The Wreckers

There's something to be said about poking around the internet with no apparent objective. Last week I stumbled across 'The Wreckers' - a haunting melody by Eliza Broc, a singer-songwriter I'd never heard of. Now I'm no musical connoisseur - I play no instruments and can't sing for fear of alienating the few friends that continue to tolerate my rabid rantings - but I do know good when I hear it. Not everyone's to going like this; it's cool. I don't dig 50 Cent either, so I guess we're even.

In a world of remixed, homogenised, artificially flavoured, mass produced, assembly-line drivel that passes for music, Eliza is like a breath of fresh air. There had to be more than just a stunningly beautiful voice and a Tori Amos-esque edge to the song. There had to be a story; a purpose. I simply HAD to know. In my geekiness, I found the singer and asked her. I was right.

'The Wreckers' is inspired by Eliza's favourite Daphne du Maurier 1936 novel ‘Jamaica Inn’, a gothic tale set in nineteenth-century Cornwall about a bloodthirsty gang of wreckers who lure ships onto the rocks, drown the crew and steal the cargo. If you'd like to know more, you can get the book here. (I couldn't find it for Kindle). If you're an Alfred Hitchcock fan, you could get the 1939 film he made based on the book here. 

As Eliza describes it, the song is her musical interpretation of the tempestuous relationship between the story’s two focal characters. The lyrics specifically relate to a pertinent scene that appears halfway through the book where a chilling confession is made. Eliza is currently working on material for her first album. This single is not available in stores or for sale online.

Waves smash like stone

Through the dark they will roam
Rabid cries float on the midnight foam
Feet kicking slow in a voiceless unknown
The wreckers dream awakes a world obscene

I’m a soldier, I’m a willing hand
I’m a traitor, sleeping on the sand
As you hold me with a shallow heart
Our stare will last a lifetime, never can we part

Rocks hit the air

Seaweed dances in my hair
Watch me sway a silent breath away
Tales can’t be told
Eyes are eaten, fingers cold
Wrap the tongue the clamour has begun

Lyrics reproduced with permission. © Eliza Broc