Category: songs

Leon Rosselson 1972

 

Written for E. D. Berman’s successful Save Piccadilly campaign which also employed street theater to fight high-rise development proposals to make the “heart of London” more respectable. “I don’t remember the details but in essence it meant putting people underground to make room for more traffic. The plan was shelved and Piccadilly and Eros, in all their seediness, remain as a disreputable meeting place for lonely souls and lost tourists. The Save Piccadilly campaign asked me to write a ‘protest’ song. I wrote two. This one with its banner-waving singalong refrain, ‘That’s not the way it’s got to be’ and “The Man Who Puffs The Big Cigar’.”

Roy Bailey & Leon Rosselson: Plan (That’s Not the Way It’s Got to Be)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xjWudLzqbk

Piccadilly’s just a slum where the slugs and weirdies come Knock it down and clean it up and watch the towers rise Make it look respectable, everything identical Trees will be permitted of the regulation size – But where have all the people gone? The concrete towers in spring look sad. Why does the wind blow hard as stone? Why is this place so cold and drab? Chorus: That’s not the way it’s got to be, people before property We want a meeting place and not a traffic jam Let Eros speak for all of us, London’s streets belong to us No to their profits and their Piccadilly plan Concrete is very neat, keep the people off the streets Shove them down in tunnels where they won’t get in the way Hotels and offices, valuable properties What a lot of money we’ll be making every day – But where have all the people gone? The concrete towers in spring look sad. Why does the wind blow hard as stone? Why is this place so cold and drab? Road space is what we need, give the traffic room to breathe More cars are expected so provisions must be made What to do with Eros, Piccadilly’s glamour boy? Corner him and pen him in and teach him to behave. – But where have all the people gone? The concrete towers in spring look sad. Why does the wind blow hard as stone? Why is this place so cold and drab?

 

 

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Steve Gardham estimated the song was from circa 1800. The Bodleian Broadside Ballad Collection lists it in six books from the 19th century; the dating of these indicates it is at least as old as 1840. The various commentary from recording artists on Mainly Norfolk suggests that it was quite popular in the early 20th century and its verses likely evolved a lot during that period.

Lou Killen: Louis Killen at the Bridge Folk Club Nov 2008

https://youtu.be/WG6lxxtOn3M?si=PJbujWYPFJ74I6ox&t=74

It was pleasant and delightful one midsummer’s morn When the fields and the meadows we all covered with corn And the blackbirds and thrushes sang on every green spray And the larks, they sang melodious at the dawning of the day Chorus (last line of each verse) And the larks, they sang melodious And the larks, they sang melodious And the larks, they sang melodious at the dawning of the day. A sailor and his true love went walking one day Said the sailor to his true love, I am bound far away I am bound for the East Indies, where the loud cannons roar I must go & leave my Nancy, she’s the girl that I adore. Then the ring from off her finger she instantly drew Saying take this, my dearest William and my heart will go too And whilst he stood embracing her, tears from her eyes fell Saying may I go along with you, oh no my love, farewell.

 

 

Phil Ochs 1963

 

While composing the song, Ochs told his sister Sonny that he was writing “the greatest song I’ll ever write”. Notably, anti-gay activist Anita Bryant was among those who covered the song, about which Ochs was amused.

Phil Ochs: Power and Glory

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWcJVojSNk8

Come and take a walk with me through this green and growing land Walk through the meadows and the mountains and the sand Walk through the valleys and the rivers and the plains Walk through the sun and walk through the rain Chorus Here is a land full of power and glory Beauty that words cannot recall Oh our power shall rest on the strength of our freedom Glory shall rest on us all, on us all From Colorado, Kansas, and the Carolinas too Virginia and Alaska, from the old to the new Texas and Ohio and the California shore Tell me who could ask for more? But we’re only as rich as the poorest of the poor Only as free as a padlocked prison door Only as strong as our love for this land Only as tall as we stand Now again our land is troubled by men who have to hate They twist away our freedom and they twist away our fate Fear is their weapon and “treason” is their cry We can stop ’em if we try!

