THE WORLD LIBRARY OF FOLK ÀHNTID PRIMITIVE MUSIC SERIES
Long before the current vogue for world music, Alan Lomax envisioned "a series of LPs that would map the whole world of folk music." He proposed the idea to Columbia Records president Goddard Lieberson during a chance encounter in a New York coffee shop in 1949. Within days, Lomax was sailing for Europe with a new Magnecord tape machine, "with the folk music of the world as my destination." The result of was the Columbia World Library of Folk and Primitive Music, the first in-depth overview of world music made widely available on LP records. With the Musee de l'Homme in Paris and the BBC in London as his backers, Lomax gained the collaboration of authorities of world musical styles. Lomax served as general editor for the whole series, and also collected material in the field for the volumes on Scotland, Ireland, England, Spain, and Italy. Columbia published 18 of 40 projected volumes; an unpublished master for a volume on Mexico will now be released on CD. A roster of distinguished musicologists contributed their recordings and scholarship, among them Andre Schaeffner and Gilbert Rouget (France); Peter Kennedy (England); Hamish Henderson (Scotland); Seamus Ennis (Ireland); Diego Carpitella (Northern and Central Italy and Southern Italy and the Islands); Eduardo Torner (Spain); Peter Kennedy (Yugoslavia); Tiberiu Alexandru (Romania); A.L. Lloyd (Bulgaria); Alain Danielou (India); Jaap Kunst (Indonesia); A.P. Elkin (Australia and New Guinea); Genjiro Masu (Japan, the Ryukyus, Formosa and Korea); Gilbert Rouget (West Central Africa with Madagascar); Hugh Tracey (Eastern and Southern Africa); Marius Barbeau (Canada); and Juan Liscanio (Venezuela).
Following his usual practice, Lomax sought to include performances and artists of the highest calibre. The albums were carefully programmed to give the listener a broad and vivid introduction to the range of musical expression in a region. They were packed with examples, and individual recordings were frequently edited or faded. If complete performances were used on the CD reissues, many volumes would exceed the limits of even that format, and the flow of the original programming would be lost as well. For these reasons, the timing and composition of the original albums has been kept.
This series drew Alan Lomax into the study of world music, which complemented his own intensive field research in Europe, the United States and the Caribbean. Soon after the publication of the series Lomax began developing methodologies explaining world musical and dance styles. Many of the Columbia World Library albums remained in print until the 1980s. They remain invaluable documents for listeners interested in exploring the roots of world music.
INTRODUCTION
— Nicholas Carolan, Dublin, 19971
On 13 January 1951, when Alan Lomax disembarked
at the Irish port of Rosslare on the first stage of a marathon folk music collecting journey across Europe, he found an Ireland emerging from the isolation of the war years, a country on the cusp of change. An old rural tradition-bound world with an early twentieth-century veneer of modernity would alter radically over the next half century to become a modern urban European society open to every wash of electronic fashion.
The traditional music of Ireland, then typically performed at home after a day's work for the entertainment of friends and neighbours (the house ceilidhe) or in parish halls by ad-hoc groupings of musicians ("ceilidhe bands") playing for hundreds of dancers, was of ambiguous status by 1951. In many pockets of the country, particularly in the south and west, it continued to be performed in an unbroken line of tradition and fulfilled the same personal and social functions as it had done in previous centuries. The Irish or Gaelic language, a dialect of Celtic, was still the daily vernacular of tens of thousands of speakers along the southern and western seaboards, although the country as a whole had decisively turned to English in the nineteenth century. The ideology of the relatively new 26-
county Irish state, founded in 1922, supported traditional culture, especially the Irish language, through the schools, the national radio service, Radio Éireann, and such institutions as the Irish Folklore Commission or Coimisiûn Béaloideasa which had been collecting folklore extensively since the 1930's. Nevertheless, the majority of the population associated traditional culture with poverty and deprivation, and were reaching out to experience instead the exciting worlds of post-war Britain and America through radio and records, newspapers and magazines.
Himself a harbinger of the modern with his huge Magnecord tape recorder and plans for a series of the new long-playing discs, Lomax was searching however for those survivals of the past that most of contemporary Ireland was then in the process of disowning: the immemorial Gaelic lyric songs, the English narrative ballads of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century settlers, the jigs, reels and hornpipes with their associated dances, and the even older traditions of the lullaby, the work song and the death-lament. A singer and a collector who had specialised in folk song, he seems to have been mainly on the lookout for song in Ireland, and his collecting there reflects this. The Irish singing tradition in both languages was then typically solo and unaccompanied, impersonal, understated and domestic, with occasional bursts of,exuberance. In Irish, regional styles could be distinguished in the so-called
1 Nicholas Carolan is Director of the Irish Traditional Music Archive in Dublin.
sean-nôs or old-style singing: in West Donegal, for instance, rhythmically straightforward and melodically undecorated; in the Connemara region of Co. Galway, usually arrhythmic and highly ornamented. In contrast to trained concert-platform singers in Irish, traditional singers had the blas, the authentic if undefined native accent and idiom.
Lomax's diary records his meeting on that first day with the contact who would make his month in Ireland a productive one: "lanky, puck-faced, tall Seamus Ennis, the best pipe player in Ireland." The charismatic Ennis (1919-1982), a Dubliner, was a person of extraordinary talent. A virtuoso musician, especially on the uilleann pipes (the native Irish bellows-blown bagpipe), a singer in Irish and English, a storyteller, raconteur and writer, he had spent the previous decade as a professional folklore collector, at first for the Folklore Commission and then for Radio Éireann. He had also advised and recorded extensively for Brian George, a Donegal-born BBC radio producer who had initiated a large-scale BBC project for the recording of traditional music throughout Britain and Ireland.
After a period of induction in Dublin, recording Ennis and studying Ennis's transcriptions and recordings in the Commission and Radio Éireann archives, Lomax set off for the south-western counties on 22 January, accompanied by the American singer Robin Roberts who had come to Ireland with him, and at times by Ennis. The tape recorder had developed a fault in
Dublin, but while it was being repaired Radio Éireann supplied him with its Mobile Recording Unit truck with disc-cutting equipment and an engineer, Jim Mohan. He and Lomax did not hit it off, but over the next few days they made successful recordings in Macroom and elsewhere in Cork and Kerry from such old country friends of Ennis as the singers Mrs Elizabeth Cronin and John Connell, their traditional music sessions enlivened by the excitement of the American visitors.
Moving up the west coast, Lomax collected the repaired tape recorder in Limerick and, still following the Ennis trail, went on 29 January into Galway where in Glinsk in the Connemara Gaeltacht (Irish-speaking district) he met Ennis's chief informant, the farmer and fisherman Colm Ô Caoidheâin (Colm Keane) from whom Ennis had taken down over 200 songs in the 1940s. Technically, Lomax's most demanding recording was that made of the Ballinakill Ceilidhe Band in Galway, an influential instrumental group which had been making radio broadcasts and gramophone records in one lineup or another since the late 1920s. Further recording in the county was alternated with a visit to Donegal, from 3 to 6 February, where, with the assistance of the Folklore Commission collector Sean Ô hEochaidh, he recorded in Gortahork a young Gaeltacht girl singing a death lament, a tradition which is now no longer to be heard, and in Convoy the traveling tinsmith and fiddle player Mickey Doherty, "the best day in Ireland."
Dubbing sessions at Radio Éireann and late-night transcription sessions in the Commission with Ennis and the folk music scholar Donal O'Sullivan completed the Irish trip, and Alan Lomax left for Rosslare and Britain on 10 February, after "contracts and farewells." His association with Ennis was not at an end: within a few years they would be colleagues in the BBC and leading participants in the British folk music revival.
