The Orange album is going to be devoted to the work of Peter Bellamy, his settings of Kipling in particular. Traditional songs will also feature!
Queen Jane: a strange and moving piece of folk history, with flute drone.
Puck’s song: Kipling lays out his map of the deep history of England. This one gets a bit “weird” as it develops; see what you think.
Filed under Orange
After some delay, Fifty-Two Folk Songs: the Green Album is now available to download. Here’s what you get:
1 Searching for lambs (3:24)
2 Master Kilby (2:54)
3 The banks of the Mossom (3:01)
4 The streams of lovely Nancy (2:04)
5 Come all you little streamers (2:15)
6 One night as I lay on my bed (2:35)
7 When a man’s in love (4:16)
8 Out of the window (3:02)
9 Cupid’s Garden (2:45)
10 On board the ‘Kangaroo’ (3:38)
11 The outlandish dream (2:18)
12 I live not where I love (4:35)
13 As I was a-wandering (3:27)
14 Once I had a sweetheart (3:28)
15 My bonny boy (4:36)
16 When I was in my prime (3:48)
17 Let no man steal your thyme (1:55)
18 Blackwaterside (3:46)
19 Rosemary Lane (3:20)
20 Box 25/4 Lid (Ratledge/Hopper) (0:51)
Six songs sung unaccompanied – after Tony Rose and John Kelly, among others – plus thirteen with accompaniment and one contemporary jazz piece(!). They’re all love songs – or, at worst, heartbreak and unwanted pregnancy songs – and nobody dies. There’s flute (My bonny boy) and recorder (I live not where I love), as well as melodica (On board the ‘Kangaroo’) and a surprisingly loud zither (Once I had a sweetheart). Then there are melodica drones (all over the place) as well as a flute drone (The banks of the Mossom), a recorder drone (When I was in my prime) and a vocal drone (Master Kilby). There’s an arrangement that’s heavily indebted to Jon Hopkins (Blackwaterside), another arrangement which I liked so much that I used it twice, and another that features the sound of a zither being simultaneously plucked and dropped onto a hard surface. (It survived.) And there’s an old Soft Machine number arranged for melodica, whistle and zither. There’s even a bit of concertina (Rosemary Lane).
Searching for lambs is one of the great English folk songs. Shirley Collins’s version of this song has a curious atmosphere, at once airy and trance-like; like a hot summer’s day on the downs. I tried for something similar.
Master Kilby is a puzzle, or rather a fragment; what’s left of it effectively conveys a dazed sense of smitten infatuation. Again, ‘trance-like’ was the area I was going for.
The banks of the Mossom continues the developing theme of “I love her so much I can’t think straight”, although to be fair this is, again, very largely an artefact of imperfect preservation. At least, we assume there was more to this song once – there certainly can’t have been any less. Partly recorded outdoors, in that nice weather we had for a couple of weeks back there.
The streams of lovely Nancy and Come all you little streamers are not the same song. Turning them back into two separate songs is probably a lost cause, though, if only because there’s so little of any interest in “Nancy” which isn’t in “Streamers”. But here they are, for what it’s worth, with different tunes and (mostly) different words. I’ve also arranged them quite differently, giving “Streamers” the drone/zither/flute treatment and accompanying “Nancy” with drums.
One night as I lay on my bed is another song of overpowering lust, although in this case it actually was written that way. Sung unaccompanied, following Tony Rose.
When a man’s in love, also sung unaccompanied, is superficially another song about the joys and miseries of all-consuming love. If you ignore that beautiful, yearning tune and listen to the words, it turns out that it’s a bit less romantic; it’s more a case of “When a man wants to move things along a bit”. Still, it’s a great song.
Out of the window is a little-known song, taken – like the previous song – from Sam Henry’s Songs of the People; it’s also the forerunner of a much better-known song, “She moved through the fair”, although for my money this tune is better. Accompanied on zither.
