1. |
Black is the Color
04:05
|
|
||
|
CH
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes.
And I wish the day, it soon will come
That she and I will be as one
CH
I'll go to the Clyde and I'll mourn and weep
Where satisfied I never shall be
I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death ten thousand times
CH
|
||||
2. |
Scotland Uber Alles
02:50
|
|
||
3. |
Generations of Change
05:26
|
|
||
|
GENERATIONS OF CHANGE
(Matt Armour)
My faither was a baillie frae a wee fairm at Caiplie
He worked on the land a' the days o' his life
By the time he made second he aye said he reckoned
He'd ploughed near on half o' the East Neuk o' Fife
He fee'd on at Randerston, Crawhill and Clephinton
Cambo and Carnbee and big Rennie Hill
At Kingsbarn he married, at Boarhills he's buried
But man, had he lived, he'd be ploughing on still
For those days were his days, those ways were his ways
Tae follow the ploo while his back was still strong
But those days have passed and the time came at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young
I wisnae fir plooin', tae the sea I wis goin'
Tae follow the fish and the fisherman's ways
In rain, hail and sunshine I've watched the lang run line
Nae man mair contented his whole working day
I've lang lined the Fladden Ground, the Dutch and the Dogger Bank
Pulled the big fish frae the deep Devil's Hole
I've side trawled off Shetland, the Faroes and Iceland
In weather much worse than a body could thole
For that day was my day, that way was my way
Tae follow the fish while my back was still strong
But that day has passed and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young
My sons they have grown and away they have gone
Tae search for black oil in the far northern sea
Like oilmen they walk and like Yankees they talk
There's no' much in common 'tween my sons and me
They've rough rigged on Josephine, Forties and Ninian
Claymore and Dunlin, Fisher and Awk
They've made fortunes for sure for in one run ashore
They spend more than I earned in a whole season's work
But this day is their day, this way is their way
Tae ride the rough rigs while their backs are still strong
But this day will pass and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young
My grandsons are growing, to the school they're soon going
But the lang weeks o' summer they spend here wi' me
We walk through the warm days, talk o' the auld ways
The cornfield and codfish, the land and the sea
We walk through the fields my father once tilled
Talk wi' the old men that once sailed wi' me
Man, it's been awfu' good, I showed them all I could
O' the past and the present, what their future might be
For the morn will be their day, what will be their way
What will they make of their land, sea and sky
Man, I've seen awfu' change but still it seems so strange
Tae look at my world through a young laddie's eyes
|
||||
4. |
|
|||
5. |
Arthur McBride
05:22
|
|
||
|
Arthur McBride
traditional
I had a first cousin called Arthur McBride and we went awalkin' down by the seaside
Seekin' good fortune and what might betide, for it bein' on Christmas mornin'
And for recreation we went on a tramp, where we met Sargeant Harper and Corporal Cramp
And a little wee drummer intendin' to camp, for the day bein' pleasant and charmin'
"Good mornin', good mornin'," the sargeant did cry, "And the same to you gentlemen," we did reply,
Intendin' no harm, but meant to pass by, for it bein' on Christmas mornin'.
Says he, "My fine fellows, if you will enlist, it's ten guineas I quickly shall shove in your fist,
And a crown in the bargain for to kick off the dust, and drink the King's health in the mornin'
For a soldier he leads a very fine life, and he always is blessed with a pretty young wife,
And he pays all his debts without trouble or strife, and always is pleasant and charmin',
And a soldier he always is decent and clean, in the finest of clothes he is constantly seen,
While other poor fellows are dirty and mean and sup on thin gruel in the mornin'."
But says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes, for you've only the lend of them as I suppose,
And you dare not remove them one night for you know if you do you'll be flogged in the mornin',
And although that we are single and free we take great delight in our own company,
And we have no desire strange faces to see, although your offers are charmin',
And we have no desire to take your advance, all hazards and dangers we'll barter on chance,
For you have no scruples and you'll send us to France, where we'd surely be shot without warnin'."
"Oh now," says the sargeant, "if I hear one more word I instantly then will draw out my sword,
And run through your bodies as strength can afford, so now you gay devils take warnin'!"
But Arthur and I we took in the odds and we gave them no chance for to lunge out their swords,
Our trusty shillelidhs came over their heads, and bad them take that as fair warnin'.
