Posts

Carrie Newcomer 2001

Chorus:
Let it go my love my truest
Let it sail on silver wings
Life’s a twinkling that’s for certain
But it’s such a fine thing
There’s a gathering of spirits
There’s a festival of friends
And we’ll take up where we left off
When we all meet again

I can’t explain it I couldn’t if i tried
How the only things we carry Are the things we hold inside
Like a day in the open Like the love we won’t forget
Like the laughter that we started And it hasn’t died down yet

Oh yeah, now didn’t we And don’t we make it shine
Aren’t we standing in the center of Something rare and fine
Some glow like embers Like a light through colored glass
Some give it all in one great flame Throwing kisses as they pass

East of Eden But there’s heaven in our midst
And we’re never really all that far From those we love and miss
Wade out in the water There’s a glory all around
And the wisest say there’s a thousand ways To kneel and kiss the ground 

Ian Robb 1975?

In approximately 1975 Stan and Garnet Rogers threw a holiday party at their house in Brampton, ON, for which Garnet "brewed about 20 gallons of what I fondly imagined to be beer. We had been using the same yeast for years, so we knew it would be around 8%. It was nearly lethal to anyone who thought they were just drinking beer. Ian Robb and his wife Val, who was then about eight months pregnant arrived, and I handed Ian a glass of my creation. He took a sip and handed the glass back to me. Sometime later, a harmless water pistol fight had inevitably escalated and I was rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs with a bucket of ice water, chasing someone down. Ian and Val were at the foot of the stairs just turning to wave goodbye. Val got the full force of the bucket right in the face and all down her front. I don't think she has it in her to hold a grudge, she's far too kind. I think she just couldn't bring herself to trust me for a very long time." When Ian recorded it 19 yrs later he related a consistent story and wrote "Val and Garnet are now speaking again."

Ian Robb: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/garnets-home-made-beer

Oh, the year was nineteen seventy-eight (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
When a score of men were turned quite green
By the scummiest ale you’ve ever seen.

Chorus:
God damn them all,
I was told This beer was worth its weight in gold.
We’d feel no pain, shed no tears
But it’s a foolish man who shows no fear
At a glass of Garnet’s homemade beer.

Oh, Garnet Rogers cried the town (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
For twenty brave men, all masochists who
Would taste for him his homemade brew.

This motley crew was a sickening sight (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
There was Caveman Dave with his eyes in bags
He’d a hard-boiled liver and the staggers and jags.

Well, we hadn’t been there but an hour or two (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
When a voice said “Gimme some homemade brew!”
And Steeleye Stan hove into view.

Now Steeleye Stan was a frightening man (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
He was eight feet tall and four feet wide
He said “Pass that jug or I’ll tan your hide!”

Stan took one sip and pitched on his side (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
Garnet was smashed with a gut full of dregs
And his breath set fire to both me legs.

So here I lay in my twenty-third beer (How I wish I’d never tried it now)
It’s been ten years since I felt this way
On the night before my wedding day. 

trad 

Come all you garners gay That are just now in your prime
I wish I was in that bonny girl’s arms Where I’ve been many a time

Refrain:
Where I’ve been many a time
Where I’ve been many a time
I wish I was in that bonny girl’s arms
Where I’ve been many a time.

Green willows they will twist Green willows they will twine
I wish I was in that bonny girl’s arms Where I’ve been many a time

For it’s once I had thyme enough And it flourished by night and day
Until that girl, that bonny, bonny girl Come and stole all my thyme away

So now my whole thyme is gone And I cannot plant any new
For the very same place where the old thyme grew It’s all over running, running rue

O the rue, the running, running rue It’s not the flower for me
I will pluck up all that running, running rue And plant down the sturdy oak tree

Stand you fast, stand you fast, sturdy oak Stand you fast, don’t ever die
And I’ll prove as true to my own true love As the stars prove true to the sky

For it’s very nice drinking ale And it’s far better drinking wine
But I like to sleep in that bonny girl’s arms Where I’ve been many a time

trad 

Tim Eriksen: https://timeriksen.bandcamp.com/track/gabriels-trumpet

You’ll see the dead arising, arising, arising
You’ll see the dead arising on that great day

Chorus:
Oh, Gabriel’s gonna blow from on high, from on high
Gabriel’s gonna blow by and by

You’ll hear poor sinners crying

You’ll hear the saints rejoicing

Oh, the seas will be a-boiling

Oh, the stars will be a-falling

Oh, the moon will be a-bleeding

Oh, brothers are you ready?

