Hot Asphalt Lyrics And Chords
The sheet music /tin whistle tab for Hot Asphalt is in the Dubliners ebook of tabs
The sheet music and mandolin / banjo tab is included.The Dubliners. Another similar that was also sang by the late Luke Kelly is England's Motorway Song. - This folk song is credited to Ewan McColl, although Ewan did not write the original , which dates back to 1880's , this is his version, I'm sure the tune is Scottish, Anyway The Dubliners made it famous again, fair play' with Luke Kelly singing, Ronnie Drew on Guitar John Sheehan on fiddle and Barney McKenna on banjo. The second set of guitar chords are the one's that are played on the Dubliners youtube version. Also recorded by The Corries, The Wolfe Tones, The Pogues and The Dublin City Ramblers, Irish singer George Murphy, The Mary Wallopers. The youtube video is by The Dubliners [ lyrics ].
Hot Asphalt is a traditional folk song with a long history and deep roots in the Irish and Celtic music traditions. It has been sung and passed down through generations, evolving and adapting over time, yet still retaining its powerful and timeless message.
The song has a simple, yet captivating melody and lyrics that tell a story of love, heartache, and the harsh realities of life. It has been recorded by numerous artists, both in its traditional form and in more modern interpretations, making it a beloved and versatile piece of music that continues to resonate with audiences today.
The origins of Hot Asphalt can be traced back to Ireland in the 19th century, where it was known as a street ballad sung by Irish laborers. These workers, often immigrants and marginalized in society, would sing the song as they toiled in construction and road building, using the familiar tune and lyrics to lift their spirits and pass the time. This is reflected in the song's chorus, which declares, 'I'm off to work on the railroad, with pick and shovel in my hand.'
The lyrics of Hot Asphalt tell the story of a young man who leaves his true love behind to seek work on the railroad, leaving her with a promise to return when he has made enough money. However, as he travels and works, he encounters many temptations and distractions, eventually succumbing to the 'hot asphalt' of the title – a metaphor for the allure of the city and its vices. The song's narrator reflects on his actions, regretting the choices he made and the pain he has caused his loved one.
The themes of love, loss, and temptation in the song are universal and have resonated with audiences for centuries. The longing for a better life and the sacrifices one must make to achieve it are sentiments that are still relevant today. Hot Asphalt captures the struggles and dreams of the working class, as well as the harsh realities of leaving loved ones behind for the pursuit of a better future.
Over the years, Hot Asphalt has been recorded by various artists, each adding their own unique flair to the song. One of the earliest known recordings is by Irish folk singer Margaret Barry, who recorded the song in the 1950s. Since then, it has been covered by renowned musicians such as The Dubliners with Luke Kelly on Vocals, The Clancy Brothers, to name a few. The song has also been adapted by contemporary artists, such as Irish-American group Solas, who infused it with a modern twist while still staying true to its traditional roots.
The song has a simple, yet captivating melody and lyrics that tell a story of love, heartache, and the harsh realities of life. It has been recorded by numerous artists, both in its traditional form and in more modern interpretations, making it a beloved and versatile piece of music that continues to resonate with audiences today.
The origins of Hot Asphalt can be traced back to Ireland in the 19th century, where it was known as a street ballad sung by Irish laborers. These workers, often immigrants and marginalized in society, would sing the song as they toiled in construction and road building, using the familiar tune and lyrics to lift their spirits and pass the time. This is reflected in the song's chorus, which declares, 'I'm off to work on the railroad, with pick and shovel in my hand.'
The lyrics of Hot Asphalt tell the story of a young man who leaves his true love behind to seek work on the railroad, leaving her with a promise to return when he has made enough money. However, as he travels and works, he encounters many temptations and distractions, eventually succumbing to the 'hot asphalt' of the title – a metaphor for the allure of the city and its vices. The song's narrator reflects on his actions, regretting the choices he made and the pain he has caused his loved one.
The themes of love, loss, and temptation in the song are universal and have resonated with audiences for centuries. The longing for a better life and the sacrifices one must make to achieve it are sentiments that are still relevant today. Hot Asphalt captures the struggles and dreams of the working class, as well as the harsh realities of leaving loved ones behind for the pursuit of a better future.
Over the years, Hot Asphalt has been recorded by various artists, each adding their own unique flair to the song. One of the earliest known recordings is by Irish folk singer Margaret Barry, who recorded the song in the 1950s. Since then, it has been covered by renowned musicians such as The Dubliners with Luke Kelly on Vocals, The Clancy Brothers, to name a few. The song has also been adapted by contemporary artists, such as Irish-American group Solas, who infused it with a modern twist while still staying true to its traditional roots.
Here are the guitar chords as played by The Dubliners on the youtube video. They are only slightly different than the chords above.
Good [Em]evening all my jolly lads, I'm glad to find you [D]well,
If you'll g[Em]ather all around me now the st[D]ory I will tell,
For I've g[Em]ot a situation and beg[G]orrah and beg[D]ob,
I can wh[Em]isper all the weekly wage of n[Em]ineteen bob.
'Tis tw[G]elve months come October since I left me native home,
After helping the Killarney boys to [D]bring the harvest down.
But n[Em]ow I wear the geansai and around me waist a [D]belt.
I'm the g[Em]affer of the squad that makes the hot asphalt.
CHORUS:
Well, we [G]laid it in a hollows and we laid it in the flat.
And if it doesn't last forever sure I [D]swear I'll eat me hat,
Well, I've [Em]wandered up and down the world and sure I never [D]felt
any s[Em]urface that was equal to the hot asphalt.
Good [Em]evening all my jolly lads, I'm glad to find you [D]well,
If you'll g[Em]ather all around me now the st[D]ory I will tell,
For I've g[Em]ot a situation and beg[G]orrah and beg[D]ob,
I can wh[Em]isper all the weekly wage of n[Em]ineteen bob.
'Tis tw[G]elve months come October since I left me native home,
After helping the Killarney boys to [D]bring the harvest down.
But n[Em]ow I wear the geansai and around me waist a [D]belt.
I'm the g[Em]affer of the squad that makes the hot asphalt.
CHORUS:
Well, we [G]laid it in a hollows and we laid it in the flat.
And if it doesn't last forever sure I [D]swear I'll eat me hat,
Well, I've [Em]wandered up and down the world and sure I never [D]felt
any s[Em]urface that was equal to the hot asphalt.
Good [Em]evening all my jolly lads, I'm [G]glad to find you [D]well,
If you'll g[Em]ather all around me now the st[D]ory I will tell,
For I've g[Em]ot a situation and beg[G]orrah and beg[D]ob,
I can wh[Em]isper all the weekly w[D]age of n[Em]ineteen bob.
'Tis tw[G]elve months come October since I l[G]eft me native home,
After h[Em]elping the Killarney boys to br[D]ing the harvest down.
But n[Em]ow I wear the geansai and ar[G]ound me waist a b[D]elt.
I'm the g[Em]affer of the squad that m[D]akes the h[Em]ot asphalt.
CHORUS:
Well, we l[G]aid it in a hollows and we l[G]aid it in the flat.
And if it d[Em]oesn't last forever sure I sw[D]ear I'll eat me hat,
Well, I've w[Em]andered up and down the world and s[G]ure I never f[D]elt
any s[Em]urface that was equal t[D]o the h[Em]ot asphalt.
The other night a copper comes and he says to me: "McGuire,
Would you kindly let me light me pipe down at your boiler fire?"
And he planks himself right down in front, with hobnails up, till late,
And says I: "Me decent man, you'd better go and find your bate!"
He ups and yells, "I'm down on you I'm up to all yer pranks,
Don't I know you for a traitor from the Tipperary ranks?"
Boys I hit straight from the shoulder and I gave him such a belt
That I knocked him into the boiler full of hot asphalt.
(CHORUS)
We quickly dragged him out again and we threw him in the tub,
And with soap and warm water we began to rub and scrub,
But devil the thing, it hardened and it turned him hard as stone
And with every other rub sure you could hear the copper groan.
"I'm thinking", says O'Reilly, "that he's lookin' like Ould Nick,
And burn me if I am not inclined to claim him with me pick."
"Now", says I, "it would be 'asier to boil him till he melts,
and to stir him nice and 'asy in the hot asphalt."
(CHORUS)
You may talk about yer sailor-lads, ballad singers and the rest,
Your shoemakers and your tailors but we please the ladies best.
