Author: Phil Ochs
Sit by my side come as close as the air sharing a memory of grey,
Wander in my world, dream about the pictures I play, of changes.
Green leaves of summer turn red in the fall to brown and to yellow they fade.
Then they have to die and drop within the circle grand parade of changes.
Scenes of my young years are warm in my mind visions of shadows that shine,
’til one day I return and find they were the victims of the vines of changes.
The world is spinning madly adrift in the dark, it swings through a hollow of haze,
a race around the stars, a journey through the universe ablaze with changes.
Moments of magic will glow through the night all fears of the forest are gone.
When the morning breaks they’re swept away like golden drops of dawn by changes.
Oceans will part to a strange melody, as fires will sometimes burn cold.
Like water in the wind we are puppets to the silver strings of changes.
Our tears will be trembling when we are somewhere else, one last cup of wine we will pour.
I’ll kiss you one more time and leave you on the rolling river shore of changes.
More Info
We were living in Rialto.It was just after The Hunger Strikes of ’81. Eamon McCann visited and subsequently sent me tapes of Phil Ochs.I loved his work.One album was called “Gunfight at Carnegie Hall” I have considered many of his songs but this one was the only one I managed to inhabit.His work is worth checking out.It stands the test of time.
Author: Martin Egan / Christy Moore
C F C G
If it’s drink you want and plenty of feeding
F G C
And you like the bed as well
C F C G
Grab the wife, throw the kids in the Datsun
F G C
Make for Inch and the Strand hotel
C F C
If talk of turf drives you crazy
C F G
And you can’t face a bale of hay
C F C G F G C
Make for Foley’s work the topshelf talk puck, pints and the GAA
CHORUS
C F C
Casey, Casey you’re the divil
C F G
When you get behind the wheel
C F C G F
It was a sad day for the Kerry sheepdogs
C G F – C
When your Firestones they did feel
Oh the low road goes from Killorglin all the way down to Annascaul
When Casey came to guide us he never used his brakes at all
A trail of sheepdogs littered Kerry from Killorglin to Macroom
He might have been all soul’s salvation but he also was the sheep dog’s doom
From the holy dioceses of Galway Eamonn went to London town
Where the traffic cops out on their duty they overtook and flagged him down
As he was tearing after luncheon around the city like a loon
Regardless to his rank and station they forced him to blow up their auld balloon
Geographically he was in limbo faced with justice true and true
No obligations were accepted he was rightly up the flue
No bolt of lightning from the heaven could remove the boys in blue
Well he wished the force that had worked at Cana would turn his wine into water too
CHORUS
When Ronnie Reagan came to Ireland all the wankers made a great furore
But Eamonn remembered bishop Romero said he’d even up the score
Casey Casey said “God willin’ I’ll meet Reagan on the road
Niall O’Brien will hear his confessions when I’ve taught him the Green Cross Code”
Casey Casey you’re the right man to teach them Yankees right from wrong
If it wasn’t for yourself and Reagan there wouldn’t be much to Martin Egan’s song
CHORUS
More Info
I first encountered Martin Egan in The Meeting Place,Dorset St, Dublin circa 1977.That is our story and we’ll stick to it.10 years on and I visited him down nr Annascaul Co.Kerry where he played me some of his songs.We drank strong tay from hairy geowls and laughed our way through the night.I began to sing it and twas Bishop Eamon himself who provided the focus which gleaned the song great favour in most quarters.I have added lines here and there over the years. Martin continues to write.
Author: Christy Moore
How’s it going everybody now you’re very welcome to this evening’s Cabaret,
I’d like to thank you for the trouble, you’ve been taking to come and hear me play
Like I know the efforts that you make and all the troubles you had to take
When you decide you’re gonna go out and see a show
Your wife says “Oh not Christy Moore, we’ve heard him loads of times before,
We’re gonna miss Gay Byrne on the Late Late Show.
Ah, there’s people here upon my word, from every corner of the world:
From Portalington. Portlaoise and Tullamore.
From Two Mile House and Poulaphouca, Blacktrench, Cutbush and Boolea,
Such a crowd I’ve never seen before.
Well you’re welcome welcome everyone,
Special Branch all on the run
With your Fine Gael, Fianna Fáil or Sinn Féin.
When the elections are all over we’ll be pushing up clover
I tell ye everyone in the graveyard votes the same.
CHORUS
didelidedei etc…..
My belly thought my throat was cut,
And all the restaurants were shut as I was driving out through Kinnegad.
So I drove on to Mother Hubbard’s where I saw a swarm of truckers,
And I said to myself This place doesn’t look too bad.
In came a forty foot lorry, leaking lines of slurry,
And the King of the Road jumps down and he says to me:
“Hey John. Don’t I know you’re face are ye Paddy Reilly or Brendan Grace,
Are ye Mary Black or Freddie White says he.
I said “come hear and I’ll tell ye”….
CHORUS
And wait till I tell you what happened to me today.
I was coming up the dual carriageway.
Half a mile the far side of Naas,
The Irish army they were all over the place,
So I pulled in and I rolled my window down.
The Saighdúirí* surrounded my car,
I thought it was the third world war,
Some of them boys were throwing Shi’ite shapes.
I said ” Hey Brigadier General, what appears to be the trouble?”
He said “Don’t forget your shovel, have you any auld autographs or tapes?”
I do say I but what about the Leb?
CHORUS
(* – Saighdúirí = Soldiers)
More Info
it was simply the idea of putting some verses together to break the ice,it was a time when most of my gigs were late night affairs and audiences would have taken on quite a sup of ale prior to the gig ( the act too for that matter).Back then, in the mid 80s, many venues ran Discos with a Cabaret act to open up proceedings-that was me. This song was an ice breaker,it made a lot of noise,had a bit of crack and allowed me to attract a bit of attention towards the stage of whatever kip I was cabaretting.The record label of the day put it out as a radio play single in London where a couple of jocks took a shine to it which gained the song slight notoriety in the BigSmoke during the Thatcher years.I have not sung it for 10 years
Author: Charlie Murphy
In the cool of the evening they used to gather beneath the stars, in the meadow, circled near an old oak tree.
