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Chamber Works

by Crestfallen

supported by
Luke Hartley
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Luke Hartley Truly excellent. Masterfully crafted and full of music that will haunt you long after you have finished listening. Favorite track: Narrations of a marooned pirate.
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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    * 2x 12" (180g audiophile vinyl)
    * CD
    * gatefold cover
    * printed inner sleeves
    * two full-coloured lyric sheets

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  • CD
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    * handmade packaging adorned with dried leaves & flowers
    * each floral composition is unique
    * typescript sheet
    * two photographs
    * stamped and numbered by hand
    * sealed in wax

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“My ego stands for what is the inverted meaning of my mood; Inertia and Indifference well mortised where once my feet stood And thus – languid, I sleep the days away... – Perhaps “homebound” gives flesh to what I say?! Spare me the vicious “c” out of my pitch wor(l)d, Form for me a tangible word – tangible, not cold... – Something I would fain venture, as an artist, to speak of its nature” We’re in the woods, where I’m looking for the wordsmith’s shack; The heavy smell of absinthe Stimulates me to wake right after the old hag attack: “Set forth with the vultures, you bird of doom! The word you seek is “Spleen”, formed of blood and gloom!!!”
Giants 05:37
When night hushes all rude sounds of daylight, muffled voices and tell-tale moves on the soil draw my attention; Then – without the slightest compunction – I pull from under my bed my tools of exhumation… Who is the young man who steps so boldly in the fields of art? – I am like some scythe, claiming the fruits of your gardens You consist only of the principal outlines – and yet, your cheeks are flushed – For I fervently wish to see the human form stripped in its essential core Subsequent to every night that skin’s been shed, the giants creep back under the soil – my fingers bleed and get swollen in token of my honesty and toil De profundis, Crestfallen
Please, be seated round my mouth Comfortably on my beard And listen closely to this tale: “The narration of a marooned pirate” Tall, bearded, muscular and lame, that is me; I’ve earned some gold and some fame out to sea On an island now, marooned, I write songs to be crooned Well, these songs are no sea laments meant to soothe the sailor’s heart – they only meant to voice MY truth: Human beings I do blame for the hatred I can’t tame And, though this inward raging storm never does cease, the lighthouse’s upright, white form makes it a breeze – Isn’t this what friends must do, Or am I the only fooled?... A loved one’s sweet farewell and godspeed is all a seaman will ever need to not become a pirate like the one in this tale, who thinks a lighthouse will fill in where people fail.
Wax Arlequin 03:31
He forms a path through planets in multiple shapes Adorns the broken green of wound A swirling mass of silver fishes Eighteen moons in his palm And the sun in his belly The dark beauty of Saturn and his rings Golden goats glean crimson meadows He came in gladrags For distant nebulas dress her in their haze
The Buffoon’s been visiting me for most of my nights …What’s left of me? – Wires in my veins to hold me upright ‘Tis in his presence that I write now – – Is it you talking, or the beast? … – Just me, quilling the débris and how I got eaten on a feast ‘Twas in the small hours that I sighed: “The absorbing powers of human touch I fancy” …but somewhat dreaded a response – “No-one likes you, nancy!” The freaks attacked and tied my limbs, while a dwarf s(h)at himself on my chest This sound, the clack of his over-sized shoes, always precedes my failure to his test “I am the unhappy memories of your childhood The dwarf paralysed you in your sleep Your test, to witness and quill this feast, to prove your manliness and not to weep” A guitar, consisting of veins, led in; A piano formed out of teeth… – Then drums, out of stretched skin and bones to hammer them with Even destitute of the hideous growls and laps of the tongue, rest assured, humans, this cannibal music is a bringer of tears I simply can’t defend myself against my own traumas; The Buffoon’s been gorging himself on me over many years
Barefoot dream, come close Paper, dust, rain and lust Do you sense my heat Usurping the place of your feet? Breathe against the glass and draw a tearful face Something wicked this way comes… If the hourglass was malleable I would clog its waist Time devours us all In his belly we can view his soul Light up a candle and follow me beyond Pluto Anywhere, out of the world
Paper under my wrists Be still Allow me to stab you with my quill Scratch your skin And pour my blood-stained ink Paper under my wrists I apologise My imploring glance embodies the eroticism of pain I’m deep in the dark of frustration Where all that glitters is tears My lips and tongue Numbed with futility A ventriloquist, a voice discarded But my hands were built prolific Fountains of plaint I was given this potter’s wheel To mould my grief out of flesh-clay And formed my body out of grief My craft glows blue For pain was made to endure Writing is (just) an assemblage of words This I tend to forget One more disappointment Thrown into that reliquary Someone, flippantly, named heart
Sleep Remedy 03:24
Hush hush Hush me to sleep – deep deep… With this nocturne hush me to sleep Safe in my bed, drenching the pillow… – Clutching my memories, constructing dreams – Sleep is my remedy When the head becomes the anchor, I fall back and sleep again; That sinking sensation…
Yes, my breasts are empty I’m not granted with the means to feed you … – Accidentally she cummed in and now in my imaginary womb I breed you This sad of a man – how could he possibly know anything about mirth?... – wishes for a gender-neutral motherhood; His body benighted of feminine privileges as pregnancy and/or birth Silly thing, Mirth, to get in me, Spleen is your arch-enemy! …Yet, that woman obscured in me, is my spleen’s arch-enemy…


CHAMBER WORKS is a song cycle for intimate salons and small audiences. The music makes use of a wide variety of classical and acoustic instruments, demure baritone vocals and a powerful mixed vocal ensemble; all skilfully assigned to a certain role, for the purpose of dramatising the written words. The poetry tells of the artist’s self-awareness and his sense of duty, in the context of tormenting memories of a fearful and bitter boyhood. The album’s artwork, with photography lightly informed by the aesthetics of the English Victorian era, is designed as a pocket poetry book, battered and difficult to date.
Because of Alexander’s determination to fulfil his artistic vision of the ideal Crestfallen debut album without any compromise or haste, “Chamber Works” carries the cardinal quality of a work 8 years in the making: the assurance that it is done right.


released December 4, 2015

written, composed & arranged by Alexander Zafiropoulos.

Recorded at Unreal Studios & Sierra Studios,
Athens, Greece in July/September 2013.
Engineered by the Unreal team.
Sierra sessions assisted by Thodoris Katsikas.
Tonmeisters Katerina Papada and Christine Petroyanni.
Sequencing by Asimakis Reppas.
Production coordinator Yannis Christodoulatos.

Produced by Alexander Zafiropoulos.

Mixed by Nikos Dimitrakakos at Unreal Studios
in October/November 2013.
Mastered by Yannis Christodoulatos at Sweetspot Studios.


Guest musicians:

Iwona Glinka - flute
Tina Desylla - oboe, cor anglais
Merkourios Karalis - clarinet, bass clarinet
Vasilis Priovolos - bassoon
Christos Oreopoulos - trumpet
Yannis Arvanitakis - trombone
Panayotis Kamvisidis - tuba
Nikos Dimitrakakos - drums
Eugenia Votanopoulou - piano
Michalis Tselepis - guitar
Sotiris Debonos - mandolin
Lefteris Grivas - accordion
Yorgos Panayotopoulos - violin
Lefki Kolovou - cello
Vera Armeni - double bass
Christine Petroyanni - choral on s.9

vocal ensemble - members of the ‘Vocal Inventions’ Ensemble;
conducted by Olga Alexopoulou

All other instruments & voices performed by
Alexander Zafiropoulos.


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Crestfallen Greece

Gothic chamber music for intimate salons and small audiences.

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