Oh, sisters are you ready?

May we all sing together 

Howard Kaplan 1988

"A sea shantey for modern times, set on a Hovercraft when its era may be ending." Hovercraft service across the English Channel began in 1970 and due to the Oil Crisis operated at a loss as soon as the mid-70s. The Channel Tunnel opened in 1994 and the last hovercraft service ended in October 2000.

Finest Kind: https://ianrobb1.bandcamp.com/track/from-dover-to-calais

I thought I heard the old man cry (Blow hard and hover!)
“Rev up the fans; it’s time to fly” (From Dover to Calais.)

I thought I heard the first mate quip / “Is this an airplane or a ship?”

I thought I heard a Belgian say / “Your shopping bags are full today”

I thought I heard a Frenchman answer / “It’s all so cheap at Marks and Spencer”

I signed on board at seventeen / I had no sea legs; I was green

I worked these craft from stern to bow / It’s thirty years I’ve known them now

In sixty-eight no ships were newer / I thought my future was secure

Where will I go, what will I do / Now that they’ve pushed the tunnel through

I thought I heard an old ghost scream / “You’ll go the way of sail and steam” 

James Gordon 1993

Frobisher Bay is an inlet of the Davis Strait in Nunavut, Canada. It is located in the southeastern corner of Baffin Island. The capital of Nunavut, Iqaluit, known as Frobisher Bay from 1942 to 1987, lies near the innermost end of the bay. The first Church of England service recorded on North American soil was in Iqaluit in 1578. Iqaluit gets significantly colder in its winter than the South Georgia Islands in "Wee Pot Stove" get in the southern winter, with highs below 10°F for four months of the year.

Chorus:
Cold is the Arctic sea
Far are your arms from me
Long will this winter be
Frozen in Frobisher Bay
Frozen in Frobisher Bay

“One more whale,” our captain cried
“One more whale and we’ll beat the ice.”
But the winter star was in the sky
The seas were rough, the winds were high

Deep were the crashing waves
That tore our whalers mast away
Dark are these sunless days
Waiting for the ice to break

Strange is a whaler’s fate
To be saved from the raging waves
Only to waste away
Frozen in this lonely grave 

trad 

"This song comes from a broadside sheet found in the Rider Collection. It was printed circa 1840. Although flat, griddle-fried cornmeal cakes are traditional fare along the Atlantic Coast, they have historically enjoyed unparalleled devotion in the Ocean State. And yet, the recipe for a true Rhode Island Johnny Cake has been a topic of great contention and controversy for centuries. There may be as many variations in the preparation and specific ingredients of Johnny-cakes as there are Rhode Islanders, but two primary types stand out: the thin and crisp Newport County cakes made with cold milk, and the thicker South County variety made with hot water. Past attempts to settle this age-old culinary dispute have only lead to bickering, bad mouthing, and at least one case of fisticuffs. Even on a box of the state's most popular johnny-cake mix, Kenyon's Johnny Cake Corn Meal, you will find the following wise disclaimer: 'Though we suggest a recipe which dates back to 1886, as all Rhode Islanders will agree, there is only one correct recipe-and that is their own!' New melody by B. Gagliardi, partially inspired by a sea chantey called 'Liverpool Judies'."

The Vox Hunters: https://thevoxhunters.bandcamp.com/track/fresh-from-the-board

Let the bards from the North, from the South, East, and West
All sing in the theme that suits them the best
Let them sing of baked beans, of pudding and pies,
Their hot apple dumplings, and doughnuts, likewise
The bard of Rhode Island no theme can afford
But to sing of hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

Refrain:
Fresh from the board, fresh from the board
But to sing of hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

Our neighboring farmers may plow, sow, and reap
And raise crops of barley, of rye and buckwheat
But the soil of Rhode Island our farmers adorn
With potatoes in plenty and abundance of corn
With butter and cheese their cellars are stored
To relish hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

The Rhode Island farmers are healthy and strong
Their sons and their daughters are fresh as the morn
They weave and they spin, make butter and cheese
They work when they like to, and play when they please
For all these enjoyments they’d think them absurd
Deprived of hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

The good Roger Williams, that pious old chief
First crossed the Atlantic for conscience’s relief
Bade adieu to oppression, to seek and to find
A spot more congenial that suited his mind
He came to Rhode Island, and there praised the Lord,
Content with hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

The Rhode Island farmers raise horses and cows
Bulls, calves and heifers, pigs, barrows, and sows
Their oxen and sheep make old Brighton to stare
For Brighton nor Brooklyn can’t with them compare
Each farmer’s a nabob, he lives like a lord
And smiles at hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board.

