1. |
Angus and Athol
04:31
|
|||
|
Young Angus and Athol, one October’s day
Went walking on Harris, down the Phlocrapoil way
On a bench on a hillside looking out to the sea
Says Angus to Athol, will you marry me
Angus, oh Angus you know I love you sae dear
But that question you’re asking fills our faimlies with fear
For love it is not love lest the love that they know
And for that my dear Angus, I should say no
Oh Athol, oh Athol who are they to judge
When they hide behind God and let Him bear their grudge
Be good boyfriends & girlfriends, husband & wives
Go to church on a Sunday and He won’t notice their lives
Like your auld Uncle Billy’s, he’s on his third wife
And this small congregation, three times blessed his life
Though I may love you for ever till the day that I die
Yet that same congregation calls our love a lie
My ain mother and faither, they’ve hardly spoken in years
Outwith family gatherings or in between beers
Though their love is not love, it’s the love that they know
And let them bury their sadness when they asked me to go
Or your bonny cousin Morag, and they can say what they like
I hear them whisper about her, they call her ‘the Harris bike’
Still being young, bold and free is not considered a sin,
It’s not about how many, but which hole it goes in
Oh Angus, oh Angus, yes I hear what you say
From our wild sanctuary down the Phlocrapoil way
But from this bench on this hillside it’s now I must choose
Not what is love but which love I must lose
Young Angus and Athol, one October’s day…
|
||||
2. |
A Selkirk Weaver
04:32
|
|||
|
O my name’s Boudie Clark and at fifteen years auld
When I left Knowepark school on day yin
Beneath the nine mill chimneys o’ Selkirk
My apprentice tae trade did begin
For this young boy is a Souter born
So his blood runs in every cone
And this young boy’ he’ll be a weaver
And weave truth wi’ trust in his bones
I joined rank and file doon the Low Road
Wi’ proud wimmen and men o’ this toun
And the'gither made cloth o’ the finest
And were kent for the whole world around
For this young lad is a Souter born
And his blood runs in every cone
And this young lad, he’ll be a weaver
And he'll weave truth wi’ trust in his bones
In mills frae Highland tae Lowland
The Yorkshire and Lancashire touns
I’ve seen the changes frae Dobcross tae rapier
And the warp mill tae Hergath come roond
For this young man is a Souter born
So his blood runs in every cone
And this young man is a weaver
And weaves truth wi’ trust in his bones
Now my name is on every label
Hunters, Johnstone’s and Dax
But now there’s nae room for Ettrick and Yarrow
As the trade shows the signs o’ the cracks
For this here man is a Souter born
So his blood runs in every cone
And this here man is a weaver
And weaves truth wi’ trust in his bones
Now I still take a walk doon the Low Road
Wi’ my dug and a cane in my hand
And though peaceful the silence it saddens me
For the life blood has gone from this land
For this auld man is a Souter born
And his blood run in every cone
And this auld man was a weaver
He weaved truth wi’ trust in his bones
Auld Boudie weaved truth wi’ trust in his bones
|
||||
3. |
The Smirkin Soldier
05:47
|
|||
|
You’ll never be anything, my teachers aye said
Your faither, he's just a drunkard, and your mother is long since dead
So I did exactly what they expected o’ me
I clowned around and I filled them wi’ dread
So they stuck me in a room wi’ the rest o’ the loons
And got on wi’ teaching those better bred
So this manny frae the airmy visits oor school,
Some captain wi’ a fancy name
And he showed us how to take, a’ oor anger and oor hate
And turn it intae some glorious game
He showed us all these wondrous toys and places,
And said they could all be mine
But I’m sure I saw him smirking at me
As I signed on the dotted line
I said dad I’m joinin’ the airmy,
Hoping he’d say ‘son, no yer no allowed’
But he said if you come back dead, wi’ a shot through yer head
At least then I can stand in the pub and be proud
So the orders come in frae Whitehall,
To capture some vital piece o’ land
Well its value and worth must be deep down in the earth
For all I can see oot there is sand
So once more unto the breach dear friends,
Like some gallant forty-twa
Until your there face to face, baith frae the same human race
But you’re tae decide wha’ll stand and wha’ll fa
Do we fight for some shared casus bellum?
Or baith fa’n for the same age-old lines
I just know the fear in his eyes as he drops his disguise,
He sees the same fear as I drop mine
Now I’m no scared o’ Mohammed, Al Qaeda or the Taliban
I’m scared o’ that smirkin’ soldier, William Hague and my auld man
No, I’m no here for Mohammed, Al Qaeda or the Taliban
I’m here for that smirkin’ soldier, Earl Hague and my auld man.
|
||||
4. |
Friday Night Patriot
04:25
|
|||
|
Well I’m your Friday Night Patriot, Floo’er O Scotland is my battle cry
And I’ll sing about sendin’ him hamewards, but I’ve got no idea who, where or why
ButI’ll stand with you, sing with you, cheer and I’ll shout
Side by side with you here at the bar
I’ll drink and I’ll fight, support and be proud with you
Show with you what Scotsmen are
You’ll see me at weddings and functions, cause I’m aye dressed up tae the hilt
In my Prince Charlie coat and my Jacobean shirt, and my granny’s maiden name hired kilt
And I’ll dance a jig wi’ you gladly, the skirl o’ the pipes oh it just sets me free
But if it’s Irish or Scot’s well I don’t give a jot as it all sounds good and celtic tae me
I’m nae great fan o’ the Royals, but I loved that thing the Queen did wi’ James Bond
And I think her and her lot should keep a’ they hooses they’ve got
Cause it keeps the yanks comin’ ower the pond
For there’s not much to see here is Scotland, when I look out all I see is the rain
They say the mountains are nice, but then I’ve only been twice
As I usually fortnight each summer in Spain
And I’m just your Friday Night Patriot……
I ken a’ aboot Bruce and aboot Wallace, I’ve heard gaelic in nursery rhymes
I ken aboot Bannockburn, a’ aboot Stirling Brig, coz I’ve seen Braveheart aboot 14 times
I’ve read aboot banking scandals, aboot LIBOR, fiddled expenses, trillion debts, MP lies
But I don’t get upset at all, no but if my ISA rate falls,
Or that wee Australian shouts ‘Freedom’, I’ll cry
Cause I’m just your Friday Night Patriot, and for me that’s just where Scotland ends
Dressin’ up tae the hilt, in my Prince Charlie and my kilt,
Dancing jigs, whisky Braveheart and Burns
|
||||
5. |
The Riding Stane
03:12
|
|||
6. |
King James IV
03:23
|
|||
Kenn Clark recommends:
Ruach compose their own tunes and songs with vibrant and energetic arrangements
go to albumIf you like Kenn Clark, you may also like:
LEFT/FOLK VI: The World As It Is
by LEFT/FOLK
Proceeds from this excellent new darkambient/neofolk comp from LEFT/FOLK goes to benefit American Near East Refugee Aid.
go to album
Irish singer-songwriter Oisin Leech's acoustic folk music is characterized by its muted beauty and intimate, solitary quality.
go to album
The haunting new record from Canadian folk artist Avi C. Engel bridges old and new traditions with a minimalist approach.
go to album
Here in the Pitch
by Jessica Pratt
On her fourth album, Jessica Pratt blends up 60s pop and bossa nova into a spooky mix of soft psychedelia.
go to album
Great Loveday Wonder : The Collected Demo Recordings
by Billy Childish / William Loveday Intention
From the always-great label Tompkins Square comes two-dozen plus demos from alt legend Billy Childish.
go to album