Cupid’s Garden is an eighteenth-century song about going to an eighteenth-century pickup joint, getting brushed off and then hooking up (with “lovely Nancy”, no less). It can be dated fairly precisely, as the gardens in question closed in 1753.
On board the ‘Kangaroo’ was originally a comical cockney music-hall song. Time and oral transmission have effectively de-cockneyfied it, leaving a pleasantly daft piece of pseudo-nautical nonsense.
The outlandish dream I owe to Andy Turner. It’s an odd little song, but indubitably romantic – and a beautiful tune.
I live not where I love is one of my favourite folk songs, although until very recently I’d never heard a recorded version. It’s intercut with a pipe tune called “Sir John Fenwick’s”, and punctuated with what’s best described as some musical noise. I had fun recording this.
As I was a-wandering, as sung by John Kelly, is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, in folk song or any other genre. I’m no John Kelly, but this is a great song. The words may (or may not) be by Robert Burns.
Once I had a sweetheart is another one where I had some fun with the recording. I had Pentangle’s version of this song in the back of my mind; you could even say I was working towards it as I layered on the tracks. I didn’t get very close, though!
My bonny boy comes from Anne Briggs, although I went back to an earlier version of the words. Possibly sung in the person of a young girl, and possibly not.
When I was in my prime definitely is sung in the person of a young girl. As a song it’s less simple than it looks.
Let no man steal your thyme is another member of the extended “Seeds of Love” family, although in this version it’s got no overlap with the previous song at all. Sung in the open air.
Blackwaterside probably needs no introduction. Another fairly big production job; I’m still fairly proud of what happens to the endlessly-circling zither part towards the end (ripped off from Jon Hopkins though it is).
Rosemary Lane includes a lot of the same elements that were in “Once I had a sweetheart” – but they are arranged differently. Plus, concertina!
Box 25/4 Lid closes the album – as it did the album where it first appeared – with a bit of angular bass clank (supplied here by my trusty zither). I wanted to know how far I could take the digital processing of the sounds of a few innocuous acoustic instruments. And now, I know.
20 tracks (count ’em) for the price of a second-class stamp (or more if you feel so moved). Needless to say, for the money you also get lyrics, comments and the odd illustration. Share and enjoy!
The Yellow album, featuring a turn back towards senseless violence and a bit of basic concertina, is… basically complete. Watch this space. On the Orange album (starting soon), there will be more Bellamy and more Kipling (and more concertina).
PS Three of the above songs – As I was a-wandering, Rosemary Lane and Box 25/4 Lid – are album-only extras: they can only be downloaded as part of this album. If you just want to hear them, on the other hand, feel free. Here they are.
Filed under Green
For the final week of the Yellow album, here are two nineteenth-century “broken token” ballads.
The dark-eyed sailor: learnt from Tony Rose’s recording, recast in a fairly definite 3/4 and with instrumentation, frankly, out the wazoo.
Sweet Jenny of the Moor: also learnt from Tony Rose’s recording, and played exactly as he played it, only without some of the good bits.
Filed under Yellow
Week 38 eh? Where does the time go? (There’s a song there somewhere.)
Three conscription songs this week. The most sentimental & the most “written”-sounding is I would that the wars were all done; I’m not that keen on the verses, but the refrain makes up for it. Accompanied with two-note concertina chords; partly sung in mid-air.
High Germanie continues the recent sub-theme of sketchy European geography. (As I understand it “High” Germany was roughly what we now call Germany – Low Germany being the Netherlands – so the relative elevations are at least consistent. I don’t know which wars these were, though – or whether they were two separate conflicts or one that spread across the whole area.) I followed Pentangle in this version, perhaps too closely; I might try it again more slowly some time.
The weary cutters, lastly, is a short, sad song, sung by a mother whose son has been conscripted (“They’ve pressed him far away foreign”). Unlike most of these songs, I’ve known this one for, basically, ever; I’m fonder of it than I realised. Sung with (self-composed) harmonies.