 

 

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Edith Gawler & Bennett Konesni

http://ellisnasqc.quickconnect.to/as/sharing/w8B3S30x/L011c2ljL0VkaXRoICYgQmVubmV0dC9FZGl0aCAmIEJlbm5ldHQvMDEgUHJldHRpZXN0IExpdHRsZSBHaXJsIEluIFRoZSBDb3VuLm1wMw==

Prettiest little girl in the county-o My mama & papa both said so Chorus (x2): I’m gonna love her in the mornin’ I’m gonna love her in the evenin’ Prettiest little girl in the county-o All dressed up in calico Prettiest little girl in the county-o I walked right up and told her so Swing ’em like you love ‘?m Boys, you ain’t above ’em Prettiest little girl on Shelter Isle, oh that Edith makes me smile

 

 

Nancy Kerr 

 

Nancy Kerr: https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/the-priests-garden

https://nancykerr.bandcamp.com/track/the-priests-garden

In the heart of the holy city, where the seeds of our shadows are sewn, sewn I was walking all in the priest’s garden, and I met a sweet child all alone, lone I met a sweet child all alone The hard rain it blew all around him til the black earth was riven with cares, cares And roses were bending and breaking. “Oh the ravens have stolen my prayers” he said “Oh the ravens have stolen my prayers” “I was sailing my own little rowboat with my cross and my bible and beads, beads It was built by my father and mother, and the name of that boat it was creed, creed And the name of that boat it was creed” Well a stream it flowed out of the village where the willows they weep by the ford, ford And that stream it grew into a river and the name of that river was Lord, Lord And the name of that river was Lord And that river flowed into the valley, and that valley flowed into a cave, cave At the heart of that cave was an altar, and the name on the altar was saved, saved And the name on the altar was saved But the raven is wary and wily for he covets our shadows in shame, shame And he’s wearing the rose of the holy and he’ll dare you to mention his name, name He’ll dare you to mention his name Dark roses they bloom in his garden and the roots they are fed upon fears, fears Though he preaches of penance and pardon, all the petals are covered in tears, tears All the petals are covered in tears I will pull down those brambles and briars where they grow from below and above, bove I will build a gate out of this garden, and the name on that gate shall be love, love And the name on that gate shall be love

 

 

Keith Marsden 1985

 

Based on the life of Marsden’s friend Henry Atkinson, who started work in the mill at fourteen years of age, and worked his way up to becoming Mill Manager. Shortly after his retirement he died of emphysema which he had contracted, as it says in the chorus, ‘I passed my time in the dust and grime’.

Fifty years man & boy have I worked the mills, though I never could stand the place. But I got to the top by my own bootstraps, and not ‘cos they liked my face. And I made a good life for my child and wife, I’d respect from my fellow men. But the gaffer’s giving me the gold watch next week and he’ll never see me again. Chorus: Prospect, Providence, Perseverance, Albert, Valley and Crank. I passed my time in the dust and grime, with never a word of thanks. Oh, the wages were low and the hours were long, and the gaffers was hard, lads, hard. But the last time’s coming, thank God, coming soon, when I’ll walk up the damned mill yard. There’ll be no more sweating on a seek-oil dam through the heat of a summer’s day. There’ll be no more choking on the rag’ole dust, there’ll be no more fratching for pay. There’ll be no more trying to mend a clapped -out loom, where the noise makes you climb the walls. There’ll be no more measuring the gaffer’s boots by the seat of your overalls. There’ll be no more bawling of a weaver out when a piece makes the menders grieve. “Oh, my shuttles were all cracked so I’d too many traps, and the weft wasn’t fit to weave”. Then the spinner finds fault with the willyer’s blend, who says that his rags were too cheap. And the blame gets passed right down the line, till the gaffer goes and kicks the sheep. Though the pension’s small I’ve a bit put by that’ll do for the wife and me, And there’ll be enough spare for the odd glass of beer and a few days by the sea. And I’ll roll a few woods and I’ll still find time for the jobs that I used to shirk. I’ll have so much on that I’ll wonder then, how I ever found time to work. Though the pension’s low still the prices rise, my wife’s going out of her mind, And I’m no longer sure what it’s all been for, the year long, lifelong grind. And I’d dust so long that my lungs have gone, and I cannot get my breath. I can’t laugh or talk or even walk, and I long for the peace of death.

 

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1838

 

Martin Simpson wrote in 1993 that this tune was composed by Lotus Dickey of Indiana. Pete Sutherland probably learned it directly from Dickey.