The only ones who know the way their flinty hearts to melt
are the lads around the boiler making hot asphalt.
With rubbing and with scrubbing sure I caught me death of cold,
and for scientific purposes me body it was sold,
In the Kelvingrove museum me boys, I'm hangin' in me pelt,
As a monument to the Irish mixing hot asphalt!
If you'll g[Em]ather all around me now the st[D]ory I will tell,
For I've g[Em]ot a situation and beg[G]orrah and beg[D]ob,
I can wh[Em]isper all the weekly w[D]age of n[Em]ineteen bob.
'Tis tw[G]elve months come October since I l[G]eft me native home,
After h[Em]elping the Killarney boys to br[D]ing the harvest down.
But n[Em]ow I wear the geansai and ar[G]ound me waist a b[D]elt.
I'm the g[Em]affer of the squad that m[D]akes the h[Em]ot asphalt.
CHORUS:
Well, we l[G]aid it in a hollows and we l[G]aid it in the flat.
And if it d[Em]oesn't last forever sure I sw[D]ear I'll eat me hat,
Well, I've w[Em]andered up and down the world and s[G]ure I never f[D]elt
any s[Em]urface that was equal t[D]o the h[Em]ot asphalt.
The other night a copper comes and he says to me: "McGuire,
Would you kindly let me light me pipe down at your boiler fire?"
And he planks himself right down in front, with hobnails up, till late,
And says I: "Me decent man, you'd better go and find your bate!"
He ups and yells, "I'm down on you I'm up to all yer pranks,
Don't I know you for a traitor from the Tipperary ranks?"
Boys I hit straight from the shoulder and I gave him such a belt
That I knocked him into the boiler full of hot asphalt.
(CHORUS)
We quickly dragged him out again and we threw him in the tub,
And with soap and warm water we began to rub and scrub,
But devil the thing, it hardened and it turned him hard as stone
And with every other rub sure you could hear the copper groan.
"I'm thinking", says O'Reilly, "that he's lookin' like Ould Nick,
And burn me if I am not inclined to claim him with me pick."
"Now", says I, "it would be 'asier to boil him till he melts,
and to stir him nice and 'asy in the hot asphalt."
(CHORUS)
You may talk about yer sailor-lads, ballad singers and the rest,
Your shoemakers and your tailors but we please the ladies best.
The only ones who know the way their flinty hearts to melt
are the lads around the boiler making hot asphalt.
With rubbing and with scrubbing sure I caught me death of cold,
and for scientific purposes me body it was sold,
In the Kelvingrove museum me boys, I'm hangin' in me pelt,
As a monument to the Irish mixing hot asphalt!
Sheet music for Hot Asphalt
Luke Kelly Hot Asphalt singer
Below is the banjo / mandolin tab which is basically the same as the sheet music above
Traditional and Original Songs of Ireland sung by BILL MEEK of Killinchy, County Down
Recorded and edited by Sandy Paton Notes by Bill Meek
Bill Meek, young Irish singer and composer of songs in the folk idiom, was reared in Killinchy but now farms in County Wicklow, near Dublin. Much of his spare time is taken up with writing for Radio Eiranne. His music represents the happy blend of old and new which is com- mon in the contemporary Irish folksong movement. he states in his notes:
As
"I was once asked whether my style of singing was typical. of the Irish folk music revival. The answer was 'No,' for the simple reason that there was never a sufficient decline in Irish folk music to necessitate a revival. I would say that to be reared in Ireland of Irish parents in itself makes one a captive to the traditions of Ireland. Then again, I write some of the songs that I sing. Yet this, far from removing one from the traditions of the country, places one, consciously, right in the tradition of the ballad makers, providing, of course, that the songs are accepted by the Irish people who hear them as their type of music. I believe that all the ballads and songs that have been made by Irishmen must be taken to lie somewhere within the bounds of the Irish tradition, whether they be love songs, patriotic songs, sleep songs, drinking songs, or narrative ballads. My criterion for judging them is not whether they are 'ethnic,' but whether I think they are good or bad. I doubt if any good Irish songs have been made with the Tin Pan Alley music industry in mind (although commercialism cannot be ruled out of the tradition, for the broadsheet vendors were certainly engaged on a commercial venture). I also believe the Gaelic influence to be the most important factor in the formation of the wonderful conglomeration that I consider to be the folk music of Ireland."
FOLK-LEGACY RECORDS, INC., recorded Bill Meek while he was working for a short time on a farm here in Huntington, Vermont. He and his wife were visiting this country and Bill worked at every stop, doing every- thing from haying on farms to assisting an anthropologist in research in the religious customs of an Indian tribe in the Southwest.
Side 1:
THE IMMIGRANT (MEEK)
SWEET CARNLOUGH BAY
HOT ASPHALT
THE LAMBS IN THE GREENFIELDS
ENNISKILLEN DRAGOON
THE COMPLAINT OF THE BARD (MEEK)
GENERAL MUNROE
THE AMERICAN WAKE
Side 2:
THE HOUSE AT THE CROSSROADS (MEEK)
CARRICKMANNON LAKE
THE HEROIC CRUBEEN (MEEK)
FOOTBALL CRAZY
THE ORANGE LILY-O
NEWRY MOUNTAIN
I'M A POOR STRANGER SKIBBEREEN
SLIEVE GALLEN BRAES
I was once asked whether my style of singing was typical of the Irish folk music revival. The answer was "No," for the simple reason that there was never a sufficient decline in Irish folk music to necessitate a revival. Yet I understand what was worrying the person who asked me that question. had heard unaccompanied singers who sang in the old Gaelic style either using the Irish language exclusively, or singing in English but phrasing both words and music in a way that showed direct Gaelic influence and he wondered how I fitted into such a pattern.
The question is a difficult one. Although we in Ireland know the answer, it is not easy to phrase it in such a way as to convey the situation to one who is not acquainted with Irish life and, in particular, Irish music as a vital part of Irish life. I would say that to be reaned in Ireland of Irish parents in itself makes one a captive to the traditions of Ireland. These traditions are strong, and the fact that one plays an accompaniment to oneself on the guitar is hardly a powerful enough weapon to escape them. Then again, I write some of the songs that I sing. Yet this, far from removing one from the traditions of the country, places one, consciously or unconsciously, right in the tradition of the ballad makers, providing, of course, that the songs are accepted by the Irish people who hear them as their type of music.
My own feelings as to what constitutes Irish folk music should be set down. I believe that all the ballads and songs that have been made by Irishmen must be taken to lie some- where within the bounds of the Irish tradition, whether they be love songs, patriotic songs, sleep songs, drinking songs, or narrative ballads. My criterion for judging them is not whether they are "ethnic," but whether I think they are good or bad. I must qualify my last statement by saying that I doubt if any good Irish songs have been written with the Tin Pan Alley music industry in mind (although commercialism can- not be ruled out of the tradition, for the broadsheet vendors were certainly engaged on a commercial venture). I also be- lieve the Gaelic influence to be the most important factor in the formation of the wonderful conglomeration that I con- sider to be the folk music of Ireland.
Ireland is a land that has been subject to many invasions and migrations Gaelic, Viking, Norman, Saxon, and Scots - and this has meant that many cultures have become intermingled. Although the invader was usually assimilated into Irish society, many becoming more Irish than the Irish themselves, this type of history has made for many traditions in one small island.
