Great Performances

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Waves crashing, gulls crying

Ship horn blows

Bells clanging, workers shouting

STING

I wrote this music, I wrote these songs to accompany a play. A play about my hometown, which is a shipyard town in the north of England.

Cheering and applause

STING

When I think of the environment I was raised in, these streets and the ship are such a huge part of our identity, part of who we were. And I'm fiercely proud of it.

Crowd cheering

STING

It's all there in my gospels The Magdalene girl Comes to pay her respects But her mind is awhirl When she finds the tomb empty, the stone had been rolled Not a sign of a corpse In the dark and the cold When she reaches the door, sees an unholy sight There's this solitary figure in a halo of light He just carries on floating past Calvary Hill In an almighty hurry, aye But she might catch him still "Tell me where are ye going, Lord, and why in such haste?" "Now don't hinder me, woman, I've no time to waste For they're launching a boat on the morrow at noon And I have to be there before daybreak Oh, I canna be missing, the lads'll expect me Why else would the good Lord himself resurrect me? For nothing will stop me, I have to prevail Through the teeth of this tempest In the mouth of a gale May the angels protect me If all else should fail When the last ship sails" Oh, the roar of the chains And the cracking of timbers The noise at the end Of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel Makes its way to the sea And the last ship sails It's a strange kind of beauty It's cold and austere And whatever it was that ye've done to be here It's the sum of your hopes Your despairs and your fears When the last ship sails Well, the first to arrive Saw these signs in the east Like that strange moving finger at Balthazar's Feast Where they asked the advice of some wandering priest And the sad ghosts of men Whom they'd thought long deceased And whatever got said, they'd be counted at least When the last ship sails Oh, the roar of the chains And the cracking of timbers The noise at the end Of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel Makes its way to the sea And the last ship sails And whatever you'd promised Whatever you've done And whatever the station in life you've become In the name of the father, in the name of the son And whatever the weave of this life that you've spun On the Earth or in Heaven or under the Sun When the last ship sails Oh, the roar of the chains And the cracking of timbers The noise at the end of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea And the last ship Sails Welcome, everybody. I'm delighted to be here because I'm presenting some brand new songs for the first time in almost a decade. All of these songs you'll hear tonight, or most of them anyway, have been inspired by the writing of a play. Now, you're not gonna see the play tonight. Although, one of our leading men is right here by me, Mr. Jimmy Nail.

Applause

STING

What you're gonna hear is the raw material from which this play is being carved, or constructed, or pieced together. That's not a collage, it's the picture of my street. The street I was born and raised in, and when I was old enough to walk out the front door, I turned south towards the river, and that's what I'd see, this mighty ship at the end of the street, blotting out the sky and the sun for most of the year. It was quite a sight. But it was a surreal, industrial landscape, and every morning I'd watch thousands of men walk to work down that hill, to work on the ships. I'd watch them come back at night. I wondered if that was my destiny. I didn't want it. I was frightened of the shipyard. It was noisy and dangerous. Those men, though, were tough and proud. They worked in terrible conditions but were fiercely proud of the ships they built. They built the largest ships ever constructed on planet Earth, right at the end of my street. So this play is about my community, the community I come from. And this next song, which is probably the first I wrote in the series, some of that community present themselves. They talk about who they are, what they do. Their hopes, their passions, their fears for the future. Mr. Nail, would you take the floor? Yes. Thank you. Oh, my name is Jackie White And I'm the foreman of the yard And ye don't mess with Jackie on this quayside Why I'm as hard as iron plate Woe betide ye if y're late When we have to push the boat out on a spring tide Now ye could die and hope for Heaven But ye'd need to work your shift And I'd expect ye's all to back me to the hilt And if St. Peter at his gate were to ask ye why y're late Why, you'd tell him that ye had to get a ship built We built battleships and cruisers For Her Majesty the Queen Super tankers for Onassis, and all the classes in between We built the greatest shipping tonnage That the world has ever seen But the only life we've known is in the shipyard Come on, boys! Steel in the stockyard, iron in the soul We'll conjure up a ship where there used to be a hole And I don't know what we'll do If the yard gets sold For the only life we've known is in the shipyard All the platers and the welders And the boilermaking crews When they see that beggar finished on the slipway, oh! All the hardship's soon forgot and we'll cheer as like as not And the bairns'll wave their Union Jacks all day Ah, it's a patriotic scene All that's missing is the Queen But she said she couldn't make it of a Tuesday Then something wells up here inside And you could take it in y'r stride But you wonder if you'll see another payday For there's a mixture of emotions Hatred, gratitude and pride And you hate yourself for crying But it's difficult to hide For there's a sadness in the launching You worry what's ahead And that worry never leaves ye It keeps on nagging in y'r head And so ye pray to God for orders But ye'll worry till y're dead... Until they bury your remains In the blacksmith's shed And the only life you've known is in the shipyard Come on! Steel in the stockyard, iron in the soul We'll conjure up a ship where there used to be a hole And I don't know what we'll do If this yard gets sold For the only life we've known is in the shipyard Ah, in the shipyard! Come on, Tom! Me name is Tommy Thompson, I'm shop steward for the union Me dream is proletarian revolution Come on, Tom. Comrades, brothers, fellow travelers and others Class struggle is the means of dialectic evolution Das Kapital's me bible And the ruling class are liable And quoting Marx and Engels, it's entirely justifiable If the workers' revolution here is ever to be viable And we become the rightful owners of this shipyard So it's a one-day stoppage Or an overtime ban or a work to rule For the Five Year Plan Til the means of production are safely in our hands And we become the rightful owners of this shipyard I'm not saying it won't be hard If the boss hands us me cards And they try to close us down like other shipyards And if industrial action only helps the competition As I've heard the bosses bleating From their usual position And I stand accused Of anarchy, disruption and sedition Well, ye'll never knock us down You reactionary clowns! When it's time for occupation of the shipyard My name is Peggy White

