“Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely … Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen.”

- from 1984 by George Orwell

They have become the commercials they have been exposed to.   They just can’t stop craving the things they see advertised.  They recite skits they hear on commercials just like people often used to sing the melodies they heard on cigarette commercials from the 1960’s.  It is naive to assume that we can subject ourselves to this onslaught without ill effect.

Please listen to the whole album using the player below.

Or, if on an incompatible device, at this alternative site:

http://soundcloud.com/seandmccann/sets/the-story-of-swan-act-1-scenes

Act 1

The songs on the first album (Act 1) are broken into three scenes:

Scene 1 - The paths that you take

                 I.   Tabula Rasa

                 II.  Education, Graduation, Expectation

                 III. Big Potential

                 IV. Garbage In, Garbage Out

                 V.   Roads

Scene 2 - Free me or kill me

                 I.    Packing Her Bags

                 II.   Journey of a Lifetime

                 III. Smalltown Waltz

                 IV.  All of This is Yours

Scene 3 - Until the world knows my name

                 I.    Through the Desert to the City, Through Others to Ourselves

                         Suites 1 - 4

                 II.   Photoshoot

                 III. The Path of Least Resistance

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To Purchase please go to:

emusic    

amazon     amazon uk

gogoyoko

itunes usa   itunes uk

music is here

meteli.net

thestoryofswan@gmail.com

The smell had grown intolerable, and at seven thousand feet above sea-level it was too cold to open the windows. Where the heck was it coming from? Twenty four hours straight in a run down old Corolla had left her strained. The milkshake had spilled into a heating vent a couple of hours ago. Its molecules, precisely drawn and forced together by scientists searching for that intersection of optimal taste and lowest cost, were unravelling. Something had to be done, but, it was keeping her awake. That, and the electronic thud and crash of an old Soft Cell song. It could all wait until the next rest stop, whenever that would be. It seemed like she had been on Interstate 40 for a couple of lifetimes, or at least a frozen decade.

She was heading into her own story, with only the faintest hope of success, but she had a direction: West, and she had a motive: Fame. That vague promise would be enough to punch her way through any barrier put in front of her. True, that was the same for every other wannabe in Tinseltown, but this was different. Of course it was. She laughed out loud, and for one briefest drop of moment realized she was acting all of this out. To herself? To God? To some unknown audience in the future? She expelled that thought like an ejector seat, before she could even have time to think about it. Before any imprint could take hold in her brain. It was far too uncomfortable a debate to be having with herself at this moment in time, in this out-of-body experience of a car journey. 

Instead she started thinking of all the road movies she’d ever scene, and assembled a montage of tires screeching out of driveways and of myriad horizons stretching off into the big country. So many different partnerships and stories, but always one thing keeping it all together: hope of somewhere better over the next hill, around the next outcrop. It’s the American way to find something better isn‘t it? To lift oneself up by the boot-straps and move on up. It’s a patriotic duty, the engine that moves us all forward. But no one talks about the next part. What if the place you find is as uninspiring as the life you left behind? No fairytale ends with: “Unhappily ever after”.

But disappointment can’t happen in Hollywood. All the structures that defined who she used to be will be gone, replaced by anything providing it was exciting. If it gave her the slightest moment of doubt, she was going to do it, and she was going to succeed in leaving her old-self behind forever. She was waiting for a metamorphosis to take place like all the stories of fame and celebrity she had absorbed since she was a little girl. Stars are born from almost nothing, just elements that gather at the right moment in time and space, getting denser and denser until gravity can hold on no more and the searing white heat becomes unstoppable. Destiny was calling her.

The road had crested the Arizona Divide, and was now sliding back down, slaloming through the Ponderosa pine forests, following the old Route 66. In front of her lay California.