Tell us something.: You just slip out the back, Jack Make a new plan, Stan You don't need to be coy, Roy Just get yourself free Hop on the bus, Gus You don't need to discuss much Just drop off the key, Lee And get yourself free
Isaw her in concert a few year ago and she did not smile once,nor make a single light hearted comment throughout. One serious woman...Great gig though.
Slan,
D.
And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
I'm surprised that no one has submitted "The Croppy Boy" or "The Patriot Game." These, of course, are much better with the tunes:
THE CROPPY BOY
'Twas early early all in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their tune from tree to tree
And the song they sang was 'Old Ireland Free'
'Twas early early all in the night
The yoeman cavalry gave me a fright
The yoeman cavalry were my downfall
And taken was I by Lord Cornwall
As I was walking up Wexford street
My own first cousin I chanced to meet
My own first cousin did me betray
And for one bare guinea sold my life away
As I was walking up Wexford Hill
Oh, who would blame me to cry my fill
I looked behind and I looked before
But my aged mother I will see no more
As I was mounted on the platform high
My aged father was standing by
My aged father did me deny
And the name he gave me was the croppy boy
'Twas in Dungannon this young man died
And in Dungannon his body lies
So, all good people who do pass by
Just drop a tear for the croppy boy
The Patriot Game
Come all you young rebels and list while I sing
For love of ones land is a terrible thing
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame
And makes us all part of the patriot game
My name is O'Hanlon, I'm just gone sixteen
My home is in Monaghan there I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England to blame
And so I'm part of the patriot game
It's barely a year since I wandered away
With the local battalions of the bold IRA
I read of our heroes and wanted the same
To play up my part in the patriot game
They told me how Connolly was shot in a chair
His wounds from the fighting all bleeding and bare
His fine body twisted all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game
This Ireland of mine has for long been half-free
Six Counties are under John Bull's Tyranny
But still DeValera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the patriot game
I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game
And now as I lie with my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained and sold
I'm sorry my rifle has not done the same
For the Quislings who sold out the patriot game
Will O'Ban
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
another gem
The End of the Rainbow
Written by Richard Thompson
I feel for you, you little horror
Safe at your mother’s breast
No lucky break for you around the corner
‘Cos your father is a bully
And he thinks that you’re a pest
And your sister, she’s no better than a whore
Life seems so rosy in the cradle
but I’ll be a friend, I’ll tell you what’s in store
There’s nothing at the end of the rainbow
There’s nothing to grow up for anymore
Tycoons and barrow boys will rob you
And throw you on the side
And all because they love themselves sincerely
And the man holds a bread-knife
Up to your throat, is four feet wide
And he’s anxious just to show you what it’s for
Your mother works so hard to make you happy
But take a look outside the nursery door
There’s nothing at the end of the rainbow
There’s nothing to grow up for anymore
All the sad and empty faces
That pass you on the street
All running in their sleep, all in a dream
Every loving handshake
Is just another man to beat
How your heart aches just to cut him to the core
Life seems so rosy in the cradle
but I’ll be a friend, I’ll tell you what’s in store
There’s nothing at the end of the rainbow
There’s nothing to grow up for anymore
Information is not knowledge.
Knowledge is not wisdom.
Wisdom is not truth.
Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love.
Love is not music. Music is the best.
- Frank Zappa
and another
The Sun Never Shines On The Poor
Written by Richard Thompson
The urchins are writhing around in the mud,
Like eels playing tag in a barrel
The old Sally Army sound mournful and sweet
As they play an old Chrissmassy carol;
The world is as black as a dark night in hell
What kind of a place can this be?
Old people like hermit crabs run into doorways
All fearing to say, do you feel a downtrodden as me?
Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,
The future looks black as before
And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor
The rich man he dreams of his gold and his plate
And his house and his car and his women,
The poor man he dreams of his one-roomed estate
And his wage-packet short by one shilling
The last penny falls through a hole in your jeans,
Now ain’t that the way when you’re down?
