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Lee Lucas The new Heartscore might be the best way to describe Dirk Radloff's latest work and he's made with his latest album that consists of 10 very well crafted tracks over a playing distance of 57 minutes. New in the way that Dirk actually hires a singer to take on the main vocals. Though Dirk's harmonies are still very reminiscent as with his previous material, and along with the music he so skilfully crafts he as once again produced another superb album well worthy of adding to ones collection. Favorite track: An opium fantasy.
  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    If you purchase the physical CD you get the following goodies:
    - Improved mixing
    - On some tracks better versions, for an example on "The bells" a better sounding guitar and improved Bell-sounds
    - A hidden Bonus-track
    - A sixteen pages full colored booklet
    - Full lyrics of all poems

    Includes unlimited streaming of Heartscore via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days
    edition of 50 

      €9.99 EUR


  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      €7 EUR


  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 18 heartscore releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Sculptures, I can see for miles (The Who cover), Black Riders Part II, Sculptures, Beating around the bush, Winnebago Warrior, Long distance runaround, Black Riders Part I, and 10 more. , and , .

    Purchasable with gift card

      €35.10 EUR or more (35% OFF)


Hope is a thing with feathers (by Emily Dickinson) “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.
Alone From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.
Sylvester's dying bed I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’, “Sylvester’s gonna die!” And a hundred pretty mamas Bowed their heads to cry. I woke up little later ’Bout half-past fo’, The doctor ‘n’ undertaker’s Both at ma do’. Black gals was a-beggin’, “You can’t leave us here!” Brown-skins cryin’, “Daddy! Honey! Baby! Don’t go, dear!” But I felt ma time’s a-comin’, And I know’d I’s dyin’ fast. I seed the River Jerden A-creepin’ muddy past— But I’s still Sweet Papa ’Vester, Yes, sir! Long as life do last! So I hollers, “Com’ere, babies, Fo’ to love yo’ daddy right!” And I reaches up to hug ’em— When the Lawd put out the light. Then everything was darkness In a great ... big ... night.
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass A ship keeps raising its hull; The wetter ground like glass Reflects a standing gull. The land may vary more; But wherever the truth may be--- The water comes ashore, And the people look at the sea. Neither out far nor in deep (Robert Frost) They cannot look out far. They cannot look in deep. But when was that ever a bar To any watch they keep?
The bells Hear the sledges with the bells-- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II. Hear the mellow wedding bells Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III. Hear the loud alarum bells-- Brazen bells! What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now--now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet, the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-- Of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- In the clamour and the clangour of the bells! IV. Hear the tolling of the bells-- Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy meaning of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people--ah, the people-- They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone-- They are neither man nor woman-- They are neither brute nor human-- They are Ghouls:-- And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A pæan from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the pæan of the bells! And he dances, and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the pæan of the bells-- Of the bells : Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells-- To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells-- Of the bells, bells, bells-- To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-- Bells, bells, bells-- To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down - It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon. It was not Frost, for on my Flesh I felt Siroccos - crawl - Nor Fire - for just my marble feet Could keep a Chancel, cool - And yet, it tasted, like them all, The Figures I have seen Set orderly, for Burial Reminded me, of mine - As if my life were shaven, And fitted to a frame, And could not breathe without a key, And ’twas like Midnight, some - When everything that ticked - has stopped - And space stares - all around - Or Grisly frosts - first Autumn morns, Repeal the Beating Ground - But most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool - Without a Chance, or spar - Or even a Report of Land - To justify - Despair.
by E. E. Cummings, 1894 - 1962 maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
Railroad avenue (by Langston Hughes) Dusk dark On Railroad Avenue. Lights in the fish joints, Lights in the pool rooms. A box-car some train Has forgotten In the middle of the Block. A player piano, A victrola. 942 Was the number. A boy Lounging on a corner. A passing girl With purple powdered skin. Laughter Suddenly Like a taut drum. Laughter Suddenly Neither truth nor lie. Laughter Hardening the dusk dark evening. Laughter Shaking the lights in the fish joints, Rolling white balls in the pool rooms, And leaving untouched the box-car Some train has forgotten.
Haunted house Here was a place where none would ever come For shelter, save as we did from the rain. We saw no ghost, yet once outside again Each wondered why the other should be so dumb; And ruin, and to our vision it was plain Where thrift, outshivering fear, had let remain Some chairs that were like skeletons of home. There were no trackless footsteps on the floor Above us, and there were no sounds elsewhere. But there was more than sound; and there was more Than just an axe that once was in the air Between us and the chimney, long before Our time. So townsmen said who found her there.
An opium phantasy Soft hangs the opiate in the brain, And lulling soothes the edge of pain, Till harshest sound, far off or near, Sings floating in its mellow sphere. 
  What wakes me from my heavy dream? Or am I still asleep? Those long and soft vibrations seem A slumbrous charm to keep. 
  The graceful play, a moment stopp'd, Distance again unrolls, Like silver balls that, softly dropp'd, Ring into golden bowls. 
  I question of the poppies red, The fairy flaunting band, While I, a weed with drooping head Within their phalanx stand: 
  "Some airy one, with scarlet cap ! The name unfold to me Of this new minstrel who can lap Sleep in his melody ! " 
  Bright grew their scarlet kerchief'd heads, As freshening winds had blown, And from their gently-swaying beds They sang in undertone: --- 
  "O he is but a little Owl, The smallest of his kin, Who sits beneath the Midnight's cowl And makes this airy din. " 
  "Deceitful tongues of fiery tints ! Far more than this ye know: That he is your Enchanted Prince Doom'd as an Owl to go." 
  "Now his fond play for years hath stopp'd But nightly he unrolls His silver ball that, softly dropp'd, Ring into golden bowls."


New 2016 album, also available as a physical CD with better mixing and other goodies


released May 10, 2016

all songs composed, arranged and produced by Dirk Radloff
Lead vocals by Chris, courtesy of studiopros.com
all other instruments and choir performed by Dirk Radloff
Lyrics by Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes and other poets


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heartscore Bad Homburg Vor Der Höhe, Germany

setting poems to music

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