Wolf whistles

STING

And I've nursed ye through your injuries And y'r cuts and wounds I've bound Come on, Peg! Busted arms and busted heads Broken backs and broken legs I'd sooner put ye in a splint than have them put ye In the ground And the fumes from all the welding Where the poison air is hung And the toxic radiation that's been blackening your tongue I could give you's all an aspirin While you're coughing up your lungs

Men coughing

STING

But it's all you'll ever get here in this shipyard Adrian Sanderson! Just putting me hat on, be patient, will you? You're on, kid. My name is Adrian Sanderson And the river is me trade But it's intellectual discourse I'm known better for I may forego English grammar when I'm injured by the hammer But I've got preference for the deference of a metaphor

CHORUS

Whoo! I've read The Odyssey by Homer and the Iliad as well I've read Tacitus and Pliny Aye, aye, and The Scarlet Pimpernel I've spent the night shift down with Dante On his journey into Hell And that's what we'll all be facing If this yard's put up to sell For the only life we've known is in the shipyard -Shall I go on? -Go on. Now what about those Trojan wars And all the troubles That they caused When they sailed off on that summer's afternoon? Yes. Because the ship they had was crap And they lost their bloody map When they tried to get themselves back to the tomb Listen. There's a lesson in these tales Although they happened ages past Just like "Spartacus," that film by Stanley Kubricks First it's tragedy, then farce Then they kick you up the arse When you tempt the gods with arrogance and hubris Whoo! Well, it's obvious I'm gifted with the rhyming and the meter And hereabouts I'm thought of highly as a bard And if I wasn't shooting rivets I'd be famous in me time All those literary circles, I could dazzle with me rhyme And I've never lacked ambition You can say it was a crime For rivets may be riveting, but sonnets are sublime And the only life we've known is in the shipyard Come on lads! Steel in the stockyard, iron in the soul We'll conjure up a ship where there used to be a hole But I don't know what we'll do if this yard gets sold For the only life we've known is in the shipyard Oh, here he comes, Jimmy Harrison, the town drunk! Oh, me name is Jimmy Harrison, I like a drink or two You could ask me when it started And I haven't got a clue I'm never ever miserable I'm never ever blue And I'll still be up tomorrow for the shipyard I drink meself into a stupor And I wake up with two heeds And then the missus starts complainin' About all me drunken deeds Like when I got the train to Sunderland But found meself in Leeds Leeds!? And I had to get up early for the shipyards You know I once gave up the drinking, was it 1963? But it seems as if sobriety Was not the thing for me It was the worst three hours I ever hope to see Steel in the stockyard Iron in the soul We'll conjure up a ship Where there used to be a hole And the ship sets sail And the tale gets told And the only life we've known is in the shipyard Steel in the stockyard Iron in the soul We'll get the bastard finished And we'll end up on the dole And we don't know what we'll do if the yard gets sold The only life we've ever known is in the shipyard

