NS22: Frankie’s trade

Let me put it on record here and now: I have no opinion on the virtues (personal, nautical, martial, political or literary) of Francis Drake. It’s not my period; I don’t know a lot about the man, and if I did I’m not sure I’d be a fan.

Kipling, however, was an admirer – or at least, he found it quite easy to put admiration of Drake into poetic form. Shanty form, even. Bellamy for his part had no particular objection to English patriotism, and he knew a good lyric when one stared him in the face.

And so we have this – and what a song it is. Every time I sing it I end up more than half persuaded that Drake was a great English hero, or at the very least that he was a very good sailor. Which may even be true. It’ll certainly seem true if you listen to the end.

Accompaniment: none. Arrangement: based on Bellamy’s simple but effective arrangement on Oak, Ash and Thorn, although I take it a bit quick.

Leave a comment

Filed under not a folk song, Peter Bellamy, Rudyard Kipling

NS23: Roll down to Rio

This is another of Bellamy’s settings of Kipling. Unusually, this one isn’t from either of the Puck books or the Barrack-Room Ballads; it’s one of the poems interspersed through the Just-So Stories. There’s nothing really to it – it says one thing and then shuts up – but it has a simple eloquence which is very appealing. The last line probably relates to the age of the poem’s audience rather than its author; all the same, for me there’s a bit of poignancy in the realisation that I’m already older than Kipling when he wrote it, or Bellamy when he came up with the tune. Never been to Rio, either.

Accompaniment is English concertina, in a key that (I regret to say) suited my fingers better than my voice; I’ll do better (and go lower) another time. What with Bellamy’s brisk Anglo and Jon Boden’s beautifully wistful Maccann Duet accompaniment, this little song has now been recorded with all three of the main concertina systems. Anyone fancy setting it to a tango rhythm with bandoneon?

Leave a comment

Filed under not a folk song, Peter Bellamy, Rudyard Kipling

Week 41: Earl Richard, Sir Richard’s song

We continue the Kipling-and-others theme with two songs about Richards.

Earl Richard is more widely known as Young Hunting, although the eponymous character has several different names in the source (Child 68). The plot is both familiar (love and death) and very strange. The accompaniment is mostly drones of various origins.

Sir Richard’s song is another of Kipling’s hymns to England, this one spoken by a Norman knight who had fallen in love with the country after falling in love with an English woman. (Sexual love first, then love of country.) The tune, the arrangement and the delivery are very largely taken from Peter Bellamy, who liked this song enough to record it twice; it’s on both Oak, Ash and Thorn and Keep on Kipling. As far as I’m aware he never played zither, though.

1 Comment

Filed under Orange

FS41: Earl Richard

Child 68. This one took me slightly by surprise. “Sir Richard” came first this week; having decided on that one, I looked around for a folk song with some sort of thematic or titular connection, and mostly drew a blank. I settled on “Bold Sir Rylas”, before deciding that I really wanted something slightly less tasteless. But what? I looked for “Sir _____” songs (and “Lord _____” songs and even “Lady _____” songs) in the usual places, but didn’t find anything.

Then I had the bright idea of looking for “Richard” songs, and what should come up but… Young Hunting. “Earl Richard” is, it turns out, one of the alternative titles of Child 68, or Young Hunting as it’s generally known. This is a song I’ve been very fond of ever since hearing it on Tony Rose’s eponymous album. I’ve never sung it live, and only ever heard it sung out once (courtesy of the redoubtable Alan Grace); the length makes it a bit daunting. So I was glad to have a chance of doing it here. It’s one of those “boy meets girl, everybody dies” plots, but with some really bizarre elements; for birds to talk isn’t unknown in traditional songs, but it’s rather unusual for them to convey essential plot information. The plot’s thoroughly pervaded with supernatural elements – witness the methods used to discover the body and then to identify the murderer.

Textually this is, basically, the version of Young Hunting recorded by Tony Rose, who credited it to Pete Nalder. When I looked at Child I discovered that Nalder (of whom I know nothing) had done an extraordinary job on the song – there are nine variants of Child 68, all covering slightly different portions of the story and emphasising different aspects of it, and Nalder’s Young Hunting takes something from almost all of them. (And, in my defence, four of the nine call the main character “Earl Richard”, as against only two “Young Hunting”s.)

