Few survivors from the golden age of British folk-rock have kept their reputations intact. Of the generation of troubadours who came of age in the folk clubs of London in the mid-1960s, some have passed away, others have surrendered to the regurgitation of the blandest form of acoustic folk music. But among the survivors, there is one figure whose body of work, comprising 23 studio LPs and almost as many live and compilation releases, has come to stand for a particularly single-minded form of integrity. That man is Roy Harper.
Now officially ‘retired’, and living in a secluded corner of Ireland, Harper has recently been hailed as a key influence by a much younger generation of devoted starsailors who instinctively recognise his innovations, his refusal to compromise and his visionary world view. It is rumoured that Joanna Newsom insisted she’d only play her recent UK shows if he would support her. The likes of Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom, and Jim O’Rourke are avowed fans; and in previous decades he has enjoyed public endorsements and tributes from the likes of Led Zeppelin, Kate Bush, Pink Floyd’s Dave Gilmour and many more.
Biography
Born in 1941, Harper lost his mother within a few weeks of his birth and was brought up in the outskirts of Manchester by his father and stepmother, a Jehovah's Witness. Harper developed a deep hatred of organised religion and ran away, aged 15, to join the Royal Air Force. The rigid discipline required did not suit him. In order to be discharged early he pleaded insanity and was committed to an institution where he received ECT. A former participant in the skiffle revolution in the mid-50s, around 1964 Harper found himself joining the stream of bohemian rambler-buskers hitching and singing their way around Europe and North Africa. On his return to Britain he pitched in to the London coffee-house folk scene and secured a residence at legendary folk club Les Cousins, where he was spotted by the obscure Strike label.
Beginning with 1966’s Sophisticated Beggar, Harper’s music has consistently rattled the cage of received ideas. His versatile, poetic sensibility was employed in a wide range of song styles from romantic love songs to late-night mantras to blackly comedic throwaway numbers. A brilliant, percussive guitar stylist in his own right, he extended the form of folk music over the next few years, allowing himself the space to stretch out in long, lyrically dense and mantrically repetitive odysseys of poetic thought. “I was writing long poems in the 50s,” says Harper, “none of which unfortunately made it past the first few moves of living quarters. My first inspiration was John Keats’s Endymion.”
The first inklings of his expansive approach on record came on the ten minute “Circle” on 1967’s Come Out Fighting Genghis Smith – produced by Shel Talmy – and was vastly ramped up on the following year’s Folkjokeopus, which contained an 18 minute “McGoohan’s Blues”, named after the lead actor of TV’s The Prisoner and whose enigmatic verses were laced with anti-establishment rants.
By this time Harper was a favourite at the outdoor Hyde Park Festivals, where he was exposed to the wider attention of the underground scene. Now produced and managed by Peter Jenner, and signed to EMI’s progressive label Harvest, his 1969 LP Flat Baroque And Berserk reflected his reputation as a bloodyminded, truculent troubadour, reflecting turbulent times with anger, wrath and sardonic humour, singing – like the mistle thrush after which his next opus would be named – into the eye of the storm.
Stormcock (1971) is generally regarded as a masterpiece: a sprawling but focused suite of four lengthy tracks which explored the inner space of Abbey Road Studio to rhapsodic effect. Like Astral Weeks refracted through the pages of OZ magazine, the songs span an enormous spectrum of experience, from the frontline of social unrest to the secluded, birdsong-infested lanes of the English countryside. Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page added guitar, disguised as ‘S Flavius Mercurius’, highlighting a relationship with the group that had begun at the 1970 Bath Festival of Blues and Progressive Music. “Hats Off To (Roy) Harper”, an incoherent, gutsy blues workout on Led Zeppelin III, paid tribute to the singer’s status as a beacon of integrity for the underground scene.