Applause

CHORUS

Thank you. So, without giving too much of the play away, because I want you to come and see it eventually, it does have a love story, and our leading man is a man called Gideon. He's been away from this town for 14 years. He went away to sea. He left under a bit of a cloud. He doesn't like the place, but he's back because his dad's died, he needs to sort some things out. But there's also some other ghosts he needs to lay, some unfinished business. This is Gideon's song. Oh, I know I've come home for a reason But that reason escapes me now The engines cease and the wind from the east Clear the fog off the starboard bow Well, here's the mouth of the river that spawned me I feel like a stranger here How long has it been? Well, I haven't been seen in these parts for 14 years Yes, these are the streets where I once played Where some debt of the soul was left unpaid And the place the old man's bones are laid And coming home Coming home's not easy I wonder if she still lives round here That girl I've been missing these 14 years She's probably married With kids of her own by now By now. Oww. This town, this stain on the sunrise Disguised in the mist this morning It's 8 A.M. A seagull shouts a sailor's warning This sky, this bend in the river Slows down and delivers me The tide rolls back And all my memories fade to black And yet, and yet... I'm back This town has a strange magnetic pull Like a homing signal in your skull And you sail by the stars of the hemisphere Wondering how in the hell did ye end up here? It's like an underground river Or a hidden stream That flows through your head and haunts your dreams And you stuffed those dreams in this canvas sack And there's nothing round here that the wide world lacks And yet, and yet... You're back Some nights I'd lie on the deck and I'd stare At the turning of the stars Those constellations hanging up there From the cables and the rigging I'd wonder if she saw the same Or managed to recall my name Why would she ever think of me? Some boy she loved who fled to sea? And why waste time debating Whether she'd be waiting for The likes of me? So ye drift into port with the scum of the seas To the dance halls and the brothels Where you took your ease And the ship's left the dock but you're half past caring Ye haven't got a clue whose bed you're sharing And your head's like a hammer on a bulkhead door And it feels like somebody might have broken your jaw And there's bloodstains and glass all over the floor And you swear to god you'll drink no more And yet And yet In truth It's too late to find her Too late to remind her At some garden gate Where a servant tells me I should wait And perhaps a door's slammed in my face My head must be in outer space And yet And yet Before the sun has set Before the sea There may be something else that's waiting for The likes of me Oww! This town This stain on the sunrise

Applause

CHORUS

When August winds are turning The fishing boats set out upon the sea I watch 'til they sail out of sight The winter follows soon I watch them drawn into the night Beneath the August moon And no one knows I come here Some things I don't share I can't explain the reasons why It moves me close to tears Or something in the season's change Will find me wandering here And in my public moments I hear the things I say But they're not me Perhaps I'll know before I die Admit that there's a reason why I count the boats returning to the sea I count the boats returning to the sea And in my private moments I drop the mask That I've been forced to wear But no one knows this secret me Where, albeit unconsciously I count the boats returning from the sea I count the boats returning from the sea Oooh-ooh Oooh Oooh-oooh Ooooh

Applause

CHORUS

Thank you. So... the shipyard will close, with terrible results for this community. The men who had such pride, and had such dignity, a sense of self, will be robbed of that, robbed of their work, their jobs. A parish priest decides he needs to do something about his community, his parish. He has this wacky, quixotic, even Homeric idea. He wants the men to occupy their shipyard and build a ship for themselves. Eventually he convinces them, because they realize they have nothing else. And in my dialect, they would say, "What have we got? We've got nowt else." And this is their song. Good people give ear to me story Steady! Pay attention, and none of your lip For I've brought you five lads and their daddy And their daddy! Intending to build ya's a ship Wallsend is wor habitation It's the place we was all born and bred And there's nay finer lads in the nation And none are more gallantly led 1, 2, 3! What have we got But the buzzer in the morning? And what have we got But the laying of a keel? And what have we got But the cranes above us soaring? The commotion and the clamor In the welding of the steel? What have we got But the mist upon the river? And what have we got But that noise inside the hold? What have we got But the arse end of the weather? Where we work in horizontal rain and shiver in the cold What do ye got? What do we got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else Hey, what do we got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else What have ye got But the singing in the cables? And what have ye got But the ringing in your ears? What have ye got But the telling of the fables? And the ghosts of all the ships That we've been building donkey's years What do ye got? What do ye got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else Hey, what do ye got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else You're standing for your tea break You're up to here in... You're dying for a cigarette, you're desperate for a light And then the gover pulls along With his drop sheet and he reads "Tea break's over, gentlemen, now get back on your heeds" What's it say in the papers? What does it say on the news? They say we've all gone bloody daft Oh, what have we got to lose? What would I get for murder? What would I get for life? What do I get for a capital crime? What'll I tell me wife? What do you get for your politics? What do you get for your vote? What have you got at the end of the day? A great big bloody boat! Aye, you've got to die of something It's written in your fate! Ye may as well die next Tuesday And woe betide you're late Ahhh Come on! Ahhh Ahhhh What have ye got All you men what's fit and able? And what have ye got For the straining in your neck? What have ye got When you're laid out on the table And the snapping of a cable When the rigging hits the deck? What have ye got But the loyalty of brothers? And what have ye got But the punching of the clock? What have ye got You reactionary clowns! Well, ye'll never knock us down 'Cause we're the union of the dock What do we got? What do we got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else Hey, what do we got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else What do ye got? What do we got? We've got nowt We've got nowt else Hey, what do we got What do we got? We got nowt We got Nowt Else!