At the times appointed by the seasons of the earth and the phases of the moon.
In the centre often stood a woman, equal to the others and respected for her worth.
One of the many we call the witches, the healers and the teachers of the wisdom of the earth.
People grew in the knowledge she gave them, herbs to heal their bodies spells to make their spirits whole.
Hear them chanting healing incantations-calling for the wise ones celebrating in dance and song.
ISIS-ASTARTE-DIANA-HECATI-DEMETER-KALI-INANNA
There were those who came to power through domination, bonded in their worship of a dead man on the cross.
They sought control over all people, demanding allegiance to the church of Rome.
The pope commenced the inquisition – a war against women whose powers were feared.
In this holocaust, this century of evil, nine million European women died.
The tale is told of those who by the hundreds, holding hands together chose their deaths in the sea.
Chanting the praises of the mother goddess, a refusal of betrayal, women were dying to be free.
ISIS-ASTARTE-DIANA-HECATI-DEMETER-KALI-INANNA
Now the Earth is a witch, we still burn her, stripping her down with mining and the poison of our wars.
Still to us the Earth is still a healer a teacher and a Mother a weaver of a web that keeps us all alive.
She gives us the wisdom to see through the chaos, she gives us the courage it is our will to survive.
ISIS-ASTARTE-DIANA-HECATI-DEMETER-KALI-INNANNA.
More Info
Roy Bailey of Nottingham, England recorded this song having learned it from the writer Charlie Murphy of California. Martha McClelland of Derry heard Roy’s version and passed it on to my sister Terry Moore in Co. Kildare. She rightly thought the song would appeal to me and I began singing it in the early 90s. I have recorded it on three separate occasions finally getting it done to my own satisfaction on “Burning Times” in 2005. Like many songs and poems it does not look great on the page but comes to life when the air is blown into it. Then the beauty of the words, tho’ awful betimes, sail out and create imagery that never fails to stir me as the song gets sung. We are destroying that which sustains us, as sure as the sun has gone down this night. It feels to me like we are past the point of no return so let us sing and dance as if there were no tomorrow.
Author: Traditional
Come all ye maidens young and fair
And you that are blooming in your prime
Always beware and keep your garden fair
Let no man steal away your thyme
CHORUS
For thyme it is a precious thing
And thyme brings all things to my mind
Thyme with all its flavours, along with all its joys
Thyme, brings all things to my mind
Once I had a bunch of thyme
I thought it never would decay
Then came a lusty sailor
Who chanced to pass my way
And stole my bunch of thyme away
CHORUS
The sailor gave to me a rose
A rose that never would decay
He gave it to me to keep me reminded
Of when he stole my thyme away
CHORUS
Come all ye maidens young and fair
And you that are blooming in your prime
Always beware and keep your garden fair
Let no man steal away your thyme
More Info
this is my most embarrassing moment
Author: Jimmy MacCarthy
D G
I skimmed across black water, without once submerging
D A
Onto the banks of an urban morning
D G
That hungers the first light, much much more
D A D
Than mountains ever do.
D G
And she like a ghost beside me goes down with the ease of a dolphin
D Em A
And emerges unlearned, unshamed , unharmed.
D G
For she is the perfect creature, natural in every feature
D A D
And I am the geek with the alchemists stone.
Em A D Em A
For all of you who must discover , for all who seek to
D
understand
Em A D C G
For having left the path of others, you find a very special
A
hand
D G
And it is a holy thing, and it is a precious time
D A
And it is the only way
D G
Forget-me-nots among the snow, it’s always been and so it goes
D A D
To ponder his death and his life eternally
Em A D Em A
For all of you who must discover for all who seek to
D
understand
Em A D C G For having left the path of others, you find a very special
A
hand
D G
And it is a holy thing, and it is a precious time
D A
And it is the only way
D G
Forget-me-nots among the snow, it’s always been and so it goes
D A D
To ponder his death and his life eternally
D
One bright blue rose outlives all those
G
Two thousand years and still it goes
D A D
To ponder his death and his life eternally
More Info
This Jimmy Mack classic is about whatever its about – I say this here only because I am so often asked the question. I have no idea nor do I wish to know what it is about for the author. My own interpretation is too valuable to me to have the song drawn away from my perception. Singing this song is nearly always special, nearly always a spiritual experience, especially on those nights when the room goes still and the listeners join in quietly, each of us getting in touch with our own stories and emotions.He truly is a master of song, a maker of beauty – he has been given the gift.
Author: Sigerson Clifford
*Dreólín is the Irish Gaelic word for wren.
Ivy Ruler
Oh, the town, it climbs the mountains and looks upon the sea
At sleeping time or waking time, it’s there I’d like to be.
To walk again those kindly streets, the place where life began,
With the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
With cudgels stout they roamed about to hunt for the dreólín*
We searched for birds in every furze from Litir to Dooneen.
We danced for joy beneath the sky, life held no print nor plan
When the Boys of Barr na Sráide went hunting for the wren.
And when the hills were bleedin’ and the rifles were aflame
To the rebel homes of Kerry the Saxon strangers came,
But the men who dared the Auxies and fought the Black-and-Tan
Were the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
But now they toil in foreign soil where they have made their way
Deep in the heart of London or over on Broadway,
And I am left to sing their deeds and praise them while I can
Those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
And here’s a health to them tonight wherever they may be.
By the groves of Carham river or the slope of Bean ‘a Tí
John Daly and Batt Andy and the Sheehans, Con and Dan,
And the Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
When the wheel of life runs out and peace come over me
Just take me back to that old town between the hills and sea.
I’ll take my rest in those green fields, the place where life began,,
With those Boys of Barr na Sráide who hunted for the wren.
