what’d been before we were there
Can Ramses do a kickflip
Tutankhamun a feeble grind?
Can Cleopatra make a drop-in
From Cairo to the Cape?

Wind, water, earth and fire
Things here don’t seem so dire
When time suddenly pauses
Look forward, look back, or look away
Things don’t look so bad today
When time suddenly pauses

[10] WITCH FROM THE KAROO

Personally I don’t think Lavinia is a witch
Even though all the others around here do
She often plays the lead in scary stories
In this small town in the Karoo
She has seven cats and pitch black boots
Telescope on the balcony and a raven on the roof

What does Lavinia read in the stars
What does she say to moon
Does she see patterns in clouds up high
That seem to pass all of us by?

Around here we cook everything until its grey
But Lavinia’s kitchen with spices makes cooking look like play
With bottles of quince and peaches and figs
And paper bags with pepper and rosemary twigs

What does Lavinia read in the stars
What does she say to moon
Does she see patterns in clouds up high
That seem to pass all of us by?

She invited me in, one winter afternoon
Stirred a pot of tea with a wooden spoon
Talked about Cape Town, long ago
Her life there and how she’d come to know
Writers and actors and dancers and painters
And a very close friend, she was so special
But before she could even finish her story
I heard my father knock on the door

What are you doing, in this Karoo Town
Lavinia, where nothing ever happens
Do you see patterns in the clouds up high
That seem to pass all of us by?

[11] UMASIZAKHE

Your brakdak house on a Karoo mountain side
Shutters on the windows for blinding light
Child who loves to read, child who loves debate
Once you start speaking things will have to change

Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu
Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu

Guest of the state in a house on the island
Laws passed each year to keep your words silent
Words too dangerous for people to read
Words too powerful to be passed on freely

Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu
Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu

With Ma Zondeni you rest outside of town
To comment I can’t find words of my own

Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu
Thina sizwe se Afrika
Sikalel’ umhlaba wethu

[12] MY PROMISE

For you I can’t promise the world
But perhaps a few simple words
I can also not promise the moon
But perhaps a modest tune
I’ve very little influence, and even less talent
But I have coffee pot, a campsite, and a tent

I promise you restful days
I promise you a place to hide away

I can’t promise heavens and earth
But I know the way to a desert well
I can’t even promise you the sea
But there are so many stories I can tell

I promise you a winter blanket
I promise you a lamp and a candle
I promise you restful days
I promise you a place to hide away

I have few possessions
But plenty of books
An abundance of music
For whichever mood
I know a few recipes
For pancakes and bread
More than this I can’t offer
I confess from the onset

I promise you a winter blanket
I promise you a lamp and a candle
I promise you restful days
I promise you a place to hide away

© Andries Bezuidenhout