Harper enjoyed a special relationship with Led Zeppelin, and his subsequent albums began to move into harder rock territory with the addition of various key collaborators including, as well as Page, orchestral arranger/keyboardist David Bedford, David Gilmour, Chris Spedding, Bill Bruford and John Paul Jones. Lifemask (1972) contained several songs written for the film Made, directed by John Mackenzie, which starred Harper as an edgy, high-maintenance rock star. Valentine (1974) was launched with a gig featuring Page and Bedford plus Ronnie Lane and Keith Moon. He was invited to sing lead on the single “Have A Cigar” from Pink Floyd’s classic album Wish You Were Here (1975). In the same year Harper released HQ, a rock based album notable for the closing track, “When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease”, an elegiac hymn to unchanging ways and mortality which BBC DJ John Peel insisted should be played in the event of his death.
With the dawn of the 1980s Harper took part in a musical exchange with Kate Bush, who guested on The Unknown Soldier (1980), while Harper returned the favour by appearing on Bush’s hit single “Breathing”. Harper rode the unsteady waves of the music industry during the early 1980s but kept up a productive output that saw his music taking on a prophetic role, expressing more explicit concerns with environmental disaster, religious fundamentalism, urban poverty and the first Gulf War, on releases like Once (1990) and The Dream Society (1998), through to his most recent studio album, The Green Man (2000). In 1994, exhibiting typical desire for autonomy and self-sufficiency, he set up his own record label, Science Friction, to curate and rerelease his entire back catalogue, along with a clutch of CDs of live and unreleased material covering his entire career. In his book, The Passions Of Great Fortune (2003), he published his complete lyrics together with photos, annotations and re-evaluations of every one of his songs.
With a new series of reissues in 2011, Roy Harper’s incredible, visionary catalogue of work enters the digital domain in time for his music to take on a new, urgent and timely appeal, in an age in which the hypocrisies and injustices he railed against are more present than ever before. It’s been a damned good innings and he’s still not out.
I Hate the White Man
Roy Harper Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
In the land of look and see
There once was a time
For you and me
Where the winds blow sweetly
And the easy seas flow still
And where the barefoot dream of life
Where slot machine confusions
And the plastic universe
Are objects of amusement
In the fiction of their curse
And where the crazy whiteman
And his teargas happiness
Lies dead and long since buried
By his own fantastic mess
For I hate the whiteman
And his plastic excuse
For I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...
And the reins of coloured thunder
Of the stallion of the dawn
Ride the coalfire morning
On the beach where all is born
Where the emperor of meaning
Is burning up his forts
And sits to warm his toes around
A fire made up of useless thoughts
And when the children tempt him
With the riddles of their trance
He flings the flames of solstice
Casting laughs into their dance
And while a crazy whiteman
In the desert of his bones
Lies as bleached as the paradise
He likes to think he owns
And I hate the whiteman
In his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...
And far across the reaches
Of the drifting yellow sands
The living carpet wilderness
Forever joins its hands
With heaven hell's attainment
In a surging crest of fire
Where more than all is thrown upon
The ever lasting pyre
And through the countless canticles
Of Jason's charcoal fleece
Are sung the songs of nothing
In the timeless masterpiece
And there stood in the middle
Guess who?
It's the everlasting burst
Built by god's very own whiteman
As he tries to rule the dust
And I hate the whiteman
In his doctrinaire abuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose...
And the bowels of his city
Have been locked into a safe
Where the spew stains on the sidewalks
Are defenders of his faith
While back inside his kitchen
The bowler hatted, long haired saint
Cleans with soap and water
But it's really just white paint
While his golden headed scandal sheets
Present their daily bite
To give their righteous news-bleeders
Drugs to keep them white
While outside in the whitewash
Where the guns are always, always right
A shooting star has summoned
Its dark angel from his night
And I hate the whiteman
And his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose
And the man who turned him loose...
The lyrics to Roy Harper's song, "I Hate the White Man," are a poignant critique of colonialism, racism, and oppressive power structures. The song starts by contrasting the beauty and freedom of a distant land with the plastic, slot-machine-like existence of the modern world. Harper makes use of stark metaphors to describe the ways in which the white man's quest for power and control have decimated societies and cultures. The lyrics are infused with anger and disillusionment, highlighting the ways in which the white man has brainwashed himself and others into believing that his superiority is justified.