More Info
I was enthralled when I heard Michael Hipkiss sing this in The Skillet Pot,Birmingham in 1968.I was living on the road and betimes,when well nurtured with ale,I could engage in maudlin meanderings about the pain of exile.I subsequently recorded the song ib 1977’s Live in Dublin album. ( recorded with Donal Lunny, Jimmy Faulkner by Nicky Ryan)
Author: Christy Moore
Am
Boning halls, we’re talking boning halls,
Am
Boning halls, talking ’bout boning halls,
C G
Rich cowmen ride around the boning hall
F G
Weighing up every chop that comes across the trimming board
C G
Like kings around the cattle mart, smooth and razor sharp
F G
Scrawny auld scrag-end tenderised by stampin’ in the
Am
Boning halls,
Boning halls.
C G F
Where the carcass is stripped down to the bone,
F G Am
All the flesh gets ripped off a country.
F C
Hey-eeeheeee, weehey heey oooooo (or something like this)
Bone meal, Angel Dust,
T-bone steak, hormones and nitrogen
And sweet gravy
When the beef is on the block
The knife is on the stone
We’ve just been told the bung
Was underneath the counter of the
Boning hall,
Boning hall.
Where the carcass is stripped down to the bone,
All the flesh gets ripped off a country.
When the beef is over,
We’ll be back in order
Our cleavers well sharpened
We’ll be ready for the slaughter in the
Boning hall,
Boning hall.
Where the carcass is stripped down to the bone,
All the flesh gets ripped off a country.
Boning halls, we’re talking boning halls,
Boning halls, talking ’bout boning halls.
Trad / Arr: Christy Moore
As I went by Huntleigh town,
One evening for to see,
I met with Bogey O’ Cairnee,
And with him I did agree.
To care for his two best horses,
Or cart or harrow or plough,
Or anything about farm work,
That I very well should know.
Old Bogey had a daughter,
Her name was Isobel,
She’s the lily of the valley,
And the primrose of the dell.
And when she went out walking,
She took me for her guide,
Down by the Burn O’Cairnee,
To watch the small fish glide.
And when three months was past and gone,
This girl she lost her bloom.
The red fell from her rosy cheeks,
And her eyes began to swoon.
And when nine months were past and gone,
She bore to me a son.
And I was straight sent for,
To see what could be done.
I said that I would marry her,
But that it would nae do.
You’re no a match for the bonny wee girl,
And she’s no match for you.
Now she’s married to a tinker lad,
That comes from Huntleigh town.
He sells pots and pans and paraffin lamps,
And scours the country round.
Maybe she’s had a better match,
Old Bogey can nae tell.
So fair well ye lads o Huntleigh town,
And to Bogey’s bonnie belle.
More Info
I played in Cockermouth,Cumbria in 1968. The club was run by Muriel Graves who sang beautifully.She taught me this song and I subsequently heard versions from Jimmy McBeath, Davy Stewart,Jimmy Hutchinson and Owen Hand.
Author: Peter Cadle
I’ve taken this road and I’ve chosen this view
The place is familiar the feeling is new
This old church lies in ruin from the wind and the rain
And I’ll rest my guitar on the stones that remain
Bless this guitar
To reach out
And touch who we are
Bless this guitar
From the mountain the sea looks as calm as a pool
The evening is welcome the night is cool
I’ll sit here for a while with the breeze in my hair
While the kestrels above are riding the air
Greeks and Romans have stopped to look over the bay
Byzantine travellers have passed on their way
Here and there now and then stones have slipped from the wall
And these are the changes this place can recall
I’ve loved this wild place its smells and its sounds
Been here as long as the stars all around
I know the path well I’ll find my way back
Just one more late traveller on this ancient track
Moore/Lunny/McGlynn (Trad. Arr.)
By Clyde’s bonny banks as I slowly did wander
Among the pit heaps as the evening grew nigh
I spied a young woman all dressed in black mourning
Weeping and wailing with many a sigh
I stepped up beside her and gently addressed her
Would it help you to talk about the cause of your pain?
Weeping and wailing at last she did answer
Johnny Murphy, kind sir, is my true lover’s name.
Twenty one years of age, full of youth and good looking
To work down the mine of High Blantyre he came
Our wedding was fixed all the guests were invited
That calm summers’ evening my Johnny was slain
The explosion was heard by the women and children
With pale anxious faces they ran to the mine
When the news was made known all the hills rang with mourning
Thee hundred and ten Scottish miners were slain.
Mothers and daughters and sweethearts and lovers
The Blantyre explosion you’ll never forget
All you good people who hear my sad story
Remember the miners who lie at their rest.
Author: Unknown
One evening fair as I took the air by down Blackwater side
While gazing all around me an Irish lass I spied
All through the first part of the evening we rolled in sport and play
Then the young man arose and gathered his clothes singing fare thee well ’tis day
That’s not the promise you made to me when you lay on my breast
But you made me believe with your lying tongue that the sun it rose in the west
Go home go home to your fathers garden go home and cry your fill
And think of the sad misfortune brought on by your wanton will
There’s not a girl in all the country so easily led as I
When fishes they fly love and seas they run dry love it is then I will marry aye
Author: Willie Nelson
I was sittin’ beside the road in Black Jack County.
Not knowing that the Sheriff paid a bounty,
For men like me that hadn’t got a penny to their name.
So he locked my leg to 35 pounds of Black Jack County Chains.
And all we had to eat was bread and water,
Each day we built the road a mile and a quarter,
A Black Snake Whip would cut the back of any man who complained,
But we couldn’t fight back wearing 35 pounds of Black Jack County Chains.
One night while the Sheriff he was sleeping,
We all gathered round him slowly creeping,
Heaven help me to forget that night in the cold cold rain,
When we beat him to death with 35 pounds of Black Jack County Chains.
Now the whip marks have all healed and I am thankful,
There’s nothing left but a scar around my ankle.
But most of all I’m glad no man will be a slave again,
To a Black Snake Whip and 35 pounds of Black Jack County Chains.