Cheering and applause

CHORUS

So, you know, I didn't enter the musical theater blithely, thinking it would be easy. It's not. The landscape is strewn with bleached corpses on either side. What I hadn't realized was just how precise and exacting a medium it is, you know? I had a fantastic team of collaborators. My first collaborate was Brian Yorkey, prize winning, Pulitzer winning.

Applause

CHORUS

Um, a fantastic director, Joe Mantello.

Applause

CHORUS

And, um... another prize-winning writer, John Logan, and, um...

Applause

CHORUS

Occasionally they would tell me that a song I'd written wasn't quite right. Now, this is novel for me.

Laughter

CHORUS

But you know it's hard for me as my finest couplets are being thrown in a bin and I'm spluttering my flimsy protests. But every song in a musical fights for its life, every character fights for its life, every verse in every song fights for its life. Every line, every word is scrutinized with an intensity that's unusual. Um... The next two songs are a case in point. I envisaged an older character called Arthur who's about my age, who falls in love with a much younger woman. It's a common thing. This song is called "Practical Arrangement," and it goes like this. Am I asking for the moon? Is it really so implausible? That you and I could soon Come to some kind of arrangement? I'm not asking for the moon I've always been a realist When it's really nothing more Than a simple rearrangement With one roof above our heads A warm house to return to We could start with separate beds I could sleep alone Or learn to I'm not suggesting that we'd find some earthly paradise Forever I mean, how often does that happen now? The answer's probably never But if we came to an arrangement A practical arrangement And you could learn to love me given time Well, I like my independence I can get by, I'm not greedy Do you see yourself as Galahad? Do I really look that needy? I brought a child up on my own It takes me all my strength to face him The father upped and left me And I'm not desperate to replace him Tell me what kind of catch Is a struggling single mother? I respect you and I like you But I won't accept another Empty promise When some grey and stormy rain cloud Hangs above me When I've heard it all a hundred times From a man who said he loved me But if we came to an arrangement A practical arrangement Then perhaps I'd learn to love you Given time I'm not promising the moon I'm not promising a rainbow Just a practical solution To a solitary life I'd be a father to your boy A shoulder you could lean on How bad could it be To be my wife? With one roof above our heads A warm house to return to You wouldn't have to cook for me You wouldn't have to learn to I'm not suggesting that we find Some earthly paradise forever I've no intention of deceiving you You're far too clever But if we come To an arrangement A practical arrangement Then perhaps you'd learn to love me Given time It may not be the romance that you had in mind But you could learn to love me Given Time

Applause

CHORUS

So, that song was in the play for a while. And then one Monday morning I turned up for work and, um... my dramatic collaborators were sitting there at a table. It looked like an intervention was about to take place. I said, "What's up?" They said, "Uh, Arthur." "What about him?" "Practical Arrangement." "Yes?" "Can't be in the play." I said, "Come on. It's a great... I mean, you know." And I was really thinking, you know, Arthur is me. He's my age. You know, this is, this is me. I said, "Well, why? What's the reason?" They said, "Well as soon as he opens his mouth, he's clearly lost the girl. He's not going to get this girl. We need the rival to get in, to be viable. To be young, to be virile." So...

