Still needing work, but now with a fuller guitar accompaniment, and an instrumental improvisation that may find its way into the final version. (But only if I decide to speed up the song.)
There are many stories about Wild Eadric or Edric, his defiance toward the Norman invaders and eventual capitulation (seemingly historical fact); his marriage to a fairy princess; his imprisonment in the Shropshire Hills, emerging when England is in peril, and his association with the Wild Hunt. The Devil has long been associated with Shropshire, too, the Devil’s Chair being a rock formation on the Stiperstones.
The lyric arose from a sour conviction that in the 21st century we are in as much danger from the misdeeds of politicians and oligarchs, the rise of social media misinformation, and a badly broken electoral system, as we are from dictators in other countries. Like the witches and demons who select their king before the Devil’s Chair on the longest night of the year, it sometimes seems we are only allowed bad electoral choices.
The words have changed slightly since the original recording, as I wanted to make them less UK-centric. I’d like to think that in an age of incoming global catastrophe (and I don’t only mean Trump’s promise to abolish voting), Aedric’s remit might have widened.
In stately halls the dreams are bought and sold
The promises will melt like fairy gold,
While high up there among the Shropshire Hills
Wild Eadric sleeps, his bride beside him still:
Satan sits upon his midnight throne
In judgement on their archaic flesh and bone
The spirits summoned to the Devil’s Chair
Elect their leaders for the coming years.
The Devil surely looks on with a grin
As we condone the enemies within:
The conmen and their masters far and near,
Still feed upon our misery and fear.
Where is the Wild Hunt now? What will it take
To rid this world of devilry and hate?
Now with a basic guitar accompaniment. (The eventual version will be more ambitious, but needs work.)
There are many stories about Wild Eadric or Edric, his defiance toward the Norman invaders and eventual capitulation (seemingly historical fact); his marriage to a fairy princess; his imprisonment in the Shropshire Hills, emerging when England is in peril, and his association with the Wild Hunt. The Devil has long been associated with Shropshire, too, the Devil’s Chair being a rock formation on the Stiperstones.
The lyric arose from a sour conviction that in the 21st century we are in as much danger from the misdeeds of politicians and oligarchs, the rise of social media misinformation, and a badly broken electoral system, as we are from dictators in other countries. Like the witches and demons who select their king before the Devil’s Chair on the longest night of the year, it sometimes seems we are only allowed bad electoral choices.
The words have changed slightly since the original recording, as I wanted to make them less UK-centric. I’d like to think that in an age of incoming global catastrophe (and I don’t only mean Trump’s promise to abolish voting), Aedric’s remit might have widened.
In stately halls the dreams are bought and sold
The promises will melt like fairy gold,
While high up there among the Shropshire Hills
Wild Eadric sleeps, his bride beside him still:
Satan sits upon his midnight throne
In judgement on their archaic flesh and bone
The spirits summoned to the Devil’s Chair
Elect their leaders for the coming years.
The Devil surely looks on with a grin
As we condone the enemies within:
The conmen and their masters far and near,
Still feed upon our misery and fear.
Where is the Wild Hunt now? What will it take
To rid this world of devilry and hate?
…never does me any harm. Those of you with musical ears might suffer a bit though.
Anyway, ‘The Folk Club‘ is playing my ‘Song of Chivalry’ in the ‘Here we are’ section of their upcoming show, along with tracks from Ezra Biggs and Ann Radcliffe.
Here’s where you’re in danger of hearing it:
Weds 31st July 7pm Burwell Radio [UK Only] Rpt. Sunday 1pm
Thurs 1st Aug [10pm ET / 7pm PT ] [Fri 3am UK – Rpt Fri 11am] Folk Music Notebook
Also available as a single on Bandcamp. As always, you don’t have to buy it hear it! There’s another version here, where the guitar accompaniment is in Nashville tuning.
When M’Lord returned / To his sheets of silk
And his gentle lady / Of musk and milk
The minstrels sang / In the gallery
Their songs of slaughter / And chivalry
The rafters roared / With laughter and boasting
Goblets were raised and drained / In toasting
The heroes of Crécy / And Azincourt
Or the madness / Of some holy war
The hawk is at rest / On the gauntlet once more
Savage of eye / And bloody of claw
Famine and fever / Are all the yield
Of the burnt-out barns / And wasted fields
The sun grins coldly / Through the trees
The children shiver / The widows grieve
And beg their bread / At the monastery door
Tell me then / Who won the war?
For the moment, just an unaccompanied vocal while I work on another project. The words and music are mostly there, but I need to work on an accompaniment when I get back to it. There are many stories about Wild Eadric or Edric, his defiance toward the Norman invaders and eventual capitulation (seemingly historical fact); his marriage to a fairy princess; his imprisonment in the Shropshire Hills, emerging when England is in peril, and his association with the Wild Hunt. The Devil has long been associated with Shropshire, too, the Devil’s Chair being a rock formation on the Stiperstones.
