The Cowgirl's Lovesong

This week's song comes from Sue Harding:

When I began to write songs for the Angel Ridge project, it was like beginning again in a whole new genre.  Things that started out as 'sampler' pieces as I tentatively began to explore the conventions of Americana folk turned out better than expected and I piled on the conventions both musically and lyrically just to see what would happen.

I am not an American and despite a shared folk heritage, this is not my tradition. I'm a complete fake. My perceptions of the American West are informed by the Cowboy films my dad watched on TV.  

Later when the music got me, anything from Blue Grass to Gospel to Rock and Roll, I created my own Wild West which became a place where anything could happen: a place for pioneers of all kinds and a perfect back drop for the human drama. I peopled this imaginary landscape with characters drawn unashamedly from a cast of stereotypes and cliches.  What I want is for the the story telling which drives these songs to have emotional integrity and to resonate with a contemporary listener.

The Cow girl's love song is celebratory even if there is no happy ending.  Unlike so many traditional folk songs where the abandoned girl is a helpless victim, the cowgirl in my song embraces  her experience. In my imaginary west, the figure of the  cowgirl has feminist overtones.  I suspect that the historical truth is far from that, but for me in this song she is a fully functional human being in  control of her own sexual and emotional destiny and a true pioneer. 

Sue

When Johnny said meet me
Where the creek gives the rise
He’d a slide to his hips
And fire in his eyes
I’m glad he remembered my name

It’s his wild words that won me
When he said I’d be dressed
In stars and the night
I thought I’d been blessed
I'm not looking for someone to blame

Where you been Johnny Slim
Where you been?
Blown with the wind
Johnny Slim
Till the next time we meet
Oh the memory’s sweet
You know you won’t stay very long

If he stole those sweet words
Well he never took nothing from me
When I’m with my Johnny
I'm free like a bee
I know he’ll go South all the same

But one night with Johnny
Sweet flowers hung on the breeze
I soaked up his songs
'Neath the sycamore tree
My happy heart a flickering flame

Where you been Johnny Slim
Where you been?
Flown with the birds
Johnny Slim
Till the next time we meet
Oh the memory’s sweet
You know you won’t stay very long

In the light all his fine words
Were gone but I swear
Love stuck in his throat
Like a long lost prayer
Adrift on the air as he whispered my name

Where you been Johnny Slim
Where you been?
Gone with the wind
Johnny Slim
Till the next time we meet
Oh the memory’s sweet
You know you won’t stay very long 

Sovay Sovay

In some respects I'm surprised that we've gone this long without a cross-dressing song! This lover's test (Roud number 5) is a popular one for singers having been done in its various guises by Martin Carthy , Anne Briggs, Bert Jansch and Chris Sarjeant to name a few.

The name Sovay appears in various forms such as Silvy, Shilo, Sally etc and is most likely a corruption of Sophie or Sylvie. The time signature is, to quote Martin Carthy quoting Bert Lloyd, "a beautiful illustration of (the) notion that all English folk music is cast in the time signature of one beat in a bar". If you look at the way that the song was originally performed to collectors such as is recorded in the Butterworth and Hammond notes, you can see the different ways they dealt with the irregularities of the singers and in Martin Carty's notes on the song, he purposefully wrote the tune without bar lines to give the stronger emphasis on a free flowing tune.

 This week John Wilson provides vocals and guitar:

"Lovers test each others commitment in numerous ways. None perhaps as graphic as a woman dressing as a highwayman, pointing a gun at her boyfriend and demanding a gold ring, given as a token of true love. The song's presumed happy conclusion is that even under the threat of death, the man does not give up the ring, and in so doing demonstrates that he will not give up his love either. Convinced of her boyfriend's depth of feeling the disguised woman spares his life. In this version of the traditional song the woman's explains why she has devised this test. As the song ends here, we assume all is well. What might be illuminating however is a final verse which would indicate the man's true reaction to his humiliating ordeal.

"Sovay sovay I should just like to say
That it was all very well to test me that way
If only you'd trusted our depth of romance
I wouldn't be standing, standing in a pair of soiled pants."