Laughter

CHORUS

I know, I know. And it took me a good month of struggling with this issue, and then one day I woke up and said, "You know, you put yourself in the way, get out of the way. Write a song for this character. This young, viral cha-- even though you don't like him. Write a song for him." So I came up with this... There's a house on the hill that's come up for sale It's a place I've known since I was a lad And it needs a lick of paint and a hammer and a nail But it's part of a boyhood dream I've always had I'd climb up the hill with the evening news I'd been sent from the town to deliver And I'd stand in the porch And gaze at the views 'Til my eyes were bruised By the sunset's glow on the river I'd imagine a girl who would share my life As dreamers will tend to do And the face I always conjured up Was no one else But you What say you, Meg? What's this story's ending? I want you, Meg By my side What's the use, Meg To gaze at a view on your own? For richer, for poorer In sickness, in health I will see this through, Meg No chance Of this ending Such a view, Meg As we gaze from the house on the hill To love and to cherish To have and to hold I'm a hard man to beat If I may be so bold And I promise it all By the sweat of my brow Tell me What say you, Meg Now? What Say you, Meg? How's this story shaping? I want you, Meg As we gaze from the house on the hill For richer, for poorer In sickness, in health I'd be hard to replace If I say so myself And I promise it all By the sweat of my brow Tell me what say you, Meg Now Thank you. So, another theme in our play is the perennial struggle between fathers and sons. Something I know a little bit about. You know, sometimes a father will not appreciate the scope of a son's ambition and a son will not realize that a father cares for him when he thinks he's just being controlled. In my community there's a phrase called "dead man's boots." Dead man's boots really indicates how difficult it is to get a job. Uh, you'd only get a job if someone died, so they called it "dead man's boots." And when your father gets you a job in the shipyard and you say no, that's trouble. You said, "You see these work boots in my hands They'll probably fit ye now my son Take them, they're a gift from me Why don't ye try them on? It would do your old man good to see you Walking in these boots one day And take your place among the men Who work upon the slipway" These dead man's boots, though they're old and curled When a feller needs a job and a place in the world And it's time for a man to put down roots And walk to the river in his old man's boots He was dying, son And asking that you do one final thing, you see? You were barely but a sapling And you thought you were a tree If ye need a seed to prosper Ye must first put down some roots He wanted you to settle In your old man's boots These dead man's boots know their way down the hill They could walk there themselves And they probably will There's a place for ye there to sink your roots And take a walk down the river in your old man's boots I said, "Why in the hell would I do that? And why would I agree?" When his hand was all that I'd received As far as I remember It's not as if he'd spoiled me With his kindness up to then, ye see I'd a plan of me own and I'd quit this place When I came of age September These dead man's boots know their way down the hill They can walk there themselves And they probably will I'd plenty of choices, and plenty other routes And he'd never see me walking in these dead man's boots What was it made him think I'd be happy ending up like him? But he'd hardly got two halfpennies left Or a broken pot to piss in And he wanted this same thing for me Was that his final wish? He said, "What the hell are ye gonna do, lad?" I said, "Anything but this!" These dead man's boots know their way down the hill They can walk there themselves and they probably will But they won't walk with me 'cause I'm off the other way I've had it up to here, I'm going to have my say When all ye've got left is that cross on the wall I want nothing from you, I want nothing at all Not a pension, nor a pittance When your whole life is through Get this through your head, I'm nothing like you I'm done with all the arguments There'll be no more disputes And ye'll die before ye see me in your dead man's Boots

Applause

CHORUS

Most of the people on the stage come from the northeast of England. And we have five brothers here from my neck of the woods. They're called the Wilson Family.

Applause

CHORUS

I actually thought I was hiring the Beach Boys, but I was, uh... Pretty soon I figured they weren't. They're gonna sing a song which is a poem by Rudyard Kipling written in 1911 called "Big Steamers." And the music was by Peter Bellamy, and this is the Wilson Family.

Applause

CHORUS

Oh, where are you going to, all you big steamers? With England's own coal Up and down the salt seas? We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese And where will you fetch it from, all you big steamers? And where shall I write you when you are away? We'll fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver Address us at Hobart, Hong Kong, and Bombay But if anything happened to all you big steamers Suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea? Then you'd have no coffee or bacon for breakfast And you'd have no muffins or toast for your tea Then I'll pray for fine weather For all you big steamers With little blue billows and breezes so soft Oh, billows and breezes don't bother big steamers We're iron below and steel-rigging aloft Then I'll build a new lighthouse For all you big steamers With plenty wise pilots for to pilot you through Oh, the Channel's as bright as a ballroom already And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe Then what can I do for you All you big steamers? Oh, what can I do For your comfort and good? Send out your big warships to watch your big waters That no one may stop us from bringing your food For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve They are brought to you daily by all us big steamers And if any one hinders our coming You will starve!

Applause

CHORUS

That's the Wilson Family. This next song concerns the mild hazing that would go on when an apprentice had his first day at the shipyard. You'd be sent for some spurious, non-existent item, like a left-handed screwdriver, a glass hammer, or you might be sent for a long wait.

Laughter

CHORUS

In this case, our hapless apprentice is going to be played by Jimmy. He does "hapless" very willing. He's going to be sent for a brace -- that's two -- a brace of skyhooks. Presumably something you hook onto the sky. He's going to be sent for a packet of nail holes. And finally two cans of tartan paint. Thank you. And I'm going to make my debut on the spoons in New York City.

