The group's 3 albums all feature guest vocalists. On their latest, "Koop Islands", the singers are Yukimi Nagano, Ane Brun, Hilde Louise Asbjornsen, Rob Gallagher and Mikael Sundin. Also contributing to the percussion, solos, and bass are Mattias Ståhl, Magnus Lindgren, Karl Frid, Nils Berg, Martin Höper, Ola Bothzén, Dan Berglund and Mats Lindfors.
Live, Koop transforms into a 7-9 piece swing orchestra including 1-3 singers. The lineup varies from time to time.
Koop prefers to label their music "romantic swingtronica".
Beyond the Son
Koop Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Thanks for your letter. Sounds like you're living the way you wanted. And that makes me smile. No I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired, thank God one of us has a finger on an sporting pulse. No records left to collect your complaint. Well, Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer released something recently. No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld can source that gem.
Got back the other day to find the pub on the corner had been burnt down, a dark London street story I wont't burden you with now. Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit and not drag you an a regular trawl through the night seas to find what crawls. Yet I know they're casting their lots to see who can get the old pubs's lease an' turn it into more luxury flats. Brick by brick the infiltration has begun. I feel moved to take a spray can to the boarding. But can't think of anything whitty or on point enough to be up there.
The drunkards still own the park, D's still there in your old flat making beats and still owns the night. While this street can still shape shift and make you quicken your pace on a late night return. So I suppose we still have time. But make no mistake my friend I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started calling.
I'm so sorry we missed each other when you last came to town. I heard from Ndeye you sat with her telling stories for three hours while she put some extensions in a client's hair. She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums, of arguments in bars, Dante, the color of christ and the only true poet. The south China sea's, remembered fa yung the Buddhist master, "how can we obtain truth through words." When she quoted your, "immature writer's plagiarize mature writers steal" - I was back in a bar in New York lower east side when you shouted that at '' maybe it was yourself, maybe I wasn`t there, maybe it's slipped down between the years ' My memory isn't exactly all that now. But my friend, you definitely hava a convert there, an if you ever need your hair braiding (and I know that's a long shot) then she's your girl. As my man scratch or maybe Rakim or maybe Monk. More probably all of them at some stage said. "You gotta check the new style." I'm assuming you are still running an old testament blades to hair ratio, and it hasn't fallen rudely out on you. If that's the scenario ' then my sincerest apologies.
Saw Mr. Brenan in the Holloway road yesterday. Walked past with a bag of potatoes on his shoulders. I didn't stop him he wouldn't have a clue who I was. He didn't back then when we'd spent month's sleeping on his sofa explaining which one of his son's friends we were. Well that's the price you pay for any more than six children in the Holloway road area.
I think of you often, and hope we see each other again as soon as possible. Until such time may the winds be at your back, the dice be kind, and the Gods turn the occasional blind eye.
sincerely yours
beyond the clouds
beyond the son
the rebel without a cause
The song "Beyond the Son" by Koop is a letter written by the singer to a friend. In the first verse, the singer acknowledges receiving a letter from his friend, in which he describes his life and acknowledges Bjorn Borg's retirement. The singer then shares that the pub on the corner of the street he lives on has been burnt down - an event that he claims has started gentrification. He expresses his desire to graffiti the boarded up pub but is unable to find the right words. The singer then reveals that while the neighborhood has changed, certain things remain the same such as the owner of the park and their mutual friend D who still lives in the singer's old flat.
In the second verse, the singer apologizes for missing the opportunity to see his friend when he visited the town. He mentions that he heard from a mutual friend that they spoke about a wide range of topics, from Cuban cigars to Buddhist masters. The singer also shares a memory of his friend in a bar where he declared "immature writers plagiarize mature writers steal," and reminisces about old times. He then mentions that he saw an old acquaintance carrying a bag of potatoes down the road, which reminds him of how people change and how luck or lack thereof can shape one's future.
"Beyond the Son" is a reflection on life's brevity and the inevitability of change. The song tells the story of a friendship that has lasted despite the choices and paths taken by each individual. It highlights the importance of cherishing small moments and how they can leave an indelible mark, even in the face of substantial change.
Line by Line Meaning
Thanks for your letter. Sounds like you're living the way you wanted. And that makes me smile.
I appreciate your letter and I'm glad to hear that you are living life on your own terms.
No I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired, thank God one of us has a finger on an sporting pulse. No records left to collect your complaint. Well, Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer released something recently. No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld can source that gem.
I didn't know that Bjorn Borg retired, but it's good to know that someone is up-to-date on sports. I heard that Borg, Brolin, and a tennis trainer released something new. Maybe your contacts in Stockholm can help you find it.
Got back the other day to find the pub on the corner had been burnt down, a dark London street story I wont't burden you with now. Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit and not drag you an a regular trawl through the night seas to find what crawls. Yet I know they're casting their lots to see who can get the old pubs's lease an' turn it into more luxury flats. Brick by brick the infiltration has begun. I feel moved to take a spray can to the boarding. But can't think of anything whitty or on point enough to be up there.