The historic 12" LP of which this CD is a reissue first appeared in 1955, and seems to have been the first original LP of Irish traditional music, as distinct from those LPs which consisted of reissues of 78s and LPs of Irish popular music. Comprising recordings made during the month in Ireland with the addition of some earlier BBC recordings, it spans a variety of Irish traditions (although not those of the 6-county state of Northern Ireland), and preserves performers who are long dead and examples of some music traditions and styles which are now obsolete. In particular it made sean-nôs singing available to the public for the first time on commercial record. The Columbia company reissued it in LP format more than once and kept it in stock until the early 1980s, but it has been unavailable now for many years. As the traditional song and music it documents continued to decline in the early 1950s, a new graph of revival and rediscovery was also rising which has since introduced many changes: song is
now more often accompanied than not, song in Irish has a large following and is well represented on recordings, instrumental music is more highly arranged and often played on newly introduced instruments such as the bouzouki and electric keyboards, venues are more frequently the public settings of the pub and the concert hall, performances more normally mediated through radio, television and commercial recordings. The welcome reappearance of this recording, which will be a revelation to many, makes available again an important insight into that different world of Irish music of the mid-twentieth century.
RECORDING IN IRELAND
WITH ALAN LOMAX — by Robin Roberts2
In the fall of 1950 Alan Lomax arrived in Paris,
where I was singing folk songs in a little club called L'Abbaye, and announced that he was going to record the whole world of people's music. He asked, "Where do you want to start?" Without hesitating I said "Ireland," being under the false impression that I knew a great deal about that country and its songs. We then proceeded to London to ground ourselves in the project. We spent hours with Brian George, who was in charge of Irish recordings at the BBC. They had lots of lovely stuff, but we were particularly impressed with one Seamus Ennis, who sang in a rich, low humorous
2 Robin Roberts assisted Alan Lomax and Seamus Ennis in the field. She is an actress and singer who has worked exclusively in Irish repertory theatre.
voice and played the Irish pipes magnificently. "That's the man to see in Ireland," we were told.
Dublin at last. The weather was warmish — misty, with a dark, reddish pall coming down over the city early. At that hour, perhaps four o'clock, we battled traffic jams consisting mostly of bicycles. Little boys hawked papers on corners, tinkers thrust their children at you to cadge a coin, and the only place to eat on O'Connell St. was The Green Rooster, which stayed open after nine o'clock.
We first met with Sean O'Sullivan, archivist of the Irish Folklore Commission. He and Alan were perfect oppo-sites. Sean had fine features under his white hair and sharp blue eyes. He was perfectly dressed and knew exactly what was worthy and what was not. He showed us a lovely, green-bound collection of the oldest, grandest Irish airs, with translations from the Gaelic.3 One got the distinct impression that there was very little left to collect. Alan would arrive in his office in unpressed pants, a shirt open at the neck, big smile and homeboy Texas accent. You could almost see O'Sullivan wince.
At last we met Seamus Ennis. He was 31 at that time — tall and slender as a greyhound, all sharp-chiseled features, curly brown hair, and resonant voice. I had an instant crush that never quite vanished, even when I
realized he must be hell to live with. Remote, elliptical, hard-drinking comrade of men, he had a strange innocence, too. I once asked him if he believed in mermaids, and he answered, "Sure, there's no proof they don't exist." Alan never ceased to think he was a kind of genius. His father had been a famous piper, and Seamus had followed in his footsteps. His father's prowess as a step dancer had not appealed to him, but from boyhood he had made the music a part of his soul and he wanted all of it. While he was still a lad, the Folklore Commission had sent him out to wild Connemara on a bicycle with a wire recorder. There, night after night after plentiful jars of poteen, Seamus would coax forth air after air from farmers and fishermen along that rugged coast, the "rocks of Bawn."
Seamus was especially lucky in Glinsk, where he recorded Colm Keane, who gave him at least two hundred pieces, only about three of which were in English. During the day Seamus would transcribe the words carefully in his beautiful Christian Brothers hand. His translations were simple and elegant. He knew where the music was still, in spite of the begrudgers' insistence that all the good stuff was no more.
The three of us set out for Ballylicky in County Cork to record a pretty, redheaded girl, Maire O'Sullivan. Seamus hinted that they had been great together once, but now she was married to an Inspector of
3 Possibly a collection edited by folksong expert Donal O'Sullivan.
Schools. We arrived at night, and indeed her eyes filled with delight at the sight of Seamus. After chicken and ham, two kinds of potatoes, brown bread, and tea, Alan was finally able to record her. She had a light, rather fragile voice, singing "Binnsn Luachra" (the "Little Bench of Rushes") and "The Airy Girl." Afterwards, we all sang, which was to be our pattern. At some point, I sang an Irish-American version of "Brennan on the Moor," and a man rushed upstairs in great excitement to bring down an old flint-lock pistol, which he swore had belonged to bold Brennan himself. He begged me to take it but I refused, reluctantly.
The next day we traveled to Ballymakeery, a little town above Macroom, to see old Mrs. Cronin. Aged 70 at the time, she was small and full of vinegar. A long-time widow, she wore nothing but black. She had a high, dusty speaking voice with a thick Cork brogue, very up and down, and a dry sense of humor. "Oh yes, people love my songs - one English lady was so grateful she sent me a brooch from London, but it was so heavy it near made me fall on my face." She told us she had learned many of her songs from the servants. Since at that time she was living in a tiny cottage with one of her sons, a large sow, and some chickens, she must have seen grander times in earlier days. She had so many wonderful songs, "Cucanandy," "Kitty Alone," "What Would You Do if You Married a Soldier?" But suddenly she remembered an old ballad, "The Lass of Awkrim" it sounded like, actually, "The Lass of Aughrim," an Irish version of "The Lass of Loch
Royan." She would sing a few verses, sigh, and say, "That's all - all I can recall." I could see that Alan was really excited. He kept drawing her out, telling her how wonderfully she was doing, saying, "Just one more verse." In the end she remembered it all, and Alan said jubilantly that it was the most complete ballad he had ever recorded. Anyone who sings that song now will probably have it from Elizabeth Cronin.
The next day we drove around the coast, through the gaps and mountains of Killarney and up through Clare to Galway. There, in a blue-washed cottage were two middle-aged men, Bartley O'Sullivan and Sean Conway. They were speaking in Irish. Until that moment it hadn't really entered my head that here was a living language as unlike English as Albanian from French: the liquid Gaelic with harsh throaty sounds and palate-based t's. When they sang, I was verily in another land. Where were the shamrocks and "Wrap the Green Flag Round Me, Boys"? This was sean-nôs, the old style from an old high culture, mournful, convoluted and highly decorated. It sounded almost Middle Eastern to me. Alan and I stared at each other. Alas, some of their music couldn't be used due to the turf fire in the hotel where we were recording; its pleasant crackling sound became machine gun firing on the tape. Between songs and drinks, Bartley talked about Cromwell and his devastations as though he'd been through only recently, driving the Gaels "to Hell or Connaught." "We must forget him now," he murmured. "Must forget Cromwell." Clearly he hadn't. Meanwhile,
the woman of the house would enter from time to time asking us to hold the noise as her husband "was dying upstairs." We moved on before learning his fate. It was so cold that winter I kept putting my thick rubber-soled shoes on the fire grate only to find them dripping rubber later. We went north to Donegal to record Kitty Gallagher and "Maighdean Mhara" (the mermaid), and, most interestingly, Mickey Doherty, the tinker fiddler. Years later I helped record his brother John, who was known for his slow airs and considered more elegant, but Alan knew that Mickey was pure gold. He regaled us with marvelous stories as we bounced through the hills, especially about St. Colmcille.
If only one had had a small tape recorder, but they were still hard to come by. It took all of Alan's considerable strength to haul his huge machine up boreens from the van to the steps of hotels. One night in Donegal, where I swear it was colder in the hotel than out, we were laughing with Mickey, recording "The Fox Chase" with all its incredible renderings of dogs barking, horns blowing, the fox crying. Suddenly, the woman of the house, a small, shy lady, poked her head in and asked us to hold the noise as her husband was "after dying upstairs." Husbands were beginning to seem frail indeed. Next morning in the midst of a huge Irish breakfast, Alan courteously asked the woman about her man. "Oh, he died last night," she said with a diffident smile. Even Mickey was momentarily subdued.
One day in memorable sunshine we visited a woman whom we recorded but did not use on the record. Alan, mindful of stuttering turf fires, forced the poor soul to drive her chickens and dog away from the house and to shut off her rather loud grandfather clock. All this he managed to do with the utmost gentleness and jollity. Even when singers were not used, they were paid a decent fee.
