#paul giovanni

[weirdlookindog]

Paul Giovanni - Willow's Song

from The Wicker Man (1973) OST

[closetofcuriosities]

The Wicker Man - 1973 - Dir. Robin Hardy

[trvgbild]

dystopian september

[voluptuarian]

being relentlessly pursued by this song for some reason tonight, so now you can be too

[eyeballjellomold]

realized last night that this is the music for the Summerisle Beltane procession .

There's this cool lyric where the king is like, "no homo, but-"

And "It is no wonder," said the king "That my daughter's love you did win For if I was a woman, as I am a man My bedfellow you would have been"

this is apparently the first recorded version :

[vintage1981]

Exclusive First Look The Wicker Man The Official Story of the Film by John Walsh

Take an exclusive first look deep inside the book that looks at the making of the best British horror film ever made, The Wicker Man. Author John Walsh offers a chance to win a signed copy too. The Wicker Man: The Official Story of the Film hits shelves in the UK on October 23 followed by the US on November 7.

Pre-order your copy everywhere books or sold or here:

🇬🇧 https://tinyurl.com/TitanBooksTheWick...

🇬🇧 https://tinyurl.com/WickerManAmazonUK

🇺🇸 https://tinyurl.com/WickerManAmazonUSA

The definitive guide to the making of the landmark horror movie The Wicker Man is lavishly illustrated and packed with insights into this classic chiller.

The Wicker Man is one of the greatest horror movies of all time – a chilling exploration of an isolated community with a terrible secret. Featuring a stellar cast including Christopher Lee, Edward Woodward, Britt Ekland, and Ingrid Pitt, The Wicker Man has terrified audiences worldwide for fifty years. Author and filmmaker John Walsh tells the story of how this singular – and somewhat unlikely – folk-horror classic came to be, illustrated with fascinating behind-the-scenes photography, new interviews, exclusive artwork, and never-before-seen material from the StudioCanal archives. Learn the secret history of Summerisle – if you dare…

About the author: John Walsh is an award-winning filmmaker with a focus on social justice. His work ranges from television series to feature films. He is a double BAFTA and double Grierson Awards nominee for his ground-breaking work. He is a trustee of the Ray and Diana Harryhausen Foundation.

In addition to his film and TV screenplays, John has written for The Telegraph and online publications on film history, politics and religion. He is a four times Rondo Award Nominee for “Book of the Year” with Harryhausen: The Lost Movies, FLASH GORDON: The Official Story of the Film, Escape From New York: The Official Story of the Film and Dr Who & The Daleks: The Official Story of the Films. Coming in 2023, Conan The Barbarian: The Official Story of the Film.

Published worldwide on the 24 October 2023 UK & USA |  Hardback | 192pp www.walshbros.co.uk @walshbros

[halloweenmoviewatchlist]

The Wicker Man (1973)

[radiophd]

magnet -- corn rigs

[psitrend]

The Hidden Corners of Psychedelic Folk: 15 Essential Songs

Fundamental Songs Defining the Psychedelic Folk Movement The late 1960s and early 1970s saw an extraordinary confluence of traditional folk music with mind-expanding sonic experiments. In basements, communes, and recording studios across the world, musicians were expanding traditional song forms, creating otherworldly sounds with acoustic instruments and exploring the outer reaches of…

[prdzx]

Willow's Song - Paul Giovanni

[diioonysus]

who tends the orchards? who fixes up the gables? emotional torture from the head of your high table who fetches the water from the rocky mountain spring? and walk back down again to feel your words and their sharp sting and i'm getting fucking tired the capillaries in my eyes are bursting if our love died, would that be the worst thing? for somebody I thought was my saviour you sure make me do a whole lot of labour the calloused skin on my hands is cracking if our love ended, would that be a bad thing? and the silence haunts our bed chamber you make me do too much labour

[closetofcuriosities]

The Wicker Man - 1973 - Dir. Robin Hardy

[bearingwitness]

Notebooks 1951-1959 by Albert Camus // The Knight of the Flowers (detail) by Georges Rochegrosse // The Way to Keep Going in Antarctica by Bernadette Mayer // Little Weirds by Jenny Slate // Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre // The Fairy Glen by Steve Gill // The Carrying by Ada Limón // All the Gay Saints by Kayleb Rae Candrilli // Mirrors X by Nikki Giovanni // The Poet by Reynier Llanes // The Wanderings of Oisin by W.B Yeats // Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke // Letter to Gustave Flaubert X by George Sand // When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities by Chen Chen // Waterlilies by Claude Monet

[teenagedirtstache]

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.2

Summer is coming to an end, and the warm glow of the early evening bathes everything in gold, casting long shadows and making everything seem almost dreamlike. The sturdy planks of the bridge creak slightly as we cross, the sound blending with the gentle thuds of hooves against wood and the faint rush of the river below. In the distance, the constant song of the waterfalls form a faint, rumbling backdrop.

The sound of Serafina’s hooves changes as we leave the bridge and turn onto the cobbled stone road that leads to the estate. On evenings like this, I love Tartosa so much it makes my heart ache, and I wonder why I ever leave. The air smells sweeter here than anywhere else, a hint of saltwater mingling with the ever-present lavender and the more subtle, grassy notes of the earth itself.