The State of Rhode Island affords every dish
That the stomachs of gluttons or epicures wish
The best Christmas turkey, fine chickens and lambs
Old-fashioned hog puddings, and nice baconed hams
Besides the hot Johnny-Cake fresh from the board
Which they swear to defend with the point of the sword. 

Stan Rogers 1981

"Blood brother to 'The Idiot', and also several months in the writing, this song is one of my personal favorites. I've often thought that the mental leap from the Atlantic coast to, say, Alberta, is an exercise that all Canadians should be capable of."

Well it’s blackfish at play in Hermitage Bay
From Pushthrough across to Bois Island
They broach and they sprout and they lift their flukes out
And they wave to a town that is dying
Now it’s many’s the boats that have plied on the foam
Hauling away! Hauling away!
But there’s many more fellas been leaving their homes
Where the whales make free in the harbour.

It’s at Portage and Main you’ll see them again
On their way to the hills of Alberta.
With lop-side grins, they waggle their chins
And they brag of the wage they’ll be earning.
Then it’s quick, pull the string boys, and get the loot out,
Haul it away! Haul it away!
But just two years ago you could hear the same shout
Where the whales make free in the harbour.

Chorus:
Free in the harbour; the blackfish are sporting again
Free in the harbour; untroubled by comings and goings of men
Who once did persue them as oil from the sea, Hauling away! Hauling away!
Now they’re Calgary roughnecks from Hermitage Bay,
Where the whales make free in the harbour.

Well, it’s living they’ve found, deep in the ground,
And if there’s doubts, it’s best they ignore them.
Nor think on the bones, the crosses and stones
Of their fathers that came there before them.
In the taverns of Edmonton, fishermen shout
Haul it away! Haul it away!
They left three hundred years buried up the Bay
Where the whales make free in the harbour. 

Alex Sturbaum 2017

"I've always had a soft spot for riverboat songs, and this one sprang fully formed from my head one day."

Alex Sturbaum: https://alexsturbaum.bandcamp.com/track/frances-lee

Chorus:
River run down from the mountain, and the river run down to the sea
River run down through the flatland towns where the riverboat men spend their money free
River run wide and the river run deep and the river run old as time
And the river run cold as the cold, cold heart of that pretty little girl of mine

When I landed on the river back in 1845
It was all a roustabout could do to keep himself alive
Hard work and harder liquor was the life that came to me
Till the day that I first laid my eyes on pretty Frances Lee

Now Frances Lee was the prettiest girl that ever I had seen
Her cheeks were red, her hair was brown, her shining eyes were green
I met her on a Saturday night, I kissed her on a Sunday
And damn me if I wasn’t just a lovesick fool by Monday

I courted pretty Frances Lee, I courted night and day
I bought her wine and dresses fine whenever I got my pay
She promised for to marry when I got back on shore
And in that town I’d settle down and work on the river no more

On the day that I returned to take her for my bride
I’d bought me a fine suit of clothes and a golden ring besides
I opened up my true love’s door with a shaking and trembling hand
And I found my true love in the arms of a low-down gambling man

So it’s goodbye to you, Frances Lee, goodbye forevermore
I’m going back on the river, and I ain’t coming back no more
You left me with a broken heart and a troubled, worried mind
And I’m gonna ride these riverboats until the day I die 

Nancy Kerr 2016

Apparently written in support of a friend's kid coming out as trans.

Nancy Kerr & James Fagan: https://kerrfagan.bandcamp.com/track/fragile-water

I am a man upon the land
Cold and slender as a secret river
And glamour folds within my hand
Like a salmon skin of beaten silver

Chorus:
My little fish slip off your skin
And leave it in the tide for gulls to plunder
And if you wish to walk or swim
Let there be nothing in the world to hinder

I cannot walk among your kin
For after water, land seems so much harder
But I will fall from wandering
To land on beaten sand and fragile water

Bridge:
There are other gifts than silver
Like another word for lover
If we only hold each other
We are beaten sand and fragile water

You know the ocean will bleach our bones
You know the burning sun will melt the boulders
Don’t mourn my shadow among the stones
For after winter, spring seems somehow colder

But as the ocean courts the strand
‘Til he becomes the grit that surges in her
So generations may understand
We are all beaten sand and fragile water