News

Happy Christmas and best wishes for 2018…

A very Happy Christmas to you, and best wishes for the New Year, from all of us at Little Room, wherever you may be reading this in the world..!

City of Gold 20th Anniversary Edition….

Coming soon! To celebrate the 20th Anniversary of City of Gold, we are producing a limited edition gold CD which includes a full colour artwork booklet containing all the lyrics and poems. We’ll add a new link to the Little Room store as soon as it is released, and you’ll be able to access this from the home page as well as the artist pages of the co-writers; Phil Baggaley, David Clifton, Ian Blythe and Adrian Plass.

Here is a link directly to the store for pre-ordering:

Little Room Store

The reviews of City of Gold on Amazon are very moving, and you can read them here.

www.amazon.com

This inspirational recording is a timeless favourite that continues to touch the hearts of people across the world.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band … 1st June 1967

The Beatles. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. 1st June 1967. On this day 5o years ago, one of the most original albums ever recorded was released.  Inspirational songs, innovation in recording techniques and true originality.

Sam Hill JR in concert …. Angels & Ghosts

Sam Hill is playing two special concerts this week. If you are in the area be sure not to miss them! He will be joined by long-time collaborators and friends Richard Curran, Alan Gregson, and Geoff Orr.

You can see him at the New Continental in Preston on the 26th April, and also at The Hall, Lancaster on the 27th. Check his website and local listings for more details. www.samhilljr.co.uk

 

Holy Week poetry……

A Meditation from the poet John Updike

Seven Stanzas at Easter

John Updike (1932–2009)

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that-pierced-died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.