The Gaelic tradition survives strongly to this day, and thank goodness for that! Ireland has never been isolated from the cultural movements in the rest of the world, however, and music is no exception to this. This does not mean that there was any rivalry between the type of music that was strongly influenced by non-Celtic sources and the old music of the country. fact, the two became complementary to each other, influenced each other, and the people of Ireland loved the lot. Two songs come to mind that illustrate this Kelly the Boy From Killann and The Boys of Mullaghbawn. Both were more or less contempor- ary and both are in the English language, yet the former owes little to Gaelic sources whilst the latter is strongly influ- enced by such sources, both in the phrasing of the words and the music. But who can maintain that Kelly the Boy is totally outside the Irish tradition of ballad making
There seems to be a tendency in the United States to believe that a singer who has been exposed to a formal education is at once removed from his "folk" background. This may be a valid argument in the United States, but a brief glance at the history of Ireland will show that it is by no means true for that country. The Gaelic tradition, inevitably the strongest coultural influence on Irish music, was for centuries kept alive. through the efforts of the hedge-schoolmasters, despite official governmental oppression. It would be a mistake to think of these men as romantic, folksy characters who churned out gems of homespun philosophy. They were highly educated, erudite men, well acquainted with the classics in addition to being the propagators of the Gaelic tradition, which was, above all, a literary tradition. Likewise Carolan, Hempsey, O Neill, and the other great harpers of Ireland were highly accomplished musicians who didn't hesitate to make use of any new technique that they came across providing, of course, that they liked it. Indeed, a consideration of the harpers vividly illustrates the problem of defining Irish folk music. In the days of the Gaelic chiefs, the harper was a revered member of society and a constant companion of the chief. Because of this, and be- cause they underwent years of musical apprenticeship, it has been alleged that harpers did not play the music of the people. Yet who were the people? It is unwise to apply the modern concept of democracy to old Irish society. Yet one can say that it was not a "status" society as was prevalent throughout feudal Europe. It seems clear that a clan chieftain would not. have been perturbed because his swineherd might well be his second cousin. In such a society it seems unlikely that the chief and the swineherd did not share a common musical heritage. Even in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the harpers were dependent on the patronage of the Alglo-Irish gentry, it is clear that they were equally at home in the big house" or the poorest cottage on the estate.
Recorded and edited by Sandy Paton Notes by Bill Meek
Bill Meek, young Irish singer and composer of songs in the folk idiom, was reared in Killinchy but now farms in County Wicklow, near Dublin. Much of his spare time is taken up with writing for Radio Eiranne. His music represents the happy blend of old and new which is com- mon in the contemporary Irish folksong movement. he states in his notes:
As
"I was once asked whether my style of singing was typical. of the Irish folk music revival. The answer was 'No,' for the simple reason that there was never a sufficient decline in Irish folk music to necessitate a revival. I would say that to be reared in Ireland of Irish parents in itself makes one a captive to the traditions of Ireland. Then again, I write some of the songs that I sing. Yet this, far from removing one from the traditions of the country, places one, consciously, right in the tradition of the ballad makers, providing, of course, that the songs are accepted by the Irish people who hear them as their type of music. I believe that all the ballads and songs that have been made by Irishmen must be taken to lie somewhere within the bounds of the Irish tradition, whether they be love songs, patriotic songs, sleep songs, drinking songs, or narrative ballads. My criterion for judging them is not whether they are 'ethnic,' but whether I think they are good or bad. I doubt if any good Irish songs have been made with the Tin Pan Alley music industry in mind (although commercialism cannot be ruled out of the tradition, for the broadsheet vendors were certainly engaged on a commercial venture). I also believe the Gaelic influence to be the most important factor in the formation of the wonderful conglomeration that I consider to be the folk music of Ireland."
FOLK-LEGACY RECORDS, INC., recorded Bill Meek while he was working for a short time on a farm here in Huntington, Vermont. He and his wife were visiting this country and Bill worked at every stop, doing every- thing from haying on farms to assisting an anthropologist in research in the religious customs of an Indian tribe in the Southwest.
Side 1:
THE IMMIGRANT (MEEK)
SWEET CARNLOUGH BAY
HOT ASPHALT
THE LAMBS IN THE GREENFIELDS
ENNISKILLEN DRAGOON
THE COMPLAINT OF THE BARD (MEEK)
GENERAL MUNROE
THE AMERICAN WAKE
Side 2:
THE HOUSE AT THE CROSSROADS (MEEK)
CARRICKMANNON LAKE
THE HEROIC CRUBEEN (MEEK)
FOOTBALL CRAZY
THE ORANGE LILY-O
NEWRY MOUNTAIN
I'M A POOR STRANGER SKIBBEREEN
SLIEVE GALLEN BRAES
I was once asked whether my style of singing was typical of the Irish folk music revival. The answer was "No," for the simple reason that there was never a sufficient decline in Irish folk music to necessitate a revival. Yet I understand what was worrying the person who asked me that question. had heard unaccompanied singers who sang in the old Gaelic style either using the Irish language exclusively, or singing in English but phrasing both words and music in a way that showed direct Gaelic influence and he wondered how I fitted into such a pattern.
The question is a difficult one. Although we in Ireland know the answer, it is not easy to phrase it in such a way as to convey the situation to one who is not acquainted with Irish life and, in particular, Irish music as a vital part of Irish life. I would say that to be reaned in Ireland of Irish parents in itself makes one a captive to the traditions of Ireland. These traditions are strong, and the fact that one plays an accompaniment to oneself on the guitar is hardly a powerful enough weapon to escape them. Then again, I write some of the songs that I sing. Yet this, far from removing one from the traditions of the country, places one, consciously or unconsciously, right in the tradition of the ballad makers, providing, of course, that the songs are accepted by the Irish people who hear them as their type of music.
My own feelings as to what constitutes Irish folk music should be set down. I believe that all the ballads and songs that have been made by Irishmen must be taken to lie some- where within the bounds of the Irish tradition, whether they be love songs, patriotic songs, sleep songs, drinking songs, or narrative ballads. My criterion for judging them is not whether they are "ethnic," but whether I think they are good or bad. I must qualify my last statement by saying that I doubt if any good Irish songs have been written with the Tin Pan Alley music industry in mind (although commercialism can- not be ruled out of the tradition, for the broadsheet vendors were certainly engaged on a commercial venture). I also be- lieve the Gaelic influence to be the most important factor in the formation of the wonderful conglomeration that I con- sider to be the folk music of Ireland.
Ireland is a land that has been subject to many invasions and migrations Gaelic, Viking, Norman, Saxon, and Scots - and this has meant that many cultures have become intermingled. Although the invader was usually assimilated into Irish society, many becoming more Irish than the Irish themselves, this type of history has made for many traditions in one small island.
The Gaelic tradition survives strongly to this day, and thank goodness for that! Ireland has never been isolated from the cultural movements in the rest of the world, however, and music is no exception to this. This does not mean that there was any rivalry between the type of music that was strongly influenced by non-Celtic sources and the old music of the country. fact, the two became complementary to each other, influenced each other, and the people of Ireland loved the lot. Two songs come to mind that illustrate this Kelly the Boy From Killann and The Boys of Mullaghbawn. Both were more or less contempor- ary and both are in the English language, yet the former owes little to Gaelic sources whilst the latter is strongly influ- enced by such sources, both in the phrasing of the words and the music. But who can maintain that Kelly the Boy is totally outside the Irish tradition of ballad making
There seems to be a tendency in the United States to believe that a singer who has been exposed to a formal education is at once removed from his "folk" background. This may be a valid argument in the United States, but a brief glance at the history of Ireland will show that it is by no means true for that country. The Gaelic tradition, inevitably the strongest coultural influence on Irish music, was for centuries kept alive. through the efforts of the hedge-schoolmasters, despite official governmental oppression. It would be a mistake to think of these men as romantic, folksy characters who churned out gems of homespun philosophy. They were highly educated, erudite men, well acquainted with the classics in addition to being the propagators of the Gaelic tradition, which was, above all, a literary tradition. Likewise Carolan, Hempsey, O Neill, and the other great harpers of Ireland were highly accomplished musicians who didn't hesitate to make use of any new technique that they came across providing, of course, that they liked it. Indeed, a consideration of the harpers vividly illustrates the problem of defining Irish folk music. In the days of the Gaelic chiefs, the harper was a revered member of society and a constant companion of the chief. Because of this, and be- cause they underwent years of musical apprenticeship, it has been alleged that harpers did not play the music of the people. Yet who were the people? It is unwise to apply the modern concept of democracy to old Irish society. Yet one can say that it was not a "status" society as was prevalent throughout feudal Europe. It seems clear that a clan chieftain would not. have been perturbed because his swineherd might well be his second cousin. In such a society it seems unlikely that the chief and the swineherd did not share a common musical heritage. Even in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the harpers were dependent on the patronage of the Alglo-Irish gentry, it is clear that they were equally at home in the big house" or the poorest cottage on the estate.
