Too Good to Burn

This week's song is based on a poem by Brendan Hamley:

Musician and poet Brendan Hamley has written verse online under the pseudonym of Stonepoem since the early days of the internet. In 2004 he created one of the web's first poetry blogs for the purposes of publishing a poem a day, everyday for a year.

Too Good to Burn was written after an evening of campfires, kinship and song beneath the magnificent 3,000 year old White Horse and Downland Neolithic site at Uffington, Oxfordshire. "At the end of the night, whilst tending the dying flames and watching the embers flicker and rise into the night sky, It felt like we were part of a tradition stretching back hundreds if not thousands of years. It is a poem about being called out to by unknown ancestors and answering them through fire and song. Tim's interpretation of the spirit of this, is uncanny. It was written in a metre and with folk song in mind, and has been patiently waiting to be sung by the right person for several years"

Brendan & Tim

Below the moon at Uffington
between the folds of chalkhill gown,
we sit beneath the White Horse stars,
see flames and sing this song.

O’ Stars and embers dance your crown
as woodsmoke turns the hour’s dust,
and as we do these things we must,
this night it shall be ours

Above, see nervous lanterns rise
like strange birds from another time,
we wait below this all tonight,
and contemplate the flow.

Stars and embers dance your crown
as woodsmoke turns the hour’s dust,
and as we do these things we must,
we know, this night is ours.

Below the moon at Uffington
we sing beneath your ancient night
we contemplate the eventide
and tell of White Horse downs.

So stars and embers raise your crown,
as woodsmoke turns, the hours must -
we hold our simple truth to trust,
the night indeed is ours.

Now sit, and sing with us.

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Ballad of Cursed Anna

This week's piece of psychoanalysis is sung by Rob Winder:

"This song is not a traditional song, but it has got woods in it, and a witch, so that’s alright then.

It was written by Jonathon Kelly, and appears on his album “Twice Around the House” (1972) along with such other gems as “Sligo Fair” and “Madeleine. Over the years, he has performed with, or been associated with many great artists, ranging from Eric Clapton, through the Bee Gees, Pink Floyd to Queen. I believe that Tommy Steele once performed a version of the Ballad of the Cursed Anna on TV.

I love the rhythms of this song, but, as with all great ballads it is the storyline which grabs me most. It is stark and simple, yet at the same time it resonates with so much in the way of folklore and fairy tale motifs. All around the world you will find tales of scary woods that contain magical or dangerous creatures and places – Hansel & Gretel’s gingerbread house, Baba Yaga’s house of bones, even Teddy Bears’ picnics, all must be approached with caution – and Kelly’s woodland is no different. The protagonist here throws caution to the winds, and pays a heavy price.

He also fits the picture of Jung’s archetype of The Innocent, who desires paradise / home, is happy, is naive, and is something of a romantic or dreamer. Jung also ascribes to The Innocent a fear of being punished for doing something bad or wrong, and we are told right at the outset that our man has just been released from prison, but doesn't know why he was there. The song ends with him being sentenced to a kind of imprisonment from which he may never be freed.

Anna is of course a succubus, the immortal seductress who gains her power by draining men of their souls. She is a Siren, she is Circe, she is Delilah. Like all good myths, it is a never ending story: the cycle of the foolish young man, gaining experience then becoming the wise but ignored old man, goes on forever, each man in turn playing the portrait to Anna’s Dorian Grey. I have no idea whether Jonathon Kelly drew on any kind of personal experience when writing it, but I suspect that at some level many men will relate to this song.

So much for psychobabble, just enjoy the song."

Rob



As I was walking homeward in the early morning light
Leaving far behind the prison where I'd spent the night
With no idea of what I'd done or why they'd punished me
But feeling nonetheless relieved and grateful to be free.

My path led through a woodland far behind a rusted gate
I knew it was a shortcut if I kept my walking straight
But then, like out of nowhere, this old wizened man appeared
Holding high his one hand while the other stroked his beard.

Ch: "Beware the cursed Anna's stare", this warning did he bring
"No-one makes it through this wood, going out as they came in!"

"But a change is what I'm looking for", I told the sad old man
And bidding him a last farewell into the wood I ran
I ran till I came to the river where I stopped to bathe my feet
And that is where I smelled her perfume delicate and sweet.

I stood up and I turned around and there in front of me
Stood a beautiful woman who simply stared at me
And then I knew it was all true what this old man had advised
"You must be Anna", I said, as I looked into her eyes.

Ch:

And then we came together in a passionate embrace
I felt my body weaken and my heart begin to race
And when at last the kissing stopped I saw to my alarm
This woman had turned into a young girl in my arms.

I heard her childish laughter as she vanished through the trees
I turned back to the river, my reflection for to see
And down there in the water saw exactly as I feared
To my horror I'd turned into an old man with a beard.

For seven long years I've waited by this gate, wishing that I could die
But that can never happen till some other young man comes by
I know that I must warn him to go round some other way
But hope that, like most men of his age, he won't believe what old men say.