In the second part of the song, Harper focuses on the destructive power of the white man's ideology. He speaks of a "stallion of the dawn," an emblem of freedom and liberation, and juxtaposes it with the white man's insistence on burning down everything that is good and meaningful. Harper's lyrics suggest that the destructive power of the white man is ultimately self-defeating, as he pursues his own self-interest at the expense of others. The song ends with a scathing denunciation of the white man's hypocrisy, his toxic moralism, and the ways in which he has abused and oppressed others.
Line by Line Meaning
Far across the ocean
In a distant land beyond the sea
In the land of look and see
In a land where things are as they appear
There once was a time
In the past, there was a moment
For you and me
For everyone
Where the winds blow sweetly
Where the wind blows gently
And the easy seas flow still
And the calm sea remains tranquil
And where the barefoot dream of life
Where life is simple and unadorned
Can laugh and cry its fill
And experience all emotions fully
Where slot machine confusions
Where confusing things are treated like a game
And the plastic universe
And the fake world
Are objects of amusement
Are things people find entertaining
In the fiction of their curse
In the illusion of their misfortune
And where the crazy whiteman
And in that place where the white man,
And his teargas happiness
And his use of tear gas to maintain order
Lies dead and long since buried
Is now gone and forgotten
By his own fantastic mess
Due to his own mistakes
For I hate the whiteman
I have a deep-seated dislike for the white man
And his plastic excuse
And the superficial reasons he gives for his actions
And the man who turned him loose...
And the one who allowed him to act freely
And the reins of coloured thunder
And the powerful forces that are now in control
Of the stallion of the dawn
Of a new era that has just begun
Ride the coalfire morning
Are ushering in a fiery new day
On the beach where all is born
On the cradle of civilization
Where the emperor of meaning
Where the one who decides what is significant
Is burning up his forts
Is destroying the structures that reinforce his ideas
And sits to warm his toes around
And sits down to relax
A fire made up of useless thoughts
A fire fueled by irrelevant ideas
And when the children tempt him
And when the younger generation challenges him
With the riddles of their trance
With their confusing but fascinating ideas
He flings the flames of solstice
He responds with an intense passion
Casting laughs into their dance
Laughing and mocking their movements
And while a crazy whiteman
And during this time of chaos and confusion,
In the desert of his bones
In his heart and soul
Lies as bleached as the paradise
Is devoid of color, like paradise
He likes to think he owns
Which he thinks he controls
And far across the reaches
And in the distant lands
Of the drifting yellow sands
Of the deserts where nothing grows
The living carpet wilderness
The vast and untamed natural world
Forever joins its hands
Is united forever
With heaven hell's attainment
With the ultimate reward and punishment
In a surging crest of fire
In a wave of intense passion
Where more than all is thrown upon
Where everything is given up
The ever lasting pyre
The eternal flame
And through the countless canticles
And in the many verses
Of Jason's charcoal fleece
Of the story of the Golden Fleece
Are sung the songs of nothing
Are stories that don't lead to anything meaningful
In the timeless masterpiece
In this forever-present work
And there stood in the middle
And in the center of it all
Guess who?
Someone very familiar
It's the everlasting burst
It's an explosion that never ends
Built by god's very own whiteman
Created by the white man's notion of God
As he tries to rule the dust
As he tries to control the world's most basic elements
And the bowels of his city
And in the deepest, darkest parts of his civilization
Have been locked into a safe
Are kept secure and hidden away
Where the spew stains on the sidewalks
Where the filth and waste on the streets
Are defenders of his faith
Are evidence of his commitment to his belief system
While back inside his kitchen
While in his private space
The bowler hatted, long haired saint
The religious figurehead
Cleans with soap and water
Cleans himself with basic materials
But it's really just white paint
But it's just a facade
While his golden headed scandal sheets
While his media outlets
Present their daily bite
Give their audience what they want to hear
To give their righteous news-bleeders
To satisfy their self-righteous followers
Drugs to keep them white
Something to maintain their sense of purity
While outside in the whitewash
While in the plain white world
Where the guns are always, always right
Where violence is always the answer
A shooting star has summoned
A celestial body has requested
Its dark angel from his night
Its evil messenger to come into the world
Contributed by Joshua D. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
@BrandonDMorrissey
Far across the ocean
In the land of look and see
There once was a time
For you and me
Where the winds blow sweetly
And the easy seas flow still
And where the barefoot dream of life
Can laugh and cry its fill
Where slot machine confusions
And the plastic universe
Are objects of amusement
In the fiction of their curse
And where the crazy whiteman
And his teargas happiness
Lies dead and long since buried
By his own fantastic mess
For I hate the whiteman
And his plastic excuse
For I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...
