Side A
Artist	Song
Savina Yannatou	Why Little Bird Do You Not Sing
Athenians	Adrachti
Count Basie	Our Love Was Meant To Be (1937)
Savina Yannatou	A Lissome Maiden's Grief And Faith
Bryan Ferry	Where Or When (original in 1937)
Billie Holliday	They Can't Take That Away From Me (1937)
Duke Ellington	Mood Indigo (1930)
Petro-Loukas Chalkias	Skaros
Athenians	Inconstant Heart
Bunny Berigan	I Can't Get Started (1937)
Tommy Dorsey (vocals E. Wright)	The Music Goes 'Round And Round (1935)
Savina Yannatou	You On A Hill, I On A Hill
Russ Columbo	Paradise (1932)
Billie Holliday	Easy Living (1937)
Mode Plagal	Pikrodafni
Bryan Ferry	Time On My Hands (original in 1930)
Manolis Angelopoulos	O Prosfigas
Jeanette MacDonald & Nelson Eddy	Ah! Sweet Mystery Of Life (1936)
Soula Birbili	To Trizoni
Savina Yannatou	Smyrnaean Air
Count Basie	I Keep Remembering (1937)
Side B
Artist	Song	Buy
Athenians	With A Cigarette
Savina Yannatou	Morning Has Broken
Lionel Hampton	On The Sunny Side Of The Street (1937)
Michalis Nikoloudis	Topos
Duke Ellington	Creole Rhapsody (parts 1 & 2) (1931)
Bryan Ferry	The Way You Look Tonight (original in 1936)
Sibelius	Karelia Suite (pt. 2: Ballade)
Count Basie	Let Me Dream (1937)
Savina Yannatou	In The Beautiful Bygone Days
Billie Holliday	I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm (1937)
Eddie Duchin	I Only Have Eyes For You (1934)
Guy Lombardo	Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen (1937)
Eleftheria Arvanitaki	Tha Spaso Koupes
Count Basie Orchestra	Mood Indigo (original in 1930)
Psarantonis	Kastrinos
Count Basie	Good Morning Blues (1937)
Savina Yannatou	Ipne Pou Pernis Ta Pedia
Bing Crosby	Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams (1931)

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2 CD's

PROSPERO'S CELL

(For my friend Erik* and his wife Jill)

Spirits, which by mine art
I have from their confines call'd to enact
My present fancies
- Prospero (from The Tempest by William Shakespeare)

In 1935 writer and poet Lawrence Durrell, a 26 year-old Englishman, and his wife `N' moved to Greece to begin a 4-year sojourn in the Ionian island of Corfu, also known as Corcyra. Years later he published Prospero's Cell, an edited version of his diary during that period. This mix is made to bring to life, as much as possible, the time and place invoked in his book.

Once duke of Milan, Prospero had been overthrown by his brother and set adrift at sea. Washing up on his own island, he becomes lord and master of the sprite Ariel, the half-human monster Caliban, and other inhabitants of the island. The title of Durrell's book refers to Prospero's abode on his fictional island and, it seems to me, to his own little white house in Corfu. (The house is on the cover)

As lord and master of this mix, I too have employed a sprite to see to my wishes. In Durrell's book he often comments on the silence engulfing his isolated home. However, I have instructed my sprite to deliver a hand-cranked phonograph, and many of the popular records of his day and decade to Durrell's house in Corfu. His cell need no longer be engulfed by silence! Mixed in with jazz, popular songs, and a classical piece of the day are some Greek songs that might be similar to tunes the writer and his friends heard while on the island.

Why Little Bird Do You Not Sing? - Savinna Yannatou
(A Thracian lament for the fall of Constantinople)
Why, little bird, do you not sing
as once you did?
Ah, how can I sing
as once I did?
They have clipped my wings,
They have silenced my voice..

"Somewhere between Calabria and Corfu the blue really begins."

"We have taken an old fisherman's house in the extreme north of the island. Ten sea-miles from the town, and some thirty kilometers by road, it offers all the charms of seclusion. A white house set like a dice on a rock already venerable with the scars of wind and water. The hill runs clear up into the sky behind it, so that the cypresses and olives overhang this room in which I sit and write. We are upon a bare promontory with its beautiful clean surface of metamorphic stone covered in olive and ilex: in the shape of a mons pubis. This has become our unregretted home. A world."

"At night the piper sometimes plays, while his grazing sheep walk upon the opposite cape and browse among the arbutus and scrub. We lie in bed with our skins rough and satiny from the sea-salt and listen. The industrious and rather boring nightingales are abashed by the soft liquid quartertones, the unearthly quibbles of the flute. There is form without melody, and the notes are emptied as if drop by drop on to the silence. It is the wheedling voice of the sirens that Ulysses heard."

"We breakfast at sunrise after a bathe. Grapes and Hymettos honey, black coffee, eggs, and the light clear-tasting Papastratos cigarette."

"Not that time itself is anything more than a word here. Peasant measurement of time and distance is done by cigarettes. Ask a peasant how far a village is and he will reply, nine times out of ten, that it is a matter of so many cigarettes."

"N. has been away for three days now. The silence here is like a discernable pulse-the heart-beat of time itself. I am all day alone on the great rock; the sea is cold-its chill hurts the back of the throat like an iced wine; but blue as the grave, while the sun is blazing. I have received word from N that we are now the proud owner of a 20 foot cutter, carvel built, and Bermuda rigged."

"W

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