After Mickey Doherty, the most colorful informant we encountered was Margaret Barry. It was early morning in the town of Dundalk. Seamus had left Dublin and Alan and I were walking along the main street when we heard an extraordinary voice from around the corner — not beautiful, but strong and penetrating. She got through one or two rather banal songs without much response from the audience. Then came "The Bold Fenian Men." Splendid. "That's for the old ones," said one old gaffer, dropping a coin in her hand. She had black hair, thick as a horse's mane, black eyes, a long craggy face and body, and at age 40, very few teeth. She seemed to sing the high notes while screwing her mouth around a good upper tooth, and the low ones with a similar lower tooth. Later, when she had gotten a full set of teeth and a much thicker torso, her mouth still tended to zig and zag. Alan asked her if she would come to the hotel and record for us, to which she promptly agreed as though this were an everyday occurrence. Her battered banjo was old, and when I asked her where she got the strings she muttered something about a bicycle brake. She said she was
known as the Queen of the Tinkers - Barry is a tinker name - and that she had personally introduced "Irene Goodnight" into Ireland, having gotten it off Radio Luxembourg. Her talk was fast, funny, and full of mala-propisms like 'Ulsterations' for illustrations. Alan was so taken with her, he later brought her to London to perform on radio and record her repertoire and life story. On occasion she also acted as a sort of housekeeper cum cook for Alan, which proved amusing, especially when she boiled three prized sirloin steaks into an Irish stew for a dinner party. In London she met her husband, Michael Gorman, a fiddler, and became quite famous — another of the many lives Alan changed forever.
I haven't mentioned Agnes Whyte or Maggie MacDonagh or Sean MacDonagh, a great pal of Seamus's and a fine singer. We recorded him in a pub and, as we were all giving a song or two afterwards, I started to sing a Burl Ives version of "Green Broom," when the feisty little local midwife called out, "That's not right — that's not the song at all. Come on, Johnny, and give us the real one." Well, that was the point. My "wrong" version was bait for the real Irish version, and he gave us a beauty.
At some point Alan decided that he and Seamus should collaborate on a ballad opera for the BBC to be called "The Stones of Tory," in which Seamus would play the non-Irish speaker from the mainland who gets shipwrecked on Tory Island and is inaugurated into the
language and old ways by the locals. I was to play the island girl who spoke only Irish. There was many a bent eye over that. Alan then wrote to many of the singers and musicians he had recorded, and several agreed to make the trip to Dublin, including Kitty Gallagher and Maire O'Sullivan. He wrote to one girl, famous for her rendering of "The River of Gems," and she replied in a three-page letter in Irish. Annoyed, Alan wrote back a two-page letter in Spanish, but it was all settled in the end. For the big parts he got Walter Macken and Eileen Crowe from the Abbey Theater. The tale of Balor was told in Irish, then translated so that Seamus's character could understand. It was full of wonderful music, made by the best Irish musicians of that time.
Later, there were those who complained that Alan had roared through Ireland like Atilla the Hun, had trod roughshod over other folklorists' special territories. He had not spent enough time with the people to understand them properly, and he did not speak Irish. But he did have the imprimatur of Seamus Ennis, without whom he might easily have been led astray. Now, of course, that collection is cherished in Ireland. He could not have foreseen that he had started something that would blossom into a revival of the music which was only lying dormant for a while, waiting to be reawakened with new singers, fiddlers and pipers and groups of singers like the Clancys — a new thing entirely. It was only waiting to be heard. — New York, 1997
ORIGINAL INTRODUCTION
— by Alan Lomax, London, 1951
The last notes of the old, high and beautiful Irish
civilization are dying away — a civilization which produced an epic, lyric and musical literature as noble as any in the world. Two hundred years ago, most Irishmen spoke Gaelic and so were heritors of this remarkable oral culture. The conquest of Ireland by the English, the potato famine in the 1840s which reduced the population of the country by half, the subsequent emigration that filled America with Irishmen, the recent impact of films and the like, have dealt Gaelic culture terrible blows. Today, only cottagers in the West still speak Gaelic as their everyday language. The scientists in the Irish Folklore Commission feel a special urgency in their work, for they see an entire culture traced on the sands of the western beaches. They must recover what they can, before the next wave washes the beach smooth of the old words.
There is also an urgent need to publish records like this one from which a new, live singing tradition may grow. The singing style of the Irish is impossible to notate in our Western musical script. Scholars and composers of the 18th and 19th centuries published their written versions of the songs so that the real McCoy was hidden by volumes of badly transcribed or even censored material and under layers of imitations and rewrites.
The best modern versions of Irish folksong were created by anonymous Irish singers, who apparently made up verses in their heads in Irish and translated them into English as they sang. From this stems the Irish come-all-ye tradition ("Morrissey," etc.) which is the basis for many of our American ballads.
Recently, the government of Eire has officially sponsored the Irish language. In street names, in the schools, in contests of songs, in every way possible, the attempt has been made to revive and spread this beautiful tongue. The issue is in doubt, but at least dozens of young singers have gone into country districts and learned the songs from the lips of surviving singers. I have included several such versions in this collection.
The recordings were made by Robin Roberts and myself in January 1951, and by Brian George and Maurice Brown of the BBC in 1947. All of us travelled with Seamus Ennis, a great piper and son of a great piper, a fine singer of ballads, and a man known and loved wherever Gaelic is spoken and music made in Ireland. This collection is his. Thanks go to Séamus Ô Duilearga and Seân Ô Sûilleabhâin of the Irish Folklore Commission, under whom we all worked, and to Radio Éireann and the BBC for generous help when it was needed.
NOTES
— by Seamus Ennis and Alan Lomax 1951, revised by Nicholas Carolan 1997.
The original notes, normalising transcriptions and fairly literal translations have been regarded as a historical document and have been left in their original condition with some silent correction of typographical errors and light editing for clarity and accuracy. Minimal additions and revisions are in square brackets. Verses of song texts in parenthesis are not included on this release of the recordings. Unless otherwise indicated, recordings were made by Alan Lomax.
1. An Cailin Aerach [Song]
(The Airy [Light-Hearted] Girl)
Sung by Maire O'Sullivan / Maire Ni Shûilleabhâin,
Ballylicky, Co. Cork.
The melting, subtropical landscape of Cork provides the proper setting for the soft and honeyed singing style of 25-year-old Maire O'Sullivan. Daughter of a prosperous hotel keeper, protege of two ardent Irish language teachers, she learned her songs from the best singers of Cork. "The Airy Girl" is one of the most charming of the lighter songs of Munster. A young man protests to his sweetheart that the evening he spent with the "airy girl" was quite innocent: "And if I walked the dew with her, I promise you have no cause for alarm."
{Thangamair abhaile go tuirseach tréithlag. Do shuidheas-sa sios ag gabhail leathscéil di. Thâinig bean a' tighe isteach is ba chuma nô'n chaor i, 'S do dhibir si gan mhoill (ar) mo chailin aerach.)
'Si an cailin meidhreach an cailin ceolmhar, Fuair si radharc is do bhi deigh-heolach; Na ciléirfi is na hoidheanta do nigheadh is do scôladh, Agus im an chéad-phraghais go dtabharfadh ar nôin dom.
'Chomhairle a bheirim-se do chailini ôga, Gan bheith feasta a' magadh nâ a' sport Horn, Teacht abhaile go luath urn thrâthnôna -No gheobhaidh sibh ar maidin "Hurra!" chun a' bhôthair!
Translation:
(We came home tired and weakened.
I sat down apologizing to her.
The woman of the house came in like a thunderbolt,
And she banished without delay my airy girl.)
She's a merry and a musical girl, Far-sighted and knowledgeable; Pots and ovens she'd wash and scald, And would give me first-grade butter by midday.
This advice I would give to young girls,
Not to be laughing or playing with me in future,
To come home early in the evening -
Or in the morning you will get a "hurra" for the road!
