18th December – Pete Astor and Winter Cabin

Someone said to me the other day, clinic when do you think people will stop putting ex-Hefner after your name? I don’t suppose they ever will, salve but I thought I’d do Pete a favour and not list the four (at least) great bands he has been.

Pete has been a friend of mine since about 98 but I’ve been a fan of his since about 88. It’s very strange to hear a voice that is instantly recognisable as your mate and one of your favourite artists. It’s an odd feeling.

Pete Astor – Christmas Time

Pete Astor did the singing, guitar and bells. David Sheppard did everything else. Recorded at Westminster Studio by Alejandro Pelaez.

David Sheppard is level pegging with Bill Botting in Advent contributions because he is also the backing band on this next track by Winter Cabin. We phone Dave when we want our music to sound better. That’s what he does.

Peter Wix of Winter Cabin is a relative new friend, I’m working on making him an old one in time. – Darren

Winter Cabin is the Anglo-Spanish trio of singer Ines Naranjo, lyricist-singer-arranger Peter Wix and musician/arranger David Sheppard. Wrapping discreetly provocative lyrics in music inspired by Italian movie soundtracks, Gallic pop and English and European folk forms, Winter Cabin have previously appeared on two Second Language compilations and are currently preparing a debut album for 2012 release.

A song of midwinter discontent, ‘WINTER ALL OVER THE WORLD’ was begun in a dark London basement and completed in a frosty Spanish village, watched over by towering, snow-capped mountains.

Winter Cabin – Winter All Over The World

WINTER ALL OVER THE WORLD by Winter Cabin

What kind of Christmas is this ?
One for the frightened witnesses
of all the cuts and stitches
visited on our riches.

What kind of business is this ?
There’s one born every minute,
soaking up all our guilt,
wrecking the goodness built.

The bitter perfume of this freeze
smothers the con and furs and sleaze
ding donging merrily on high.
Shepherds are quaking at the sight

What kind of silent night portends
the smashing of windows in dissent ?
Hark at the rude wind’s wild lament
as in our masters’ steps we tread.

For all the good life that they’ve sold
no frankincense no myrrh no gold.
Now in our masters’ steps we tread
where yonder Merc lies dented.

Now is the winter of our
disc on tents in city squares.
Occupy Heaven if you dare.
Occupy Heaven if you dare.