This, of course, is not a serious suggestion.

As it stands, it works as a complete story set out in economic terms with some perfectly compressed prose. In this, and the fact that it is taken from the point of view of a strong female lead, it is modern in tone. It is therefore a perfect candidate for a model of performance which requires an uncluttered and quick style of presentation. My version owes a debt to Martin Carthy, and in particular the version recorded with Brass Monkey."

John

Sovay, Sovay all on a day
She dressed herself in man's array
With a sword and a pistol all by her side
To meet her true love to meet her true love away did ride.

And as she was a-riding over the plain
She met her true love and bid him stand
Your gold and silver kind sir she said
Or else this moment or else this moment your life I'll have.

And when she'd robbed him of his store
She says kind sir there is one thing more
A golden ring which I know you have
Deliver it deliver it your sweet life to save.

Oh that golden ring a token is
My life I'll lose the ring I'll save.
Being tender-hearted just like a dove
She rode away she rode away from her true love.

Oh next morning in the garden green
Just like true lovers they were seen
Oh he spied his watch hanging by her clothes
And it made him blush made him blush like any rose.

Oh what makes you blush at so silly a thing
I thought to have had your golden ring
It was I that robbed you all on the plain
So here's your watch here's your watch and your gold again.

I did intend and it was to know
If that you were me true love or no
For if you'd have give me that ring she said
I'd have pulled the trigger I'd have pulled the trigger and shot you dead.

Rounding the Horn

Rounding Cape Horn was one of the most treacherous sea navigations that a ship could undertake and was the quickest route to Chile until the dawn of air travel. In this song, despite the ship being kitted out with all new sails and rigging, two souls are lost despite the best efforts of the crew; however the rewards for a sailor seem to fully make up for the journey although on leaving one wonders how they were getting back home! It's certainly a ripping yarn with the camaraderie between the ship mates and those on other ships providing an excellent backdrop to the action. A real spurring tale to have at a sing around!

As a geographical note, it has to be said in the third verse that the Magellan strait is not close to the Horn itself, the term "beating off" must be taken with a pinch of salt methinks (any other suggestions?)

This song, collected from Mr W Bolton in 1907 by Anne Gilchrist was published by Bert Lloyd and Ralph Vaughan Williams in the Penguin Book of English Folk Songs is a surprising rarity in that only one other variation on it has been collected, again by Gilchrist, maybe it was just that good...

Tim and Rob perform this one

The gallant frigate, Amphitrite, she lay in Plymouth Sound,
Blue Peter stood at the foremast head for she was outward bound;
We were waiting there for orders to send us far from home;
Our orders came for Rio, and thence around Cape Horn.

When we arrived at Rio we prepared for heavy gales;
We set up all our rigging, boys, and bent on all new sails.
From ship to ship they checred us as we did sail along,
And wished us pleasant weather in rounding of Cape Horn.

While beating off Magellan Strait it blew exceeding hard;
Whilst shortening sail two gallant tars fell from the topsail yard.
By angry seas the ropes we threw fiom their poor hands were torn
And we were forced to leave them to the sharks that prowl around
Cape Horn.

When we got round the Horn, my boys, we had some glorious days
And very soon our killick dropped in Valparaiso Bay.
The pretty girls came down to us; I solemnly declare
They are far before the Plymouth girls with their long and curling hair.

They love a jolly sailor when he spends his money free;
They'll laugh and sing and merry, merry be, and have a jovial spree.
And when our money is all gone they won't on you impose,
They are not like the Plymouth girls that'll pawn and sell your clothes.

Farewell to Valparaiso, farewell for a while,
Likewise to all the Spanish girls all on the coast of Chile;
And if ever l live to be paid off l'll sit and sing this song:
"God bless those pretty Spanish girls we left around Cape Horn."

The Manchester Rambler

Happy Sunday greetings to all and sundry, today's song is sung by Will, the youngest of our regulars:

"I don't like to read political agendas into folk songs (although this could provide interesting research for anyone with the time) and generally I'll sing a song regardless of its underlying message, but coming from a cooperative youth movement and being pretty lefty myself I suppose there's a certain resonance to me in lines like 'no man has a right to the mountains, no more than the deep ocean bed'. I'm a sucker for sentiment really.