2. The Banks of the Roses [Song] Sung by Seamus Ennis
Recorded in Dublin. Copyright: Colm ô Lochlainn éd., Irish Street Ballads (Dublin 1939), used by permission.
It is remarkable to observe how often the Irish language, when literally translated into English, sounds like poetry. For that reason, scores of Gaelic songs have made their way painlessly into our language, and one finds them in all stages of Anglicization. This Limerick love song has reached full blossom. [Presumably learned by Ennis in Limerick, this resembles many songs of British origin which circulated in Ireland in the nineteenth century on broadsides. It is one of a number of rake-songs that Ennis sang.]
By the banks of the roses, me love and I sat down, And I took out my violin to play me love a tune, In the middle of the tune oh she sighed and she said, "Oh Johnny, lovely Johnny, would you leave me?"
Oh when I was young man I heard me father say, That he'd sooner see me dead and buried in the clay, Rather than be married oh to any runaway, By the lovely sweet banks of the roses.
Oh then I am no runaway and soon I let them know, That I can take a bottle or can leave it alone, And the man that doesn't like me he can keep his
daughter at home,
And young Johnny will go rovin' with another.
And if ever I get married 'twill be in the month of May,
When the leaves they are green and the meadows
they are gay,
And me and my true love can sit and sport and play,
By the lovely sweet banks of the roses.
Repeat first verse.
3. An Binnsin Luachra [Song] (The Little Bench [or Bunch] of Rushes) Sung by Maire O'Sullivan / Maire Ni Shûilleabhâin, Ballylicky, Cork.
A young man meets a beautiful girl gathering rushes, which country folk once used for beds. He seduces her with fine promises. She gives him "her little bench of rushes," a kindness she soon regrets. Many Gaelic singers know and love this song. We include two out of six stanzas.
Do bhi mé maidin uaigneach, ag dul sios dom go
hinnse an Chlâir,
Bhi mo ghadhairini go h-uaibhreach ag uaillfhirt is mo
ghunna 'm lâimh;
Nô gur casadh orum an stua-bhean ba dheirge gruadh
's ba mhilse blâth,
Agus âdhbhar binnsin buainte 'ci den luachair ba
ghlaise scâil.
Is a chailin bhig na luachra, nâ leigfeâ-sa do
bheart ar lar
Ag bruach na coille cumhr(th)a ag éisteacht le
guth coileân?
Sagart ni bhfaghaidh scéal air nâ aoinne beo
d'à bhfuil le fail,
No go dtiocaidh cainnt don chéirseach nô Béarla
do'n londubh fain.
Translation:
One morning, lonely, I was going to the Inch
[water-meadow] of Clare,
My hounds were proudly baying, my gun was
in my hand;
When I met this charming young woman of reddest
cheeks and sweetest flower,
And she had cut the making of a bench of the
freshest and brightest rushes.
0 little girl of the rushes, would you not leave
down your bundle
At the edge of the fragrant forest, where the baying
of the young hounds may be heard?
No priest will hear of this nor anyone alive
Until the gift of speech comes to the thrush or English
to the roaming blackbird.
[In the final stanza the young lass reproaches him:] You promised me a home and a pleasant life, Clothing from head to foot, a white silken dress; You promised to come and see me every evening
and fine morning,
All in payment for the bench of rushes and the
trouble I had over it.
4. The Brown Thorn [Air] Played on the fiddle by Sean Moriarty. Recorded in 1947 in Killarney by Maurice Brown for the BBC.
An example of the lyric virtuosity of rural Irish fiddlers, this is the air of the tragic Gaelic love song [An Droighneân Donn] the old people call 'the king of all songs'. A dark-haired girl comes incognito to the house where her former lover is to marry a rich blond lady. When he recognizes his old true love, he leaves the blonde and marries the brunette in spite of the objections of his parents, saying, The sweetest berries and fruit grow on trees whose flowers are near the earth, and my love is like the flower on the brown thorn...'
5. Sack of Potatoes & The Maid of Mount Kisco [Reels]
Played by the Ballinakill Ceilidhe Band on two fiddles, two flutes, and two accordions. Recorded in Co. Galway.
Properly speaking, a ceilidhe is sociable time at the fireside with stories, songs, and step dancing. In the Irish revival, the word has come to mean an Irish dance with an Irish orchestra. The first 'ceilidhe' band
was organized by the director of Irish radio, Seamus Clandillon, only 25 years ago, and this was certainly the most important event in recent Irish music history. The orchestration perfectly suited the Irish melodies and made them popular again with the young people who would have rejected the same tunes played by solo fiddlers or pipers. This orchestra plays, like a tree full of blackbirds, entirely by ear. [The ceili band was in existence before Irish radio, but this statement of its origin by Ennis, presumably deriving from his piper father, a frequent performer in the early years of Irish radio, was taken up and widely circulated in the 1960s by the highly influential composer and arranger Seân Ô Riada, and has often been quoted. It is likely that Clandillon had some part in imposing structure for radio appearances on the haphazard lineups of bands that played for ceilis.]
6. Dance to Your Daddy
7. Cucanandy [Songs]
Sung by Elizabeth Cronin, Ballymakeery, Co. Cork.
Mrs. Cronin, a white-haired farm woman of Cork, sings equally well in Irish and English. She has passed on the true blas [native singing style] of Cork to two generations of younger singers. Here are two dandling songs on which Mrs. Cronin raised her family of sons, the first in English, the second partly in Irish.
DANCE TO YOUR DADDY
Chorus:
Dance for your daddy-o, Dance for your mammy-o, Dance for your daddy-o, My own purty child. (Repeated)
/'// buy my child a saucepan, I'll buy my child a spoon, I'll buy my child a writing-desk, And he will go to school. (Chorus).
CUCANANDY
Chorus:
Cuc-a-nandy-nandy, cuc-a-nandy-o, (3x) Poirtin She in a' tShda is inghean Philib a' Cheoil.
Throw him over, over, throw him over sea, Throw him over, over, he'll be here today. (2x)
He didn't dance, dance, he didn't dance today, He didn't dance, dance, no, nor yesterday. (2x)
Throw him up, up, throw him up high, Throw him up, up, he'll be here by 'n' bye. (2x)
8. An Mhaighdean Mhara
(The Mermaid Song)
Sung by Kitty Gallagher / Citi Ni Ghallchôir, Gweedore,
Co. Donegal.
Both the language and melody of this song appear to be quite old. It forms part of the mermaid folklore common to Donegal and the Hebrides, where mermaids were often said to be seen in the last century. The singer, age 18, comes from a farm family. She learned her songs from the old women in the community and her blas is typically Northern. [This text is obscure and fragmentary, which gives an impression of antiquity.]
Is cosamhail gur mheath tu nô gur thréig tu an greann.
Ta an sneachta go frasach fâ bhéal an âtha.
Do chûl buidhe daithe is do bhéilin sâmh,
Siûd chugaibh Mary Theinidh, 's i ndéidh an Éirne a
shn-mh.
'Bhainrioghain mhilis, dûirt Maire Bhân,
Fâ bhruach an chladaigh, 's fâ bhÈal na trâgha Maighdean mhara mo mhâithrln ârd, Siûd chugaibh Mary Theinidh, 's i ndéidh an Éime a shnâmh.
Translation
It seems you got thin or that you have
forsaken pleasure.
The snow is deep at the mouth of the ford.
Your yellow colored hair and your neat mouth, Here come I, Mary Heeney, having swum the Erne.
(I am tired and will be until the day,
My girl Maire and my fair Patrick,
On the surface of the waves and at the ford's mouth
Here come I, Mary Heeney, having swum the Erne.)
Sweet girl, said fair-haired Maire,
On the surface of the waves and at the ford's mouth
My noble little mother was a mermaid,
Here comes Mary Heeney having swum the Erne.
9. The Fairy Lullaby [Song]
Sung by Maire O'Sullivan / Maire Ni Shûilleabhâin,
Ballylicky, Cork.