More Info
This is on the album “Smoke and Strong Whiskey” which has its admirers. It was a difficult album for me and remains so many years on. It suffered from various mishaps and setbacks. I was out of my depth and there was a distinct lack of air in my waterwings.
This song was an out-take from a previous album. I don’t recall its origin nor where I first heard it sung.
Traditional
Capo step 1
Am F G Am
Black is the colour of my true love’s hair.
F G E7
Her lips are like some roses fair
F G E7
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
F G Am
And I love the ground whereon she stands.
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish the day it soon would come
When she and I could be as one
I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
For satisfied I ne’er can be
I write her a letter just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times
Black is the colour of my true love’s hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair
She had the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands.
More Info
I travelled the road with Hamish Imlach in 1967. I stayed in his home and befriended his family. He taught me so much, I was almost his apprentice. At the start of his singing career he was a serious singer and player. As time went by he veered more towards the comedy aspect of his repertoire.
In my view this was to the detriment of his work. He taught many of the emerging players many things,not all of them choose to remember. Those who did not forget include Bert Jansch, Luke Kelly, Jim McCann, Archie Fisher, Rab Noakes and many others too..
This was one of Hamish’s big songs. Every time I sing it he is sitting beside me, I loved him dearly, still do…
Author: Norman Blake
Billy Gray rode into Gantry way back in ’83
There he first met with young Sarah McClean
The wild flower of morning, the rose of the dawning
She heralded springtime in Billy’s life that day
Sarah she could not see the daylight of reality
In her young eyes Billy bore not a flaw
Knowing not her chosen one he was a bad man
Wanted in Kansas City by the law
Until one day a tall man came riding from the badlands
That lie to the north of New Mexico
He was overheard to say he was looking for Billy Gray
A dangerous man and a wanted outlaw
Word came creeping to Billy who lay sleeping
There in the Clarendon Bar and Hotel
He ran to the old church that lies on the outskirts
Thinking he might hide in the old steeple bell
A rifle ball came flying, Billy lay dying
There on the dust of the road where he lay
Sarah ran to him she was cursing the lawman
Poor girl knew no reason why Billy had been killed
Sarah still lives in that old white frame house
Where she first met Billy some forty years ago
The wild flower of morning has faded with the dawning
Of each day of sorrow the long years have grown
Written on a stone where the dusty winds have long blown
Eighteen words to a passing world you did say
True love knows no season no rhyme or no reason
Justice is cold as the Grainger County Clay
Author: Wally Page
G
And they went home on an Easter road
C G
On a silent night trying not to show
F G
Who goes where and who goes when
Am F G
Thinking some day soon they’ll get it back again
G
From the ghetto in Capetown to dig the gold
C G
Little boy blue he can’t be sold
F G
Under tin roof and a plastic wall
F G
Thinking some day soon we’re gonna come around.
CHORUS
C G Am
And the renegades sing all the renegades songs
Am F G
And the ones who know hope they’re doing wrong
F G
The blacks and the coloureds play the Biko Drum
F G Am G
The blacks and the coloureds play the Biko drum
Am G
Hey hey listen to the Biko Drum (we’re gonna sing, sing it now)
Am G
Hey hey listen to the Biko Drum
Transvaal kids on a Transvaal day
Little by little they show the way
To a city of dream on solid ground
Thinking someday soon they’re gonna come around
Steve he’s living in a prison cell
All his friends that know hope he’s doing well
Down here they listen to the Biko Drum
Down here they listen to the songs he sung
CHORUS
Nelson, listen to the people sing
Nelson Mandela the people’s king
27 years in a white man’s jail
27 years they couldn’t make him say
CHORUS
More Info
My self and Wally were walking past The 5 Lamps when we bumped into Bishop Tutu.”The very lads “sez the Bish….He was looking for a good song about Steven Biko who accidentally killed himself whilst falling down the stairs of the Police Station while being held by SA police. Wally had her down in no time.
Author: Jackson Browne
Some of them were dreamers, some of them were fools
Who were making plans and thinking of the future
With the energy of the innocent, they were gathering the tools
That they would need to make their journey back to nature.
When the sand slipped through the opening
And their hands reached for the golden ring
And their hearts turned to each others hearts for refuge
In the troubled years that came before the deluge
Some of them knew pleasure, some of them knew pain
And for some of them it was only the moment that mattered
On the wild and crazy wings of youth they went flying around in the rain,
Until their feathers once so fine were torn and tattered
In the end they traded their tired wings
For the resignation that living brings
They traded love’s bright and fragile glow for the glitter and the rouge
In a moment they were swept before the deluge
So let the music keep your spirits high
Let the buildings keep your children dry
Let creation reveal its secrets by and by, by and by
When the light that’s lost within us reaches the sky
Some of them were angry at the way that the earth was abused
By those men who learned to forge beauty into power
And in trying to protect us from them only became confused
By the magnitude of the fury in the final hour
When the sand was gone and the time arrived
In the naked dawn only a few survived
In attempts to understand this thing so simple and so huge
Believed they were meant to live after the deluge
So let the music keep your spirits high
Let the buildings keep your children dry
Let creation reveal its secrets by and by, by and by
When the light that’s lost within us reaches the sky
More Info
Jackson Browne, that man of America sang his song with me Millstreet in 1996 and in the Philharmonic Liverpool in 2004.We still plan to write a song together.
Richard Thompson
I was 18 when I came to town they called it the summer of love
Burning babies burning flags the hawks against the doves
I took a job at the steaming way down on Caltrim St,
Fell in love with a laundry girl that was workin next to me.
Brown hair zig zagged across her face and a look of half surprise,
Like a fox caught in the headlights there was animal in her eyes,
She said to me can’t you see I’m not the factory kind,
If you don’t take me out of here I’ll surely lose my mind
Chorus:
She was a rare thing fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, she was runnin’ wild (she said)
So long as theres no price on love I’ll stay
You wouldn’t want me any other way.
