I was enormously pleased and encouraged to have some tracks played today (April 1st 2017) on Ian Semple’s show on Coast FM (96.5 and 97.2 FM or via the web). An excellent performer in his own right, Ian includes a lot of local music in his show between 12pm and 2pm on Saturdays and I listen in whenever I can. Thanks, Ian, for the exposure and for the kind words!
The tracks were from a gaggle (or is that gabble?) of CDs I’ve been working on in the past few months when I haven’t been able to get out much. All vocals and instruments are me: I can’t blame anybody else… Words and music (apart from the Housman poem) copyright David Harley. All rights reserved.
An interesting article by Stephen Winnick from the Library of Congress, on April Fools: The Roots of an International Tradition.
It’s a bit late on April Fools Day to make a big deal out of this, but I came across an interesting article today from the Library of Congress on April Fools: The Roots of an International Tradition. Written by Stephen Winnick.
One of the interesting aspects is the link with the hazing of apprentices etc., an issue I touched on in this song:
Unfortunately, health issues make it very difficult for me to get out to play at present, and gigging doesn’t seem at all practical. On the other hand, at least not being able to get out has given me time to start working on a CD or two, though the chances of their becoming commercially available are pretty slim. Still, the details of the one that’s nearest to done are here: Selective Symmetry. If I can get some moderately decent packaging, I suppose I’ll give it away at the musical events I’m probably not going to get to…
Next up is a collection of my bluesier things (demos only), to be called Low In The Water.
Other possibilities are a collection of 1980s tracks recorded at CentreSound in the 1980s, a collection of material written/recorded with other people, some settings of verse by Housman, Yeats and Kipling, and a follow-up to Selective Symmetry (if SS ever gets out into the wide world) called How To Say Goodbye.
Basically variations on the tune I wrote as a setting for Housman’s ‘The Carpenter’s Son’. (Which you might consider more appropriate for an Easter post, but since this version doesn’t include the words, that’s not so much of an issue.) The first section is solo guitar, a slightly more decorated version of the accompaniment for the song, which aims for some of the tone of an oud or desert lute. The second section is a variation on the same tune, with guitar plus overdubbed mountain dulcimer and bouzouki, which may sound a strange combination but gives it a sort of medieval ambience.
I’m in the process of gathering together my 80s studio recordings, among other things. This one is probably going onto a CD soon, and got to the top of the list when Ian Semple kindly played it on this Saturday radio show for Coast FM (normally between midday and 2pm). I ought to do a version of this with the resonator guitar at some point, though.
Words & music by David Harley, copyright 1982: all rights reserved
Got a seat facing the engine So I don’t have to face where I’ve been Luggage on the rack, no reason to look back At all my wrecked and reckless gypsy dreams No more bright lights, no more white lines Or crashing in the back of the van No more hustling small-time gigs I guess time has beaten the band
No more deadlines, no more breadlines Mr 10%, you’re on your own No more fine print, no more backstage blues This rolling stone is rolling home
Got a ticket to take me to tomorrow It can’t be worse than today So driver, take me home and don’t spare the horsepower I’m on a ten year holiday No more missed chances and chickens*t advances Cold chips in the back of the van No more blown tires and fuses, no more broken promises Time has beaten the band
No more deadlines, no more breadlines Mr 10%, you’re on your own No more fine print, no more backstage blues This rolling stone is rolling home
No more spotlights, no more ups and downers Absolutely no stage fright No more superstar fantasies From today I’m strictly 9-5 No more infighting, no more moonlighting No more one-night stands All along while the band was beating time I guess time was beating the band
No more deadlines, no more breadlines Mr 10%, you’re on your own No more fine print, no more backstage blues This rolling stone is rolling home
[Since we’ve just received our first Christmas card for this year, perhaps I’ll put this up for the entertainment of my many readers. Ho ho ho…]
For years this was just a single verse stranded in the first draft of a novel I’ll probably never finish now, and then a few years ago it demanded to be finished. Apologies to both Howard Blake and Raymond Briggs, who might not approve.
Its first public appearance was after the funeral of my friend Graham Bell. That might seem less strange if I tell you that the service finished with the Ying Tong Song. Graham was always urging me to play more jazz, but I think he would have approved of this even without the vaguely jazzy snatch of White Christmas that precedes it. I don’t know how Irving Berlin would have felt about it, but at least I haven’t had any ghostly visitors on the nights leading up to Christmas. So far. Bah Humbug! It certainly proves conclusively that I was not born to compete with Wes Montgomery or Barney Kessel, but it’s nice to give the Strat an airing occasionally.
