FLOG
     Flog, in the style of an ancient Greek myth, is about a heroic figure who gets stronger by work. He begins a project that proves to be the challenge of all challenges. Only through labour can his destiny be achieved.
     Our hero, Mark Rainey, leads fellow oarsmen in a song about their labour of destiny while their Goddess, Soroya Campbell, wields her whip.

     Flog was recorded by Guh and friends at The Gas Station by Brennden McGuire and Craig Barnes in February of 1997. The recording of Colin Couch's composition ... And Tienha The Fragile went overtime so Flog was recorded in sections which were edited together.

Personnel:  Henry Muth- bagpipes, chorus; Brian Cram, James Duncan- trumpets; Nick Clayton, Chris Richardson, William Carn- trombone; Bram Creighton- bass trombone; Colin Couch- tuba; Laurie Deratney- flute; Jason Baird- flute, alto sax; Trevor Hogg- tenor sax; Paul Aucoin- vibraphone; Jason Clarke- guitar; Daniel Salvendy- organ; Blake Howard- drums; Jesse Baird- timpani, percussion; Soroya Campbell- soprano solo; Mark Rainey- tenor solo; Estaban Cambre, Brian McMillan, Ian Speck, Matthew Leigh- chorus.

GUH's CD FLOG available from Craig at Unmanageable, 64 Robinson Street, Toronto, Ontario, Canada    M6J 1L5   Ph:  (416)  603  1004.



LYRICS

     VERBERO

     Ante tubam trepidat
     Deficit omne quod nascitur
     Debemur morti nos nostraque
     Etiam perire ruinae
     Debemur morti nos nostraque
     Deficit omne quod nascitur
     Pulvies et umbra sumus
     Etiam perire ruinae
     Pulvis et umbra sumus
     Debemur morti nos nostraque
     Nascentes morimur
     Ad verbero
     Ad morti
     Hebeo
     Careo
     Curo
     Nec habeo
     Nec careo
     Nec curo
     Decamanus fluctus
     Saevis tranquillus in undis
     Nolens, volens
     Mors
     Tempus edax rerum
     Pulvis et umbra sumus
     Suspiria de profundis

     FLOG  (ENGLISH TRANSLATION)

     Alarmed before the trumpet sounds
     Everything that is born passes away
     We are destined for death, we and our works
     Even the ruins have parished
     We are destined for death, we and our works
     Everything that is born passes away
     We are bust dust and shadow
     Even the ruins have parished
     We are bust dust and shadow
     We are destined for death, we and our works
     Every day we die a little
     To the flogging
     To the death
     Have
     Want
     Care
     Have not
     Want not
     Care not
     The tenth wave
     Calm amid the raging waters
     Unwilling, willing
     Death
     Time, the devourer of all things
     We are but dust and shadow
     Sighs from the depths