Список песен:
1. Quizz Kid
2. Crazed Institution
3. Salamander
4. Taxi Grab
5. From a Dead Beat to an Old Greaser
6. Bed-eyed and Loveless
7. Big Dipper
8. Too Old to Rock'n'Roll: Too Young to Die
9. Pied Piper
10. The Chequered Flag
Комментарий Иана Андерсона к альбому:
В самом начале истории Талл, когда на дворе был "блюзовый бум", мы обратились спиной к коммерческому успеху, мы были своего рода "панками" - нашего поколения, конечно. Шесть-семь лет спустя все перевернулось вверх дном. Тогда уже движение английских панков повернулось спиной ко всем прогрессивным, артовым группам, и вернулось к основам - агрессивной, примитивной и нигилистической музыке. Эти события и стали сюжетом "Too Old to Rock and Roll". Стареющий рок-н-ролльный бунтарь обнаруживает, как все достижения его карьеры вдруг порушены следующим поколением рокеров. Это - не наш прямой "ответ на панк", а отражение цикличной природы популярной музыки. Хотя, легко понять тех журналистов, которые решили, что этим диском мы "сводим счеты" с панками. Когда мы на деле всего лишь хотели показать, что музыкальный бизнес имеет форму цикла, и, если ты занимаешься чем-то довольно долго, ты можешь вдруг снова стать модным.
Тексты песен:
1. Quizz Kid
Cut along the dotted line - slip in and seal the flap.
Postal competition crazy, though you wear the dunce's cap.
Win a fortnight in Ibiza - line up for the big hand-out.
You'll never know unless you try - what winnig's all about
- Quizz Kidd.
Be a Whizz Kid.
Six days later there's a rush telegram
Drop everything and telephone this number if you can.
It's a free trip down to London for a weekend of high life
They'll wine you; dine you; undermine you - better
not bring the wife - Be a Quizz Kid.
Be a Whizz Kid.
It's a try out for a quizz show that millions watch
each week.
Following the fate and fortunes of contestants as
they speak
Answerable to everyone; responsible to all: publicity
dissected - brain cells spattered on the
walls of encyclopaedic knowledge.
May be barbaric but it's fun. As the clock ticks
away a lifetime,
hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray
tubes aimed at your tiny skull.
May you find sweet inspiration - may your memory
not be dull.
May you rise to dizzy success
May your wit be quick and strong
May you constantly amaze us
May your answers not be wrong
May your head be on your shoulders
May your tongue be in your cheek
And most of all we pray that you may
Come back next week!
Be a Quizz Kid.
Be a Whizz Kid.
2. Crazed Institution
Just a little touch of make-up;just a little touch of bull
Just a little 3-chord trick embedded in your platform soul
You can wear a gold Piaget on your Semaphore wrist
You can dance the old adage with a new dapper twist
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
Crawl inside your major triad, curl up and laugh
As your agent scores another front page photograph
Is it them or is it you throwing dice inside the loo
Awaiting someone else to pull the chain
Well grab the old dog-handle, hold your breath and light
a candle
Clear your throat and pray for rain to irrigate
the corridors that echo in your brain filled with
empty nothingness, empty hunger pains.
And you can ring a crown of roses round your cranium
Live and die upon your cross of platinum
Join the crazed institution of the stars
Be the man that you think (know) you really are.
3. Salamander
Salamander -
Born in the sun-kissed flame.
Who was it lit your candle -
Branded you with your name?
I see you walking by my window
In your Kensington haze.
Salamander, burn for me; and I'll burn for you.
4. Taxi Grab
Shake a leg, it's the big rush
Can't find a taxi can't find a bus
Bodies jammed in the underground
Evacuating London town
Nowhere to put your feet as the big store shoppers
and the pavements meet
Red lights - pin stripes - short step shuffle
into the night
Tea time calls - the Bingo Halls open at seven
in the old front stalls.
How about a Taxi Grab.
There's an empty cab by the taxi stand
Driver's in the cafe washing his hands
Big diesel idles - the keys inside -
C'mon Sally let's take a ride
Flag down - up-town - no sweat
For rush hour travel, it's the best bet yet.
Taxi Grab.
5. From a Dead Beat to an Old Greaser
From a dead beat to an old greaser, here's thinking of you
You won't remember the long nights; coffee bars;
black tights and white thighs in shop windows
where blonde assistants fully-fashioned a world
made of dummies (with no mummies or daddies to
reject them)
When bombs were banned every Sunday
and the Shadows did F.B.I.
