Fifty-Two Folk Songs: Yellow

The Yellow album was completed and made available for download a little while ago. Here’s the link, and here’s what you get.

1 The crow on the cradle (Sydney Carter) (3:34)
2 Son Davie (3:19)
3 Two pretty boys (2:09)
4 The valiant sailor (5:38)
5 The Dolphin (2:58)
6 The lofty tall ship (4:21)
7 The ghost song (3:00)
8 William Taylor (3:56)
9 Lowlands (4:06)
10 The lowlands of Holland (3:25)
11 Shirt and comb (Peter Blegvad) (2:23)
12 High Germanie (2:20)
13 The weary cutters (1:54)
14 I would that the wars were all done (2:42)
15 The dark-eyed sailor (4:12)
16 Sweet Jenny of the moor (3:50)
17 Whitsun Dance (Austin John Marshall) (2:51)

Seventeen songs of death and destruction, mostly (but not exclusively) with a wartime setting, and mostly (14 out of 17) traditional. Some unaccompanied, some with vocal harmonies, some accompanied – mostly on English concertina and drums, with various other instruments (melodica, zither, recorder, whistles (D and C) and a bit of flute).

The crow on the cradle, an album-only extra, is probably the most powerful anti-war song ever written – up there with 10,000 Maniacs’ “My Mother the War”. War is over, if you want it. (Quite pleased with the drumming on this one.)
Son Davie, a.k.a. Edward, is a Child ballad on the theme of guilt and remorse. Some of the most powerful ballads seem to centre on the sense of actions being irrevocable – tragic and horrible actions especially. I like the sound of the C whistle on this.
Two pretty boys isn’t – or wasn’t – connected to the previous ballad, although you could say that it tells an earlier part of the same story. Sung unaccompanied and strongly influenced by Peter Bellamy, who learnt it from Lucy Stewart. (Is there any other way of being influenced by Peter Bellamy?)
The valiant sailor was the first song for which I worked out concertina chords. There’s a doleful, chapel-harmonium thing going on there, partly as a result of my novice status on the instrument; I rather like it. My interpretation was inspired by John Kelly; it’s not a patch on his version, of course.
“This song is called The Dolphin, which is the name of the ship what the pirates were in. It’s also the name of a pub in Wakefield that used to have right rough strippers on.” Thus (and much further in the same vein) Tony Capstick, before nailing the song to the back wall (on the sadly unavailable Does a Turn). Sung to melodica drone, drums added later (which is why they scramble a bit in a few places).
The lofty tall ship features concertina drones; after hearing this back I more or less abandoned the melodica. The timbre you get from the concertina reeds is extraordinary.
The ghost song, also known as The cruel ship’s carpenter, is an English murder ballad (a relatively uncommon theme). In terms of interpretation, this is another one taken straight and heavily influenced by Bellamy, who in this case was following Sam Larner.
William Taylor is another song of enlistment, desertion and death, although not in the usual combination. Accompanied on drums and zither, giving a rather nice quiet, spare effect.
Lowlands away, my John…” Another quiet arrangement – after Shirley Collins – with vocal harmonies and minimal percussion.
The lowlands of Holland is a strange, dreamlike song; nothing about it, from the initial bedroom encounter to the paradisiacal description of Holland, quite makes sense. Beautiful, though. Here it’s taken straight, unaccompanied.
Shirt and comb is a song by the great Peter Blegvad (although I’ve mangled the tune slightly). It essentially takes the basic situation of the previous song and looks at it from the inside: how did it feel to be enlisted and forced to march away from your loved ones? Accompanied with drums, concertina chords and the under-used C whistle.
High Germanie continues the twin themes of enlistment and approximate European geography. Drums, concertina drones and a slightly peculiar-sounding D whistle.
“O the Weary Cutters have taken my laddie from me…” Quiet, sad, with vocal harmonies. Not much like Maddy Prior’s version with Steeleye Span, although that is where I learned it.
I would that the wars were all done is another quiet, sad one. It’s accompanied with spare concertina I/V chords and a bit of recorder, and was partly recorded in the open air.
The dark-eyed sailor and Sweet Jenny of the moor are both ‘broken token’ songs, and were both clearly intended for an audience which knew the set-up; they both get through the big reveal very briskly. “Sailor” is accompanied throughout on concertina drones, C whistle, drums and zither; “Jenny” is mostly unaccompanied, with a bit of melodic reinforcement from concertina and C whistle.
The album’s second download-only extra, Whitsun Dance, probably needs no introduction. It’s always struck me as a dark, bitter song, all the more so for its sunny surface. I’ve recorded it with different combinations of instruments – recorder/zither, zither/drums, drums/concertina – over a flute drone, which I think brings out some of the changing moods of the song. You can hear both it and The crow on the cradle here – although if you want to download either of them you’ll have to go here.

Like the other downloads in the series, the Yellow album comes with a PDF file containing full lyrics, notes and artwork. And, like the other downloads, it has a minimum price set at a symbolic 52p – although you’re welcome to pay more!

Download 52 Folk Songs – Yellow.

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Week 49: Queen among the heather, Now westlin winds, Old Molly Metcalfe

Three unaccompanied songs this week, just for a change, all of them on a moorland theme.

Queen among the heather is a slightly romanticised account of a socially awkward encounter on the Scottish moors; a popular theme, to judge from the number of variants that exist.

Now westlin winds is one of Robert Burns’s most beautiful poems (a.k.a. “Song composed in August”); all about love and nature and bloodsports (he’s in favour of two of these).