Other than that its another of your fairly generic 'rambling loner' songs, the kind that we all like because of that romantic ideal of travelling, but on a deeper level I suppose it could also be read as an expression of detachment from conventional society. It's from the pen of Ewan MacColl, a prominent skit and song writer for the British Communist party in the '30s and it was written just after the symbolic mass-trespass of Kinder Scout."

'Comrade' Will

I've been over Snowdon, I've slept upon Crowdon,
I've camped by the Wain Stones as well,
I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burned to a cinder,
And many more things I can tell.
My rucksack has oft been me pillow,
The heather has oft been me bed,
And sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead.

Chorus: I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way,
I get all me pleasure the hard moorland way,
I may be a wage slave on Monday,
But I am a free man on Sunday.

There's pleasure in dragging through peat bogs and bragging
Of all the fine walks that you know;
There's even a measure of some kind of pleasure
In wading through ten feet of snow.
I've stood on the edge of the Downfall,
And seen all the valleys outspread,
And sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead.

The day was just ending and I was descending
Through Grindsbrook just by Upper-Tor,
When a voice cried, "Hey, you!", in the way keepers do,
(He'd the worst face that ever I saw).
The things that he said were unpleasant;
In the teeth of his fury I said
"Sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead"

He called me a louse and said "Think of the grouse".
Well I thought, but I still couldn't see
Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about
Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me.
He said "All this land is my master's".
At that I stood shaking my head,
No man has the right to own mountains
Any more than the deep ocean bed

I once loved a maid, a spot welder by trade,
She was fair as the Rowan in bloom,
And the bloom of her eye matched the blue moorland sky,
I wooed her from April to June.
On the day that we should have been married,
I went for a ramble instead,
For sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead

So I'll walk where I will over mountain and hill
And I'll lie where the bracken is deep,
I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains
Where the grey rocks lie rugged and steep.
I've seen the white hare in the gulleys,
And the curlew fly high overhead,
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.

While Gamekeepers are Sleeping

Everyone enjoys a tale of the rogue who comes out on top and this is one of my favourite examples of those stories, the chap in this one shows himself to have a heart as well as a smart mind.

The main character in this song is a poacher who, despite all odds, comes up good and always has a trick up his sleeve to help out. A good natured man at heart wherever he appears in the various versions of this song, in this version he helps out a couple in need despite one of them being an officer of the law who once arrested him, the words certainly point to a generous nature rather than guilt for on the part of his deception earlier in the plot, certainly a positive message and one that resonates kindly with all who hear the words.

This version, recorded in 1977, was sung by Bob Roberts on the Isle of Wight though there are several different versions recorded in Hampshire, Sussex, Kent and Suffolk. Roberts himself came from Dorset originally so this is clearly a song born the the fields in the Southern counties.

The singer this week is Rosemary Lippard with guitar by Tim. Rose cites June Tabor's excellent version on 'airs and graces' as one of her inspirations for her vocals on the song.

Tim

I've got a long-legged lurcher dog
And I keeps him in my keeping
He'd run a hare on a winter's night
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

One day a policeman collared me
To have me in his keeping
Your brindle made a moonlight raid
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

I seen her come out of the wood
Across the fields right speeding
A partridge she had in her mouth
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

But my dog's black and white you see
So I'm not for your keeping
He couldn't see I'd brindled she
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

One day his wife fell mortal ill
He had to give up policing
But I dropped on by his door each night
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

She fed so well on pheasant broth
Her colour come back creeping
So long as my dog roamed abroad
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

My bitch she pupped, I gave him one
For to have in his own keeping
He left the force and now roams like me
Whilst the gamekeepers lie sleeping x 2

Many thanks to Elliott Kember for this recording

When Spring Comes in

I was feeling rather Springy this week and so asked Rob for some notes on this pretty little number that he sings so well:

"Still a while to go before Spring gets sprung, but the days are begining to lengthen, and we are seeing one or two bright clear days.