Recorded on primitive handheld equipment: perhaps one day I’ll take a more careful run at it (with the verses in the right order!) in my recently updated home studio and do a little OTT overdubbing. I’m thinking celeste, harpsichord and orchestra. (I have a Yamaha keyboard and I’m not afraid to use it.)
*Not that this is ever going to be translated to a commercial recording. 🙂
I’m snoring in my chair
I’ve really had too much to eat
And even if I tried
I couldn’t leave my seat.
I’m getting very tight:
I didn’t need those lasht two beersh
And now that last mince pie
Has dribbled down my brand new tie.
Somebody offered me another cup of tea
Turkey sandwich, more plum pudding, woe is me…
I’m sprawling on the stairs
I haven’t got the strength to rise
And dear old Auntie Jill
Is in the bathroom still.
I’ve turned off the TV
The Queen’s speech was keeping one awake
And one more Singing Nun
Is more than I can take
Uncle Dick is feeling sick, he’s running for the loo
Heaving like a mighty monster from the zoo
I’m surfing in my lair
Googling for some online deals
To spend next Christmas Day
On a cruise ship far away…
A song I wrote in the early 70s. The final version probably won’t be much different to this, just a bit tidier. Especially the vocal and the rather abrupt entry of the lead guitars… If you don’t like it, blame it on the bossa nova.
Vocal and Spanish guitars by DH.
Backup:
Once I believed that love And good intentions Would win the day And we would overcome
Now I’ve learned it does no good To lean on love and knock on wood Now you’re gone And I’m the lonely one
I found all the wrong things to do But just for one moment, loving you I could have saved the world
Since I lost track of you I’ve lost sight of a star or two But love’s a game That tends to leave you scarred
And though you say the story’s done There’s still time to find the sun If you would only tell me Where you are
I found all the wrong things to do But just for one moment, loving you I could have saved the world
Last week (November 15th 2016) I played a minor part in an event in Ludlow. Clive Richardson delivered a fascinating lecture at the Assembly Rooms about servicemen of Ludlow who died during the Second World War. In the course of the lecture I played guitar for his wife, the singer Ann Merrill Gray, on some songs from that era, and also got to sing one song myself, and couldn’t resist putting a version of the latter up here.
According to Ewan MacColl, from whom I learned this back in the Dark Ages, this ‘lugubrious ditty’ seems to have originated with the Middle East Air Force Regiment in World War II, but is now also claimed by every other unit to see service in that part of the world. According to his sleeve notes for ‘Bundook Ballads’, “The only song which exceeds it in popularity among desert troops is the ribald Ballad of King Farouk, a song of rich bawdiness and impossible advice.” For so many reasons, we resisted the temptation to include the latter in the lecture.
(Guitars and vocals here by your humble scribe.)
Curiously, it seems that the Ballad of King Farouk was at least in part the work of Hamish Henderson, better known nowadays (perhaps) for his much graver lyric The 51st (Highland) Division’s Farewell to Sicily, set to the pipe tune Farewell to the Creeks, composed in 1915 by Pipe-Major James Robertson, while a prisoner of war.
While I don’t think the world needs me to put on a Scots accent in order to sing Farewell to Sicily, the pipe tune Farewell to the Creeks is a gorgeous tune which might just find its way onto this site in an instrumental version at some point. Though, since I have no intention of learning the pipes at my age, I’m afraid it will have to be played on something less bellicose. Norman Kennedy asserted (according to a Mudcat thread that I’m unable to access at this time) that ‘the Creeks’ referred to the Creek Nation, but in an interview with Hamish Henderson, Robertson stated that the Creeks he had been thinking of were located in Portknockie.
Even more oddly, it seems that Dylan had the same tune in mind when he wrote The Times They Are A-Changing. (It’s often struck me that the lyric was probably influenced by Phil Ochs’ Days of Decision. But that’s the folk process, I suppose.)
Sketch for a more ambitious arrangement for a song I wrote in 1970. Previous sketches have been purely unaccompanied (though the last one included an overdubbed harmony), but this one includes various guitar parts. Actually a Variax pretending to be a Guild 12-string, a Martin, a J-200 and a baritone acoustic. Isn’t technology wonderful? This version is nowhere near CD-ready, however.
A very 60s-ish guitar arrangement of a traditional song. Final arrangement might be quite a lot different. Words and tune approximately as A.L. Lloyd et al. Is he (Reynardine, that is) a British outlaw, a Bluebeard, a werefox, a French outlaw? I don’t know, but he’s attracted many different theories, which I’ll maybe go into later…
Wheal Alice Music 