Crowd cheering

CHORUS

Almost forgot. Hey! Ah, me first day in the shipyards The gaffer says to me "I want ye to go to the store, lad And get a few things, ye see? Now here's a list, can ye read, lad? Can ye read it back to me? And me and the boys'll listen While we're having wah morning tea" Oh! Now reading was me pride when I left school at fourteen There wouldn't be a problem here I'd show them I was keen But when I starts to reading They just couldn't hold their mirth Spitting their sides and spluttering Like they was giving birth "First off a brace of sky hooks And a packet of nail holes neat And then three cans of tartan paint And that's me task complete" The gaffer swipes me on the head and sends me on me way He says "Don't come back empty handed or I'll have to dock y'r pay" So he gets to the store all nervous And the quartermaster's there He pulls the list out of his pocket And he starts to read all square Well, he hadn't barely finished When the store-man's face turns red He gives him such an evil look he thought he'd soon be dead "First off a brace of sky hooks And a packet of nail holes neat And then three cans of tartan paint And that's me task complete" The store-man swipes me on the head And sends me on me way With a kick in the arse for good measure And such was my first day On the violin, Kathryn Tickell. Thank you. It's Julian Sutton on the melodeon, please. So, I gets back home that evening And me mother says to me "How was it son? How was your day? Sit down and have some tea"

Chuckles

CHORUS

I told her of the list I'd read And the trouble I was in I couldn't go back tomorrow Else the gaffer'd have me skinned "First off a brace of sky hooks And a packet of nail holes neat And then three cans of tartan paint And that's me task complete" Me mother swipes me on the head and sends me on me way With a kick in the arse for me efforts And such was my first day "First off a brace of sky hooks And a packet of nail holes neat And then three cans of tartan paint And that's me task complete" Me mother swipes me on the head And sends me on me way With a kick in the arse for me efforts And such was My first Day... Ay-ay-ay! It was a doozy! So, I have a very good friend that I've known for many years. Mr. Billy Connolly, the actor and comedian. Before he was a famous actor and comedian, he worked in the shipyards as a welder in Glasgow, in Scotland. And he told me some stuff about welders that I find very amusing. He said all welders are crazy. They're crazy because of the welding fumes that they have to ingest for 8-hour shifts. Also, they're all practical jokers. You should never let a welder get behind you or he'll weld your heels, the steel toe caps, to the deck and you'll fall over. The other thing about welders is that all of them sing. All of them. Because in the welder's helmet, there's a natural echo chamber. So they all think they're Elvis Presley. They sing all day. So this idea really tickled me, and I wrote this next song. It's called "Jock the Singing Welder. Any shipyard man can sing when he works upon the hull Amongst the noise and the clamor That he all but disregards So he'll sing to himself and no one pays him any mind He's just another crazy welder in the shipyards But inside this welder's helmet If you'll let me demonstrate When the mask is in position And the fumes accumulate There's the finest echo chamber With a sound that can't be beat Where I'm the king of rock and roll And the world is at me feet And it may not sound like much To all them jokers on the squad But inside of here I'm singing With the voice of... God I'm Jock the Singing Welder, heavy metal, rock and roll jazz, blues, roots, reggae, country, rockabilly, soul When I'm singing, well You'd best lock up your daughters and your mothers I'm Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran I'm the missing Everly Brother I'm Jock the Singing Welder, I'm heading for the heights I'm Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights Well, I'm more than just a welder And I'm telling you my name And one day you'll see it blazoned In the rockin' hall of fame I've got these songs in my head I've got this dancing in my bones I'm Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley I'm Tom... Jones I'm Jock the Singing Welder, I'm heading for the heights I'm Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights Yeah, yeah, yeah Oh!

Wolf Whistle

CHORUS

Uh-huh Uh-huh Uh-huh Uh-huh Whoo-hoo! Uh-huh Uh-huh Uh-huh Uh-huh Uh-huh Prometheus, he stole the fire And he brought it down to Earth It was a prehistoric welder Who figured out what it was worth They called it holy metallurgy And I want it to be clear That no man puts asunder What I've joined together here I'm Jock the Singing Welder in the belly of the ship I've got my shaky leg, I got my quivering lip I'm Jock the Singing Welder, I just haven't got a choice 'Cause I'm singing all day at the top of my voice I'm Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights There's an empty throne waiting every Saturday night There'll be no more mistaking where I've set my sights 'Cause I ain't no pretender 'cause it's mine by rights I'm Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights Jock the Singing Welder in the 'cetylene lights Jock the Singing Welder In the oxyacetylene light Yeah-yeah!

Cheering and applause

CHORUS

So, here's a plot spoiler alert. Close your ears if you want. Our beloved Father O'Brian, whose idea this ship-building was, is not going to make it through the second act. He's been diagnosed with a terrible disease. And first, this scene was just a dramatic scene, there was no singing in it. And then our esteemed producer came to me one day and said, "Sting, you've got to musicalize that scene." Now I'd never heard of that verb before.

Laughter

CHORUS

But I knew what he meant. And luckily, already in the text there, there was a metaphor which I thought I could use. This song is called "So to speak." Thank you.

