iGIRL - Act Two

by Roger Doyle

  • Streaming + Download

    Pre-order of iGIRL - Act Two. You get 12 tracks now (streaming via the free Bandcamp app and also available as a high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more), plus the complete album the moment it’s released.

    This streaming/download is for Act Two only.
    Purchasable with gift card
    releases March 26, 2021

      €9 EUR  or more


  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    New limited edition double CD; 2 panel 4 page digifile. January 2021.

    Includes digital pre-order of iGIRL - Act Two. You get 12 tracks now (streaming via the free Bandcamp app and also available as a high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more), plus the complete album the moment it’s released.
    digital album releases March 26, 2021
    item ships out within 2 days
    edition of 100 

      €21 EUR or more 


I Oedipus Son of my wife Sister of my Daughter Brother of my sons Oh my daughter My lovely daughter My lonely sister Where will it end Sit down beside me By the Grove of the Furies In the shade of cypress And the all too human Olive branch Let me dry Your tears With this Tainted hand This gnarled Incestuous hand That will ossify Soon In this strange Haunted place This no man’s land On Citharon they Left me Heels bound A squalling babe For the jackals And the Lions. I still dream Of those sounds On the mountain The streams Gushing Lambs bleating The old gay Shepherds Mumbling in Their sleep The frozen Infant Naked save The silver Bolt Fastening his feet Not even A blanket The hillside Strewn With gnawed bones A knee A ribcage An ankle Who’s shoulder Was that Who’s clavicle And the babe Waiting Choking Feet in ribbons Smeared in shit Urine Mucus Will she never come? What have I done? I’ve never known Such pain If I survive this I’ll survive Anything I’ll wreak Such havoc No rage Like The rage of Infants Babe of the Crucified feet The bolted heels The tearing wind Hear My savage Song Ah Ah. And the shepherd Came Doesn’t he always With his sheepdog Where would the Gods be Without the shepherd And his sheep
The silver bolt Torn From the bleeding Feet The infant soothed On a ewe’s teat In the crook Of the shepherd’s arm And time races on abandon You never come home All the world’s riches Honours Baubles Mean nothing Compared with A night On Citharon The ache So ancient The wound So perfect This soul’s Fissure No thread No raked Coals Can cauterize Or stitch The primal Shattering We are God’s Abortions He Didn’t want Us Upped and gone He wont Return Would you? And yet And yet As the grave Beckons All destruction Done I’ve defiled Everyone I could defile And then some And yet Another spin Next time Get it right A proper wife My daughter Up the aisle Wedding gown Blossom In her hair The proud father Hands her over Soul as clean And white As Easter On Christmas night And yet Sometimes I think Is it not Rather The taint We’re after.
When my mother Died I thought I would Die too Now I Hardly remember Her Haven’t visited Her grave In decades.
Recess 2 02:14
I Neanderthal Prince of the Plains I saw Eden It wasn’t much I saw The tree The gates Rusty But still Intact I saw The triple lock The jack boot The size of an oak I retreated Wisely God they Were Ugly Whining Puny Pea brained Believed in Punishment Right and Wrong The wind Told me Keep away These people Are descended From Rats Without the Rat’s Majesty And sense Of fair Play They ate Their Father’s Fucked their Daughters Requisitioned Newborns For the Feast They had Webbed Feet And Protruding Teeth No chins To speak of And moulted In Spring The smell Of them Live and Let live They too Part of the Equation The whole The Mystery Speak Why don’t You speak? I speak Brother I speak There’s eyes Ears Skin The heart Why would We speak When we Can sing?
I Jocasta 11:47
I Jocasta Do you do life Do you do loving Have you heard Of laughter Even First thing I said To him Bedraggled boy Of nineteen Limping towards Me Should have known By the heels All said Best I ever had In bed Though Laius Not someone You’d be comparing Anyone to And before him My confused girlhood Big hefty men From the swamps Who knew what They wanted But him My Husband My son Oedipus How can I say This plain Did I know it was him I did And then I didn’t And then I did Again I Jocasta Mother of my Husband Wife of my Son Grandmother to My daughters And sons Antigone Ismene Polynices Eteocles Sons of My son All so Twisted Convoluted Slime of Our blood Meshed Then meshed Again The swirl Of shame Sent me Spinning on A rope I heard my Neck break My heart Long before Laius took My baby son Flung him Naked On the mountain Like a blind kitten Because some dark God of his Had prophesized Your son will Kill you at The crossroads And rape Your wife Not that Laius Minded the Rape bit Rape His thing Children Boy children Preferably He Stole My infant Son From the cradle Hammered his Heels Together While I slept When I woke He informed Me the Child was gone Dead And when I Protested Flung me Against the wall Cracked My head My cheeks My nose Till I Was a mess Of pulp And blood
I Girl Yes You Girl Soon you’ll be one Of the old things Medieval bridges Cobbled stones Sepia postcards Dray horses Descendants will glance With mild interest Amusement Imagine they dressed like That Look at those boots The red hat She wore a lot of Lipstick She wrote plays Now out of print That’s where you get Your creative bent The great great granddaughter Will say To her well loved Son or Daughter When they want to be an actor There is no defense To Becoming The past tense A mouldy old Photograph Falling out of a Spider webbed Bookcase A Footnote That will never capture How she Thought Suffered Lived Worked Loved Or didn’t That they wont remember The perfume The cigarettes The coffee That she read Ten books at A time And often finished Them That she loved wine For a long time And silence And listening To the blues And Mahler And hated Endings That one afternoon In a New York Eatery Alone She felt eternal That she had Been here before That ghost lovers Wrestled her On more than Three occasions Mundane And spectacular Dreams
That her husband Was a quiet man With eyes of blackest Brown That her children Astonished her By their Very fact That the break With her Father Broke her heart That in October Twenty seventeen She gave a talk In Montreal That she always felt A fraud Talking about her Work That somewhere Somehow she believed Back of her head It was written by the Gods Or it wrote itself That all she Ever had to do Was sit down Hold the pen Take a deep breath Whisper Here we go again
That she sometimes Ran ten K in the gym And then had to Tell everyone That she had a Wicked temper But learned To curb it Mostly That her favourite Pastime Was staring into Space That she looked Out the window Every morning To see what colour The sky was And if grey She often cancelled The day Though no one Would have noticed That her mother died When she was seventeen That this was a mixed Blessing Despite the freedom That she was an orphan And liked it that way That she was usually wrong About everything That she was somehow Against every grain Despite her best Intentions And even her Worst ones That she was soft spoken That she had to be miked When she gave readings. That she lived Long ago That terrible Century That we’re not Quite sure Where she’s buried Probably Offaly Or Kerry.
After your funeral As we sat Down to Lunch We realised We had forgotten Your youngest son Eteoceles Found him asleep Across the wreaths Tear stained Grass Stained I’ve lost My life He cried And Cried I’ve lost my Life When we Dragged him from Your arms Clumps of Daisies Phlox Cornflowers Still in His hands At the table He Wept into The soup Nothing Nothing Could soothe
My Father Your husband Your son Chin trembling The sightless Eyes The wine Spilling On his Clothes The singer In the Hall Her dirge Ah About a Girl from A mountain Limbs of The deer Eyes of the Doe That sort of Thing I refused to Wear Mourning One day I’ll wear Black What would It mean After all this Time Certainly not Mourning My Father Oedipus Angry at His son’s Tears Now stop He said Not unkindly Stop child But Etoceles He cried And cried Ah, ah What did He Care If you were His grand Mother Incestuous Monster Who couldn’t Tell Her own From another You were His Mother And you Were Gone.
Transhumant 10:06
Transhumant Great word The old paths Old style Man and Beast Going from place To place Higher ground Valleys Plains The Savannah Tripping over Tusks And teeth Rust And newels From the Age of Iron Occasionally The glint Of some Old burnished Thing from The age of Gold When was that Carcass of the Whale On Everest Sleeping Dinosaur Under saint Paul’s Couldn’t run When the Primevial Forest Burst into Flame A comet So big It went Through the world Came out the Other side Voila The Moon And the gorgeous Paly- what’s its name To have seen one of them Those transhumants Will we ever be So innocent Again A lone Neanderthal Last of its Kind Sat by His fire It was Snowing Butterflies When they Came Blood on their Hands Blood in their Gaze Still he Invited them in He served up The dinner Like a good host They served him Up for Breakfast He never Said a Word The beautiful Neanderthal Last of his Species The butterflies Sang the Dirge Ah Ah Transhumant Licked His lips Raped the Babies till the Snow passed.