Stories of people carried off by fairies can be heard throughout the Celtic world. The story here is of a woman who died shortly after marriage. A year later, one of her neighbors recognized her sitting on a nearby fairy mound. She was rocking her fairy child and singing what seemed to be a lullaby, yet the song contained explicit directions for her rescue. It was the last night of her year with the fairies. If she were not rescued on this night by magical means, she could never resume her mortal form. [The chorus line consists of vocables which are often associated with lullabies.]
A bhean ud thios ar bhruach an tsruthân, Seothin seô, lu lo lo,
A' dtuigeann tusa fâth mo ghearâin?,
Seothin seô, lu lo lo,
'S gur bliain 's a' là indiubh fuaduigheadh mé o
m'Ieannân
Seothin seô, lu lo lo,
'S do rugadh isteach mé i lios an chnocâin,
Seothin seô, lu lo lo?
Chorus:
Seothin, seothin, seothin, seothin, Seothin seô, lu lô lô, Seothin, seothin, seothin, seothin, Seothin seô, lu lô lô.
An luibh a bhuaint (a)tâ i ndoras an leasa, Mar shûil le Dia go raghainn leis abhaile, N6 mara dtigidh se fâ'n dtrâth san Go mbead-sa im' bhanrbghain ar na mnâ so.
Translation
0 woman down yonder at the edge of the stream, Do you understand the cause of my complaining? It's a year today since I was taken from my lover And brought into the hillock lios [fairy hill]. (Chorus)
(Tell my husband to come tomorrow
With a wax candle held in his palm,
To bring with him a black-hafted knife
And strike the first horse going through the gap;)
To pluck the herb that is in the doorway of the lios,
In hope to God what I may get home with him. If he does not come by that time, I will be queen over these women.
10. The Fox Chase [Fiddle piece] Played on the fiddle by Mickey Doherty, Glenfinn, Co. Donegal.
This version of a song tune known in England as "The Little Red Fox" describes the hunt meeting, the search, then the chase, until at last the fox is run to earth and one hears the plaintive death scream. The hunt comes jogging home to a 12/8 tune known in Ireland as "The Fox Hunter's Jig."
11. The Rocks of Bawn
Sung by Seamus Ennis.
In the 17th century, Cromwell's army drove the Irish to "Hell or to Connaught," the submarginal lands of the western coast, where they learned to subsist on "rocks, bogs, mountains, salt water, and seaweed." To the hired farm laborer in this part of the world, even the British army seemed a refuge. This ballad, which may have been originally composed in Gaelic, has become one of the most popular in Ireland. [In fact, it is most unlikely to have an Irish origin, but may have been composed for the ballad sheets on which it circulated.]
Come, all you loyal heroes, wherever that you be, Don't hire with any master
till you know what your work will be, For you must rise up early, from the clear daylight till dawn, Or I'm afraid you'll never be able to plow the rocks of Bawn.
And my curse attend you, Sweeney,
you have me nearly robbed,
You're sitting by the fireside
with your duidin in your gob [pipe in your mouth],
You're sitting by the fireside
from the clear daylight till dawn,
And I'm afraid you'll never be able
to plow the rocks of Bawn.
And my shoes they are well worn now and my stockings they are thin, And my heart is always trembling afraid I might give in, My heart is always trembling, from the clear daylight till dawn, And I'm afraid I'll never be able to plow the rocks of Bawn.
(And I wish the Queen of England would write to me in time, And place me in some regiment all in my youth and prime, I'd fight for Ireland's glory from the clear daylight till dawn, And I never would return again
to plow the rocks of Bawn.)
12. Arnhran Fosuiochta [Song]
(The Herding Song)
Sung by Maggie McDonagh /
Maigi Ni Dhonnachadha (aged 40).
Recorded on Feenish Island, Connemara, Co. Galway.
The rocky land of Connemara is split and split again into thousands of patches, some hardly big enough to tether a goat. The same tiny bit of land may be divided into an oatfield and a pasture. The girls have to keep the cows out of the corn, and this is one of their herding songs, sung in Connemara style.
Do een doo o didle o, 'gus ta mo stôr chomh deas, Dô een doo o didle o, 's nach bhféadaim éirighe as, Is dô een dô, doo o didle aam.
(With nonsense words as before)
'Gus ta mo stôr chomh coir Le gloine i dteach an oil.
'S nach neanntôg is blâth buidhe, Atâ a' fâs ar ait mo thighe.
Translation:
My love is so nice
That I cannot give him up.
My love is as comely
As a glass in a drinking house.
It is nettles and yellow blossoms
That are growing on the foundation of my house.
(The song continues:
There are many twists and tricks In your heart I didn't find out.
I love your foot,
It can dance every time.
I love the one
I did not see today or yesterday.)
13. The Bold Tenant Farmer
Sung by Mickey Cronin (aged 40), Ballymakeery, Co. Cork.
The Land League [founded 1879] was the weapon of the oppressed Irish tenantry against evictions and rent rises, and was the spearhead of the movement which forced land reforms through parliament [in the 1880s]. This is a fragment of a cocky and aggressive Land League ballad sung by Mrs Cronin's son.
One evening of late into Bandon I strayed, And bound for Clonakilty, I making me way, At Ballinascorthy sometime I delayed And I wet me old whistle with porter.
Chorus:
Tithery-al-tal, tithery-dal-tal, tithery-dal-dal-dal-dee, Tithery-al-tal, tithery-dal-tal, tithery-dal-dal-dal-dee, Dara-lal-lal-tal, dithery-dal-dal-dal-dee, Tithery-al-At Ballinascorthy sometime I delayed And I wet me old whistle with porter.
14. The Lark in the Morning [Jig] Played by the Ballinakill Ceilidhe Band on two fiddles, two flutes, and two accordions, in Co. Galway.
It was told that the best-liked piper in all Ireland matched tune for tune all night with the best piper of England. At the end of his resources, he stepped out of doors and heard the lark sing in the dawn of the day. This tune he played on his pipes and won the contest.
15. Connla
Sung by Mary Joyce / Maire Seoighe Recorded by the BBC in Carraroe, Co. Galway.
Seated in her kitchen in Connemara, this 16-year-old girl sings a Gaelic song about love-making which might have shocked some city listeners, but which in this setting is apparently proper and respectable.
"Ce h-é siûd thios a' bualadh na fuinneoige?" (3x) "Mise fhéin, " adeir Connla.
Chorus:
"'Chonnla 'chroidhe, nâ tara nios goire dhom!" (3x)
"'S coir dhom sin, " adeir Connla.
"Ce h-é si'd thios a' coigilt na teine dhom?" (3x)
"Mise fhéin, " adeir Connla.
"Ce h-é siûd thios a' tarraint na pluide dhaoim?"(3x) "Mise fhéin, " adeir Connla.
"Ce h-é siûd thios a' leagan na gclaidhtheachai?" (3x) "Mise fhéin, " adeir Connla.
Translation:
"Who's that down there tapping the window?" "It's I, myself, " says Connla.
Chorus:
"O Connla, my love, don't come nearer me, " "It's proper that I should, " said Connla.
"Who's that down there kindling the fire for me?" "It's I, myself, " says Connla.
"Who's that down there drawing the blanket off me?" "It's I, myself, " says Connla.
"Who's that yonder breaking down fences?" "It's I, myself, " says Connla.
16. Bean Phaidôn (Pat's Wife)
Sung by Colm Keane / Colm Ô Caoidheân, Glinsk,
Connemara, Co. Galway.
A hearty, rough man of fifty with several hundred Gaelic songs and hardly a word of English, Colm Keane lives in a rough stone house out of the past of Europe. He farms a bit of rocky land and fishes the grey Atlantic in his black tarred curragh [a small wooden-frame canvas-covered fishing boat]. Ennis regarded him as one of the great stylists in Gaelic song. The song is of a girl hopelessly in love with another woman's husband.
Chorus:
'Truagh ghéar nach mise, nach mise, 'Gus truagh ghéar nach mise bean Phaidfn. Truagh ghÈar nach mise, nach mise, 'S an bhean atâ aige bheith câillte.
Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh, Is rachainn go Gaillimh le Phâdin; Rachainn go Gaillimh, go Gaillimh, Is thiocainn abhaile 'sa mbâd leis.
Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa, Go mbristear do chosa, 'bhean Phaidin. Go mbristear do chosa, do chosa, Go mbristear do chosa 's do chrâmha.
Rachainn-se siar Tonn a' Roisin,
Is thart aniar Barr a' tSâilfn; Rachainn tigh Mhaitias Ui Chathasaigh Mar shuil is go bhfeicfinn bean Phaidin.
Summary
It's a sharp pity I'm not Pat's wife and the wife that he
has should be dead...
I would go to Galway and I would come [home] in the
boat with him...
I wish that your feet may be broken, Pat's wife, and
your bones, too...
I would go west by Rusheen wave, and round by the
top of Sawleen,
I would go to Matthew Casey's house in the hope that
I'd see Pat's wife.
17. She Moved Through the Fair
Sung by Margaret Barry with five-string banjo accompaniment. Recorded at Dundalk. Copyright: Herbert Hughes [arrangement of air], Padraic Colum [words].
Margaret Barry [born in Cork] comes from a long line of tinkers and earns her living singing and selling baskets in the street. This is her version of a song she learned from a phonograph record on which [John] MacCormack sings the composition that Hughes and Colum had based on a fragment of old Irish folksong.
My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind,
And my father won't slight you For your lack of kind [kine]. " As she stepped away from me And this she did say, "It will not be long, love, Till our wedding day. "
As she stepped away from me, As she moved through the fair, And fondly I watched her Move here and move there, And then she turned homeward With one star awake, Like a swan in the evening Moves over the lake.
(And people were saying No two were e'er wed, But one had a sorrow That never was said. She smiled as she passed With her goods and her gear, And that was the last That I saw of my dear.
Last night she came to me, My dead love came in; So softly she came That her feet made no din. She laid her hand on me, And this she did say,
"It will not be long, love, Till our wedding day. ")
18. Morrissey and the Russian Sailor
Sung by Johnny McDonagh /
Sean 'ac Dhonnchadha
Recorded by Brian George for the BBC in Carna,
Co. Galway.
Morrissey, born in Templemore, Tipperary, was a 19th century-style bareknuckle fighter of renown. No one has ever been able to find a record of his epic battle in Tierra del Fuego, but that scarcely matters to the somewhat partisan audience at the kitchen ceilidhe in Carna. The recording captures their enthusiasm, an enthusiasm still alive and burning when come-all-ye's [narrative ballads typically beginning "Come, all ye..."] are sung in the west of Ireland. [The singer, age 30 at the time of recording, is not related to the older singer of the same name, also from Carna, who also appears on this record.]
Come all you gallant Irishmen, wherever you may be, I hope you'll pay attention and listen unto me; I'll sing about a battle that took place the other day Between a Russian sailor and gallant Morrissey.
It was in Tierra del Fuego, in South Amerikay The Russian challenged Morrissey and those words to him did say,
"I hear you are a fighting man, and wear a belt I see, Indeed I wish you would consent to have a round with me. "
Then out spake brave Morrissey
with heart both brave and true,
"I am a valiant Irishman that never was subdued;
For I can whale the Yankee, the Saxon, Bull and Bear,
In honor of oui' Paddy's Land I'll still the laurels wear. "
They shook hands and walked round the ring,
commencing then to fight,
It filled each Irish heart with pride
for to behold the sight;
The Russian, he floored Morrissey
up to the 11th round,
With Yankee, Russian, Saxon cheers
the valley did resound.
The Irish offered four to one that day upon the grass,
No sooner said than taken up,
and down they brought the cash;
They parried away without delay 'til the 22nd round,
When Morrissey received a blow
that brought him to the ground.
Up to the 37th round 'twas fall and fall about,
Which made the foreign tyrants
to keep a sharp lookout;
The Russians called his seconds
for to have a glass of wine,
Our Irish hero smiled and said, "This battle will be mine. "
The 38th round decided on, the Russian felt the smart,
And Morrissey, with a dreadful blow,
struck the Russian on the heart;
The doctor, he was called in to open up a vein,
He said, "It is quite useless, he'll never fight again. "
Our hero conquered Thompson
and the Yankee Clipper too;
The Buffalo Boy and Sheppard, he nobly did subdue.
So let us fill a flowing glass here is health
go leor [galore]
To noble Johnny Morrissey and Paddies ever more.
19. The Copperplate Reel [Reel] Danced by Steven Folan / Stiofân Ô Cualâin to tin whistle played by Seamus Ennis. Recorded by the BBC in Carna, Co. Galway.
When the foregoing ballad was finished, Folan, the step dancer, began to jig. In Irish style, he held the upper part of his body still, while his arms hung loosely by his sides. The activity was from the knees down, for Stephen's feet were playing the tune on the kitchen floor. This is a version of the Scots "Cabar Feidh" reel.
20. Whiskey in the Jar
Sung by Seamus Ennis, Dublin.
Copyright: Colm Ô Lochlainn éd., Irish Street Ballads
(Dublin 1939), used by permission.
This song recalls the period when it was difficult to tell the difference between a highwayman and a hot-blooded and patriotic Irish rebel force to take to the hills by the English. Certainly this is one of the finest outlaw ballads in our language.
As I went over the far-famed Kerry Mountain,
I met with Captain Farrell and his money
he was countin'.
I first produced me pistol and then produced me rapier,
Cryin' "Stand and deliver
for you are me boldest sabre. "
Chorus:
Oh whack fol the diddle-o, Whack fol the diddle-o, There's whiskey in the jar. Oh whack fol the diddle-o, Whack fol the diddle-o, There's whiskey in the jar.
He counted out his money and it made a pretty penny,
I put it in me pocket and I gave it to me Jenny,
She sighed and she swore that she never
would betray me,
But the Devil take the women
for they never can be aisy (Chorus)
I went into me chamber all for to take a slumber,
I dream of gold and jewels
and for sure it was no wonder,
And Jenny drew me charges
and she filled them up with water,
And she sent for Captain Farrell
to be ready for the slaughter. (Chorus)
And 'twas early in the morning before I rose to travel,
Up comes a band of footmen
and likewise Captain Farrell,
I then produced me pistol
for she stole away me rapier,
But I couldn't shoot the water
so a prisoner I was taken. (Chorus)
And if anyone can aid me 'tis me brother in the army,
If I could find his station in Cork or in Killarney,
And when I'd gain me freedom
we'd go rovin in Killkenny,
Til engage he'll treat me fairer
than me darlin', sportin' Jenny. (Chorus)
21. Mo Ghradh-Sa An Jug Môr Is é Lan
(I Love a Big Full Jug) Sung by Kate Moynihan / Câit Ni Mhuimhneachâin, Ballingeary, Co. Cork. BBC recording.
Irish bards from the time of the epics until today have celebrated the pleasures and glories of the bottle. Such is the theme of this 'big song' sung by 25-year-old Kate Moynihan, held by some to be the finest Irish singer of this generation. The big song is characterized by its complex stanza structure, its internal rhymes, and its extended legato melody. The second stanza out of many follows.
"chuaidh se i saoire chôn môr san, Ni folair liom sui suas ar ceann clair, Agus suidheachân d'fhâil ann chun fuaire, "! 's go là geal Dé Luain bheith dâ fhail; Mo châirde bheith lâimh Horn fé thuairim, Niorbh' fhearr liom bheith a' cur cruach ar sparân! Nil gnô 'gam bheith ag trâcht thar aon bhuaireamh, Ach mo ghrâ-sa an jug môr 's é lân.
Translation:
Since drink's so cheap now, I'll have to sit up on the bar; I'll take my permanent place there And drink on till Judgement Day. With my friends around me
I won't be troubled about money;
Yes, there'll be no cares troubling my mind,
For I do love a big full jug.
22. The Woman of the House
[Two related reels of this title]
Played on the uilleann pipes by Seamus Ennis.
The uilleann pipes are essentially an indoor instrument. Blown by small elbow bellows, they include the two-octave chanter (melody pipe), three drones (tenor, middle and base) at intervals of an octave and tuned to the keynote of the set, and three regulators (pipes fitted with brass keys) that provide simple second and fifth harmonies. This form of the pipes dates back to the 17th century, when piping was a noble profession, and a good piper was entertained by the nobility and was expected to know at least a thousand tunes.