Nightingale: Regain / Psalm of Life / Plant Un Chou

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWA99UGZ0iU

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Chorus: Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

 

 

Alex Sturbaum 2017

 

“I spent nearly half a decade working in Western Washington, doing environmental restoration inÿ the Puget Sound area. It’s hard and fulfilling work, and I thought it was just as deserving of aÿ song as whaling, mining, logging, and other hard labor I’ve spent years singing about. Scotch broom is a plant that is well loved in the music of Scotland, but it’s a pernicious invasive speciesÿ out here.”

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/pulling-broom

https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/pulling-broom

It was on one winter morning clearÿ We loaded up and packed our gearÿ We lit out at the break of dayÿ We were pulling broom up Concrete way Chorus And it’s one more day, of the smell of earth and woodsmokeÿ ÿOne more day, pulling broomÿ The Scotch broom fields grew thick and wideÿ River roaring on the other sideÿ Get up, buddy, no time to sleepÿ For the broom grows high and the roots run deepÿ Little owl calling in the Doug fir treesÿ As the grey dawn wakes us from our easeÿ In the morning sun we’re on the roadÿ With a big iron bar and a heavy loadÿ The Northwest rain comes pouring downÿ So hard you feel like you might drownÿ So you bend your backs and you pull togetherÿ And hope like hell for better weatherÿ Now the burn pile’s stacked and the fire’s died downÿ And before too long we’ll be homeward boundÿ Come sundown we’ll be on our wayÿ With an aching back and a full week’s pay

 

 

Madison McLeod 2023

 

Written for a new tradition made up by Boss Morris of ceremonially touching the water in a spring to welcome in the spring. McLeod was out walking with partner Sam Sweeney on Selsley Common during the pandemic and saw water bubbling up from the ground, and they stuck their fingers in to see how deep it went, and then realized doing so felt like a folk tradition. The tradition and the song were meant as a joke but it proved popular as an actual folk ritual, attracting hundreds of people each year.

Boss Morris on Folk on Foot podcast: Boss Morris on Rodborough Common | Folk on Foot

https://youtu.be/NIRJJiSisTc?si=cO4ds1TcLxZOM2Iv&t=537

Oh we are merry morris folk We gayly dance and sing We wake from weary winter To find the joyous spring Chorus Put your finger in the spring Put it in, put it in Put your finger in the spring Finger in, finger in Put your finger in the spring To see what the season brings Down the secret garden path We’ll find the hidden treasure But only once your finger’s in Will you know such pleasure Tickle through the undergrowth Until the water flows Gently slip a digit in And see the green leaves grow

 

 

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Archie Fisher recorded in 1976 on The Man With a Rhyme, where he wrote “A version of ‘Skipping Barefoot Through the Heather’ that I learned from Belle Stewart. Each variant of this song has its own charm in melody and text.” weel faur’d = well favored. Lane = alone. Yowes thegither = ewes together. Loon = lad. Lo’ed = loved.

Archie Fisher: Queen Amang the Heather

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbrmKHZ5C2Y

As I roved out one fine simmer’s morn Among lofty hills, moorlands and mountains, It was there I spied a weel faur’d maid As I, wi’ others, was oot a-huntin’. No shoes nor stockings did she wear, And neither had she cap nor feather, But her golden hair hung in ringlets fair And the gentle breeze blew ’round her shoulder. I said, “Braw lassie, why roam your lane, Why roam your lane amang the heather?” She said, “My faither’s awa’ frae hame And I’m herdin’ a’ his yowes thegither.” I said, “Braw Lassie, if ye’ll be mine, And care to lie on a bed of feather, In silks and satins you will shine, And you’ll be my queen amang the heather.” She said, “Kind sir, your offer’s good, Ah, but I’m afraid it was meant for laughter. For I see you are some rich squire’s son And I am but a poor shepherd’s daughter. “But had ye been a shepherd loon A-herdin’ yowes in yonder valley, Or had ye been some ploughman’s son, Wi’ a’ my heart I could hae lo’ed ye.” Now, I’ve been to halls and I’ve been tae balls, I’ve been to London and Balquidder, But the bonniest lass that e’er I saw She was herdin’ yowes amang the heather. So we both sat down upon the plain, We sat awhile and we talked thegither, And we left the yowes to stray their lane Till I lo’ed my queen amang the heather.