Ch:

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Angel Ridge

This week's song is another beautifully penned number from Sue Harding:

Angel Ridge is a shiny new housing estate in Swindon that I'd pass every day on my way to work. I'd look at the sign pointing smartly up the hill and wonder what might happen to a soul in a place with such a resonant name. Later as I tried to craft lyrics for songs in the Americana style I listened to the folk singers of the last century, to bluegrass and gospel, early rock and roll and the blues. Angel Ridge had to be a love song but when I was done it had also soaked up some of the religious imagery and redemptive themes of the music I was listening to. I tried to keep the language simple, to re use some of the stock phrases and to embrace the naivety and unexpected quality of the juxtaposition of ideas and images that I so love in mountain music. Musically, the guitar part with its swinging base was a challenge for me but I wanted something old timey, up-beat and joyous and for the same reason I wanted the piece to have room for lots of harmonies and to build at the end in a way that lifts the heart as should a journey to Angel Ridge. Later Lou Baxter and I named our duo after the song and recorded it with full harmonies and a guitar solo.

Sue

Sue has been a regular attender of the session for a long time and is sadly leaving us to work in Abu Dhabi. We all wish her the very best... maybe we could do a skype session!?

Left my old ways on the bus

Headed out of town

Passed the pines and the old saw mill

Where we used to hang around

Walked a while beside the creek

Down by Baker's bridge

Took the steep old timer's trail

Up to Angel Ridge

My darling sent a message

The warmest sweetest sound

He said meet me up on Angel Ridge

To see the sun go down.

My baby's sweet as honey

And gentle as a dove

Gonna tell him I'm sorry

And offer him my love.

I'm dreaming by the river

Down by Baker's Bridge

Heading on up like a feather

Onto Angel Ridge.

I've been reckless, I've been wild

Lord knows I've been gone

Running like a wayward child

With my red shoes on

My baby's like a tiger

And patient as a stone

Gonna take me as I am

So I can come on home

I'm running to that river

Down by baker's bridge

Gonna see my sweet baby

Up on Angel Ridge

I'll find the warmest surest thing

I have ever found

Waiting up on Angel ridge

To see the sun go down

And I have his forgiveness

And he has sure got mine

We'll sleep out on a blanket

Underneath the pines

I'm running to that river

And over Baker's bridge

Gonna find my sweet sweet love

Up on Angel Ridge

Please help us bring more folk music to Bath;

Boys of Bedlam

This week's song is sung by Matt Bragg:

Versions of “Boys of Bedlam” have been around since at least the Sixteenth Century. The lyrics refer to “Tom O’Bedlam”, an expression used to describe mentally ill beggars: “Bedlam” being a reference to Bethlem Royal Hospital in London, the world's first and oldest institution to specialise in mental illnesses (a hospital bearing the name still treats mental health patients to this day). Indeed the character “Mad Maudlin” refers to Mary Magdalene Hospital, then the corresponding institution for female patients. The version I perform is actually more of an “answer song” to the original poem (variously “Mad Maudlin’s Search” or “Bedlam Boys”), although there are, typically, no “definitive” renderings and the various versions all blur into one another.

I first came across the song, a vivid evocation of madness, from seeing the great Maddy Prior perform it in support of her album “Year” (1993)http://spoti.fi/RSVemy . This then led me back to the Martin Carthy-led version that appears on the second Steeleye Span album “Please to See the King” (1971) http://spoti.fi/OFuzVM . I basically kept their lyrics and melody which are taken from the multi-volume “Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy” by Thomas d'Urfey (published between 1698 and 1720), the earliest printed version of the song. I worked the guitar arrangement up from this in DADGAD tuning, the key shifting between D minor and D major.

Boys of Bedlam

For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand miles I've traveled.
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes,
For to save her shoes from gravel

Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys
Bedlam boys are bonny
For they all go bare and they live by the air
And they want no drink or money

I went down to Satan's kitchen
To get me food one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning.

Still I sing… etc

My staff has murdered giants
My bag a long knife carries
To cut mince pies from children's thighs
For which to feed the fairies.

Still I sing… etc


And when that I have murdered
The man in the moon to a powder
His staff I'll break and his dog I'll shake
And there'll howl no demon louder

Still I sing… etc

For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand years I've traveled.
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes,
For to save her shoes from gravel

Still I sing… etc


Please help us bring more folk music to Bath;

The King's Song

Another calling on song this week, this was sung by Rose at a session a little while ago and I took the chance of recording it again for a festival we were performing at. This song is taken from "The Hunton sword-dance' and would introduce the characters for the play, I can, however, find little information on the dance and play itself except that the song was collected from Kitt Wells by Maud Karpeles and published in the EDFSS Journal in 1928. This version was learned from an old Pete and Chris Coe recording entitled 'Out of Season, Out of Rhyme'.

Tim

Make us room for we are a-coming

All for to let you understand

What and of late we have been a-doing

Since we left your foreign land

The first to come in it is Lord Nelson

He is the hero of this isle

He that has won the garland of victory

At the battle of the Nile

The next to come in is the Duke of Wellington

He that has fought his passage through

He that has won the garland of victory

On the plains of Waterloo

The next to come in is Tom the tinker

All you kettles he will mend

So if you dare to let him venture

Tom will treat you as a friend

The next to come in is the highlander laddie

He's got ships all on the main

Merchandise of every description

Since he's returning home again

The last to some in is Dick the cobbler

He's got little for to lose

But for a poor and ragged waistcoat

And a pair of clouted shoes

Make us room for we are a-coming

All for to let you understand

What and of late we have been a-doing

Since we left your foreign land