The Phantom of Biscay

Eventide

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     She is but a small dog, a professor of Music. Her struggles have been  many in what might seem at first, a vain attempt to teach a laboring soul how to write Music. She knew that Heaven and Hell took an interest in this lowly of songwriters, who had no discipline or gravity to meter the measure in sound. So Why? Why bother? It would certainly be the hardest road that Music could ever take. And Professor Maxey b already had great acclaim amongst her peers. However she would meet this task, and take this lowly student forward.

     Many years would now pass. And Professor Maxey b has grown older. Though through the years she cracked the whip diligently, to melodize the common trough of this porous profanity, at best, a minglement of tones. "Good God!" she  barked, "is there no end to this sprof." Still she had hope for me. And yes I, the lowly student, be it Paul Dresser, that I am. Shall now step forward into the first  person to finish this story.

     The professor always told me, "look up to no one." Funny, she always laughed after she'd say that. But today when I think back it some how makes sense. I can remember while playing my Music, she'd let me imagine how great I was, then coaxed me along in my train of arrogance until I'd run out of track. The professor knew when to pounce upon me. Often, she would drag me into the dark depths of discord, and threaten to soil those copy written pages which only I did treasure. As much as I wanted to quit Music I knew I couldn't. I was cursed by both God and Lucifer to write Music forever and ever (selah).

     I could tell that all the other professors felt a tinge of sorrow for Professor Maxey b. That she should have such a bad student as myself.  So, as the curse goes, continuously, I now write and play and write and play, day after day, day after day. To what avail?

     It was near the Eventide of day.

     The professor was resting near one of the speakers while I played the keyboard. She was old looking now, and had this kinda funny little grin on her face. Sadly I felt that I had let her down. It seemed I was entrenched in a personal failure incurable. Me Angry? At who? God? Lucifer? -probably- but, mostly at myself.

     Then it happened. I thought to myself, if ever I was suppose to write a song worthy of mention, then it will happen now! And if it doesn't happen, then let the curse of Paul Dresser be broken.

     So I started to play, spontaneously, my hands redeemed the keys, and uplifted the keyboard inspiring improvisation as never before. Where does thought go in such a rill? A rill that stirs the angels, and their temptations of Music. And as I played I saw the professor, she cocked her ear upwards. And I realized that this professor, this small dog of wisdom, was listening blissfully to my Music while dying. Suddenly I stopped and quickly kneeled by her side. I could hear her sighing those final last breaths that strive to take us away. Incredibly her eye's, then looked clearly into mine, and I heard her say, "Please remember me dear student, this I pray, for I am The Phantom of Biscay."

     Paul Dresser
 

Professor Maxey b

Professor Maxey b’s
favorite Paul Dresser songs

The Phantom of Biscay

ThePhantomOfBiscay.mp3
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Emotion Deep in Wings

Emotion Deep in Wings

Skies of geese are flying wild. The sun is on the clouds,
of burning tangerine, emotion deep in wings.
And love, is all I'll ever need, to keep a mind of peace.
A golden stream of leaves, to let me know I'm free.
Do you know what it means,
how to find a light in a dream?
As the water falls from above,
you can drink the sun in a cup.
And how can this really be,
I am standing here by the sea?
Feeling air as it's warm and cool,
in a golden mist burning blue.
Hold on to the mystery, before the victory.
I believe the silver trees, on the horizon are rising.
I believe --- I believe...

                                 Paul Dresser
 

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EmotionDeepInWings.mp3

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The African Eagle

The African Eagle

She wants a new love, He flies far above
where winters and summers collide.
The wings of evening, you'll hear them spreading.
The worlds centuries are willing
The worlds centuries are ready
Hear the wings, a late flight is returning.
Hear the wings clapping from the acacia trees.
The soaring African eagle, back from a flight across the wild.
Loudly the wings are clapping, from the acacia trees, in the eventide-
he knows it's time for mating.
Hear the wings, she knows that he is coming.
Hear the wings clapping from the acacia trees.
She longs for the African eagle,
he comes for love when her dreams are wild.
Loudly the wings are clapping, from the acacia trees, calling eventide-
for what she is feeling.
Where winters and summers collide.
The wings of evening are spreading.
The worlds centuries are ready.
When will he call? Where will he go?
Flying free, the African eagle.
There he flies, calls "Eventide."
Strength and beauty in his feathers poetry.
Through high winds hear them sing...
The tide is turning, his flight is yearning, to go to her-
to touch her, to hold her....

                             Paul Dresser  (recorded in 1990)
 

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TheAfricanEagle.mp3

Paul Dresser

Paul Dresser

Eventide

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