We busked around the market towns fruit pickin down in kent
We could tinker pots and pans or knives wherever we went.
We were campin down the Gower one time, the work was mighty good.
She wouldn’t wait for the harvest, I thought we should.
I said to her we’ll settle down, get a few acres dug,
A fire burning in the hearth and babbies on the rug.
She said Oh man you foolish man that surely sounds like hell,
You might be lord of half the world,You’ll not own me as well
Chorus
We were drinking more in those days our tempers reached a pitch
Like a fool I let her run away when she took the rambling itch.
Last I heard she was living rough back on the Derby beat
A bottle of White Horse in her pocket, a Wolfhound at her feet
They say that she got married once to a man called Romany Brown
Even a gypsy caravan was too much like settlin’ down
They say her rose has faded, rough weather and hard booze,
Maybe thats the price you pay for the chains that you refuse
She was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
I miss her more than ever words can say
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today…..
I wouldn’t want her any other way
More Info
It is never easy writing these words out. First there is the problem of the lyric as written. Invariably I need to turn these songs into my own dialect, into the english as I sing it. Sometimes I am unable to resist slipping back into the writers idiom when seduced by the beauty of the sound of a particular word. Then there is the bloody grammar and punctuation which can get in the way of writng a song as she should be sung (as distinct from the way Fr. Clandillon would have me write it!)
This song is, for me, a modern classic in the old style. Up there with Musgrave and Baker, Raggle and Yellow Bittern, it will survive the ages that are left and will shine brightly when us lads are long forgotton.
Its a beauty to sing, it is usually good but every now and then a version energes that stills my night and leaves me totally satisfied at the last chord not caring about audience or next song or The Gig or anything, just to bathe in the luxury of a beautiful song shared and sung to a receptive kipful of listeners.
CHORDS
G…..
G…DC
G……
G.DC
CHORUS
Em..G..
Em..DC.
Em.G..
Em.DC..
Am.D C…
Christy Moore/Wally Page
There’s an easy place down Gallowgate to the East End of Glasgow
It’s a ballroom of remembrance and a disco
Where the shooting stars light up the fresco
Where the last ones and the lovers go … to carry on
We sang about the Nicky Tams in the back room of the Scotia
We drank sweet wines and called for neon pints of Fidel Castro
Till it was time to fly to dreamland
Out of Bairds, up the stairs to hell or to heaven we’d go
Come all you dreamers hear the sound of the Barrows humming
Come all you dreamers to Barrowland
Hear Mags McIvor and the ghost of the GayBirds calling
Come all you dreamers to Barrowland
The Lassies of the Broomielaw in their Cuban Heels are dancing
Here comes Our Lady of the Clyde and there goes Jinky Johnston
They’ve come back to rock and roll in the church of ceili
To waltz beneath the carousel of healing
To jitterbug and boogie the night away
Come all you dreamers……….
More Info
I first visited The Barrows in 1967 and Barrowland 20 years later in 1987.
My first gig in Scotland was in The Glasgow Folk Centre, Montrose St in ’67.Drew Moyes was the organiser of the club. As I recall I opened for Hamish Imlach and subsequently was booked to do a set some time later.The Scotia Bar was the meeting place for musicians and it was just my kind of pub in 1967.I met Arthur Johnson,Mick Broderick,Billy Connolly,Danny Kyle,Tam Harvey,Gerry Rafferty,Red Billy,Big Pat and that was just my first visit.
20 years on I got my first gig in Barrowland and it has been one of my favourite venues in the world ever since.Not for the fainthearted (no seats nor lifts,no arty fartys) it is a basic room but it is imbued with the Spirit of 10,000 gigs. From Bill McGregor and his GayBirds up to whoever might be pulling them in today.
On my last visit I invited Wally Page over for The Barrowland experience and we came up with this tribute to Grand Auld Hall.
Fintan Vallely
Leitrim is a very funny place sir
It’s a strange and a troubled land
All the boys are in the IRA sir
All the women are in Cumann na mBan
Every tractor has a Nicky Kelly sticker
Displayed for all to see
Sure it was no wonder that the Gardai made a blunder
Said your man from RTE
Today-Tonight they went to Ballinamore sir
They were briefed by the Gardai
On a video they showed to them the Provo’s
Eating curry and drinking tea
They were all wearing Russian balaclavas
Each carried an RPG
British scalps around their tummy pockets full of stolen money
Said your man from RTE
Leitrim is seething with sedition
It’s Sinn Fein through and through
All the task force have joined the local unit
The post office in the GHQ
They’ve a racetrack underground for training Shergar
No comment! Is all they’ll say to me
Subversion here is bubblin’ please take me back to Dublin
Said your man from RTE
Every bird upon my word is singing I’m a rebel sir up in Leitrim sir
Every hen indeed is laying hand grenades I do declare sir in Dromahair sir
Every auld crock of a Drumsna cock is longing to be free
Even sheep are advising there’ll be another rising said your man from RTE
William Butler Yeats
Ivy Ruler
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
I cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream,
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name;
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded in the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and hold her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
I was backstage at Woodstock talking to Jimi when Richie ambled past and hearing my Kildare accent enquired about Aongus and the origin. I told him about Brother Lazerian trying to teach us the beauty of Yeats til it was time for Richie to go on. I heard a rumour that Judy Collins wrote the tune but I got a horrid bollockin in Coolara House one night for suggesting same.Apparently twas Queen Maeve herself that wrote the tune for this one and taught it to Joe Dowd in a dream one night.
Seamus Robinson
Take me home to Mayo
Back across the sea
Take me home to Mayo
Where once I ran so free.
Take me home to Mayo
And let my body lie
Home in Mayo
Beneath the western sky.
My name is Michael Gaughan
From Ballina I came.
I saw my people suffering
I swore to break the chains.
I took the boat to England
Prepared to fight or die
Far away from Mayo
Beneath the western sky.
My body cold and hungry
In Parkhurst jail I lie.
In my fight for freedom
On hunger strike I’ll die.