Jake Thackray’s Old Molly Metcalfe is about someone else you might meet on the moors; her story doesn’t end well.

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FS49: Queen among the heather

This song is taken straight from June Tabor’s rendition on Airs and graces, which she learned from the singing of Belle Stewart.

Well, I say it’s straight from June Tabor. I learned the tune and the words from her version, but my version’s a lot plainer; I can’t match her decoration for decoration. Also, I’ve gone back to Belle Stewart’s words in a couple of places where I thought they were better.

Lovely song, anyway. It does give a slightly romanticised picture of the life of the shepherdess, but there’s a definite class dynamic in there.

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NS31: Now westlin winds

This isn’t a folk song; it’s got a known author (Robert Burns) and date of composition (1783), and it’s written in fluent eighteenth-century poetic-ese (“to muse upon my charmer”, indeed). The original title is “Song composed in August”; the first lines are

Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns
Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather

I’m putting it up this week in time for the 12th.

I haven’t got much else to say about this, except that it’s one of the most beautiful poems in the language, and works beautifully with this (slightly metrically irregular) tune. I feel quite privileged to sing it. I could explain what’s so great about it as a poem, but I’d rather you just listened to it, read the words and listened to it again (there are lots of other versions around if you get tired of the sound of my voice).

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NS32: Old Molly Metcalfe

Jake Thackray was a writer, singer and guitarist. I’ll start that again – Jake Thackray was a remarkable writer, singer and guitarist; far more remarkable, I think, than most of his audience realised. Few people can write with the grace and wit he displayed, and hardly any of them are half the guitarist he was. Respect didn’t translate into financial security – does it ever? – and his career didn’t end well; he was declared bankrupt at the age of 61 and died two years later.

Most of his material was funny, but this isn’t; it’s a story about another woman herding of her ewes together, told from a very different perspective. (I got it from a recording by Tony Capstick, who knew a good song when he heard one.) The facility – and often the superficiality – of Jake Thackray’s work can lead him to be lumped together with the likes of Miles Kington and Richard Stilgoe, instead of more substantial writers like his hero Georges Brassens. Certainly there wasn’t any radicalism or anger in his songs – except when there was.

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Week 48: Brigg Fair, General Wolfe, The green cockade

I completed this week’s recordings on the 5th of August; the lead song could only be Brigg Fair. It’s sung here with a bit of contemporary ambient sound and a brief excerpt from an everyday story of country folk.

General Wolfe is a song I already knew, but fell in love all over again on hearing Jo Freya’s Traditional Songs of England (reviewed here). Accompaniment is mainly concertina drones.

The green cockade is a Cornish version of a widespread enlistment song (other colours of cockade are available). Concertina chords this time, and more thanks to Jo Freya.

As well as concertina, all three of these songs feature recorder: specifically, a maple Moeck recorder which I acquired recently. It’s a ‘school’ model, so not a high-end instrument, but it’s got a lovely tone; it’s entirely displaced my old Aulos and is well on the way to supplanting my Tony Dixon D whistle. My “concertina and recorder” period begins!

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FS48: Brigg Fair

“It was on the fifth of August, the weather clear and mild…” What else?

This is an odd, fragmentary song, which for me inspires very mixed emotions. It’s pure English traditional – it’s one of those beautiful sets of words, with one of those beautiful tunes, making you feel for a moment as if it’s midsummer in the heart of England and time has just stopped. At the same time, the song itself is a bit of a fake – Joseph Taylor, from whom it was collected in 1905, could only remember the first two verses, so Percy Grainger added a couple more from Low Down in the Broom and a fifth from a song called A Merry King of Old England. Anyone singing Percy Grainger’s version now is singing something that never was sung as a folk song.

This recording – made on the fifth of August – expresses some of this ambivalence with a backing track which is thoroughly modern, and – as you’ll hear – thoroughly artificial. The singing and the playing are real, though.

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AS37: General Wolfe

This is a song I already knew (courtesy of Dave Bishop), but fell in love all over again on hearing Jo Freya’s Traditional Songs of England.

I don’t know the history of this song, beyond the obvious point that it post-dates the Battle of Quebec. There are some oddities in the lyrics – particularly the time-shift in the first verse – which made me want to find an earlier version, but I didn’t have much luck; I managed to trace it back as far as the Watersons (which isn’t very far) but couldn’t find any broadside copies.

The accompaniment is mostly concertina – with a bit of recorder – although the chords eluded me, so I went for drones instead.

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AS38: The green cockade

The green cockade is a Cornish version of a song more widely known as The white cockade; in other versions it’s blue. I dare say it depends who was recruiting in the area at the time. The Cornish version says less than some about the actual recruiting, focusing mainly on the loss and heartbreak angle.

This is another song I’d vaguely known for a while, but which I never rated particularly highly until I heard Jo Freya’s beautifully realised version. There’s concertina here too, and this time I did work out the chords.

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Week 47: The poor murdered woman, The scarecrow

Continuing the cheery, life-affirming mood so characteristic of folk songs, here are two songs about dead bodies.

The poor murdered woman is a straightforward account of a true story, bizarrely characterised by Martin Carthy as a ‘non-event’. It’s true that there isn’t much in the way of plot, but I’d still call it an event.

The scarecrow is one of Lal Waterson’s strangest and darkest songs, which is saying something. Lal and Mike, I should say – Mike (who sang it on Bright Phoebus) added the third verse to Lal’s first two, turning a painfully morbid near-hallucination into a song.

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