And tired young sax-players sold their instruments of
torture - sat in the station sharing wet dreams of
Charlie Parker, Jack Kerouac, Rene Magritte to
name a few of the heroes who were too wise for
their own good - left the young brood to go on
living without them.
Old queers with young faces - who remember your name,
though you're a dead beat with tired feet; two
ends that don't meet.
To a dead beat from an old greaser.
Think you must have me all wrong
I didn't care, friend.
I wasn't there, friend.
If it's the price of pint that you need, ask me again.
6. Bad-Eyed and Loveless
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's fancy and an old man's dream
I'm self raising and I flower in her company
Give me no sugar without her cream.
She's a warm fart at Christmas
She's a breath of champagne on sparking night
Yes'n she's bad-eyed and loveless
Turns other women to envious green
Yes and she's bad-eyed and loveless
A young man's vision - in my old man's dream.
7. Big Dipper
The mist rolls off the beaches: the train rolls
into the station
Weekend happiness seekers - pent-up saturation
Well, we don't mean anyone any harm
We weren't on the Glasgow train.
See you at the Pleasure Beach
Roller-coasting heroes. Chorus:
Big Dipper riding - we'll give the local lads a hiding
If they keep us from the ladies
Hanging out in the penny arcades.
Shaking up the Tower Ballroom
Throwing up in the bathroom
Landlady's in the back room
I'm the Big Dipper
It's the weekend rage
Rich widlowed landlady give me your spare front door key.
If you're 39 or over, I'll make love to wou next Thursday-
I may stay over for a week or two
Drop a postcard to me mum.
I'll meet you on the waltzer
We'll go big-dipping daily.
8. Too Old to Rock'n'Roll: Too Young to Diе
The old Rocker wore his hair too long,
wore his trouser cuffs too tight.
Unfashionable to the end - drank his ale too light.
Death's head belt buckle - yesterday's dreams -
The transport caf' prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams,
in his post-war-babe gloom. Chorus:
Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die
Yes, he's too old, etc.
He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville.
Counted his friends in burned out spark plugs
And prays that he always will.
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
All his mates are doing time
Married with three kids up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line
And some of them own little sports cars and meet
at the tenis club do's
For drinks on a sunday - work on Monday
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes.
Now they're too old to Rock'n'Roll but they're too young
to die
Yes, they're too old, etc.
So the old Rocker gets out his bike to make a ton before
he takes his leave
Upon the Al by Scotch Corner just like it used to be.
And as he flies - tears in his eyes - his wind-whipped
word echo the final take
As he hits the trunk road doing around 120 with no room
left ot brake
And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll
And he was too young to die.
9. Pied Piper
Well, if you think Ray blew it,
There was nothing to it.
They patched him up as good as new.
Now you can see hin every day -
Riding down the queen's highway
Handing out his small cigars to the kids from school
And all the little girls
With their bleached blonde curls
Clump up on their platform soles
And they say "Hey Ray - Let's ride away
Downtown where we can roll some alley bowls."
And Ray grins from ear to here, and whispers...
So follow me. Trail along
My leather jacket's buttoned up.
And my four-stroke song
Will pick you up when your last class ends;
And you can tell all your friends
The pied piper pulled you
The mad biker fooled you
I'll do what you want to
If you ride with me on a Friday
Anything goes.
So follow me, hold on tight.
My school girl fancy's flowing in free flight
I've a tenner in my skin tight jeans
You can touch it if your hands are clean.
The Pied piper pulled you
The mad biker fooled you
I'll you ride with me on a Friday
Anything goes.
10. The Chequered Flag (Dead or Alive)
The disc brakes drag, the chequered flag sweeps across
the oil-slick track
The young man's home; dry as a bone. His helmet off, he
waves: the crowd waves back.
One lap victory roll. Gladiator soul
The taker of the day in winning has to say
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.
The sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks
Touches the old man where he sleeps
The nurse brings up a cup of tea - two biscuits
and the morning paper mystery.
The hard road's and, the white God's send is nearer
everyday, in dying the old man says
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand; dead or alive.
The still-born child can't feel the rain
as the chequered flag falls once again
The deaf composer completes his final score.
He'll never hear his sweet encore
The chequered flag, the bull's red rag
The lemming-hearted hordes running ever-faster
to the shore singing.
Isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.