I have one last request to make
I hope you won’t deny:
Take my body home to Mayo
Beneath the western sky.
Take me home to Mayo
Back across the sea.
Take me home to Mayo
Where once I ran so free.
Take me home to Mayo
And let my body lie
Home again in Mayo
Beneath the western sky.
Orginal Version:
Chorus
Take me home to Mayo, across the Irish Sea;
Home to dear old Mayo, where once I roamed so free.
Take me home to Mayo, there let my body lie;
Home at last in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.
My name is Michael Gaughan, from Ballina I came;
I saw my people suffering and swore to break their chain –
I raised the flag in England, prepared to fight or die –
Far away from Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.
Chorus
My body cold and hungry, in Parkhurst Gaol I lie;
For loving of my country, on hunger strike I die —
I have just one last longing, I pray you’ll not deny –
Bury me in Mayo, beneath an Irish sky.
Repeat chorus twice
Author: Bobby Sands
Am Em
In 1803 we sailed out to sea
G D Am
Out from the sweet town of Derry
Am Em
For Australia bound if we didn’t all drown
G D Am
And the marks of our fetters we carried
Am Em
In our rusty iron chains we sighed for our weans
Am Em
Our good women we left in sorrow
Am Em
As the mainsails unfurled, our curses we hurled
G D Am
On the English, and thoughts of tomorrow
CHORUS
C G Am G Am
Oh….. I wish I was back home in Derry
C G Am G Am
Oh….. I wish I was back home in Derry
At the mouth of the Foyle, bid farewell to the soil
As down below decks we were lying
O’Doherty screamed, woken out of a dream
By a vision of bold Robert dying
The sun burned cruel as we dished out the gruel
Dan O’Connor was down with a fever
Sixty rebels today bound for Botany Bay
How many will meet their reciever
CHORUS
I cursed them to hell as her bow fought the swell
Our ship danced like a moth in the firelight
White horses rode high as the devil passed by
Taking souls to Hades by twilight
Five weeks out to sea, we were now forty-three
Our comrades we buried each morning
In our own slime we were lost in a time
Of endless night without dawning
CHORUS
Van Diemen’s land is a hell for a man
To live out his whole life in slavery
Where the climate is raw and the gun makes the law
Neither wind nor rain care for bravery
Twenty years have gone by, I’ve ended my bond
My comrades ghosts walk behind me
A rebel I came – I’m still the same
On the cold winters night you will find me
CHORUS
I was playing in Derry and staying with The Barrett Family. After my gig we were gathered in Chamberlain St having a banter and drinking tea when a bit of singing broke out. A lad, just home from The Blocks, sang these verses and subsequently wrote out the words for me. At the time the name Bobby Sands was not known to the world as it is today. The following night I played in Bellaghy where the same process took place when I stayed with Scullion. Later on he “sang” McIlhatton for me and told me it had been written by Bobby Sands with whom he had shared a cell while “On the Blanket”. The name was becoming known to me.
He used the air of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald from Gordon Lightfoot, an air which I suspect has earlier origins. My version of Bobby’s song is shorter than the original.
Author: P. Stewart
Away, away you broken heart you
Leave my chest like a hollow cave
Stand me somewhere near the ocean
I will wait there wave after wave
Away, away you broken heart you
Who can heal you when you’re like this
There’s no angel born in heaven
There’s no lover’s healing kiss
Away, away you broken heart you
Lose yourself in the darkest night
If the stars can take your sorrow
Let them take it and that’s alright
Away, away you broken heart you
Leave my breast like a hollow cave
Stand me somewhere near the ocean
I will wait there wave after wave.
More Info
Phil Stewart wrote this beautiful song of utter heartbrokeness.Stark,empty song of hurt and abandonment,not every ones cup of tea and seldom sung. At Vicar St last December a request came up from the Hall and I started in not knowing whether I still had it.The Doctor stroked out some pure lonesome chords and we somehow got through,there was neither a dry eye nor leg in the house.
Dominic Behan
Have you been to Avondale?
Or lingered in her lovely vale
Where tall trees whisper all low the tale
Of Avondale’s proud eagle
Where proud and ancient glories fade
Such was the place where he was laid
Like Christ was thirty pieces paid
For Avondale’s proud eagle
Long years that green and lovely glade
Has nursed Parnell her proudest Gael
And cursed that land that has betrayed
Avondale’s proud eagle
Sorry no essay at present.
Sorry no Chords at present.
Trad / Arr: Planxty
As I roved out on a bright May morning
To view the meadows and flowers gay
Whom should I spy but my own true lover
As she sat under yon willow tree
I took off my hat and I did salute her
I did salute her most courageously
When she turned around well the tears fell from her
Sayin’ “False young man, you have deluded me
A diamond ring I owned I gave you
A diamond ring to wear on your right hand
But the vows you made, love, you went and broke them
And married the lassie that had the land”
“If I’d married the lassie that had the land, my love
It’s that I’ll rue till the day I die
When misfortune falls sure no man can shun it
I was blindfolded I’ll ne’er deny”
Now at nights when I go to my bed of slumber
The thoughts of my true love run in my mind
When I turned around to embrace my darling
Instead of gold sure it’s brass I find
And I wish the Queen would call home her army
From the West Indies, Amerikay and Spain
And every man to his wedded woman
In hopes that you and I will meet again.
More Info
I used to introduce this as having been learned from John Reilly. The singer Andy Rynne subsequently contacted me to remind me that he taught me the song at the Boyle Fleadh in 1964 after mistakenly polishing off my carry- out at a coming out party in Jack Reddys to mourn the loss of Jacks Jinnet who had fallen into a boghole on the way home after a, particularily bawdy, Comhaltas night in Pat Dowlings where poor auld Paddy Kenny mistook the Emmet Spiceland for three young slappers
CHORDS
Sorry no Chords at present.