The Irish people opposed the invasion on their culture as much as they resented the denial of their right to polit- ical freedom. They clung to their cultural heritage Jealously, just as they fought time and time again for national in- dependence. Some of the elderly people who sing the old songs today have had little formal schooling. Nevertheless they are the inheritors of an old literary tradition, and they feel no estrangement from their children who have had the opportunity of going to the colleges and universities to acquire a greater knowledge of the old culture, together with the sciences of the twentieth century.
dige
The Irish people have a catholic taste in music. On many an evening I have seen a traditional singer with guitar follow an old-style unaccompanied singer and the audience has been a- ware of no incongruity. Even the sentimental "exile" ballad of doubtful Irish origin is totally accepted by the very folk whom the collector delights in as being truly "folk". Perhaps we lack discrimination, but that's the situation as it is, and, like it or not, it is all to some extent part of the Irish tradition. It means that we accept a lot of stuff that is bad, but it also means that we are surrounded by much more that is really good. There is no folk music "movement" in Ireland. There is no need for it. We have a living folk music that, far from being killed by the radio, has thrived because of it. The people of Ireland love their traditional music, and the radio has given them an opportunity to hear a lot more of it. I think it is inherent in our nature to welcome scholars who are interested in studying the music of our country. But it is not in our nature to be overly classified. If the musicians and singers of Ireland start spending a lot of time trying to mould themselves according to a certain style, the freshness and spontaneity will go, and the music of the country will be banished to the archives of the museums and universities. Should this happen, the Irish people will indeed have lost a living part of themselves. But I cannot see it happening.
If nothing else, we are individuals and unlikely to sit quietly at the "wake" to our own music.
THE IMMIGRANT
Emigration is the theme to many of the songs that I sing. Perhaps this is because emigration is a fear that has been at the back of most Irishmen's minds for many generations. The first wave of mass emigration from Ireland, at least in historic times, was probably that of the "Wild Geese". The "Wild Geese" were members of the old Irish aristocracy and their followers, who supported the Jacobite cause during the Williamite wars. They offered their services to the armies of many different foreign powers, from the Russian Empire to the Turkish. It was this exodus that explains how, at a much later date, a Marshal MacMahon became president of the French Republic. During the eighteenth century there was a large emigration of Ulster Presbyterians, who left their by no means un- prosperous farms to go to North America, where they became known as the "Scots Irish". There they played a prominent part in United States history, producing many famous sons, from Andrew Jackson to Samuel Morse.
Then
After the '98 Rebellion and throughout the nineteenth century, hundreds of Irishmen were deported to the West Indies, Australia, and elsewhere. Yet by the middle of the century the population of Ireland was still half that of England. came the failure of the potato crop and ensuing famine. Thou- sands of Irish folk were allowed to die of starvation in the ditches, having been turned out of their homes by the agents of absentee landlords. Thousands more emigrated. Unfortunately, emigration has continued to be a blight on Irish life in the twentieth century, and it is small wonder that so many Irish songs mirror this background.
I wrote this song when I was myself an immigrant, if a temporary one, in London. At that time the British government was in the process of introducing an Immigration Bill which many felt was aimed at the Irish and West Indian workers in England.
Both groups were resentful, feeling that the British had helped themselves to our hospitality for hundreds of years, and that they should at least extend theirs a little more graciously, especially as an important section of their economy was based on migrant labour.
It isn't very long, boys, since I first came to this shore,
But my mind has never settled down and I think of home
the more.
For a man must earn a living to raise a family,
And that is why, an immigrant, I crossed the Irish sea.
ort
I'm an immigrant, I'm an immigrant, I come from a land in the West.
Still I hope some day to go
To the isle I love the best.
There's may's the decent Englishman but does he really know
What his land did to my land today and long ago?
"Have you itchy feet?" you'll hear him say, but can he understand
That itchy were the feet of those who ravaged Ireland.
There's British politicians who'll bawl into your ear,
"It's time we stopped those Blacks and Paddies coming over here."
There's a thing that they've forgotten, someone should tell them quick,
That it's us who build their factories, it's our girls who nurse their sick.
So listen, politician, if my land you'd left free,
We'd have laboured in our own vineyards to end our
poverty.
But there's a thing they call extortion, seven hundred
years or more,
And that is why young Irish folk sail to an alien shore.
So come all you stalwart immigrants and listen well to
me.
Do all you can to make your land a nation one and free.
For when Irish men own Irish soil, they never more will
roam,
For in spite of all those lies they tell, we'd rather ala stay at home.
SWEET CARNLOUGH BAY
This is a little song that comes from the Glens of Antrim. The Scottish Isles are situated close by the Antrim coast, and the area of the Glens has long been strongly in- fluenced by the Gallic Scots. Indeed, the chiefs of the "MacDonnell of the Isles" clan considered the Glens to be within their domain, and it was one of these chiefs who murdered Sean O Neill, a famous chieftain of Gaelic Ulster, near to Glen Dun.
The Words and music to Sweet Carnlough Bay can be found on page 188 of "Irish Street Ballads", by Colm O Lochlainn. The notes to that collection state that the words are by a local poet by the name of McKay. However, I have heard a Scots singer render almost identical words to a different air, but using Scottish place names. Whether the poet McKay or his rival across the North Channel encountered the muse first, I'm afraid I cannot say.
As winter was breaking o'er high hills and meadows,
And dark were the clouds o'er the fast flowing sea,
I met a wee lassie as daylight was dawning,
And she asking the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
Said I, "My wee lassie, I canna well tell ye
The number of miles and how far it will be,
But if you consent I'11 convey you a wee while,
To show you the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
"Ye turn to the right and go down by that graveyard,
Cross over the river and down by the sea.
We'll stop at Pat Hamill's, we'll take a wee drop there,
Just to help us along to sweet Carnlough Bay."
So here's to Pat Hamill, likewise the wee lassie,
And all of ye laddies wherever ye be;
Don't turn your back when ye meet a wee lassie
And she asking the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
HOT ASPHALT
This is a song of the Irish navvies, the workmen who have helped build the countless miles of new highway through- out Great Britain, and there would appear to be as many versions to the song as there are miles of road.
Hot Asphalt has been condemned as tending to place the Irish worker in Britain in a rough light. I feel that this is putting too serious an interpretation on a simple, light- hearted bit of bragging. The Irish navvy gives a valuable service to the community in which he works, and I feel there is no need to smother his reputation for high spirits in a protective wrapping of cotton wool. Anyway, the "polisman" in the song got no less than he deserved.
The air is the same as that sung to the equally high-r spirited song Mister Maguire, and I was fascinated to hear Larry Older (Folk-Legacy Records, FSA-15) play the same tune, having learned it in the lumber camps of New York State as Bonaparte's March.
THE LAMBS IN THE GREENFIELDS
This is an Irish version of the classical ballad The False Hearted Lover. The story is the old one of the re- Jected suitor making a last attempt to win the affection of his beloved "although (she) is wed to another." He is. deterred by the understandable wrath of the groomsman, and bids the listener to "dig you my grave both long, wide, and deep." It is interesting how these lines appear in so many ballads Irish, British, and American. In this version the rejected lover would appear to be planning his own death, as "the best way to forget her," more in a spirit of defiance than of humble acceptance of the doleful situation.
Some of the dialogue is very similar to Scottish collo- quial usage, and suggests that this version of the ballad comes from the province of Ulster in the north of Ireland.
The air is a variation on the old Irish melody C111 Muire, and, indeed, there is a version of the ballad from the south of Ireland that sticks more closely to that air.
"
The words and music to a version very similar to the one I sing can be found on page 170 of "Irish Street Ballads", by Colm O Lochlainn, which is published at "The Sign of the Three Candles," Dublin, Ireland.
THE ENNISKILLEN DRAGOON
This song originated in Ulster but is a great favorite throughout Ireland.
The town of Enniskillen is the capitol of County Fermanagh, and is situated between two lakes, the upper and lower Loch Erne. It was in Enniskillen that two of the most famous regiments of the British army, the Dragoons and the Fusileers, were recruited.
The story of the song is the familiar one in Irish balladry of the young man in love with a maiden "of higher degree. The girl complains that he has listed full soon" in the Dragoons, but he replies that this is because her parents "have slighted (him) morning, night, and noon." ends on a note of hope, however. She tells him that although "children their parents must always obey", when he's left Ireland "they'll soon change their tune, saying the good Lord be wi' ye, Enniskillen dragoon."
I have heard some singers render this song at march temp but mostly it is sung slowly. The words and music to The Enniskillen Dragoon can be found on page 208 of "Old Irish Folk Music and Songs," by P. W. Joyce (1909 edition). Fowke has recently discovered it in tradition in Ontario, Canada.