I slow Serafina down as we reach the large mosaic that marks the crossroads. The colour has faded slightly with time, but the motif is as clear as ever, two intertwined wedding bands surrounded by the waves of the Tartosan sea. My great-grandparents commissioned it for an anniversary years before I was even born, a tribute to their love story carved into the very ground.

Serafina tosses her head impatiently, the reins tugging on my hands and pulling me out of my reverie. I feel her muscles tense up under the saddle, and she paws at the ground with her foreleg, restless.

“Sorry, girl,” I murmur. “We’ll go back to your baby now.”

I dismount as soon as we reach the paddock, stroke her neck and thank her for the ride. The light sheen of sweat on her coat is warm against my palm, but her focus is not on me anymore. Her tail swishes in agitation as a delicate, high-pitched nicker can be heard from the stables and I quickly open the gate and lead her through.

My uncle Gio waits for us in the doorway, brushing bits of hay off his gloves. Behind him, Serafina’s foal whinnies excitedly at the sight of its mother.

“There you are. How did it go?” He takes the reins from my outstretched hand and lets the impatient mare into her stall.

“She did great, she’s definitely getting her strength back. I let her gallop along the coast for a bit, you should have seen her. She was practically flying.”

“That’s my girl,” Gio mumbles softly, almost to himself. “Thanks for taking her out, she needed the exercise. As much as Sofia tries, she can’t ride all of them every day and school starts back up soon. How long are you staying this time?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Another week, maybe more. I need a break from everything, some time to figure out what to do next.”

“And a week or two is enough for that?”

“It’s a start. I’ll be fine, you know me, Gio.”

“Exactly, I know you. Well, tell your aunt I’ll be in soon, I’m almost done here.”

“You don’t want any help?”

He laughs, waving me off.

“You were always more useful in the kitchen, my boy.”

As soon as I open the heavy front doors of the main house, I’m met with the sound of laughter. Aunt Teresa is wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as they both turn to me.

“Hi mum, Teresa. What’s so funny?”

My mother lights up at the sight of me, and I hurry over to give her a hug before she can attempt to stand.

“Paolo, did you happen to see Giovanni out there? Is he coming in too?”

“Soon, zia, he’s just making sure the vineyard doesn’t run out of fertiliser.”

My mother laughs, giving my arm a feeble squeeze with her left hand. “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon.”

“Well, we better not take any chances, mum. The entire Romeo fortune could be at stake, and I’m currently unemployed.”

Teresa shakes her head, smiling, then calls towards the stairs. “Sofia? Come down, please.”

Seconds later, my youngest cousin skips down the stairs.

Her older sisters, Laura and Anna, both moved out years ago, but Sofia was a late surprise addition, still just a baby when I first moved to Del Sol Valley. To Gio’s endless joy, Sofia is just as obsessed with the horses as he is.

“Sofia, you can do your piano lesson while I make dinner. Is that alright with you, Rose?”

My mother nods and carefully gets up and walks to her usual chair by the piano. Her steps are agonisingly slow but dignified, and I resist the urge to help her, instead distracting myself by picking a few white horse hairs off my shirt.

Teresa disappears into the kitchen, and I opt for simply taking the shirt off before following her.

A copper pot simmers on low heat on the old stove. Teresa’s kitchen was always my favourite room in this house, filled with delicious smells and tastes. Ever since I could walk, I kept ending up in the kitchens, both here and at the vineyard, and my grandmother and aunts never hesitated to put me to work.

There are herbs everywhere, clay pots of fresh basil and oregano. Recently picked thyme and sage, still with their purple flowers, hangs from the ceiling and fills the air with their fragrance.

Teresa points to a bunch of ripe tomatoes by the sink, drying next to the carrots and zucchini she picked earlier.

“You can start by slicing the tomatoes.”

I wash my hands and begin cutting. There’s a small bowl of large, juicy grapes from the vineyard on the table, and I pop one into my mouth. The taste brings back memories of long summers helping out with the harvest, of sun and dirt and the first time I was allowed to taste the family wine.

“How are things over in Del Sol? Your mother says you’re no longer doing voices?”

“Yeah, the show I was working on has ended. But one of my friends is trying to set me up with her agent. For movie roles, I mean.”

“You’re going back to movies? That sounds wonderful! You were so happy back when you did that.”

I know for a fact that Teresa hasn’t watched a single second of Llama Man’s adventures, animated or otherwise, but she was always supportive.

“Yeah, I’m still considering it, but…”

A wildly off-key chord sounds from the living room, followed by laughter as my mother explains something and Sofia starts over.

I glance at the crutches leaning against the wall and lower my voice slightly, although my mother is unlikely to hear me over Sofia murdering a Tartosan folk song.

“How is she doing? When I’m not here, I mean?”

“You always worry too much, tesoro. Your mother is fine.”

“I know, I just… I haven’t been home much lately.”

“You’ve been busy. It’s understandable, you have your own life over there.”

“But now that… There’s nothing that really keeps me over there right now. And both her leg and her hand seems worse lately. I was wondering if I should take a longer break, stay home with her for a while…”

Teresa sighs.

“Paolo, listen to me. It is not your job to replace your father. Your mother is happy. She has family, she has friends, she has so much joy in her life. You need to try and find some joy in your life too.”

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