View the song here
Trad / Arr: Planxty
I had a first cousin called Arthur McBride,
He and I took a stroll down by the sea-side,
A-seeking good fortune and what might the tide,
It was just as the day was a-dawning
Then after resting we both took a tramp
We met Sergeant Harpur and Corporal Cramp
Besides the wee drummer who beat up our camp,
With his rowdy-dow-dow in the morning
He says: “My young fellows if you will enlist,
A guinea you quickly shall have in your fist
And besides a crown for to kick up the dust,
And drink the king’s health in the morning.”
Had we been such fools as to take the advance,
With a wee bit of money we’d have to run chance,
“Do you think it no scruples for to send us to France.
Where we would be killed in the morning.”
He says: “My young fellows if I hear but one word,
I instantly now will out with my sword,
And into your bodies as strength will afford,
So now my gay devils take warning.”
But Arthur and I we took the odds,
And we gave them no chance for to launch out their swords,
Our whacking shillelaghs came over their heads,
And paid them right smart in the morning.
As for the wee drummer, we rifled his pouch,
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow
And into the ocean to rock and to roll
And bade it a tedious returning.
As for the old rapier that hung by his side,
We pitched it as far as we could in the tide,
To the devil I pit you says Arthur McBride,
To temper your steel in the morning.
I have no idea hgow this Andy Irvine song found its way onto this site.Some of our staff here can be very careless, some even sleep on the job.The board are considering outsourcing to Colombia where staying awake is not a problem.
Christy Moore
I looked over my shoulder but not for too long,
It’s no place to look if you’re writing a song,
Some songs grow ancient and live through the years,
While others die off and dry up like tears.
You open the cloak and lift up a veil,
The hammer is raised to drive home a nail,
The flesh is torn open, the bone is revealed,
Wounds that fester seldom get healed.
Chorus:
Songs written for love and written for gain,
Some make you laugh, soothe a bad pain,
Songs have a heart, a body, a soul,
You lay one to rest and another song is born.
While we rescue banks and Royal Kilmanham Halls,
Hell on this earth means nothing at all,
My hands are all withered and I cannot breathe,
The nightmare of indifference to suffering and need.
Chorus
The elite on the plinth maintain status quo,
Marble and granite their movements are slow,
The silk stays unruffled as the eyebrows are raised,
Satin and mohair the good lord be praised.
Chorus….
CHORDS
Sorry no Chords at present.
Author: Christy Moore
I can see the image of your face
but I cannot hear your voice
although your lips are moving
I can see your lips are moving
I can see that you are laughing
but I cannot hear your voice
although your eyes are sparkling
I can see your eyes are sparkling
you are playing in the sand
but I cannot hear your voice
now I see you dancing
I can see your Irish dancing
From behind those prison walls
I could not hear your voice
but when you told me you were dreaming
I could tell what you were dreaming
I saw how you were taken
but I could not hear your voice
I know you were’nt complaining
you were not one for complaining
I saw your hands joined in communion
but I could not hear your voice
I know you took a beating
but you were never beaten
Mairéad Farrell wrote me many years ago asking would I consider writing a song about the struggle in Armagh Prison.(I subsequently wrote “On The Bridge”).The above is an early draft of a song I wrote after Mairéad was executed in Gibralter.I never got to sing it. Terry O’Neill subsequently performed a version of the song with music from Brian Moore. ( for the record there is a very fine song written by Marguerita D’Arcy called ” Armagh Women”.A rough recording can be heard on tk13 of the Lilac Disc of the Box Set from a few years back. There are plenty of them out there)
Sorry no Chords at present.
Pierce Turner
The autumn evenings filled with copper shades
I see the birds’ neck in the frame
A figure walks into the sunset
Someone goes past suspended from the sky
Takes more imagination
When everything’s remote control
For me it’s just a case of
What’s on the far side of the road
Tell everybody
I’m going away for ten years
I’m going to wander
Among the Wicklow hills
The travelling children in their Sunday clothes
Lost on the corner of the Street
Fat gypsy lady smacks the windowpane
A farm dog gets out on the motorway
Takes more imagination
When everything’s remote control
For me it’s just a case of
What’s on the far side of the road
Tell everybody
I’m going away for ten years
I’m going to wander
Among the Wicklow hills
More Info
Sorry no essay at present.
CHORDS
Sorry no Chords at present.
Morrissey
America your head is so big
America your belly is so big
I LOVE you
but I wish you’d stay where you live
In America the land of the free they say
land of opportunity in a just and truthful way
where the president is never black female or gay
and until that day you’ve nothing to say to help me believe
In America you gave us the hamburger
America you know where you can shove your hamburger
don’t you wonder why in Estonia they say
hey you, yes you, you pig you big fat pig
Steely blue eyes with no love in them scan the world
and a humourless smile with no warmth within greets the world
while I who have nothing to offer you no no no no
but this heart deep and true you say you don’t need
See with your eyes feel with your hands, please
Hear with your ears know in your soul please
For haven’t you me with you now and I love you
America, I love you…
More Info
Apologies to the man for giving it the wrong title on “Burning Times”. Some Morrissey fans were outraged by my having the audacity to cover a song from “their” man.Some Americans were too but both Declan and I like to perform this as it allows us both to express our love for this beautiful country( but not for all of what goes on in it.)
CHORDS
Sorry no Chords at present.
Don Lange
The nighthawk flies and the owl cries as we’re driving down the road.
Listening to the music on the all night radio show,
The announcer comes on says if you’ve got ideas I’ll file the patent for you,
What’s an idea if it’s not in the store makin’ a buck or two.
We drive to the town but the shutters are down and the all-night restaurant’s closed
Its the land of the free,we’ve got booze and T.V. and there’s tramps in the telephone booths.
The stars and the trees and the early Spring breeze say forget what assassins have done,
Take our good soil in the palm of your hands and wait for tomorrows sun.
CHORUS.
Its a long way from the heartlands
to Santiago bay
Where the good doctor lies with blood in his eyes
and the bullets read U.S.of A.
