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Dramatic, Grim and Humorous

by Sister Ursuline

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1.
She sunk sullenly into the rich damask pillow in a brief respite from quarrelling. Her eyes bore into his back as he stood facing the window. “Peter I shall do as I please.” Perpetually the indomitable invalid, she pulled her dank hair away from her cheeks and plumped the goose down. Glowering, he turned to face her. Her translucent skin, already sickly pale, was cast a sour yellow in the lamplight. “These things are not possible – you are unwell,”he said. “Tell me, who alerted the nurse?” He shifted slowly on the creaking floorboards, the draught seeping up through the floor. “Your countenance betrays you,”she spat ruefully. He swung wide the door and was gone, perhaps forever. Was it his rustic simplicity of manners that drew out the bile in her? Homespun to a fashionable display, his crude upbringing assaulted the finery of her chambers. What did she hope to gain, calling on him to return? What compelled him to return, only to be cast away? It was a lesson she was never to learn: that sometimes the victory was just not worth the crown.
2.
Cher Ami 04:53
Go my dear friend, fly. Following the Earth's magnetic lines. She lost her sight somewhere above Argonne, But her nose to the North will lead her home. Rising through the briar, Caught in an exchange of friendly fire. Whittlesey stays behind to watch her go, For her nose to the North will lead them home. Our allies drop a barrage upon us, Colonel, can support be sent? Hemmed in, we cannot evacuate. Come, for Heaven's sake. Stop it, for Heaven's sake. Cher Ami, she can hear men calling, Spotting her from the ground. Wheeling West on a blood-soaked wingtip, Nearing home, she descends as alarms sound.
3.
Blessed be this vision With an eye that shone So brightly from the hill And then was gone. In the Spring of 1780 The Steward of the Borough was Dr. Alsop. He conceived of the White Horse of Cherhill Downs, So pleasing a sight to travellers to the town. Ancient hills concealed a blinding white, Rushes arced and caught the morning light. Glinting like his vision in the pitch of night, As the doctor carved his dream Into the green hillside. The horse emerging yet, The flags in lines were set. They trace the frame of his legacy. White horse on the high hill, White horse on the high hill. I am the scholar who keeps this history. Yes, I was born here. My records span hundreds of years. What became of Alsop is a mystery – Unknown in living memory. The eye that shone When I was gone – It has prevailed without me. No one will know How I loathed to go – Must death end absolutely? Upon the hill, We labour in vain 'Til time claims us And renders us all the same. Completing my vision With the eye that shone So brightly from the hill When I was gone.
4.
North Brother in the dawn, Light illuminates curtains drawn. Muslin veils the sty where she lies awake As black crowns call across the bay. Her heart sinking like the Slocum, Once ablaze but long since broken By the view she caught from the peer, Grieving to know Manhattan was near. Contending with her despair, She could hear the town on the air From the shore when the weather cleared, Grieving to know Manhattan was near. Grieving to know Manhattan was... Nearly there now, I can see New York from the bough. Nearly there now – Yes sir, I have come on my own. I will make my way on my own.  North Brother in the dawn, Light illuminates curtains drawn. Muslin veils the sty where she died today As black crowns call across the bay.
5.
I kneel down by the door, Near the window, my head on the floor. I need to see beyond the grates, And watch the pigeons wheel. I shake as I take my tea, Someone I don't know myself to be. A warble of prayers unheard, I'm escorted down the hall. My name, My name is Sister Ursuline. My name is Sister Ursuline. Vestige of a life unknown, There is one thing I still call my own. Surrounding a sacred heart – My moulding rosary. My name, My name is Sister Ursuline. My name is Sister Ursuline. A dove descends from the sky, Pausing to smooth his tie. He tells me I look well. I am well, I lived at 140 West 64th Street. I am well, I am well. No, I lived with the Sisters of the Sick Poor in North Dakota. I am well, I am well. I had an operation for gallstones one and one half years ago. I am well, I am well. My name is Sister Marie Ursuline and I seek dispensation. I am well, I am well, I am well. My name, My name is Sister Ursuline. My name is Sister Ursuline. My name was Sister Ursuline.
6.
"The Shuttlecock: An Exposition” Beaufort, that bloviating buffoon, emerging from the parlour at noon to rouse the guests, and ready the court for games in the saloon. “The fair shuttlecock!”he said, chin collapsing into navel,“is hand-fitted with six and ten of the finest feathers from the left wing of the gander, two weeks before the Summer moult. No more and no less than.” He swung his battledore in a wanton ecstasy, feathered projectile whining through the air. “No toys on a Sunday!”he would cry, his unbecoming behaviour reaching new lows as he bent to pick flowers in the park.

about

Dramatic, Grim and Humorous is Sister Ursuline’s independently released and recorded EP - a collection of six historically-informed narrative songs, described by Dirge Magazine’s Brian Ennis as “manic, scissoring melodic line[s] contrasted with a majestic, soaring refrain - there is always something sinister throbbing away in the background. Sometimes dissonant and choral, sometimes spoken, and sometimes floating and harmonious.”

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released September 15, 2015

Cello/Vocals/Production: Sister Ursuline

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Sister Ursuline Sydney, Australia

Sister Ursuline is a Sydney-based singer-songwriter and cellist. Sonic historian and “found-object artist of musical influences,” she draws on historical sources and folk stories to create otherworldly narrative songs: asylum-bound nuns, shape-shifting witches and iron-willed aristocrats inhabit “echoing, off-kilter tale[s]… of madness, illness, obsession and suffering…” ... more

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