23. Cois Abhainn Na Séad
(By the River of Gems)
Sung by Maire Keohane / Maire Ni Cheochâin,
Coolea, Co. Cork.
The three songs that follow are all light love songs sung by young women who have learned their blas (idiomatic style) from the same group of old folk singers in the same area. Mary Keohane, aged 25, is by far the most educated, self-conscious and impassioned of the singers. She sings an aisling (dream) poem in which the bard recounts his meeting with a
woman of heavenly beauty, who, at the end of the poem, is discovered to be "troubled Ireland" [a reference to wars and dispossession].
'S annsûd ar dtûis dom ar imeall ciumhaise
Coille cumhrtha thârla
An (t-)fhinne-bhean fhionn ba bhinne i ar a tiûin
Nâ an fidil, an fliûit 's an chlâirseach.
Ba bhreâgh glas é a s'il, a mata caol cûmtha,
A leaca bhi mar chubhar na trâgha amuigh;
Ba ghile i ar a pib nâ an eala ar a ' linn,
Agus Iionadh mo chroidhe le grâdh dhi.
(Nuair a dhearcas-sa i anns d mar a bhi,
An ainnir ba chiûine breâghtha,
Go raibh scâil na gcaor 'na leacain réidh
Agus fâtha bhinn 'na g-ire,
Meadhon an chuim do laguigh me im' chroidhe istigh
Le taitneamh d'à clôdh is d'à gâire;
0 bhathas go bonn bhi a ciabh léi go trom
Is a cul bui go casta fâinneach.)
Translation:
And it was there at the edge of a fragrant forest
That I met for the first time this fair woman
Whose song is sweeter than the fiddle,
the flute or the harp.
Her glance was fresh and clear,
Her eyebrows narrow and shapely,
Her cheek like the foam on the beach,
Her neck whiter than a swan on a pool;
And my heart was filled with love for her.
(When I found there the quietest loveliest lass
With the shine of a bright berry on her smooth cheek,
And a sweet note of music in her laugh.
My heart turned over inside me
At the sight of her slender waist and her smile;
And her hair hanging down from her head to her foot,
Thick and golden and rich with ringlets.)
24. Innsin Bhéil Âtha 'N Ghaorthaidh
(The Little Inch [water-meadow] of Ballingeary) Sung by Gubnait Cronin / Gobnait Ni Chrôinin, Ballingeary, Co. Cork.
This is one stanza of a long bardic poem set to a Munster melody, "The Palatine's Daughter," recounting a lover's meeting, quarrel and reconciliation. The singer, aged 20, twice won first place at the national Gaelic festival; she sings but does not speak Gaelic.
Trâthnôinin beag saoire 'gus mé ar Innsin
Bhéil Âtha 'n Ghaorthaidh,
Ri ti al the diddle i ri all the diddle i ri all
the diddle aero,
Do dhearcas c'ilfhionn taobh liorn gur binn
Horn a bréithre,
Ri ti, etc.
A ruin ghil mo chroidhe istigh, no a' gcuimhnlonn
tuin-ao' chor
Ar na geallanna bhi eadarainn bheith dilis d'à chéile? Anois ta 'n t-am go ri-mhaith, ta 'n oidhche geal is téanam. Ri ti, etc.
Translation:
One holiday evening in the little riverside meadow of Ballingeary I met a fairhaired lass whose speech was like music to me. "Bright love of my heart, do you remember at all our promises, that we would be true to each other? Well, now the time is ripe, the night is bright. Come along. "
25. Citi Na gCumann
(Kitty of Loves)
Sung by Maire O'Sullivan / Maire Ni Shûilieabhâin,
Ballylicky, Co. Cork.
One of the finest Irish songs in the narrative ballad style, "Citi" tells the story of a young man who has failed to reach an agreement with the parents of his beloved over the dowry.
'S do thânag 'on mbaile seo aréir agus bhi se agam
déannach go leor,
'S mé ar inntinn an margadh dhéanamh 's nâ
scarfainn léi féin go deo;
Nior thâinig a daddy chun réidhtigh -
car mhiste dhom é nâ dhôibh!
Bheirim slân is beannacht ag m' ghaoltha 's ni chasfa
mé féin go deo.
('S nior cuireadh rôm cuireadh nâ fâilte ô thânag
'on tsrâid seo thios,
TV uair a dh 'airigh mo ghrâ geal go dtugas mo
lâmh do mhnaoi,
'S dôigh leô go bhfuilim-se posta is ma's dôigh
âr ndôin ni flor,
Dar an leabhar atâ in iochtar mo phôca is a1
mealladh ban og a bhios.)
'S, a Chiti na gCumann, nâ séan mé, siubhail feasta
'gus éaluigh liom
Go gleanntân coille nô sléibhe amuigh no sealad fé
scâth na gcrann.
Do phôsfainn i ganfhios don tsaol thû 's don tsagart
dâ mb'fhéidir liom,
'S mara bhfaghar sinn ceangailte i n-aonacht,
ô! racham araon anonn.
Translation:
/ came to this town last night, and it was late enough, intending to make the bargain and never to leave her. Her father would not come to an agreement. Well, it's as much their loss as mine. I will bid farewell to my family now and never return.
(There was neither an invitation not a welcome placed before me when I arrived there, since the hour that my sweetheart heard that I had given my hand to another woman. Her people think that I am married, but of course that's untrue. By the book at the bottom of my pocket, I only trifle with young women.
0 Kitty of Loves, do not deny me. Walk out with me, elope with me to the forest or to a mountain glade or into the shade of the trees. I would marry you unknown to the world or to a priest if I could. And if we cannot marry here, we will cross the water [emigrate].
26. Molly Bawn
Sung by Seamus Ennis.
Known in England as "Polly Vaughn" and in the United States as "The Shooting of his Dear," this come-all-ye reworks an ancient folk theme. In the Hebridean version, it is the cruel mother who advises her son to shoot a swan, even though she knows that the swan is his true love.
Jimmy went fowling with his dog and his gun, Fowling all day until the night it came on, He met with his true love and took her for a swan, And he shot his Molly Bawn by the setting of the sun.
Jimmy went home with his gun in his hand, Sad and brokenhearted as you may understand, He said to his father "I took her for a swan, But 0 and alas it was my own Molly Bawn. "
It wasn't six months after to her uncle she appeared,
Crying "Uncle, dear uncle,
don't think to shoot my dear,
With my apron all around me he took me for a swan.
And he never would have murdered his Molly Bawn"
27 The Lament for Una Bhân
Sung by Sean McDonagh / Sean Mac Donnchadha (50), Carna, Connemara, Co. Galway.
In the time of Cromwell's war, Tomas Costello fell hopelessly in love with Una Bhân McDermott. Separated from Tomas by her father, Una died of love, and Tomas, almost crazed by grief, swam each night to the island where she was buried. There he sang his lament over Una's grave, until at last her ghost bade him leave off lamenting, for the song was so sweet that it would not let her rest. Tomas Costello's lament runs to 45 stanzas in some versions and has been called one of the finest love poems in any language. The singer, a fisherman of Carna, is the man Seamus Ennis calls "the most perfect singer I have met in Ireland."
Ô is 'Una Bhân, nach grânna an luighe atâ ort!
I gconnra chaol chlâir i measc na ndâinte cuirp;
Mara dtaga tu le fair' orum,
a phlanndôig a bhi riamh gan locht,
(Nô) 's ni thioca mé in Varus go brâthach ach anocht.
(Is 'Una Bhân, mar rôs i ngâirdin thû, No mar choinnleoir ôir ar bhôrd na banrfona thû, Mar chlâirseach ceôil a' guiI rômhan 'sa mbôthar thû, Is é mo léan dôighte nior pôsadh le do ghrâ geal thû.)
Translation:
Una Bahn, it is a hateful thing that you lie dead
In a narrow plank coffin among the myriad dead. If you do not rise and comfort me, young fresh plant without a fault, I will never visit your dwelling after tonight.