Just walking in circles for the rest of your life,
And feeling so low that your chin scrapes along the ground
Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,
The future looks black as before
And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor
Now some of the people are poor in the purse
They don’t have the cash at the read
And some of the people are crippled and lame
They can never stand up true and steady
And some of the people are poor in the head
Like the simpleton fools that you see
But most of the people are poor in the heart
It’s the worst kind of poor, it’s the worst kind of poor you can be
Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell,
The future looks black as before
And the sun never shines, oh the sun never shines on the poor
Information is not knowledge.
Knowledge is not wisdom.
Wisdom is not truth.
Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love.
Love is not music. Music is the best.
- Frank Zappa
I’ll Regret It All In The Morning
Written by Richard Thompson
Whisky helps to clear my head
Bring it with you into bed
If I beat you nearly dead
I’ll regret it all in the morning
I’m so drunk I couldn’t care
If that’s a wig or your own hair
Here’s my ticket, take me there
I’ll regret it all in the morning
I’ll regret it all in the morning
When I see your smiling face
I’d rather be in any place but here
The years have left their mark
Your skin feels smooth as bark
As we shiver in the dark
I’ll regret it in the morning
As you gaze around in fright
With your knuckles turning white
You’re a lonely, lonely sight
To wake up to in the morning
This is no way to exist
With some girl who keeps a list
Naming all the boys she’s missed
And she’s longed for in the morning
I’ll regret it all in the morning
When I see your smiling face
I’d rather be in any place but here
Now the room is spinning fast
And it fades away at last
When this empty night is passed
I’ll regret it all in the morning
Information is not knowledge.
Knowledge is not wisdom.
Wisdom is not truth.
Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love.
Love is not music. Music is the best.
- Frank Zappa
Here's one of my favorite "heavy" songs. It's my bad translation of "Caoineadh na dTrí Muire (Keen of the Three Marys)." It may be a little confusing since the perpective shifts between Peter and Mary. Also, different singers will leave out different verses or rearrange them. So this isn't necessarily a complete version. Anyway, it goes something like this...
O Peter, Apostle, have you seen my bright love?
I saw him not long ago in the midst of his enemies
Take my side, you two Marys, that you may keen my love with me
What can we mourn, if we do not mourn his bones?
Who is the fine man that is on the Cross of Suffering?
Is it that you do not recognize your son, o mother?
Is this the Child I carried for three seasons?
Isn't this the child who was born in the stable?
Or isn't this the holy Child that was weaned at Mary's breast?
Listen, o Mother, and do not be desolate
And is that the hammer that drove nails through you?
Or is that the spear which pierced your bright side?
Cowtime - I'm with you on Culloden's Harvest. Major battle and just a hint of the impending clearances thrown in.
Most of my Burns songs come into this category. Including my favourite love song. - Ae fond Kiss, although I would say that is is Sad rather than tragic or depressing.
After a lot of my songs I get the - pass me the tissues comment but I've only once made nearly a whole audience cry. That was with Danny Boy and was due to associations rather than the power of my singing.
Been singing for stoke victims in hospital a bit recently and they tend to cry at a variety of songs as it triggers memories.
I have recently started writing myself and funnily enough my songs are coming out fairly sad (and possibly depressing ) but not tragic. I think it may be because i'm setting them to scottish airs.
I have thought there is a song to be written about small animals dying in the cellophane of the flowers that are left at the roadside in memory of people who have died in car accidents. Now that would be a truely tragic and depressing song.
Tell us something.: This is the first sentence. This is the second of the recommended sentences intended to thwart spam its. This is a third, bonus sentence!
I guess I should try to log on during the weekend more. Look what I've missed. I don't have anything to contribute. Songs that are sad for me are sad because they are associated with a bad part of my life.
The problem with sad pop songs is they're usually so trite and full of self pity they aren't depressing, just nauseating.
I actually like the Clapton tune mentioned earlier. The one Em likes.
There's actually a profound insite into male/female relations. Throughout the song he continually tells her how wonderful and beautiful she is. He's pouring out his heart and love on her, cherishing as it were. In essence giving her all the things a women would like to hear.
Then at the end, she tells him he was wonderful. Do you get it? A man wants to hear that he did well, that he pleased her. Sure a guy likes to be told he looks nice but he really wants to hear that he did well.
By ending the song that way we have the recipricol and a fitting resolution.