I tweaked the text a bit more, with Child open in front of me (virtually). The main change I made was to drop the nine-month delay in the story, which only features in version E. This meant losing the “heavy smell” which prompted the lady to dispose of the body, but it turns out that that wasn’t in Child at all – in 68E “word began to spread”, rather less bathetically. Nalder also has “ladies” (in general) making the suggestion that the body’s in the river, rather than the (guilty) “lady” as in the original. In some versions she points the search party towards the river after swearing that she’s innocent by the sun and the moon; I liked that, so it went back in. Another detail that got a bit lost in Nalder’s version was the fact that the young man was (or had been) the lady’s lover; again, I put it back in. Here’s a blog post tracing where my text came from, verse by verse.

Anyway, by the time I’d finished I’d cut one verse from Nalder’s version and added three, taking the song from 31 verses to 33. (You weren’t going anywhere, were you?) Despite this added length, my version is actually a full minute shorter than Tony Rose’s, representing an increase in the average verse delivery rate from 4.3 per minute to 5.4. You don’t get efficiency like that everywhere.

Apart from a bit of recorder, the accompaniment is some drones that I had lying around; there’s melodica and flute, and there may be a bit of the old Bontempi reed organ in there too. I was thinking of adding some concertina, but in the end the sound palette seemed quite full enough as it was.

Leave a comment

Filed under Child ballad, folk song, O my name is, Pete Nalder, Tony Rose

NS21: Sir Richard’s song

This is another of Kipling’s “romance of England” songs, the romance in this case taking an unusually literal – and sexual – form.

Anyone committed to a really long view of English history has to contend with a lot of discontinuities, particularly in the earlier parts of the story – population movements, changes of ruler, invasions. In 1066, England had to deal with “a French bastard landing with an armed Banditti and establishing himself king of England against the consent of the natives”, in Thomas Payne’s blunt formulation; within a couple of hundred years, the descendants of those same bandits were high-ranking landed gentry, none more English.

What had happened? One answer would be that the new ruling class had remoulded what it meant to be English in their own image, just as they had changed the language. Another answer – Kipling’s – is that the invaders had become English. Sir Richard’s song is about the moment when this starts to happen: when a Norman baron realises that he is no longer taking from England; instead, England has taken him. The phrase, obsessively repeated, has definite sexual overtones, which are entirely in keeping with the rest of the poem: what has taken Sir Richard is not the charm of the English countryside but the love of an English (Anglo-Saxon) woman. He’s helplessly besotted with her, and by extension with the country itself: a vividly appropriate image for the passion Kipling seems to have felt for England, or his idea of England.

Howe’er so great man’s strength be reckoned,
There are two things he cannot flee.
Love is the first, and Death is the second –
And Love in England has taken me!

The zither accompaniment is based loosely on Bellamy’s guitar accompaniment on Oak, Ash and Thorn (although it’s not played live, as you can tell). The flutes were inspired by Peter Gabriel’s “Here comes the flood”.

Leave a comment

Filed under not a folk song, Peter Bellamy, Rudyard Kipling

Week 40: Queen Jane, Puck’s song

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Orange

FS40: Queen Jane

Child 170, more or less in the version sung by Martin Graebe. It’s a remarkably powerful and moving piece of folk history (Jane Seymour didn’t actually die as the result of a Caesarean, although giving birth to Edward VI clearly didn’t do her any good). Traditional songs don’t often look very far back in history – and when they do the result is usually a bit garbled – so this is an interesting specimen; the events it describes must have been a couple of centuries in the past by the time it was written.

It’s accompanied here on flute and recorder; the drone is flute.

Leave a comment

Filed under Child ballad, folk song, Martin Graebe

NS20: Puck’s song

I’ve sung a few of Peter Bellamy’s settings of Rudyard Kipling already. The plan for the next few weeks is to get a few more done, and where possible to make links with traditional songs.

And where better to start than with this, Puck’s introduction – both of himself and of the deep history of England. There’s something cosy and reactionary about Kipling’s endless celebration of England, but also something enduringly strange. It’s not simply a matter of digging into the national history to demonstrate, Arthur Mee-ishly, that everything’s for the best in the best of all possible countries. There’s also a sense of being helplessly in love with everything about the country, past and present – all the way back to “the lines the Flint Men made to guard their wondrous towns”. The sense of history as something that’s left its traces on the landscape – something that’s still here – has never been conveyed more powerfully.

Accompaniment: C whistle and a concertina I’m still getting to grips with. There are also bees.

Leave a comment

Filed under not a folk song, Peter Bellamy, Rudyard Kipling

Fifty-Two Folk Songs: the Green Album

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Green

Week 39: The dark-eyed sailor, Sweet Jenny of the moor

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Yellow