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[[File:Igor-Zabels-Song-Beckett.jpg|thumb|upright|Samuel Beckett quoted by [[Art & Language]] in David Beech's ''Beauty''<ref>https://archive.org/details/beauty0000unse_a3o0/page/11/mode/1up</ref>]]
== Lyrics ==
== Lyrics ==
{{Lyrics|
{{Lyrics|
Just after dawn on winter's day
Just after dawn on winter's day,
Small brown bird, we'll call him Jon
Small brown bird
Stood on a backroad dreaming of May
(We'll call him John)
Dreaming of springtime and the winter gone
Stood on a backroad dreaming of May,
Dreaming of springtime
And the winter gone.
He stood in the path of an oncoming herd
He stood in the path of an oncoming herd
Of black and white cows
Of black and white cows,
All heading for home
All heading for home.


Too cold to move, the little brown bird
Too cold to move, the little brown bird
Still so quite
Was still and so quiet,
All is ? as one of the cows
All on his own.
Passed over him
As one of the cows passed over him
Shit rained down on the top of his head
And shit rained down
As he began to warm his cold skin
On the top of his head,
He could see no harm in his cow shit bed
Its heat began to warm his cold skin.
Taking a breath, began his song
He could see no harm
In his cowshit bed
Taking a breath, he began his song:


Whistled his ? tune territorial code
Whistled his brave tune
As he sang his life spirit was strong
Territorial code.
Meanwhile in the grass of the side of the road
As he sang his blithe spirit was strong.
A hungry old cat was making the rounds
Meanwhile in the grass
Pricked up his ears, his movements slowed
At the side of the road,
As he saw who was making the sound
A hungry old cat was making the rounds.
In less than two heartbeats he swallowed poor Jon
Pricked up his ears,
Two feathers were left and that is all
His movements slowed,
As he saw who was making the sound.
In less than two heartbeats,
He'd swallowed poor John.
Two feathers were left and that is all.


The cat, he was fed
The cat, he was fed
But the brown bird was gone
But the brown bird was gone.
The shit he had made his birdcall
The shit he had made his bird call.
The cat was so hungry for he'd had preferred
The cat was so hungry,
His meal less flavored with cow shit
Or he'd had preferred
The bird had not heard ? last word
His meal less flavored with cowshit.
It's no truth but a smart-ass's wit
The bird had not heard
[French]
Endgame's almost last word:
(It's no truth but a smartasses wit):
"Lorsqu'on est vraiment
Dans la merde
Il ne reste qu'à chanter"
Nuit gravement la santé.
}}
}}


== Chronology ==
== Chronology ==
* {{RLink|Sighs}}
* {{RLink|Sighs}} {{MediaLink|YouTube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIFqBYfGRXc}}
** [[Sandy Yang]] - vocals


== Interpretations ==
== Interpretations ==
* [[wikipedia:Igor_Zabel|Igor Zabel]]
In 2008, [[Art & Language]] contributed the lyrics to a book ''Continuing Dialogues'' – ''A Tribute To Igor Zabel''.<ref>https://www.lespressesdureel.com/EN/ouvrage.php?id=1426</ref><blockquote>Igor Zabel was senior curator at the Modern Art Museum in Ljubjlana. He died unexpectedly following an accident in 2005, at the age of 47. He was a gentle and intelligent man. The lyrics of the song transcribe a tale he told as an antidote to a concluding epigram in Samuel Beckett's ''Endgame'': "Lorsqu'en est vraiment dans la merde, il ne reste qu'à chanter" ("If you're really in the shit there's nothing you can do but sing"). The moral of Igor's story, redolent [... end of excerpt]</blockquote>Art & Language previously quoted Beckett's line in their lecture "On Painting" in 2003 at the Tate Modern, London.<ref>https://archive.org/details/beauty0000unse_a3o0/page/207/mode/1up</ref>
* Jon Bird?
 
<blockquote>Ramsden: [...] If there is a crisis in the arts, it is a crisis produced by the institutional ordering and management of art. For this reason, painting is surely worth a try. Concentrate, throw away the commuter's pass and go somewhere. On our analysis, painting perhaps stands in relation to the rest of art as singing a song stands to the rest of music.
 