COMPLAINT OF THE BARD
This bit of home ballad making could, perhaps, be described as a protest song.. I think a word of explanation is warranted on the subject of why it was written. The Irish country fiddler is known for his precise form of playing and his highly developed musicianship. At many a ceill I have heard fiddlers play out variations on a reel, jig or hornpipe that would do credit to the late J. S. Bach, It is no reflection on the mountain fid- Idlers of the United States to say that their Irish colleagues. simply do not favour the double stops and slurs that are so characteristic of the American country style. It has caused consternation amongst old style Irish musicians and singers, completely brought up in the traditions of their country, to find that visiting American collectors have considered them "too polished to be truly ethnic."
Come all you bards of Ireland, and listen to me caoin,
Beware of each American with the electric tape machine.
It's for your reputation if your fame's to travel far,
Remember that each ethnic singer suffers from catarrh.
T'was early in my pigsty, 'twas on a bright July,
There came a Yank collector, he with whiskey did me ply.
The sow began to farrow, the strong drink went to my head,
When the Yank produced a microphone and placed it by my bed.
Though I knew not words or music, I sang Sweet Adeline.
With all the drink I couldn't think, so I tried and I
tried again.
He thought it was magnificent, and before we two did part,
He said he'd never heard my like for genuine folk art.
So if you're giving them The Blackbird, likewise The Rocks of Bawn,
You must forget a verse or three, and make sure that
your meter's teetotally and completely all wrong.
And if you chance to vomit, with delight they'll surely swoon,
And remember that each ethnic singer must sing out of tune.
And now in Greenwich Village my praises they do shout,
I've many a record to my name, and my picture's in
"sing Out."
But the Irish press says I'm a mess, likewise the GAA,
But surely then all Irish men of any talent at all to
get their just recognition must travel over the sea.
I've a contract with Carnegie Hall, ye'll mind I've traveled
far.
I'm the permanent attraction in a New York coffee bar.
So success to thon collector with his flowing beard so thick,
It's a lucrative old game to play to be the real ethnic.
GENERAL MUNROE
This is typical of the many ballads celebrating the deeds of local Irish patriotic heroes. However, it is unusual in that it defies categorization, being partly narrative, partly a call on the listener to follow the example of the hero, and at the same time a lamentation. I have heard many versions to this ballad sung, and each one seems to emphasize one or another of the characteristics to a greater or lesser extent.
The ballad deals with the time of the rebellion of the United Irishmen in 1798. At that time the radical spirit of the French and American Revolutions swept Ireland, as can be seen from con- temporary literature and music, for example, The Rights of Man hornpipe. The rebellion was unique in that it was the first time since the collapse of the Gaelic olan system that the Irish demanded total independence from British rule. Further, it is remembered as a time when Irishmen, both Catholic and Protestant, ignored their religious differences to unite against a common tyranny. I have always had a great interest in the stories and songs of '98, for at that time many of my own forbearers took up arms, and some were hanged when the rebellion was finally crushed.
Henry Munroe, the hero of this ballad, was a storekeeper in the town of Lisburn, County Antrim. At the commencement of the 98 insurrection (which was largely centered in the counties of Down and Antrim in the north and Wicklow and Wexford in the south- west), the Reverend Porter, a Presbyterian minister, was appointed the rebel general for Down, but was immediately captured by Royal- 1st troops and hanged in front of his manse in the town of Grey- abbey before the eyes of his wife and children. Munroe was select ed to succeed Porter, and at first his army had some success. the Battle of Ballynahinch (which is the name of some versions of this ballad), he was defeated by a large force of British regular and local "loyalist" militia, betrayed by a woman called Dogherty, and hanged in his own home town. In that part of the country they'll still warn you, "never trust a Dogherty." The teller of the tale is George Clokey, who was second in command to Munroe.
JGeneral Munroe is only one of many fine songs that come from the period of 198. Others are, from the north, The Wake of William Orr, The Tragedy of Blaris Moor, Roddy MacCorley, The Mantle of Green, and Henry Joy McCracken, and from the south Kelly the Boy from Killann, The Croppy Boy, Boolavogue, Dunlavin Green, and Eamonn an Cnuic.
A version of General Munroe can be found on page 130 of "Irish Street Songs," by Colm o Lochlainn.
THE AMERICAN WAKE
Although the Irish tradition of the "wake" for the dead 18 well known to many people, perhaps fewer are familiar with that of the "American Wake." On the evening before prospective emigrants were due to depart for America it was the custom for their friends and relations to gather with them to sing and talk together for the last time. This gathering was called an "American Wake," for once across the Atlantic Ocean the chances were slim that they'd ever be seen again.
This song comes from County Cavan in south Ulster, an area that has produced many great songs, singers, and musicians. Other versions of The American Wake are known as Sweet Cootehill Town (which may be found on page 191 of "Old Irish Folk Music and Song," by P. W. Joyce), The Peacock, and Burn's Farewell. A variation on the air is also used for one of the finest songs to close an evening of singing, The Parting Glass.
Oh fare you well, sweet Cootehill town, The place where I was born and bred.
Your valleys green and wooded hills My youthful fancy did serenade.
But now I'm bound for Amerikay,
A country that I never saw.
These pleasant memories I will hold dear When I am wanderin' and far awa'.
Perchance kind fate will reinstate And fortune's face upon me smile,
And I'll return to home once more, To my own dear native Irish Isle.
Then all my friends and comrades likewise Will gather round and to me say,
"We will sing and dance as in days gone by, For you're welcome home from far away."
THE HOUSE AT THE CROSSROADS
I wrote this song in honour of a certain hostelry that lies no more than two miles from the house where I was brought up. is a hostelry with a long tradition for hospitality, for in for- mer times it was a coaching inn. Today the good cheer continues, and the convivial drink is often accompanied by a song or a tune on the fiddle or the squeeze-box. As far as my own musical career goes, I can say that it was at the House at the Crossroads that I first got an audience to listen to whatever I had to sing. refrain, "Drink it up, men, it's long after ten," refers to the infamously early hour at which the pubs in the northeast of Ireland are expected to close. This reflects on the men who make the laws for that area rather than on any lack of hospitality on the part of the landlord.
THE HEROIC CRUBEEN
The crubeen, or pig's foot, is a great Irish delicacy. Munster no "hooly" worthy of the name is complete without the assembled company being feasted on them. In Belfast I've seen crubeens, although not known by that name, being hawked from pub to pub in cardboard boxes by young lads who offer them to the Saturday night drinkers at "ten pence a gnaw". datal at
I wrote this song feeling that good food is worthy of a verse or two-especially when the food is as succulent as & crubeen. Other examples of Irish cooking praised in the song are dulse, or dilish, and carrageen moss, which are edible sea weeds, and panayda (bread, sugar and milk). My grandmother used to tell a story of a man who went mad in her native town in County Armagh. When they came to take him to the asylum they found him leaping up and down in an enamel basin filled to the brim with buttermilk and bread loaves, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Panayda's the quer man.
Let the praise of panayda be stated,
As eaten in old Portadown,
It's made from the fine granulated
Sugar and crusty bread brown.
Wax poetic on dulce from the ocean
Or the moss by the name carrageen,
But for them I can't feel the emotion
That I do for the noble crubeen.
There's some scorn the swine of the nation,
In our kitchens they swear they do dwell;
But twould cause me a great consternation,
TUR 50% If into disfavor they fell.
For there's not a more succulent flavor
med to In the arts of the gastronomie,
And there's nothing that I'd rather savour
Than a clatter of good old pig's feet.
I And once before battle's great melee,
'Twas said by the late Bonaparte,
That an army must march on its belly
If it's hoping to win from the start.
But Napoleon kept dining on French Beans,
You'11 know that my reasoning is true;
If he'd eaten a clatter of crubeens,
Then he'd not have met his Waterloo.
So success to the sows of Old Erin,
May your numbers be never deplete,
folk And the fine, handsome bonhams
keep bearing, With your delicate, flavorsome feet.
And bad luck to the ones that deplore you,
May they stay from this land of the Green;
For myself, I will always adore you,
You're my darling, heroic corubeen.
FOOTBALL CRAZY
As far as I know, this song became known to the public at large from the singing of Seamus Ennis who collected it in County Galway. However, my grandfather Rowan, who was born in the city of Belfast of parents who came from the Mountains of Mourne, used to sing a version to a different air, which he learnt in the music halls of the last century when he patronized them as a boy.