Conscription songs this week – in fact, two closely-related conscription songs.
The lowlands of Holland is a strange, almost dreamlike song – a great example of the way the folk process polishes away extraneous elements of a song (like the bits that make it all fit together) leaving only words and sound. After Martin Carthy; sung unaccompanied.
Shirt and comb, my first non-traditional song in a while, is a song by the great Peter Blegvad on a very similar theme; a kind of contemporary answer-song, in fact. Sung with drums, C whistle and I/V chords on English concertina.
Filed under Yellow
For week 36 I’m staying with violent death and going back to Child ballads.
Two pretty boys, generally known as Two brothers (Child 49), is a song about senseless violence. Almost everything in the story is left unexplained; it’s been suggested that it may go back to a sixteenth-century shooting. It’s sung unaccompanied (and after Bellamy).
Son Davie, more widely known as Edward (Child 13), is all about the aftermath of a killing; it’s a song on the general theme of “murder will out”. Some variants of Two brothers feature the distinctive “what’s that blood?” verses, creating the impression that these two might have originally been part of a single ballad telling the whole story of a murder, but this is misleading: older versions don’t have these extra verses, suggesting that they drifted in from this ballad at a later date. The tune used here is after Nic Jones; it’s sung with whistle, drums and (briefly) concertina.
Filed under Yellow
More songs with sea voyages (or at least trips to the coast) and deaths.
William Taylor dumps his fiancee to enlist for a sailor (although as far as we can tell he never actually makes it as far as the sea). She’s not pleased. The last verse appears to derive from a later, comic version of the song, but I liked it enough to keep it in. Learned from John Kelly’s recording; accompanied with drum and zither.
The ghost song (a.k.a. The Cruel Ship’s Carpenter) is a murder ballad of sorts: another William, also keen to go to sea, kills his (pregnant) fiancee. She’s not pleased either. A fairly chunky narrative with an extraordinary tune, learned from Peter Bellamy’s version, which itself derived from Sam Larner; sung unaccompanied.
Filed under Yellow
We’re still at sea for week 34, and still suffering losses.
The lofty tall ship is a surprisingly laconic ballad about an episode in the life of a pirate; it’s one remnant of a much longer ballad, about a real (sixteenth-century) pirate, which ended with his execution. Featuring concertina (in drone mode).
Lowlands is about a haircut. A ghost, heartbreak, seaweed and a haircut. Based quite closely on Shirley Collins’s version, and featuring improvised harmonies.
Filed under Yellow
With week 33 we leave the songs of love behind and begin the Yellow album, which (despite the name) is going to be mostly warlike. There will be deaths. There will also be non-traditional songs, but not this week.
The valiant sailor (a.k.a. Polly on the shore) is a song from the Napoleonic wars with an interesting narrative standpoint. Sung with concertina, and with thanks to John Kelly. (I recorded the concertina separately, but give me time.)
The Dolphin goes back to an incident in the eighteenth century, involving a ship that wasn’t called the Dolphin and didn’t sail from Liverpool. Sung with drones and drums, and with thanks to Tony Capstick.
Filed under Yellow
A mixed bag for week 32 (but still no deaths): a sad song about a young woman being seduced and abandoned, a funny song about a middle-aged man getting dumped and a song with a happy ending and a misleading beginning.
Blackwaterside: what is there to say about Blackwaterside? Here’s my version of Blackwaterside.
The outlandish dream is a broadside curiosity, with no apparent connection to the more famous ballad about the quasi-eponymous main character.
On board the ‘Kangaroo’ is a daft little number which originated as a music-hall song. Tom Lehrer said that Gilbert and Sullivan wrote songs “full of words and music and signifying nothing”; this one certainly doesn’t signify very much, but it’s none the worse for it.
Filed under Green
Fifty-Two Folk Songs 