Down In The Cellar

Waiting For Margaux

She says she works "in government"
Though her job is ill-defined
She's a registered Republican
With a bitter chocolate mind
She sometimes lives in Washington
She always lives in hope
She drives a European car
And buys expensive soap

She grew up as a rebel
Though her tastes were quite diverse
Stayed up in her room at night
With existential verse
But something changed in college
And she grew more resolute
Still she keeps that air of danger
Even in a business suit

She's got the best taste in wine
She's got the best taste in wine
And though her icons and her medieval armor
Seem a little cold
I'd go 'round there anytime
That stuff is so hard to find
I don't know what we talk about
It drifts off to the chairs and curtain folds

Oh Margaux, I'm waiting for you
Oh Margaux, what can I do

I don't know what she sees in me
I sometimes get confused
At times she looks at me as if
She's secretly amused
And though I'm no sophisticate
I don't think I'd be shocked
I'd like to know what's in those drawers
And rooms that she keeps locked

Tasting History

Stephanie's father came her from Alsace
He bought a big Victorian house
Filled with colored glass
He kept his old wine bottles
In a cellar down below
On Friday night he takes them out
And stands them in a row

And all that he said
All of us there were tasting history

Those perfume-laden liquids
Whatever they might be
He dispensed then like a chemist
From the sixteenth century
Then leaned back in his armchair
With understated glee
While we tripped over our tongues
To trace their ancestry

And all that he said
All of us there were tasting history

And all through the night
In glass filtered light, tasting history

Stephanie went to Egypt
To an excavation site
And works beneath the Pharaoh's moon
Deep into the night
Her dad still opens Chambertin
As the candle burns away
It was the favorite of Napoleon
That's what he liked to say

And all that he said
All of us there were tasting history

And all through the night
In glass filtered light, tasting history

Down In The Cellars

Down in the cellars of Jean-Luis Chave
All the shadows are leaving
Bottles lying asleep in the caves
You'll see history breathing

From Cote-Rotie down to Hermitage
The vines are trellised in evening
In the cellars of Jean-Luis Chave
You'll see history breathing

Generations go slipping away now
What can you say now, five hundred years
Lives are written here
Pages on pages, ages on ages
Just disappear

From Cote-Rotie down to Hermitage
The vines are trellised in evening
In the cellars of Jean-Luis Chave
You'll see history breathing

Turning It Into Water

I used to have a secret cellar
Where I kept the sweetest of my wine
Now it seems that I've been too long
Hanging on the vine

And now she's turning it into water
Never be the same again
She's turning it into water
All my wine tastes like the rain

Damp has peeled away my labels,
I can't read the writing any more,
Nothing here to grace my tables
Nothing left to store

And now she's turning it into water
Never be the same again
She's turning it into water
All my wine tastes like the rain

Go bar the cellar door
Throw out the rusty key
Won't go there anymore
There is no mystery
There's nothing there to see

Now I've lost these hopes and wishes
I'm never going to change the way she feels
The cupboard's bare of loaves and fishes
All that time reveals is that

She's turning it into water
Never be the same again
She's turning it into water
All my wine tastes like the rain

Soho (Bert Jansch)

Come walk the streets of crime
And colour bright the corners
Of love with the earth

See the dazzling nightlife grow
Beyond the dawn and burning
In the heart of Soho

Hear the market cries
And see their wares displayed
Through the window of your soul

Come watch the naked dance
That spins before your very eyes
Naked like the sun

Step inside where men before
Have drunk to fill to senseless
Till the dreams fade and die

And free and easy
Does the blood red wine come flowing
From the glass to your veins

And the midday dream is silent
Thou gardens where you're resting
From the troubles of your mind

And though the sun is burning brightly
All within the gardens
Are the sleeping oris dead

And through the afternoon
The buzzing bees do harmonise
Through the rushing sale daylight