In recent years the song has swept England and Scotland, and the names of local sporting heroes have been introduced with each new version. When the Gaelic Football Team of my native county of Down won the All Ireland Championship, I'm afraid I jumped aboard the band waggon; and so, with apologies to Seamus, I present my own adaptation which celebrates the deeds of the "Mourne Men".
Oh you all know my young brother
And his name is Paul.
He joined the local football club
'Cause he's mad about football.
He's two black eyes already
And no teeth in his gob,
One Since Paul became a member
of the Gaelic Football Club.
He's football crazy,
He's football mad,
And football it has taken away
The little bit of sense he had.
ad And it would take a dozen lassies.
His clothes to wash and scrub,
God Since Paul became a member of
the Gaelic Football Club.
When they can't afford a football
They'll use an old tin can,
A biscuit tin turned upside down,
It makes a Hogan Stand.
They played a match the other day,
'Twas played at Cavan's Ground.
He kicked the ball to Moscow
And Kruschev yelled, "Up, Down."
His wife she says she'll
leave him If he doesn't keep
Away from football kicking
At night time in his sleep.
He'll cry, "Come on, MacCarten,"
And other names so bold.
Last night he kicked her out of
the bed And he shouted, "It's a goal."
Now things were blue in '62
But just you wait and see;
The Red and Black they will be back.
In 1963.
As for that Muskery hero,
He'll quickly get his fill.
Then God help Thady Quill.
fee If he ventures forth
through the Gap o' the North
THE ORANGE LILY-O
The Orange Order is an organization that was started in County Armagh in the late eighteenth century to ensure the Protestant succession to the throne and the maintenance of the union between Britain and Ireland. The order was named after King William III, Prince of Orange, who was the Protestant victor at the Battle of the Boyne an event in history that I once heard described as the time when a Dutchman fought a Scotsman on an Irish river for the throne of England. To this day on the twelfth of July the Orangemen parade in their full regalia, carrying banners depicting scenes and heroes in the history of the order, to the music of fifes, war pipes, and the huge Lambeg drums. Although there are Orange chapters throughout the world, the main activities of the institution are centred in the six counties of Northern Ireland, whose very existence is partially due to the opposition to the "Home Rule" movement that was organized by the order.
I have from time to time read articles by collectors in the United States complaining of the lack of "right wing" folk music. In Ireland we have a wealth of such music in the Orange songs which in many cases have a much more "folk" back- ground than many of the "progressive" songs. This is explained by the fact that, whereas the Irish movement for independence was strongly influenced by the current cultural movements on the continent of Europe, the Orange Order remained stoically isolationist, and its attempts to go literary are remembered only as fine examples of unabashed Victorianism. The real Orange ballads, such as The Bright Orange Heroes of Comber or The Boyne Water (based on the old Gaelic melody Seoladh nan-gamhan) are truly in the Irish tradition of ballad making, even though their sentiments are contrary to the aspirations of the vast majority of Irishmen.
The Lily-O has always been a great favorite of mine. is written in praise of the Orange Lily, the floral symbol of the order, and tells how the lily is more exalted than all other flowers. The sentiments of the song are less venemous than many other Orange songs, for example:
We'll buy a rope and hang the Pope
All on the twelfth day of July,
If that won't do we'll cut him in two?
And give him a taste of the Orange and Blue.
or the refrain from the hymn-like Relief of Derry:
Poor rebel knaves, Vatican slaves
Fly from the wrath of the Orange and Blue.
No, the Lily-0 has gentler sentiments
that are unlikely to give offense to any Irishman.
Many of the Orangemen have more than a
dash of Scots blood in their veins, so it is
hardly surprising that the Lily-O is very
much based on Robbie Burns' Green Grow the Rashes-0.
And did ye go unto the show, Each rose in pink a dilly-o,
To set your eyes upon the prize
Won by the orange lily-o.
The viceroy there so debonair,
Just like a daffydilly-o,
While Lady Clark blithe as a lark
Approached the orange 111y-o.
Then hey-ho the 11ly-o, The royal, loyal lily-o.
Beneath the sky no flower can vie With Ireland's orange 11ly-o.
dige
The Irish people have a catholic taste in music. On many an evening I have seen a traditional singer with guitar follow an old-style unaccompanied singer and the audience has been a- ware of no incongruity. Even the sentimental "exile" ballad of doubtful Irish origin is totally accepted by the very folk whom the collector delights in as being truly "folk". Perhaps we lack discrimination, but that's the situation as it is, and, like it or not, it is all to some extent part of the Irish tradition. It means that we accept a lot of stuff that is bad, but it also means that we are surrounded by much more that is really good. There is no folk music "movement" in Ireland. There is no need for it. We have a living folk music that, far from being killed by the radio, has thrived because of it. The people of Ireland love their traditional music, and the radio has given them an opportunity to hear a lot more of it. I think it is inherent in our nature to welcome scholars who are interested in studying the music of our country. But it is not in our nature to be overly classified. If the musicians and singers of Ireland start spending a lot of time trying to mould themselves according to a certain style, the freshness and spontaneity will go, and the music of the country will be banished to the archives of the museums and universities. Should this happen, the Irish people will indeed have lost a living part of themselves. But I cannot see it happening.
If nothing else, we are individuals and unlikely to sit quietly at the "wake" to our own music.
THE IMMIGRANT
Emigration is the theme to many of the songs that I sing. Perhaps this is because emigration is a fear that has been at the back of most Irishmen's minds for many generations. The first wave of mass emigration from Ireland, at least in historic times, was probably that of the "Wild Geese". The "Wild Geese" were members of the old Irish aristocracy and their followers, who supported the Jacobite cause during the Williamite wars. They offered their services to the armies of many different foreign powers, from the Russian Empire to the Turkish. It was this exodus that explains how, at a much later date, a Marshal MacMahon became president of the French Republic. During the eighteenth century there was a large emigration of Ulster Presbyterians, who left their by no means un- prosperous farms to go to North America, where they became known as the "Scots Irish". There they played a prominent part in United States history, producing many famous sons, from Andrew Jackson to Samuel Morse.
Then
After the '98 Rebellion and throughout the nineteenth century, hundreds of Irishmen were deported to the West Indies, Australia, and elsewhere. Yet by the middle of the century the population of Ireland was still half that of England. came the failure of the potato crop and ensuing famine. Thou- sands of Irish folk were allowed to die of starvation in the ditches, having been turned out of their homes by the agents of absentee landlords. Thousands more emigrated. Unfortunately, emigration has continued to be a blight on Irish life in the twentieth century, and it is small wonder that so many Irish songs mirror this background.
I wrote this song when I was myself an immigrant, if a temporary one, in London. At that time the British government was in the process of introducing an Immigration Bill which many felt was aimed at the Irish and West Indian workers in England.
Both groups were resentful, feeling that the British had helped themselves to our hospitality for hundreds of years, and that they should at least extend theirs a little more graciously, especially as an important section of their economy was based on migrant labour.
It isn't very long, boys, since I first came to this shore,
But my mind has never settled down and I think of home
the more.
For a man must earn a living to raise a family,
And that is why, an immigrant, I crossed the Irish sea.
ort
I'm an immigrant, I'm an immigrant, I come from a land in the West.
Still I hope some day to go
To the isle I love the best.
There's may's the decent Englishman but does he really know
What his land did to my land today and long ago?
"Have you itchy feet?" you'll hear him say, but can he understand
That itchy were the feet of those who ravaged Ireland.
There's British politicians who'll bawl into your ear,
"It's time we stopped those Blacks and Paddies coming over here."
There's a thing that they've forgotten, someone should tell them quick,
That it's us who build their factories, it's our girls who nurse their sick.
So listen, politician, if my land you'd left free,
We'd have laboured in our own vineyards to end our
poverty.
But there's a thing they call extortion, seven hundred
years or more,
And that is why young Irish folk sail to an alien shore.
So come all you stalwart immigrants and listen well to
me.
Do all you can to make your land a nation one and free.
For when Irish men own Irish soil, they never more will
roam,
For in spite of all those lies they tell, we'd rather ala stay at home.