Applause

CHORUS

They're seriously saying it's prolonging me life If I'll only submit to the surgical knife But what are the odds on a month or a week? When the betting shop's closing its doors, so to speak When you're tied to a pump and a breathing machine With their x-rays and probes and their monitor screens And they'll wake ye up hungry, saying, "How do ye feel?" And then you're stuffed full of pills Or a barium meal Prolonging me life? Now that's some kind of joke! I'd be laughing me head off and I'd probably choke The spirit's still willing but the rest of me's weak Now the bets are all off and the prospects look bleak When you're laid like a piece of old meat on the slab And they'll cut and they'll slice And they'll poke and they'll jab And they'll grill ye and burn ye And they'll wish ye good health With their radium, chemo and God knows what else? Well, ye can't fault the science Though the logic is weak Is it really an eternal life we should seek? That ship has sailed That ship has sailed That ship has Already sailed... So to speak Our mission is more than a struggle for breath For a few extra rounds in a fight to the death When our mission is love, and compassion and grace It's not a test of endurance, or a marathon race For love is the sabre and love is the shield Love is the only true power we wield When eternal love Is all ye should seek And that ship will be ready to sail So to speak Well, I'm tossing and torn like a leaf on a stream And I'm blown every which way but I'm tired of the dream And the ship of my heart doesn't know what it seeks And the water's way over my head So to speak So make a decision, Meg, hold to it fast Keep your hand on the tiller Tie yourself to the mast For this sea of emotions, no place for the meek When it's only eternity's love you should seek For when that ship sails and the course has been set And the wind's in the offing and the sails have been let And the hatches are full and the hull doesn't leak The ship will be ready to sail... So to speak I'm tired and fading and losing the light And I've no way to tell if it's day or it's night Follow your heart It's the harbor ye seek And this ship is ready to sail This ship is ready to sail This ship is ready to sail So to speak

Applause

CHORUS

Show some respect on this deck For the dear departed Gather ye's round, let's be bound By the work we started Save all your strength for the length Of the task before us Think on that ship, on the slipway They can't ignore us It's what he would have wanted He'll not be disappointed Each of us well appointed We've all but been anointed Such was our occupation This means alas salvation We'll make a rope out of our dreams And hopes and tribulations We'll weave these strands together We'll splice a rope and tether And though we won't know whether It's fair or stormy weather We'll quit this quay And we'll cast this net of souls upon the sea Are you with me?! Pick up your tools, we're not fools To be treated lightly We'll weld our souls to the bulkheads Secure them tightly! We'll use the skills and the crafts That our fathers taught us We'll work with pride, not as slaves No one ever bought us We'll weave a net of our dreams And our hopes between us We'll be the envy of that sorry bunch Who'll wish they'd been us We'll form a web of steel A structure that will not be broken We'll be the heroes of the day whenever tales are spoken And as the dance gets faster We'll build a double master No vessel will outlast her No other ship gets past her We'll quit this quay and we'll cast this net of souls Upon the sea Come on! Come strike the floor with your feet All you lads and lasses And if you're too old to dance You can raise your glasses Just come on in Take a spin, in your dreams ye've held her What are ye, man or a mouse? A shipyard welder Shy bairns get nowt for waiting So why ya hesitating? Ships don't get built debating Or launched just contemplating Wear out your old shoe leather We're in this dance together We'll pull the blades and feather In fair or clement weather Each one of us connected All trades and skills respected Always to be expected We will not be deflected We'll quit this quay, and we'll cast this net Of souls upon the sea Are you with me? Come on! Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na... Na-na-na-na-na-naaaah Show some respect, fill the deck Get the lasses twirling 'Cause they expect to be swept Off their feet and whirling Life is a dance, a romance where ye take your chances Just don't be left on the shores Of regretful glances We may not drive Rolls Royces We're hardly spoilt for choices If we're to pay invoices We'll need to raise our voices Our strength is in communion This boilermakers union The shipwright welder's guilds With every working station filled These bonds we've spliced together Will face all kinds of weather Considered altogether And sailing Hell for leather We'll quit this quay And we'll cast this net of souls upon the sea Where will you be When we cast this net of souls Upon the sea? Show some respect on this deck for the dear departed Gather ye's round, let's be bound by the work... Upon the sea!