'When Spring Comes In' is from the collection of the Copper family of Rottingdean, Sussex, and may not even have been collected anywhere else. It heads up the chapter for April in Bob Copper's book A Song For Every Season, and is one of my favourite seasonal songs, and though it does have a somewhat 'lost England' faux nostalgia feel to it now, I don't think there's anything wrong with a bit of romanticism now and again.

It is not a particularly complex song, either musically or lyrically but it does remind us rather neatly that although Spring is a time of new life and new beginnings, nevertheless "..the daffa-down dillys which we admire, will die and fade away". Alan Seeger the American poet killed in action in World War I, wrote that "I Have a Rendezvous with Death ... When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear". It may be Springtime, but the old guy with the scythe is never far away.

Nonetheless, it is a great upbeat and fun song to sing, especially when surrounded by good ale and good company. As Bob copper says in that same chapter:

"Although a song sung alone on the hillside under the wide blue sky helps the day along, a song with good companions in the hot smoky atmosphere of the tap-room is something altogether more cheery and satisfying."

I'll second that."

Rob

When Spring comes on then the birds do sing,
The lambs do skip and the bells do ring
While we enjoy their glorious charm so noble and so gay.

Chorus: The primrose blooms, the cowslips too,
The violets in their sweet retire, the roses shining through the briar,
And the daffodown-dillies which we admire will die and fade away.

Young men and maidens will be seen
On mountains high and meadows green,
They will talk of love and sport and play
While them young lambs do skip away,
At night they homeward wend their way
When evening stars appear.

(Chorus)

The dairymaid to milking goes, her blooming cheeks as red as a rose,
And she carries her pail all on her arm so cheerful and so gay,
She milks, she sings, and the valleys ring.
The small birds on the branches there sit listening to this lovely fair
For she is her master's trust and care,
She is the ploughman's joy.

(Chorus)

The Two Sisters

One of the most popular of the popular ballads, Child #10, this song has spawned hundreds of variants, especially in the Norse speaking countries, Child himself points towards versions in Iceland, Norway, the Faroe Islands and Sweden.

Hell hath no fury like a jealous sister and when a suitor chooses her younger sister over her, the balance is tipped! This version is taken from Miss Louisa Chisholm in Virginia in one of Cecil Sharp's expeditions to the America and was published in the second of his 'Appalachian Folk Songs' series.

When interpreting this song, I made the choice to consider the fact that it is never explicitly stated that the young girl dies to bring the old maxim "Tragedy + Time = Comedy", the idea being that the young girl is looking back on this experience with humour because she stayed "true to her love". This brings us to the refrains of the song and particularly the final one; that will be true, true to my love, love and my love will be true to me. I discussed with Rob what it could possibly mean and why the second 'love' was in there. I decided that it made more sense to split the refrain into two voices, one saying "that will be true love and my love will be true to me" and the other voices joining in full chorus to support the statement that love wins the day!

This is a popular song in our sessions so you'll hear that everyone knows the words (or there abouts!)

Tim

There was an old lord by the Northern sea
Bow down
There was an old lord by the Northern sea
The boughs they bend to me
There was and old lord by the Northern sea
And he had daughters one, two, three
That will be true, true to my love, love and my love will be true to me

A young man he came a-courting there
And he made a choice of the youngest fair

Bought the youngest a beaver hat
The eldest she thought much of that

Bought the youngest a gay gold ring
Didn't get the eldest anything

"Sister oh sister shall we walk out
To see the tall ships sailing about?"

And as they walked down by the water's brim
The eldest pushed the youngest in

"Sister oh sister lend me your hand
And I'll give you my houses and land"

"I'll never give you my hand nor glove
And I will steal your own true love"

So down she sank and away she swam
Swam right into the miller's dam

The miller he pulled her out of the brook
pulled her on out with his long fishing hook

And off of her hand pulled her gay gold ring
And into the water he pushed her again!

The miller was hung by his own mill gate
And the sister was burned right at the stake