The point is, the song illustrates a fundamental aspect of male/female relationships.
dubhlinn wrote:Isaw her in concert a few year ago and she did not smile once,nor make a single light hearted comment throughout. One serious woman...Great gig though.
I'm of the same mind -- wonderful singer, I just wish she'd lighten up some. As she did with Maddy on the two Silly Sisters albums. She really can belt out upbeat songs, like Doffin' Mistress, or While Gamekeepers Lie Sleeping, she just chooses not to most of the time.
Charlie Whorfin Woods
"Our work puts heavy metal where it belongs -- as a music genre and not a pollutant in drinking water." -- Prof Ali Miserez.
I'm sitting here and waiting in this institution chair
The perfume of incontinence hangs heavy in the air
I'd like to read the paper, but I've forgotten how to read
A chance I might remember the name I used to be
My eyes are failing quickly, doesn't matter much these days
I mutter in the silence, it's just my peculiar ways
My mind's begun to crumble and my legs have given out
I'm laughing then I'm crying while the others scream and shout
Seven years or so I'm told that I've been sitting here
I used to be a someone, but that status is now gone I fear
My teeth they get collected so that I don't cause offence
Food is liquidised and the radio makes little sense
The photographs beside my bed are people I once knew
I know that I should recognise them, even just a few
In moments of great insights I might shake my fist with rage
But mostly I just sit here; I'm neither a clown nor a sage
I used to be a soldier, that was many years ago
When I can remember I've a medal that I'd like to show you
People who say they knew me, say I used to dance and stages
And play the pipe and whistle; I was married, there's a ring
Did I love my wife so dearly and my children and their
games
I've forgotten what they look like, their faces and their
names
But in my dreams and visions I can see them very dear
Couldn't tell you where they are now, but I loved them
very dear
The Circuits in my mind have blown the wiring in my
head
When I die I wonder if I'll know that I am really dead?
Nothing seems to make much sense upon this time I
dwell
I'll drink my institution drink and sit another spell.
I'd love to smoke a cigarette and smell the new mown
hay
I'd love to hold a woman close and dance the night away
If I could just remember all the things I loved to do
Perhaps I wouldn't be sitting here... perhaps it would be
you
I might have been a prophet or a wise man or a fool
I might have had a kingdom over which I ruled
Maybe I was someone who no one really knew
Maybe I'm still sitting here alone and so confused.
At the Johnny Cunningham tribute concert, Phil Cunningham suggested it a characteristic of Irish and Scots that they never feel so good as when they are totally miserable.
In that regard, I've always liked Carrickfergus.
The two songs below are more global, dealing with nuclear holocast and female genocide.
I Come and Stand at Every DoorWritten by N.Hikmet - Performed by Pete Seeger, the Byrds and others.
I come and stand at every door
But no one hears my silent prayer
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead, for I am dead
I'm only seven although I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I'm seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow
My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind
I need no fruit I need no rice
I need no sweets nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead, for I am dead
All that I ask for is for peace
You fight today, you fight today
So that the children of this world
May live and grow and laugh and play
***
LOST UNTO THIS WORLD
(Emmylou Harris & Daniel Lanois)
I was once some mother's darlin'
Some daddy's little girl
More precious than the ruby
More cherished than the pearl
My heart was full of mercy
And my forehead full of curl
Now I am nothing and am lost unto this world
I am lost unto this world...
They herded me like cattle
Cut me down like corn
Took me from my babies
Before they could be born
You can blame it on the famine
You can blame it on the war
You can blame it on the devil
It don't matter anymore
I am lost unto this world...
I was tortured in the desert
I was raped out on the piain
I was murdered by the high way
And my cries went up in vain
My blood is on the mountain
My blood is on the sand
My blood runs in the river
That now washes thru their hands
I am lost unto this world...
Can I get no witness this unholy tale to tell
Was God the only one there watching
And weeping as l fell
O you among the living
Will you remember me at all
Will you write my name out
With a single finger scrawl
Across a broken window
In some long forgotten wall
That goes stretching out forever
Where the tears of heaven fall
I am lost unto this world...
"It might be a bit better to tune to one of my fiddle's open strings, like A, rather than asking me for an F#." - Martin Milner