I came home to find that the pub on the corner burned down, but I don't want to bore you with the details. I want to bring positivity into your life, not dwell on the seedy side of things. However, people are already trying to buy the pub's lease and turn it into luxury apartments. It's happening bit by bit. I want to graffiti the boards, but I can't think of anything clever enough to write.
The drunkards still own the park, D's still there in your old flat making beats and still owns the night. While this street can still shape shift and make you quicken your pace on a late night return. So I suppose we still have time. But make no mistake my friend I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started calling.
The park is still frequented by drunks, D is still in your old apartment making music and staying awake all night. This street still has the ability to make you walk faster when returning at night. We still have time to make the most of this place, but I know that somewhere, people have started to resist change.
I'm so sorry we missed each other when you last came to town. I heard from Ndeye you sat with her telling stories for three hours while she put some extensions in a client's hair. She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums, of arguments in bars, Dante, the color of christ and the only true poet. The south China sea's, remembered fa yung the Buddhist master, 'how can we obtain truth through words.' When she quoted your, 'immature writer's plagiarize mature writers steal' - I was back in a bar in New York lower east side when you shouted that at '' maybe it was yourself, maybe I wasn`t there, maybe it's slipped down between the years ' My memory isn't exactly all that now. But my friend, you definitely hava a convert there, an if you ever need your hair braiding (and I know that's a long shot) then she's your girl. As my man scratch or maybe Rakim or maybe Monk. More probably all of them at some stage said. 'You gotta check the new style.' I'm assuming you are still running an old testament blades to hair ratio, and it hasn't fallen rudely out on you. If that's the scenario ' then my sincerest apologies.
I'm sorry we missed each other when you were last in town. Ndeye told me that you talked for three hours while she added extensions to a client's hair. She told me stories about Cuba, cigars, sacred drums, Dante, the color of Christ, and the only true poet. She also mentioned the South China Seas and a quote from Fa Yung the Buddhist master: 'How can we obtain truth through words?' When she repeated your statement, 'Immature writers plagiarize, mature writers steal,' it brought me back to a bar in the Lower East Side of New York. I can't remember the details clearly, but I know you have a new fan in her. If you ever need braided hair, she's the one to go to. As Scratch, Rakim, or Monk probably said, 'You gotta check the new style.' I'm assuming your haircut is still the same, and I hope it hasn't gone out of style. If it has, I apologize.
Saw Mr. Brenan in the Holloway road yesterday. Walked past with a bag of potatoes on his shoulders. I didn't stop him he wouldn't have a clue who I was. He didn't back then when we'd spent month's sleeping on his sofa explaining which one of his son's friends we were. Well that's the price you pay for any more than six children in the Holloway road area.
I saw Mr. Brenan on Holloway Road yesterday carrying a bag of potatoes. I didn't stop to talk to him because I don't think he remembers who I am. Even when we slept on his couch for months, he couldn't keep our names straight. I guess that's what you get when you have more than six children in the Holloway Road area.
I think of you often, and hope we see each other again as soon as possible. Until such time may the winds be at your back, the dice be kind, and the Gods turn the occasional blind eye.
I think of you often and I hope that we can reunite soon. Until that day comes, I wish you good luck and fortune. May everything go well for you, and may the universe occasionally look the other way when it needs to.
sincerely yours
Sincerely yours.
beyond the clouds
Beyond the clouds.
beyond the son
Beyond the sun.
the rebel without a cause
The rebel without a cause.
Contributed by Caroline O. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
@a.s.2470
Dear, thanks for your letter
Sounds like you're living the way you wanted
And that makes me smile
No, I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired
Thank God one of us has a finger on an sporting pulse
No records left to collect your complaint
Well, Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer
Released something recently
No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld
Can source that gem
Got back the other day to find the pub
On the corner had been burnt down
A dark London street story, I won't burden you with now
Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit
And not drag you an a regular trawl
Through the night seas to find what crawls
Yet I know they're casting their lots to see
Who can get the old pubs' lease
And turn it into more luxury flats
Brick by brick the infiltration has begun
I feel moved to take a spray can
And ending step to the boarding
But as yet I can't think of anything witty
Or on point enough to be up there
Yet the drunkards still own the park
D's still there in your old flat making beats
And still owns the night
While this street can still shape shift
And make you quicken your pace on a late night return
So I suppose we still have time
But make no mistake my friend
I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started calling
I'm so sorry we missed each other
When you last came to town
I heard from Ndeye you sat with her
Telling stories for three hours while
And he put some extensions in a client's hair
She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums
Of arguments in bars, Dante
The color of Christ and the only true poet
The South China Seas
Remembered Fa Yung, the Buddhist master
"How can we obtain truth through words?"