As for the wee drummer, we rifled his pouch, and we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow,
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll, and bade it a tedious returnin'
And as for the rapiers that hung at their sides we flung them as far as we could in the tide,
"To the devil I bid ye!" cried Arthur McBride, "and temper their steel in the mornin'!"
|
||||
6. |
|
|||
|
Oh the town that climbs the mountains and looks out upon the sea,
At sleeping time or waking, tis there I long to be
To walk again those kindly streets, the place where life began
With the boys of Barr na Sraide who hunted for the wren
With cudgels stout they roamed about in search of dreolin
We searched for birds in every firze from Litir to Duneen
We danced for joy beneath the sky life held no print nor plan
When the boys of Barr na Sraide went hunting for the wren
And when the hills were bleeding and the rifles were aflame
To the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon stranger came
But the men who dared the Auxies and who fought the Black and Tans
Were the boys of Barr na Sraide who hunted for the wren
But now they toil in foreign soil where they have made their way
Deep in the heart of London town or over in Broadway
And I am left to sing their deeds and praise them while I can
Those boys of Barr na Sraide who hunted for the wren
So here's a health to them tonight wherever they may be
By the groves of Carham River or the slopes of Bi na Ti
John Daly and Batt Andy, the Shehans, Conn and Dan
Those boys of Barr na Sraide who hunted for the wren
And when the wheel of life runs out and peace comes over me,
Just carry me back to that old town between the hills and sea
I'll take my rest in those green fields, the place where life began,
With the boys of Barr na Sraide, who hunted for the wren.
|
||||
7. |
Back to Tyrone
03:32
|
|
||
8. |
The Auld Triangle
02:31
|
|
||
|
As
|
||||
9. |
Road to Glory
04:16
|
|
||
|
Born in the country where life's never tiring
Where people from cities, they drove down admiring
The mountains and rivers they always imagined
To never have substance at all
I once met an old man who told me a story
Of a great empire living in glory
I sat down beside him and listened intently
But couldn't find meaning at all
On the road to glory
On the road, always without a prayer
On the road, the road to nowhere
And I pray that there's somebody there
I've seen in the papers, I read the opinions
Of high-flying critics who scorn at the millions
Of ordinary people who live in the shadows
And search for a light in the dark
I'm traveling this road and I'm playing in places
To handfuls of people with hope in their faces
They're asking me questions and searching for meanings
In songs I can't give them at all
CH
Living in the city you know it ain't easy
The cars and the taxis are passing so quickly
I sometimes imagine there's nobody listening
To the songs that I'm singing at all
I'm sitting here singing this song by the river
Looking at towers and grey concrete buildings
I'm dreaming of Ireland and wet summer evenings
And wishing I was back home again
|
||||
Maggie Drennon New York, New York
Maggie Drennon is a premiere voice in Celtic singing, a long standing influence in folk music. She was a founding member of
Ceili's Muse in 1989, and SixMileBridge in 1997
Now, with a solo performance that is meaningful yet lighthearted, she is deeply devoted to sharing Celtic traditions with American audiences.
Most importantly she brings us the soaring voice that will inspire your heart!
... more
If you like Unabridged, you may also like:
Scottish harpist and singer Rachel Newton brings an innovative, intensely emotional touch to traditional music on this dreamy LP.
go to album
Would the Light Hold Me
by Oceanique
Celtic-inspired instrumentation, delicate harmonies, and reflective lyrics abound on the sisterly indie-folk duo's debut album.
go to album
Wealth of Sorrow
by Cahalen Morrison
Bright and skipping songs that foreground the sound of the banjo and fingerstyle guitar in music that feels timeless.
go to album
From Cork, Ireland, Lewis Barfoot writes mystic, majestic songs derived from regional folk, with an ambient music aura.
go to album
Feel The Ground You Walk Upon
by Lewis McLaughlin
Old-fashioned fiddles harmonize with rippling synths on the Scottish singer-songwriter's latest collection of original folk songs.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Jul 27, 2021
go to album
Long Time To Be Gone
by Nora Brown
Nora Brown continues to bring nuance and resonance to her modern interpretation of Appalachian folk and bluegrass on her latest LP.
go to album