The Night That The Band Got The Wine

The earthquake hit at 6:19 with a jolt
People went running for the doorway
And for the next half minute it shook
Up on the 17th floor the sommelier was opening the wine
He knew the great hotel was solidly built
Still it must have been a miracle that nothing got spilt.
Terry O'Shea got up from the Chippendale chair
Talking on the telephone
Looking perplexed, waving a hand in the air
In the great room all alone
Fifty years old today, a microdot billionaire
Putting on a party like a Hollywood guy
With all the food and wine that his money could buy
The band came in arguing as usual
About nothing in particular
It always seemed to be that way
Tuning up and putting out set lists
Of all the stupid songs musicians hate to play
Still it could be better then usual
The food looked great, it was money not glory
So when the clock struck eight
They began the theme tune from "Love Story".
Time went by with no one arriving at all
It was just Terry and the pictures
Of dead people frowning from the wall,
They didn't look very pleased
It was completely clear nobody was coming
They were all staying home with their earthquake kits
Waiting for the aftershocks to hit
The Night That the Band Got the Wine
Thirty decanters of wine sat ready to pour
1961 Margaux and Petrus and Chateau Latour
Swaying in unison
Lobster and cavier, shrimp and salmon
They were all laid out with artistic flair
The waiters were already eyeing their share
Terry got up and he said "Enough"
And told the band to stop playing that dreadful stuff
He made them all come over to the table
And he gave them wine they never had dreamt of
So they worked their way through the burgundy and port
And started to relax
They discovered they had more in common then they thought
And so they went back
Over to the stand and started playing again
But this time differently
It got louder and louder and fairly insane
People heard it down in the street
It felt so good, they were smiling at eachother
The waiters all ran out covering their ears
There was plaster from the ceiling on the crystal chandeliers
Terry was dancing like a madman and waving his hands
At anything and everything
Kicking up the dust from the carpet and doing handstands
Cackling and yodeling
This was a birthday bash he hadn't anticipated
Spinning like a top in the middle of the room
While the hotel shook to a sonic boom.
After a while he passed out cold on the floor
And dreamed revealing things
Then he didn't have computers anymore,
Or fawning underlings
He was running through the trees on a tropical isle
No more feeling tense
In a flower patterned shirt of questionable style
It all made sense
The band went back to their homes in the Hollywood hills
Better than they'd ever felt
Waking up their sleep-addled wives with rambling tales
It didn't go down very well
But as a legacy, they called a band meeting
And decided they were going to give up playing covers
From that day on they got along with one another
Terry woke up and strange as the story may seem.
Though he felt terrible
He found with the dawn he could still remember his dream
So he just fell away
Nobody's seem him since
But I like to think of him
Sitting on a beach like Gaugin wearing a smile
Waiting for a brown eyed girl, she'll be there in a while
Maybe thinking back to a long ago time
The Night That the Band Got the Wine
The Night That the Band Got the Wine

Millie Brown

Do you have the photograph we took with Millie Brown
It such a lovely picture of a night out on the town
She was dressed in purple, and we took her to the fair
I know that you'd remember 'cause I know that you were there
Riding the cars, what did she say?
I wanted to know
The wind took her words, and blew them away
I wanted to know
All that she said, all that she said,
I want you to tell me all that she said
All that she said

You got out your camera, we were standing on the beach
Millie wore her yellow hat and seemed just out of reach
She was in a deck chair with a paper on her knee
I think she might have winked at me
She really was a tease
Down to the pub everyone went, and Millie was fine
She moved in close, smiling at me
And spilling her wine
All that she said, all that she said,
I want you to tell me all that she said
All that she said

She held me hand, then disappeared into the night
When she came back her lipstick was smeared
She was waving goodbye
All that she said, all that she said
I want you to tell me all that she said
All that she said

Under A Winestained Moon

Socrates drank the hemlock
Perhaps he didn't mind the taste
I guess it was a noble gesture
Of maybe it was just a waste
By the blue Aegean
Like an ancient tune
Dreams of Mycenaean heroes
Under a winestained moon

You've got this impulsive nature
Maybe you were born that way
Sometimes it leads you into danger
Sometimes you can make it pay
One a night like this one
Fly a red balloon
On an endless beach of summer
Under a winestained moon

