A Walk Around Britain

Not everything that we recorded for our album came out as we had hoped. Pressure to leave, the thousand leaves of sundry preparation turning, the late nights…it was not the most wholesome event.

But we got there. And then, just before we brought the thing out properly, the wind called us, and out the door we went.

fal dee raddle o

Well, 4 months later we still haven’t released the CD. But that is fine, and it will come out when it is best suited. Soon would be better. We are broke, and need shiny pennies to re-sole boots, to buy girls red wine, to keep ourselves in bread and cheese.

But we trust that all will come as it is needed.

For now, we’re bandying about scraps of old recordings. It’s a strange job we have here, working flat out for YOU…whosoever you may be. A paycheque is not part of the bargain. But, we both agree, that makes the work more integral and fulfilling, and provides the proper motivation for furtherance (viz. honesty and education, not reward).

Still, if you like all this work, and you appreciate how we are doing it all in the middle of wherever we find ourselves around Britain, with nothing but busking money to sweeten our labours…and if you know sponsors, good folk with spare pound coins, or boots…consider putting our cause their way, please do.

Right then. Have these snippets:

(from: My husband’s got no courage in him)

(from: Country Life)

Please enjoy, and sing…

coo

While near the Sustainability Centre, Ayla’s ma, Annette, taught us this classic little song:

We found it a beautiful and compellingly catchy one, which we’re trying to learn as a pair.

Here are lyrics:

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Nancy, i'm off...

We recorded this on our little gizmo while on the edge of the highest hill in Hampshire. We could not find anywhere to camp on such a steep gradient, and were walking up and down a footpath trying to peer down the slope for flatlands.

And then we realized that the footpath on which we stood was flat, and wide enough, and a perfectly suitable place to kip. So we did.

We could smell the sea, and hear Skylarks when we woke. We were accompanied by Ayla and her mother Annette, for whom it was an intense pleasure to sing.

The fire you can hear in the background was not a forest confalgration, but a safe little cooking fire all lifted from the ground on damp logs. It’s ok.

Here are the lyrics:

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the drunken sailor/tibetan monk/festy decorator

This is the great classic folk song, the unifying corker that everyone can join to sing.

We tried to sing it here with unusual gentility and emotional resonance…but it kept slipping back it uproar.

This is univerasl culture stuff. Try it. Open up the song in the pub one night, with guts and gusto, and you will find a heightened time is had by all.

Here are the lyrics:

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We have a track available from the forthcoming album of songs. Please look HERE to find it.

rage in the morning

A musical re-telling of that most famous of Dylan Thomas’ poems, we see great potential in this song. It is surely satisfying to sing Rage Rage Rage Rage…

This was sung by Annette, Ayla’s ma, and the full poem is as follows:

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doon we sung

We sung this down a 350 ft well, in the Milburys pub, just before Winchester.

The reverb was superb, if a little much. It is pure analogue f/x.

It is a great Easter song, and was recorded by May Bradley in Shropshire, a Gypsy lady who sings in a unique and beautiful style.

A less echo-drenched version of the song appears on our album.

Here be lyrics:

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