Harrison: In the words of Samuel Beckett: "Lors qu'on est vraiment dans la merde, il ne reste qu'à chanter".
 
Ramsden: "If you're really in the shit, the only thing you can do is sing".
 
Baldwin: There's certainly good reason not to dance. [...]</blockquote>
 
They also reference the quote in ''[[Letters to the Red Crayola IX, 2009-2012]]'' (2012): "The man sings: we are in the shit."
 
Art & Language mention "Igor Zabel's Song" in their 2019 piece ''A Shadow on the Tongue''<ref>https://vimeo.com/554540192</ref>
 
<blockquote>
C: If you're really in the shit, there's nothing left to do but sing, as ''End Game'' has it.
 
A: But Igor Zabel told his story, and then a song that doubts the wisdom of that proverb was sung and recorded.
</blockquote>The quote is also referenced in the title of "[[Il Ne Reste Qu'a Chanter]]".
 
Could be a coincidence: Jon Bird is an artist/writer who edited the anthology ''Rewriting Conceptual Art'' (1999).


== References ==
== References ==

Latest revision as of 10:30, 5 November 2023

Samuel Beckett quoted by Art & Language in David Beech's Beauty[1]

Lyrics

Just after dawn on winter's day, Small brown bird (We'll call him John) Stood on a backroad dreaming of May, Dreaming of springtime And the winter gone. He stood in the path of an oncoming herd Of black and white cows, All heading for home.

Too cold to move, the little brown bird Was still and so quiet, All on his own. As one of the cows passed over him And shit rained down On the top of his head, Its heat began to warm his cold skin. He could see no harm In his cowshit bed Taking a breath, he began his song:

Whistled his brave tune — Territorial code. As he sang his blithe spirit was strong. Meanwhile in the grass At the side of the road, A hungry old cat was making the rounds. Pricked up his ears, His movements slowed, As he saw who was making the sound. In less than two heartbeats, He'd swallowed poor John. Two feathers were left and that is all.

The cat, he was fed But the brown bird was gone. The shit he had made his bird call. The cat was so hungry, Or he'd had preferred His meal less flavored with cowshit. The bird had not heard Endgame's almost last word: (It's no truth but a smartasses wit): "Lorsqu'on est vraiment Dans la merde Il ne reste qu'à chanter" Nuit gravement la santé.

Chronology

Interpretations

In 2008, Art & Language contributed the lyrics to a book Continuing DialoguesA Tribute To Igor Zabel.[2]

Igor Zabel was senior curator at the Modern Art Museum in Ljubjlana. He died unexpectedly following an accident in 2005, at the age of 47. He was a gentle and intelligent man. The lyrics of the song transcribe a tale he told as an antidote to a concluding epigram in Samuel Beckett's Endgame: "Lorsqu'en est vraiment dans la merde, il ne reste qu'à chanter" ("If you're really in the shit there's nothing you can do but sing"). The moral of Igor's story, redolent [... end of excerpt]

Art & Language previously quoted Beckett's line in their lecture "On Painting" in 2003 at the Tate Modern, London.[3]

Ramsden: [...] If there is a crisis in the arts, it is a crisis produced by the institutional ordering and management of art. For this reason, painting is surely worth a try. Concentrate, throw away the commuter's pass and go somewhere. On our analysis, painting perhaps stands in relation to the rest of art as singing a song stands to the rest of music.

Harrison: In the words of Samuel Beckett: "Lors qu'on est vraiment dans la merde, il ne reste qu'à chanter".

Ramsden: "If you're really in the shit, the only thing you can do is sing".

Baldwin: There's certainly good reason not to dance. [...]

They also reference the quote in Letters to the Red Crayola IX, 2009-2012 (2012): "The man sings: we are in the shit."

Art & Language mention "Igor Zabel's Song" in their 2019 piece A Shadow on the Tongue[4]

C: If you're really in the shit, there's nothing left to do but sing, as End Game has it.

A: But Igor Zabel told his story, and then a song that doubts the wisdom of that proverb was sung and recorded.

The quote is also referenced in the title of "Il Ne Reste Qu'a Chanter".

Could be a coincidence: Jon Bird is an artist/writer who edited the anthology Rewriting Conceptual Art (1999).

References