You know that I'll be waiting for you
Even when I'm frail and old
With hands that shake my wine glass
And skin like hammered gold
Hear the water lapping
Like a drunk bassoon
Beach umbrellas flapping somewhere
Under a winestained moon

Franklin`s Table

Dinner with Ben Franklin on Friday night
The invitation read
Of course I wrote and thanked him
I wouldn't miss it for the world I said
His table is so well kept

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
The habits of the court of France
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation

The English call it claret
And clear and red it sits inside my glass
Sent to us from Paris
A greater kindness never came to pass
We'll drink his health, with the last

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
Of almanacs and specacles
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation

Time goes by in stories
Wine goes by, dark and young
When it comes my turn here
I'll be telling one with a purple tongue

The night grows philosophic
I miss a word or two, it must be said
As I hear them talking
I sink a little keeping in my chair
Thanking the fates that brought me here

He plays the glass harmonica
And talks of wind and kites
Of lightening and odometers
And other strange delights
Of course I've heard it all before
On other wintry nights
And yet there is no better wine or conversation

House Of Clocks

I once had a qilded clock
Constructed in la Belle Epoque
The hour hand broke, now it won't turn back
So long, so long, so long

I once had a sundial too
But green and wild my garden grew
The undergrowth obscured the view
So long, so long, so long

Not a word could make her stay
The East wind blows the sun away
Oh I lost her on St. Swithin's day
Oh why?

I grew up in a house of clocks
And late at night I'd sometimes walk
Listening to their rhythmic talk
So long, so long, so long

Clocks that sand in ringing chimes
To take the measure of the times
Clocks that spoke in wordless rhymes,
So long, so long , so long

Not a word could make her stay
The wine is spilt and flows away
I lost her on St. Swithin's day
Oh why?

Sergio

Sergio came to California
In the days after the war
So long ago
Bought some land
Thought to plant a vineyard
Like the one he used to know
So long ago

The sleepy valley was a land of farms and horses
He brought his family to the house that he built all alone
He drove the tractor, fixed the sprinklers, loaded boxes
Sold his wine from a van
His reputation soon began to grow

Sergio with grapemust on his overalls
Acaccia in his hair
Memories flow
In his mind, another country far away
With music in the air
So long ago

His wooden vats have turned to towers of gleaming metal
For Pinot Noir and Syrah, Cabernet, Chardonnay
They're entered into competitions, winning medals,
Advertised on TV
They're calling him the patriarch today

Sergio puts a weathered hand on the labeling machine
The day's almost done
Looks outside, beyond the barrels
To the rows of vines in brown and green
The last of the sun

Sergio came to California
In the years after the war
So long ago
Brought some land
Thought to plant a vineyard
Like the ones he used to know
So long ago

Toutes Les Etoilles

Viola, tante Pascale
Toutes les etoiles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la lumiere
Viola, toutes les etoiles
Les petites bulles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la nuit

Dom Perignon said "I've discovered
A wine to be served to kings and lovers
And down through the years a stream of bubbles
Will flow all around the world"

Viola, tante Pascale
Toutes les etoiles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la lumiere
Viola, toutes les etoiles
Les petites bulles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la nuit

Life in the Abbey goes unending
The monks and the bells, the prayers and mending
The secret of wine is in the blending
And I've found a way to keep the stars the wine is sending

Viola, tante Pascale
Toutes les etoiles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la lumiere
Viola, toutes les etoiles
Les petites bulles
Dans mon verre dansant dans la nuit

The Duc d`Orleans is lying on the floor
Raising a glass and calling out for more
Go take a glass to Madame Pomadour
All of society is cheering this discovery

Voila, tante Pascale
Toutes les etoiles
Les petites bals
Ca n'est pas mal
On met les voiles
Toutes les etoiles
Toutes les etoiles

The Shiraz Shuffle

A glass of Shiraz on a Friday evening
Looking down on the observatory
The sun is melting in the wine dark ocean
It brings out the Australian in me