SWEET CARNLOUGH BAY
This is a little song that comes from the Glens of Antrim. The Scottish Isles are situated close by the Antrim coast, and the area of the Glens has long been strongly in- fluenced by the Gallic Scots. Indeed, the chiefs of the "MacDonnell of the Isles" clan considered the Glens to be within their domain, and it was one of these chiefs who murdered Sean O Neill, a famous chieftain of Gaelic Ulster, near to Glen Dun.
The Words and music to Sweet Carnlough Bay can be found on page 188 of "Irish Street Ballads", by Colm O Lochlainn. The notes to that collection state that the words are by a local poet by the name of McKay. However, I have heard a Scots singer render almost identical words to a different air, but using Scottish place names. Whether the poet McKay or his rival across the North Channel encountered the muse first, I'm afraid I cannot say.
As winter was breaking o'er high hills and meadows,
And dark were the clouds o'er the fast flowing sea,
I met a wee lassie as daylight was dawning,
And she asking the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
Said I, "My wee lassie, I canna well tell ye
The number of miles and how far it will be,
But if you consent I'11 convey you a wee while,
To show you the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
"Ye turn to the right and go down by that graveyard,
Cross over the river and down by the sea.
We'll stop at Pat Hamill's, we'll take a wee drop there,
Just to help us along to sweet Carnlough Bay."
So here's to Pat Hamill, likewise the wee lassie,
And all of ye laddies wherever ye be;
Don't turn your back when ye meet a wee lassie
And she asking the road to sweet Carnlough Bay.
HOT ASPHALT
This is a song of the Irish navvies, the workmen who have helped build the countless miles of new highway through- out Great Britain, and there would appear to be as many versions to the song as there are miles of road.
Hot Asphalt has been condemned as tending to place the Irish worker in Britain in a rough light. I feel that this is putting too serious an interpretation on a simple, light- hearted bit of bragging. The Irish navvy gives a valuable service to the community in which he works, and I feel there is no need to smother his reputation for high spirits in a protective wrapping of cotton wool. Anyway, the "polisman" in the song got no less than he deserved.
The air is the same as that sung to the equally high-r spirited song Mister Maguire, and I was fascinated to hear Larry Older (Folk-Legacy Records, FSA-15) play the same tune, having learned it in the lumber camps of New York State as Bonaparte's March.
THE LAMBS IN THE GREENFIELDS
This is an Irish version of the classical ballad The False Hearted Lover. The story is the old one of the re- Jected suitor making a last attempt to win the affection of his beloved "although (she) is wed to another." He is. deterred by the understandable wrath of the groomsman, and bids the listener to "dig you my grave both long, wide, and deep." It is interesting how these lines appear in so many ballads Irish, British, and American. In this version the rejected lover would appear to be planning his own death, as "the best way to forget her," more in a spirit of defiance than of humble acceptance of the doleful situation.
Some of the dialogue is very similar to Scottish collo- quial usage, and suggests that this version of the ballad comes from the province of Ulster in the north of Ireland.
The air is a variation on the old Irish melody C111 Muire, and, indeed, there is a version of the ballad from the south of Ireland that sticks more closely to that air.
"
The words and music to a version very similar to the one I sing can be found on page 170 of "Irish Street Ballads", by Colm O Lochlainn, which is published at "The Sign of the Three Candles," Dublin, Ireland.
THE ENNISKILLEN DRAGOON
This song originated in Ulster but is a great favorite throughout Ireland.
The town of Enniskillen is the capitol of County Fermanagh, and is situated between two lakes, the upper and lower Loch Erne. It was in Enniskillen that two of the most famous regiments of the British army, the Dragoons and the Fusileers, were recruited.
The story of the song is the familiar one in Irish balladry of the young man in love with a maiden "of higher degree. The girl complains that he has listed full soon" in the Dragoons, but he replies that this is because her parents "have slighted (him) morning, night, and noon." ends on a note of hope, however. She tells him that although "children their parents must always obey", when he's left Ireland "they'll soon change their tune, saying the good Lord be wi' ye, Enniskillen dragoon."
I have heard some singers render this song at march temp but mostly it is sung slowly. The words and music to The Enniskillen Dragoon can be found on page 208 of "Old Irish Folk Music and Songs," by P. W. Joyce (1909 edition). Fowke has recently discovered it in tradition in Ontario, Canada.
COMPLAINT OF THE BARD
This bit of home ballad making could, perhaps, be described as a protest song.. I think a word of explanation is warranted on the subject of why it was written. The Irish country fiddler is known for his precise form of playing and his highly developed musicianship. At many a ceill I have heard fiddlers play out variations on a reel, jig or hornpipe that would do credit to the late J. S. Bach, It is no reflection on the mountain fid- Idlers of the United States to say that their Irish colleagues. simply do not favour the double stops and slurs that are so characteristic of the American country style. It has caused consternation amongst old style Irish musicians and singers, completely brought up in the traditions of their country, to find that visiting American collectors have considered them "too polished to be truly ethnic."
Come all you bards of Ireland, and listen to me caoin,
Beware of each American with the electric tape machine.
It's for your reputation if your fame's to travel far,
Remember that each ethnic singer suffers from catarrh.
T'was early in my pigsty, 'twas on a bright July,
There came a Yank collector, he with whiskey did me ply.
The sow began to farrow, the strong drink went to my head,
When the Yank produced a microphone and placed it by my bed.
Though I knew not words or music, I sang Sweet Adeline.
With all the drink I couldn't think, so I tried and I
tried again.
He thought it was magnificent, and before we two did part,
He said he'd never heard my like for genuine folk art.
So if you're giving them The Blackbird, likewise The Rocks of Bawn,
You must forget a verse or three, and make sure that
your meter's teetotally and completely all wrong.
And if you chance to vomit, with delight they'll surely swoon,
And remember that each ethnic singer must sing out of tune.
And now in Greenwich Village my praises they do shout,
I've many a record to my name, and my picture's in
"sing Out."
But the Irish press says I'm a mess, likewise the GAA,
But surely then all Irish men of any talent at all to
get their just recognition must travel over the sea.
I've a contract with Carnegie Hall, ye'll mind I've traveled
far.
I'm the permanent attraction in a New York coffee bar.
So success to thon collector with his flowing beard so thick,
It's a lucrative old game to play to be the real ethnic.
GENERAL MUNROE
This is typical of the many ballads celebrating the deeds of local Irish patriotic heroes. However, it is unusual in that it defies categorization, being partly narrative, partly a call on the listener to follow the example of the hero, and at the same time a lamentation. I have heard many versions to this ballad sung, and each one seems to emphasize one or another of the characteristics to a greater or lesser extent.
The ballad deals with the time of the rebellion of the United Irishmen in 1798. At that time the radical spirit of the French and American Revolutions swept Ireland, as can be seen from con- temporary literature and music, for example, The Rights of Man hornpipe. The rebellion was unique in that it was the first time since the collapse of the Gaelic olan system that the Irish demanded total independence from British rule. Further, it is remembered as a time when Irishmen, both Catholic and Protestant, ignored their religious differences to unite against a common tyranny. I have always had a great interest in the stories and songs of '98, for at that time many of my own forbearers took up arms, and some were hanged when the rebellion was finally crushed.
Henry Munroe, the hero of this ballad, was a storekeeper in the town of Lisburn, County Antrim. At the commencement of the 98 insurrection (which was largely centered in the counties of Down and Antrim in the north and Wicklow and Wexford in the south- west), the Reverend Porter, a Presbyterian minister, was appointed the rebel general for Down, but was immediately captured by Royal- 1st troops and hanged in front of his manse in the town of Grey- abbey before the eyes of his wife and children. Munroe was select ed to succeed Porter, and at first his army had some success. the Battle of Ballynahinch (which is the name of some versions of this ballad), he was defeated by a large force of British regular and local "loyalist" militia, betrayed by a woman called Dogherty, and hanged in his own home town. In that part of the country they'll still warn you, "never trust a Dogherty." The teller of the tale is George Clokey, who was second in command to Munroe.
JGeneral Munroe is only one of many fine songs that come from the period of 198. Others are, from the north, The Wake of William Orr, The Tragedy of Blaris Moor, Roddy MacCorley, The Mantle of Green, and Henry Joy McCracken, and from the south Kelly the Boy from Killann, The Croppy Boy, Boolavogue, Dunlavin Green, and Eamonn an Cnuic.
A version of General Munroe can be found on page 130 of "Irish Street Songs," by Colm o Lochlainn.