Music composed and produced by Roger Doyle ℗ and © PRS/MCPS 2019-2020. Recorded in the composer's private studio.
Libretto © Marina Carr.

Click through to iGIRL - Act One, here: rogerdoyle1.bandcamp.com/album/igirl-act-one

iGirl explores female grief, sorrow and sacrifice, and offers an insight into themes highly relevant in contemporary society.
The work is inhabited by mythological and historical characters, and 2 narrators - one, a woman living in contemporary times; the other describing humanity's base desires and the ruthless survival of the fittest, of homo sapiens over the Neanderthals.

iGIRL is an electronic opera, so there is no live orchestra - the recording studio in this case takes its place.
The score makes use of new music software creating, at times, an epic virtual orchestra, and at other times is heavily percussive evoking ancient and modern worlds.
The singers are hand-picked as Doyle wanted trained non-traditional opera singing i.e. little or no vibrato.

All the lyrics can be read on this page by holding the mouse over track titles.

Sung by: Morgan Crowley (tks. 1 - 2); Aimee Banks (tk. 4); Olwen Fouéré (tk. 5); Michelle O'Rourke (tk. 6); Bláthnaid Conroy Murphy (tks. 3, 7 -11); Vyvienne Long (tk.12).


releases March 26, 2021

Total time: 74'01


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Roger Doyle Ireland

Roger Doyle – composer, keyboardist and producer of own music, in concert and in the studio. Likes to work on large projects and to collaborate with others. Works with a multiplicity of musical languages and evolving technologies.

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