(Una Bahn, you were like a rose in a garden Or like a golden candlestick on a queen's table, Like a harp with music going before me in the road. It is my burning sorrow that you were never married to (me) your lover.)
28. Keen for a Dead Child [Song] Sung by Kitty Gallagher / Citi Ni Ghallchôir, Gweedore, Co. Donegal.
The old-fashioned Irish wake perpetuated pagan funeral rituals, such as funeral games [comic and sometimes violent games played indoors] and formal lamentations for the dead. Until recent times, skilled old women in Irish country communities still made keens (caoins, or laments) for the dead, but this practice was opposed by the church and has now entirely disappeared. Kitty Gallagher learned this fragmentary keen from an old woman of the neighborhood.
Ariûi agus a leanabh, Goidé dhéanfaidh mé? Ta tû ar shiubhal uaim Agus ariûi Agus anuiridh... Nil duine ar bith agam
Arid!
Agus mé liom fhéin!
Dâ mbeitheâ go moch agam!
Agus och! och! ochôn! Ariû! (gan th').
Translation:
Aroo! and 0 child,
What shall I do?
You are gone from me
And aroo!
And last year...
I have nobody,
Aroo!
And I am alone.
If I had you in the morning early!
And it's och! och! ochon! aroo! (without you).
29. Were You at the Rock? [Air] Played on the uilleann pipes by Seamus Ennis.
The original words run "Were you at the rock, or did you see there my love?" The melody was derived from a song which speaks of love but may refer to the practice of holding mass in secret places which prevailed in the 17th century when the penal code outlawed the Catholic Church. [There is no evidence that the rock in question was a mass-rock, or that the song is allegorical, although it was frequently said by Ennis to be. The Irish for "at the rock'" (ag an gcarraig) may also mean "at (the town or townland of) Carrick."]
30. Soldier, Soldier
Sung by Colm Keane / Colm Ô Caoidhean, Glinsk, Connemara, Co. Galway.
Colm Keane seldom speaks English, but he often sings this familiar English folk song. It has been so Gaelicised by Colm's strong Gaelic musical and linguistic accent, that unless you listened closely, you might think it was a Gaelic ditty. This is an excellent example of what happens when a song crosses the language barrier from English into Gaelic.
"Soldier, soldier, will you marry me now? With a hee with a ho, with the sound of a drum. " "No, fair maid, I couldn't marry you, I have no shirt for to put on. "
She ran to the shop as quick as she could run, With a hee and a ho, with the sound of a drum, And she brought him the shirt of the very very best And, "Here, my small man, put this on. " Etc.
31 What Would You Do?
Sung by Elizabeth Cronin, Ballymakeery, Co. Cork.
Similar to the mouth music of Scotland, the Western Isles, and Brittany, this Irish lilt is a song for dancing, where sense is subordinated to rhythm. In Ireland, it is often the old women who know best how to roll the nonsense syllables rapidly off their tongues and improvise new stanzas.
What would you do if you married a soldier? What would I do but to follow his gun. What would you do if he died in the ocean? What would I do but to marry again.
What would you do if the kettle boiled over? What would I do but to fill it again. What would you do if the cows ate the clover? What would I do but to set it again.
A passage of lilting [vocalised dance music] follows.
32. Mrs. McGrath
Sung by Seamus Ennis.
Copyright: Colm Ô Lochlainn éd., Irish Street Ballads
(Dublin 1939), used by permission.
This ballad is a bitter comment on the wars against Napoleon. Then, as now, the chief export of Ireland was its young men, who had to starve at home or become soldiers of fortune. The recruiting sergeant was a dreaded figure in those days, for if you accepted his shilling for a drink, you could be legally pressed into the army.
"O Mrs. McGrath, " the sergeant said,
"Would you like to make a soldier out of your son Ted?
With a new fur coat and a big cocked hat
Now Mrs. McGrath, wouldn't you like that?"
With a-too-ri-ah
fol-le-diddle-ah With a-too-ri-ah fol-le-diddle-ah Lov-bin the cracker-o
"O captain dear, where have you been, Or have been sailin' on the Medi-te-reen? Or have you any tidings of my song Ted, Is the poor boy living or is he dead?"
With a-too-ri- ah...
Well then up comes Ted without any legs, And in their stead he has two wooden pegs, She kissed him a dozen times or two, Sayin, "Holy Moses! It isn't you!"
"Well then were you drunk or were you blind, That you lift your two fine legs behind? Or was it the walking on the sea, Wore your two fine legs from the knees away?"
"All foreign wars I do proclaim, Between Don John and the King of Spain, And by heavens I'll make them rue the time, When they swiped the legs of a child of mine!"
With a too-ri-ah...
33 The Death of Brugh
Sung by Johnny McDonagh / Sean 'ac Dhonnchadha, Dublin.
here is violent contrast between the gallows humor of the previous song and the strong sentimentality in this ballad of the Irish Civil War. The song reports an incident in 1922, when Cathal Brugha [a leader of the 1916 Rebellion and of the anti-Treaty forces in the Civil War] was shot [by pro-Treaty soldiers] as he tried to escape by the rear door of a Dublin hotel. [He died in hospital two days later.] The tune is an adaptation of the English "All Round My Hat I Wear the Green Willow."
The fight it was raging, The roof it was blazing, The cannons were roaring, Every note seemed to tune.
Our boys waved the white flag, To save their dear leader, More precious their own, Was the dear life of Brugh.
He said, "Boys, no white flag, Shall ever float above me. I'll make a dash for liberty, And fighting I'll get through!"
While dashing through the corridor
A fatal bullet struck him. What a victory for the enemy --Two hundred, shooting Brugh.
His body lies in Dublin, In its silent and cold grave, His memory in old Ireland Forever shall be true.
No fanfare could abide him, No Saxon chain could tie him, What a model for our young men, Is the life and death of Brugh.
34. The Bucks of Oranmore [Reel] Played on the uilleann pipes by Seamus Ennis.
This is one of the "big reels," a test piece for a piper, composed of five parts, heavily ornamented and full of all the tricks that the old pipers know - cranning, pinching, nipping, shivering and the staccato playing of quick triplets. [It was frequently played by Ennis as the last item of a recital.]
Note: Alan Lomax's and Seamus Ennis's Irish recordings are also being reissued on volumes in the series Folk Songs of England, Scotland and Ireland on Rounder Records, which includes complete versions of some of the recordings in the present volume. Margaret Barry and others are featured in the Portraits series on Rounder Records.
CREDITS
Recorded in 1951 in the western counties of Eire by Seamus Ennis, Alan Lomax, Robin Roberts,
and by Brian George and Maurice Brown for the BBC, with the cooperation of the Irish Folklore Commission, the British Broadcasting Corporation and Radio Éireann.
Irish Folk Songs (Columbia Records, KL 4941,1955) edited by Alan Lomax and Seamus Ennis.
Collection Producers: Anna L. Chairetakis, Jeffrey A. Greenberg
The original Columbia World Library of Folk & Primitive Music (Columbia Records) edited by Alan Lomax
Ireland edited and Introduced by Nicholas Carolan, with original notes by Alan Lomax and Seamus Ennis
"Recording in Ireland with Alan Lomax" by Robin Roberts.
Sound Restoration/Mastering Producer: Steve Rosenthal
Mastered at The Master Cutting Room, NYC, by Phil Klum
Production Coordinator: Matthew Barton
Art Direction and Design: Luzzi Limited, NYC
Photos: George Pickow, by permission of The Ritchie-Pickow Archive, James Hardiman Library, University College Galway, Ireland, and Peter Kennedy
Editorial Assistance: Ellen Harold and Marion Jacobson
Series Coordinator for Rounder Records: Bill Nowlin
Collection Consultants: Bess Lomax Hawes, Gideon D'Arcangelo
SPECIAL THANKS
Peter Kennedy, Joe Brescio, Jay Sylvester, Douglas Chyhai, Elliot Hoffman, Hunter College of the City University of New York.
Every effort has been made to make these historic recordings sound as good as they did when they were made in the field. All transfers were made, wherever possible, from the original source materials, using the Prism 20-Bit A to D converters and the Prism 20-Bit Noise Shaping System.