A truck driver’s wife she leads a rough life he spends his life on the road.
Carrying the goods all the copper and wood thats what makes America great,
But the dollars like swallows they fly to the South where they know they’ve got something to gain,
Allende is killed, and the trucks are soon rolling again.
The nighthawk flies and the owl it cries as we’re driving down the road,
The full moon reveals all the houses and fields where good people do what they’re told,
Victor Jara he lies with coins in his eyes there’s no one around him to mourn,
Who needs a poet who won’t take commands who’d rather make love then war.
CHORUS
I have 3 versions of where I heard this song.
1. On AFN radio late one night I heard Peggy Seeger sing it out of Franfurt.(unlikely).
2. I heard Don Lange sing it in The Meeting Place Dorset St. Dublin.(even more unlikely).
3. The Dir. of L.E. in R.T.E. sent me a cassette after hearing me sing El Salvador(by Johnny Duhan) in The Felons Club In Andytown.( poss.).
It is a powerful song which never loses its potency. I first recorded it with Moving Hearts in 1983( Dark End of The Street) and again in 2002 ( Live at Vicar St.)
The author still writes,sings and records and,I am glad to say still sends me the occasional song
C…..G.
Am.Em.F.G.
C…..G.
Am.Em.G.C.
CHORUS
FGC.
F.G.
Am.Em
FGC.
Mick Hanly
I was lured by the rocking horse,
Sweets and the bualadh bos,
Fifty wild boys to a room.
Sing lámh, lámh eile, the dish ran away with the spoon.
Black shoes and stockings for those who say don’t.
Blue is the colour outside.
God made the world,
The snake tempted Eve and she died.
Wild Christian Brothers sharpening their leathers,
Learn it by heart, that’s the rule.
All I remember is dreading September and school.
CHORUS
And they made me for better or worse,
The fool that I am or the wise man I’ll be.
And they gave me their blessings or curse.
It wasn’t their fault I was me …
Not the one that you see.
The priest in confession condemns my obsession,
With thoughts that I do not invite.
I mumble and stutter,
He slams down the shutter,
Goodnight – (Good night to you too, Father!)
Stainless as steel,
Lord, you know how I feel,
Someone shoot me while my soul is clear.
I don’t think I’ll last,
But my vow to abstain was sincere.
Arch-confraternity men to the fight,
Raise up your banners on high.
Searching for grace,
Securing my place,
When I die.
CHORUS
Oh God, he kept a very close eye on me,
Hung round my bed in the darkness, he spied on me,
Caught me in the long grass so often, he died on me….
Ballrooms of romance in Salthill or Mallow,
I stood like John Wayne by the wall,
Lined up like cattle, we wait to do battle and fall.
You can’t wine and dine her in an old Morris Minor,
So ask her before it’s too late.
I danced on girls’ toes – accepted rejection as my fate.
Drink was my saviour, it made me much braver,
But I couldn’t hold it too well.
I slipped on the coach and ruined my approach as I fell.
CHORUS
In my memory Mick Hanly sang this song to me in Connolly Hall Cork circa 1981. His words have been corrupted over the years as I sang it in sheebeens and concert halls. It describes fittingly the 50s and 60s groping with adolescence whilst gettin’ the head bate off of us by frustrated bog trotters dying from the lack of horn pleasure if not the horn itself, love and companionship too, the poor hures.
C…F.C
Am.G.C…
C…F.C..
AmG.C..
EmAmGC.
C.G.C..
CHORUS
G..C
FCAmDa
G..C.
FCAm.G
GC…
One summer evening drunk as hell,
I sat there nearly lifeless.
An old man in the corner sang,
Where the water lilies grow.
On the jukebox Johnny sang,
About a thing called love.
And it’s “how are you kid? What’s your name?
And what do you know?”
In blood and death ‘neath a screaming sky,
I lay down on the ground.
The arms and legs of other men,
Were scattered all around.
Some prayed and cursed, then cursed and prayed,
And then they prayed some more.
And the only thing that I could see,
Was a pair of brown eyes they were looking at me.
When we got back, labeled parts one to three,
There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me.
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
A rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
For a pair of brown eyes,
For a pair of brown eyes.
I looked at him he looked at me,
All I could do was hate him.
While Ray and Philomena sang,
Of my elusive dream.
I saw the streams and the rolling hills,
Where his brown eyes were waiting.
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes,
That waited once for me,
That waited once for me.
So drunk as hell I left the place,
Sometimes walking, sometimes crawling.
A hungry sound came through the breeze,
So I gave the walls a talking.
And I heard the sounds of long ago,
From the old canal.
And the birds were whistling in the trees,
Where the wind was gently laughing.
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
A rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ I’ll go,
For a pair of brown eyes,
For a pair of brown eyes.
This is the first Pogues song I learned. I liked them from day one – Shane’s lyrics just got to me. He writes the Erse in a way that very few writers can. Johnny Mulhearn has it too and maybe Dempsey in a more urban way. It is of the source and touches the core. McGahern has it and Heaney too. McGowan has it but these days he chooses to rest his muse and act the cackling clown.. .If he never writes another song he will have written his fair share, he has made his mark with songs that are beautiful, that will last for as long as paddies and bridies sing.
Sorry no Chords at present.
1.Back home in Derry
2.North and South
3. Pity the poor Immigrant
4.Chicago
5.Barrowland.
6.Yellow Triangle
7.Cry like a man
8.Ordinary man
9.This is the day
10.No time for love
11.Little musgrave
12. Missing You
13. Scapegoats ( for Paddy Hill)
14.Corrina
15.Beeswing
16. Smoke and strong whiskey
17.Two conneeleys
18.Viva la Quinte Brigada
19 Time has come
20.Natives
21 Biko drum
22 Ride On
23.Hiroshima Nagasaki Russian Roulatte
encore
24.McIlhatton
25.Nancy Spain
26.Bright blue rose
27.Black is the colour( For Hamish Imlach)
28. Lisdoonvarna