THE AMERICAN WAKE
Although the Irish tradition of the "wake" for the dead 18 well known to many people, perhaps fewer are familiar with that of the "American Wake." On the evening before prospective emigrants were due to depart for America it was the custom for their friends and relations to gather with them to sing and talk together for the last time. This gathering was called an "American Wake," for once across the Atlantic Ocean the chances were slim that they'd ever be seen again.
This song comes from County Cavan in south Ulster, an area that has produced many great songs, singers, and musicians. Other versions of The American Wake are known as Sweet Cootehill Town (which may be found on page 191 of "Old Irish Folk Music and Song," by P. W. Joyce), The Peacock, and Burn's Farewell. A variation on the air is also used for one of the finest songs to close an evening of singing, The Parting Glass.
Oh fare you well, sweet Cootehill town, The place where I was born and bred.
Your valleys green and wooded hills My youthful fancy did serenade.
But now I'm bound for Amerikay,
A country that I never saw.
These pleasant memories I will hold dear When I am wanderin' and far awa'.
Perchance kind fate will reinstate And fortune's face upon me smile,
And I'll return to home once more, To my own dear native Irish Isle.
Then all my friends and comrades likewise Will gather round and to me say,
"We will sing and dance as in days gone by, For you're welcome home from far away."
THE HOUSE AT THE CROSSROADS
I wrote this song in honour of a certain hostelry that lies no more than two miles from the house where I was brought up. is a hostelry with a long tradition for hospitality, for in for- mer times it was a coaching inn. Today the good cheer continues, and the convivial drink is often accompanied by a song or a tune on the fiddle or the squeeze-box. As far as my own musical career goes, I can say that it was at the House at the Crossroads that I first got an audience to listen to whatever I had to sing. refrain, "Drink it up, men, it's long after ten," refers to the infamously early hour at which the pubs in the northeast of Ireland are expected to close. This reflects on the men who make the laws for that area rather than on any lack of hospitality on the part of the landlord.
THE HEROIC CRUBEEN
The crubeen, or pig's foot, is a great Irish delicacy. Munster no "hooly" worthy of the name is complete without the assembled company being feasted on them. In Belfast I've seen crubeens, although not known by that name, being hawked from pub to pub in cardboard boxes by young lads who offer them to the Saturday night drinkers at "ten pence a gnaw". datal at
I wrote this song feeling that good food is worthy of a verse or two-especially when the food is as succulent as & crubeen. Other examples of Irish cooking praised in the song are dulse, or dilish, and carrageen moss, which are edible sea weeds, and panayda (bread, sugar and milk). My grandmother used to tell a story of a man who went mad in her native town in County Armagh. When they came to take him to the asylum they found him leaping up and down in an enamel basin filled to the brim with buttermilk and bread loaves, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Panayda's the quer man.
Let the praise of panayda be stated,
As eaten in old Portadown,
It's made from the fine granulated
Sugar and crusty bread brown.
Wax poetic on dulce from the ocean
Or the moss by the name carrageen,
But for them I can't feel the emotion
That I do for the noble crubeen.
There's some scorn the swine of the nation,
In our kitchens they swear they do dwell;
But twould cause me a great consternation,
TUR 50% If into disfavor they fell.
For there's not a more succulent flavor
med to In the arts of the gastronomie,
And there's nothing that I'd rather savour
Than a clatter of good old pig's feet.
I And once before battle's great melee,
'Twas said by the late Bonaparte,
That an army must march on its belly
If it's hoping to win from the start.
But Napoleon kept dining on French Beans,
You'11 know that my reasoning is true;
If he'd eaten a clatter of crubeens,
Then he'd not have met his Waterloo.
So success to the sows of Old Erin,
May your numbers be never deplete,
folk And the fine, handsome bonhams
keep bearing, With your delicate, flavorsome feet.
And bad luck to the ones that deplore you,
May they stay from this land of the Green;
For myself, I will always adore you,
You're my darling, heroic corubeen.
FOOTBALL CRAZY
As far as I know, this song became known to the public at large from the singing of Seamus Ennis who collected it in County Galway. However, my grandfather Rowan, who was born in the city of Belfast of parents who came from the Mountains of Mourne, used to sing a version to a different air, which he learnt in the music halls of the last century when he patronized them as a boy.
In recent years the song has swept England and Scotland, and the names of local sporting heroes have been introduced with each new version. When the Gaelic Football Team of my native county of Down won the All Ireland Championship, I'm afraid I jumped aboard the band waggon; and so, with apologies to Seamus, I present my own adaptation which celebrates the deeds of the "Mourne Men".
Oh you all know my young brother
And his name is Paul.
He joined the local football club
'Cause he's mad about football.
He's two black eyes already
And no teeth in his gob,
One Since Paul became a member
of the Gaelic Football Club.
He's football crazy,
He's football mad,
And football it has taken away
The little bit of sense he had.
ad And it would take a dozen lassies.
His clothes to wash and scrub,
God Since Paul became a member of
the Gaelic Football Club.
When they can't afford a football
They'll use an old tin can,
A biscuit tin turned upside down,
It makes a Hogan Stand.
They played a match the other day,
'Twas played at Cavan's Ground.
He kicked the ball to Moscow
And Kruschev yelled, "Up, Down."
His wife she says she'll
leave him If he doesn't keep
Away from football kicking
At night time in his sleep.
He'll cry, "Come on, MacCarten,"
And other names so bold.
Last night he kicked her out of
the bed And he shouted, "It's a goal."
Now things were blue in '62
But just you wait and see;
The Red and Black they will be back.
In 1963.
As for that Muskery hero,
He'll quickly get his fill.
Then God help Thady Quill.
fee If he ventures forth
through the Gap o' the North
THE ORANGE LILY-O
The Orange Order is an organization that was started in County Armagh in the late eighteenth century to ensure the Protestant succession to the throne and the maintenance of the union between Britain and Ireland. The order was named after King William III, Prince of Orange, who was the Protestant victor at the Battle of the Boyne an event in history that I once heard described as the time when a Dutchman fought a Scotsman on an Irish river for the throne of England. To this day on the twelfth of July the Orangemen parade in their full regalia, carrying banners depicting scenes and heroes in the history of the order, to the music of fifes, war pipes, and the huge Lambeg drums. Although there are Orange chapters throughout the world, the main activities of the institution are centred in the six counties of Northern Ireland, whose very existence is partially due to the opposition to the "Home Rule" movement that was organized by the order.
I have from time to time read articles by collectors in the United States complaining of the lack of "right wing" folk music. In Ireland we have a wealth of such music in the Orange songs which in many cases have a much more "folk" back- ground than many of the "progressive" songs. This is explained by the fact that, whereas the Irish movement for independence was strongly influenced by the current cultural movements on the continent of Europe, the Orange Order remained stoically isolationist, and its attempts to go literary are remembered only as fine examples of unabashed Victorianism. The real Orange ballads, such as The Bright Orange Heroes of Comber or The Boyne Water (based on the old Gaelic melody Seoladh nan-gamhan) are truly in the Irish tradition of ballad making, even though their sentiments are contrary to the aspirations of the vast majority of Irishmen.
The Lily-O has always been a great favorite of mine. is written in praise of the Orange Lily, the floral symbol of the order, and tells how the lily is more exalted than all other flowers. The sentiments of the song are less venemous than many other Orange songs, for example:
We'll buy a rope and hang the Pope
All on the twelfth day of July,
If that won't do we'll cut him in two?
And give him a taste of the Orange and Blue.
or the refrain from the hymn-like Relief of Derry:
Poor rebel knaves, Vatican slaves
Fly from the wrath of the Orange and Blue.
No, the Lily-0 has gentler sentiments
that are unlikely to give offense to any Irishman.
Many of the Orangemen have more than a
dash of Scots blood in their veins, so it is
hardly surprising that the Lily-O is very
much based on Robbie Burns' Green Grow the Rashes-0.
And did ye go unto the show, Each rose in pink a dilly-o,
To set your eyes upon the prize
Won by the orange lily-o.
The viceroy there so debonair,
Just like a daffydilly-o,
While Lady Clark blithe as a lark
Approached the orange 111y-o.
Then hey-ho the 11ly-o, The royal, loyal lily-o.
Beneath the sky no flower can vie With Ireland's orange 11ly-o.