When she quoted your, 'Immature writer's plagiarize
Mature writers steal"
I was back in a bar in New York, Lower East Side
When you shouted that at
Maybe it was yourself, maybe I wasn't there
Maybe it's slipped down between the years
My memory isn't exactly all that now
But my friend, you definitely have a convert there
And if you ever need your hair braiding
And I know that's a long shot then she's your girl
As my man scratch or maybe Rakim or maybe Monk
More probably all of them at some stage said
"You gotta check the new style"
I'm assuming you are still running
An old testament blades to hair ratio
And it hasn't fallen rudely out on you
If that's the scenario then my sincerest apologies
Saw Mr. Brenan in the Holloway road yesterday
Walked past with a bag of potatoes on his shoulders
I didn't stop him he wouldn't have a clue who the hell I was
He didn't back then
When we'd spent month's sleeping on his sofa
Explaining which one of his son's friends we were
Well, that's the price you pay
For any more than six children in the Holloway road area
I think of you often
And hope we see each other again as soon as possible
Until such time may the winds be at your back
The dice be kind and the gods turn the occasional blind eye
Sincerely yours
Beyond the clouds
Beyond the son
The rebel without a cause
@a.s.2470
Dear, thanks for your letter
Sounds like you're living the way you wanted
And that makes me smile
No, I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired
Thank God one of us has a finger on an sporting pulse
No records left to collect your complaint
Well, Borg, Brolin and an unknown tennis trainer
Released something recently
No doubt your contacts in the Stockholm underworld
Can source that gem
Got back the other day to find the pub
On the corner had been burnt down
A dark London street story, I won't burden you with now
Determined as I am to write you some life affirming shit
And not drag you an a regular trawl
Through the night seas to find what crawls
Yet I know they're casting their lots to see
Who can get the old pubs' lease
And turn it into more luxury flats
Brick by brick the infiltration has begun
I feel moved to take a spray can
And ending step to the boarding
But as yet I can't think of anything witty
Or on point enough to be up there
Yet the drunkards still own the park
D's still there in your old flat making beats
And still owns the night
While this street can still shape shift
And make you quicken your pace on a late night return
So I suppose we still have time
But make no mistake my friend
I'm sure some barricade somewhere has started calling
I'm so sorry we missed each other
When you last came to town
I heard from Ndeye you sat with her
Telling stories for three hours while
And he put some extensions in a client's hair
She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drums
Of arguments in bars, Dante
The color of Christ and the only true poet
The South China Seas
Remembered Fa Yung, the Buddhist master
"How can we obtain truth through words?"
When she quoted your, 'Immature writer's plagiarize
Mature writers steal"
I was back in a bar in New York, Lower East Side
When you shouted that at
Maybe it was yourself, maybe I wasn't there
Maybe it's slipped down between the years
My memory isn't exactly all that now
But my friend, you definitely have a convert there
And if you ever need your hair braiding
And I know that's a long shot then she's your girl
As my man scratch or maybe Rakim or maybe Monk
More probably all of them at some stage said
"You gotta check the new style"
I'm assuming you are still running
An old testament blades to hair ratio
And it hasn't fallen rudely out on you
If that's the scenario then my sincerest apologies
Saw Mr. Brenan in the Holloway road yesterday
Walked past with a bag of potatoes on his shoulders
I didn't stop him he wouldn't have a clue who the hell I was
He didn't back then
When we'd spent month's sleeping on his sofa
Explaining which one of his son's friends we were
Well, that's the price you pay
For any more than six children in the Holloway road area
I think of you often
And hope we see each other again as soon as possible
Until such time may the winds be at your back
The dice be kind and the gods turn the occasional blind eye
Sincerely yours
Beyond the clouds
Beyond the son
The rebel without a cause
@Imabeatyouman
moved enough to take a spray can in hand.. and step to the boarding
@claire597
Found out about Koop a few months back and listened to all their albums (which is sadly very few D:) at once. This is such an underrated song, it just gives me waves of nostalgia. When I listen to this, I can picture myself as both the person singing and being song to, as myself but 50+ years old, even though I'm only 20 now!
@toddalexander3530
❤
@JazzizCafeLoveJazz
💫 El dúo sueco Koop, formado por Magnus Zingmark y Oscar Simonsson en Uppsala en 1995, publicó cuatro álbumes antes de disolverse en 2008, este "Beyond the Son" con la voz de Earl Zinger, es parte del tercero, "Koop Islands", editado en 2006.
4️⃣ El cuarto y último de sus álbumes es "Coup de Grâce (Best of Koop 1997–2007)", un recopilatorio editado en 2010. Su música ha sido usada en varias ocasiones en anuncios, vídeojuegos y series de TV.
#Lounge
@TheYoungSuccess
Love this song to bits. Intimate and beautiful
@duffrish
I'm pretty sure I have listened to this 5 times in an hour
And i still remember why i like to tell me friends about this song
@johnallison6474
Earl Zinger (Rob Gallagher of Galliano) is the reader of the letter on this track!!!
@supaxz5357
First time I heard this I was riding I-95 to the beach. Nice time
@diazrene8567
Nostalgia