And the reins of coloured thunder
Of the stallion of the dawn
Ride the coalfire morning
On the beach where all is born
Where the emperor of meaning
Is burning up his forts
And sits to warm his toes around
A fire made up of useless thoughts
And when the children tempt him
With the riddles of their trance
He flings the flames of solstice
Casting laughs into their dance
And while a crazy whiteman
In the desert of his bones
Lies as bleached as the paradise
He likes to think he owns
And I hate the whiteman
In his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned him loose...
And far across the reaches
Of the drifting yellow sands
The living carpet wilderness
Forever joins its hands
With heaven hell's attainment
In a surging crest of fire
Where more than all is thrown upon
The ever lasting pyre
And through the countless canticles
Of Jason's charcoal fleece
Are sung the songs of nothing
In the timeless masterpiece
And there stood in the middle
Guess who?
It's the everlasting burst
Built by god's very own whiteman
As he tries to rule the dust
And I hate the whiteman
In his doctrinaire abuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose...
And the bowels of his city
Have been locked into a safe
Where the spew stains on the sidewalks
Are defenders of his faith
While back inside his kitchen
The bowler hatted, long haired saint
Cleans with soap and water
But it's really just white paint
While his golden headed scandal sheets
Present their daily bite
To give their righteous news-bleeders
Drugs to keep them white
While outside in the whitewash
Where the guns are always, always right
A shooting star has summoned
Its dark angel from his night
And I hate the whiteman
And his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the whiteman
And the man who turned you all loose
And the man who turned him loose...
@user-ik1og3ub9v
I hate the white man
Far across the ocean
In the land of look and see
There once was a time
For you and me
Where the winds blow sweetly
And the easy seas flow still
And where the barefoot dream of life
Can laugh and cry its fill
Where slot machine confusion
And the plastic universe
Are objects of amusement
In the fiction of their curse
And where the crazy white man
And his tear gas happiness
Lies dead and long since buried
By his own fantastic mess
For I hate the white man
And his plastic excuse
O I hate the white man
And the man who turned him loose
And the reins of coloured thunder
Of the stallion of the dawn
Ride the coal fire morning
On the beach where all is borne
Where the emperor of meaning
Is burning up his fort
And sits to warm his toes around
A fire made up of useless thoughts
And when the children tempt him
With the riddles of their trance
He flings the flames of solstice
Casting laughs into their dance
And where the crazy white man
In the desert of his bones
Lies as bleached as the paradise
He likes to think he owns
And I hate the white man
In his evergreen excuse
Oh I hate the white man
And the man who turned him loose...
And far across the reaches
Of the drifting yellow sands
The living carpet wilderness
Forever joins its hands
With heavens’ hells’ attainment
In a surging crest of fire
Where more than all is thrown upon
The ever lasting pyre
And through the countless canticles
Of jasons charcoal fleece
Are sung the songs of nothing
In the timeless masterpiece
And there stood in the middle, guess who?
It’s the everlasting burst
Built by god's own white man
As he tries to rule the dust
And I hate the white man
In his doctrinaire refuse
Oh I hate the white man
And the man who turned you all loose
And the bowels of his city
Have been locked into a safe
Where the spew stains on the sidewalks
Are defenders of his faith
While back inside his kitchen
The bowler hatted long haired saint
Cleans with soap and water
But it's really just white paint
While his gorgon-headed scandalsheets
Present it’s daily bite
To give their righteous news bleeders
Drugs to keep them white
And outside in the whitewash
Where the guns are always (always) right
A shooting star has summoned
Deaths dark angel from his night
And I hate the white man
And his evergreen excuse
O I hate the white man
And the man who turned you all loose
And the man who turned him loose...