The lyric arose from a sour conviction that in the 21st century we are in as much danger from the misdeeds of politicians and oligarchs, the rise of social media misinformation, and a badly broken electoral system, as we are from dictators in other countries. Like the witches and demons who select their king before the Devil’s Chair on the longest night of the year, it sometimes seems we are only allowed bad electoral choices.
The words have changed slightly since the original recording, as I wanted to make them less UK-centric. I’d like to think that in an age of incoming global catastrophe (and I don’t only mean Trump’s promise to abolish voting), Aedric’s remit might have widened.
In stately halls the dreams are bought and sold
The promises will melt like fairy gold,
While high up there among the Shropshire Hills
Wild Eadric sleeps, his bride beside him still:
Satan sits upon his midnight throne
In judgement on their archaic flesh and bone
The spirits summoned to the Devil’s Chair
Elect their leaders for the coming years.
The Devil surely looks on with a grin
As we condone the enemies within:
The conmen and their masters far and near,
Still feeding on our misery and fear.
Where is the Wild Hunt now? What will it take
To rid this world of devilry and hate?
This is very much a work in progress: a single verse and a tune that may well change over time. The verse will almost certainly not be expanded, but it will probably constitute just one section of a larger piece with quite a lot of instrumental music, though the verse may be left a capella.
For a rather different approach to a similar visualisation, see Philip Larkin’s An Arundel Tomb.
I’m not sure if it’s coincidental that while I was posting this LinkedIn suggested that I might be interested in a post as Obituaries Editor for a medical journal…
Effigies
Once more they lie together
Not an atom’s width apart
Where none disturb their slumber
For there is no beating heart
[In other news… since I put this up, I’ve been recording stuff for a collaborative album with Dave Higgen, with whom I used to kick tunes around in the late 60s. The first one in the can was a very different version of this – much less country blues-y, more Chicago. Hopefully, the whole album will be out by Christmas.]
Nothing to do with the Spice Girls or reality TV: I’ve had the basic idea for this kicking around for at least 30 years, but I finally put the words into something resembling a final version. This is a single take recording: I’ll hopefully come back to it when I’ve learned it properly, but this is Harley in country blues mode, so it’s never likely to be particularly polished… The guitar is a D’Angelico archtop, but it doesn’t sound particularly jazzy because, since it was done in one take, the acoustic sound is mixed in with the DI-d electric sound. I rather like it, but your mileage may vary.
Words and music, such as it is, by me.
Backup:
I came home last night, just about the break of day
She’s got her suitcase packed, just about to make her getaway
She said, well now baby, who do you think you are
You stayed out all night, don’t know what you came back for
Five long years my baby walked the line
Now she’s gone, long gone, since she found out I was playing double time
She said, well now baby, who do you think you are
You stayed out all night, don’t know what you came back for
Down at the courthouse, fell down on my knees
Said I love you babe, won’t you forgive me please?
She said, well now baby, who do you think you are
You stayed out all night, don’t know what you came back for
Wrote her a letter, wrote it on my knees
Babe I learned my lesson, won’t you come back please?
She wrote back,
Well now baby, who do you think you are
Got my eyes wide open, don’t know what I’d come back for
I know it’s hardly five minutes since the last album, but I’ve actually been working on this one since last year.
Brookland Voices started as another vaguely folky album, but somehow Messrs Yeats (subsequently moved to the ‘Swan Songs’ album) and Housman elbowed their way in. Then I found myself with all these improvised or semi-improvised guitar pieces, some of them played on electric rather than acoustic guitar, and they do seem to dominate the album. In fact, while I would never claim to be any sort of jazz guitarist, this is probably as near to a jazz album as I’ll ever get. To be fair, ‘South Wind’ and ‘The Water is Wide’ are instrumental versions of traditional songs/tunes.
‘Severn Years In The Sand’ is a version of a song that seems to have arisen during World War II among units that saw service in the Middle East. ‘The Knocker Up’ and ‘It Ain’t Gonna Rain are actual folk songs. ‘When I Was In Love With You’, ‘Far In A Western Brookland’, ‘When I Was One-And-Twenty’ and ‘Blue Remembered Hills’ are settings of verse by Housman. The song ‘A Rainy Day Blues’ and the other instrumentals are my own, including ‘Chivalry’, which is an instrumental based on my own ‘Song of Chivalry’.
I’ve put this up before, but this is a version with electric guitar that I quite like. More jazz than blues, perhaps: I even played it on an archtop guitar.
Some days are like a melody
But I can’t seem to hold the key
I don’t mind losing
I just wish I had a little more to lose
So I spend my day trying to keep myself amused
Sitting here picking at a rainy day blues
I don’t mind losing
I just wish I had a little more to lose
It seems the road to fortune never ends
You play God all week and golf at weekends
I don’t mind losing
I just wish I had a little more to lose
And if we quit the rat-race we could have a ball
But you know those big wheels grind so small
I don’t mind losing
I just wish I had a little more to lose
You say you love me but it seems sometimes
You stuff my mouth with kisses and my ears with lies
I don’t mind losing
I just wish I had a little more to lose
Wheal Alice Music 