Applause

Humming

CHORUS

They say there's an underground river That none of us can see And it flows through winding tunnels On its way to a tideless sea And across that sea is an island A paradise, we are told Where the toils of life are forgotten And they call it the Island of Souls For only a soul can go there A soul that's been set free From the confines of our working life To find eternity Your dad had a cage for his pigeons And they say that's where he kept his soul And when he watched them fly, he would see himself At least that's how it was told But his soul was still trapped in the cage, son While the birds, they soared to the sky But he couldn't find his own way out At least not 'til the day he died Oh, a man builds a cage with the tools he is given His casket is sealed with a riveter's gun Ah, the days in between he's just making a living And he takes to his bed and he lays down his head And he's passed down the tools to his son I know that he loved you, but he hadn't the words He'd be easier speaking the language of birds For to speak of emotion, oh, it just wasn't done It was him that was trapped in the soul cage, son It was him that was trapped in the soul cage Oh, a man builds a cage with the tools he is given His casket is sealed with a riveter's gun Ah, the day's in-between he's just making a living Till he takes to his bed and he lays down his head And he's passed on his tools to his son And the ship's left the quay, only now is he free And the days of his labor are done Oh, a man builds a cage with the tools he is given His casket is sealed with a riveter's gun While the day's in-between he's just making a living Till he takes to his bed and he lays down his head And he's passed on his tools to his son La-la-dee-da-la-la-la.... They say there's an underground river That none of us can see And it flows through winding tunnels On its way to a tideless sea And across that sea is an island A paradise, we are told Where the toils of life are forgotten And they call it the Island of Souls

Applause

CHORUS

You are too kind! Before we leave you tonight, we have one more song, but first of all I wanna tell you a little story. You know, in my hometown, we never saw any celebrities. Very short on celebrities in my town. Except when they would launch a big ship, they would invite a member of the royal family to come to our town to throw some champagne at the bow and the ship would go into the river. So one Saturday, my mother dresses me up in my Sunday best -- which I hate -- and she gives me a little British flag, the Union Jack, and the whole street's out there, and everybody's really excited; even the Communists are excited, because, um... because the Queen Mother is coming. So, we're all stood there. Then suddenly at the top of the hill there's some motorcycle outriders, police. And then this gigantic Rolls Royce moving very slowly, in a stately fashion down the street. Now to explain to you Americans what the royal family means to the British. It wasn't that long ago that children with diseases like scrofula were held up to touch the hem of the monarch's garment to cure them. All right? It's true. So, there I am, stood there, and the car's moving past me, and I wave my little flag, and the Queen mother waves back. She smiles at me and I smile and I wave my -- She sees me, she picks me out of all of the crowd. Well, I wasn't cured of anything. It was the opposite. I was infected with something. I was infected with this idea that I don't wanna be on the street. I don't wanna end up in that shipyard. I wanna be in that car.

Laughter

Applause

CHORUS

And so I'm here. Anyway, um...

Applause

CHORUS

Appropriately... appropriately, this next song begins in Buckingham Palace. You ready? Ready. And you, Jackie White Shall I pass you this chalice? Is there something afoot down at Buckingham Palace? Well, the footmen are frantic in their indignation For it seems the Queen's took a taxi herself to the station! Where the porters Surprised by her lack of royal baggage Bustle her and three corgis to the rear of the carriage For the train, it is crammed with all Europe's nobility None of them famed for their compatibility There's a fight over seats "I beg pardon, Your Grace But you'll find that one's mine So get back in y'r place!" Ah, but where are they going? The porters debate Why they're going to Newcastle And they dares'nt be late For they're launching a boat on the Tyne at high tide And they've come from all over From far and from wide Oh, there's the old Dalai Lama And the Pontiff of Rome Every palace in Europe And there's no bugger home Here's the Duchess of Cornwall And the loyal Prince of Wales Looking crushed and uncomfortable In his top hat and tails And they haven't got tickets Oh, but it's just a detail There was no time to purchase And one has to prevail For we'll get to the shipyard Or we'll end up in jail! When the last ship sails Oh, the roar of the chains And the cracking of timbers The noise Like the end of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea And the last ship sails It's a strange kind of beauty It's cold and austere And whatever it was That you've done to be here It's the sum of your hopes Your despairs and your fears When the last ship sails Oh, the first to arrive Saw these signs in the east Like that strange moving finger at Balthazar's Feast Where they asked the advice Of some wandering priest, and the sad ghosts of men Whom they'd thought long deceased And whatever got said, they'd be counted at least When the last ship sails Oh, the roar of the chains And the cracking of timbers The noise at the end of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea And the last ship sails And whatever you'd promised Whatever you've done And whatever the station in life you've become In the name of the father, in the name of the son And whatever the weave of this life that you've spun On the Earth or in Heaven Or under the Sun When the last ship sails Oh, the roar Of the chains and the cracking of timbers The noise at the end of the world in your ears As a mountain of steel makes its way to the sea And the last ship sails

Cheering and applause

STING

I don't think anything you do can get away from who you are. Why would it? Why would you want it to? I'm proud of my story, I think it's a good story. It's not finished yet, but I'm proud of who I am, I'm proud of where I come from. It's a simple, abiding emotion in me. It's gratitude. I'm grateful. "Sting: The Last Ship" is available on CD for $19.99 plus shipping. To order, call 1-800-336-1917, or write to the address on your screen. To find out more about "Sting: The Last Ship," and other "Great Performances" programs, visit pbs.org/greatperformances and find us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.