Далеко за океаном,
В стране, которую увидеть — смотреть во все глаза,
Однажды было время
для тебя и меня.
Где сладко дуют ветры,
И тихо плещут спокойные моря,
И где босоногая мечта жизни
Может вдоволь насмеяться и наплакаться.
Где сбой игрового автомата
И мир пластмассы
Являются объектами развлечения,
В надуманности своего проклятия.
И где безумный белый человек
С его слезоточиво-газовым счастьем
Лежит мертвым, с тех пор, как был погребен
Своим же собственным фантастическим беспорядком.
За это я ненавижу белого человека
И его гибкое оправдание.
О, я ненавижу белого человека
И того, кто развязал ему руки.
И поводья неискреннего проклятия,
Что на жеребце рассвета,
Правят утром, пылающим угольным пламенем,
На пляже, где все родилось.
Где император смысла
Поджигает свою крепость
И присаживается погреть пятки
Возле костра, разведенного из бесполезных мыслей.
И когда дети искушают его
Загадкой своего транса,
Он поддает огня солнцестояния,
Бросая усмешки в их танец.
И где безумный белый человек,
Лежит в пустыне своих костей,
Отбеленный как рай, которым,
Как ему нравится думать, он владеет.
И я ненавижу белого человека
В его неувядающем оправдании,
О, я ненавижу белого человека
И того, кто развязал ему руки.
И далеко за пределами
Зыбучих желтых песков,
Живым ковром, пустыня
Навек соединяет руки.
С обретением рая и ада
В вздымающейся гриве огня,
Где в погребальный костер
подброшено больше чем все.
И через несчетное количество церковных гимнов
О темно-сером руне Ясона,
Спеты эти песни ни о чем,
Обличенные в непреходящий шедевр.
И там, в центре стоял, догадайтесь кто?
Это вечный порыв,
Устроенный Божьим белым человеком,
Когда он пытается управлять прахом.
И я ненавижу белого человека
В его догматичном отказе.
О, я ненавижу белого человека
И того, кто дал вам всем свободу.
И сострадание его города
Было заперто в сейфе,
Где пятна блевоты на тротуарах
Являются защитниками его веры.
Когда, вернувшись на свою кухню,
Длинноволосый праведник в котелке
Отмывается водой с мылом,
Но не становится белым, он просто выкрашен в белое.
Когда его скандальные газеты с головой Медузы Горгоны
Преподносят свой каждодневный укус,
Чтоб дать лекарства своим праведным вымогателям новостей,
Чтобы те оставались белыми.
И выбеленная снаружи,
Там, где ружья всегда (всегда) правы,
Падающая звезда вызвала из его ночи
Темного ангела смерти.
И я ненавижу белого человека
В его неувядающем оправдании.
О, я ненавижу белого человека
И того, кто развязал вам всем руки.
И того, кто развязал ему руки.
@AntonyFleck
I really think that Roy is the British Dylan. Poet/incredible musician/Revolutionary, love the Man!!...
A big part of the soundtrack of my life!!!..
@FilmEnjoyer
I’ve never heard a song this powerful and impactful. Beautiful
@edmund184
Oh keep on flagellating yourself. Bathe in your white guilt. What a disgusting song this is.
@Nobbygooner61
edmund184 go away
@thisaintmyname3175
And so racist.
@khent712
@edmund184 I think the song went way over your head pal.
@kernzypsnumbertwo.9470
First time for me. Totally agree. I'm white, and ashamed of our "leaders".
Psychopath bastard child's. Wish I knew this guy before. x
@jeanniecampbell1374
Genius writing the best kind of expresion in that magic voice .Roy Harper was always so kind to me and my family .
@gerwynevans2729
He did a gig in complete darkness without a microphone or amplifier at the university I was at in South Wales during the 1972 miners strike. Memorable, sulphurous days.
@srhgsga5542
I saw him in Cardiff at that Year