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So far, dear friends, my enthusiasm in pointing out the extraordinary treasures bequeathed by the musical culture of the past century has not waned. How could this happen in the face of such neglected splendor? I hope you've always felt this enthusiasm. After all, I could never speak dispassionately of my "ancient loves", while I completely abstain from reporting and leave it to the clinical experts to inform about subpar works, just because they are part of the career of important bands. Furthermore, voting below three stars, for me, means stepping out of history and entering the realm of mere reporting, speaking of almost negligible facts.
That said, let's gaze at the sky to identify a constellation of five bright stars, called Steeleye Span; apparently, even here the slightly myopic telescopes (to use a euphemism) of the debaserian scientists, have never managed to pierce through the mists of the twentieth-century hemisphere, to focus on the splendid light emanated by such an extraordinary group. Or are the dazzling effects of the "city lights" that have always prevented the glimpse of such a treasure handed down to history as indispensable? Folks, this is about pure mythology, beyond a doubt, so the honor renews for me in presenting you with a masterpiece like "Hark! The Village Wait" from 1970, the debut of one of the most important English folk groups of all time.
Steeleye Span, originally formed by former bassist of Fairport Convention, Ashley Hutchings, counts among the ranks of its first formation a certain Andy Irvine, who would soon leave to form Planxty. In the line-up of "Hark!..." we find Tim Hart (vocals and guitar, dulcimer, harmonium), the husband and wife team Terry and Guy Woods (vocals, mandola, banjo, concertina / vocals, concertina) and lastly not for lack of merit, the fantastic Maddy Prior, the splendid and soft voice of Albion's folk. The group would undergo repeated transformations, due to various internal disagreements, but this did not prevent the forging of masterpieces that would be indelibly imprinted in the historical memory of English folk music. "Hark!..." represents the starting point of a dedication to a single project: the British popular tradition, which feels the influence of pre-medieval Celtic Christianity. From the first four works until 1972, realized in a predominantly acoustic key, to the gradual inclusion of electric instruments, they would take the group far from folk, towards more strictly rock arrangements, until a consequent stylistic decline.
Let's say right away that the "easy listening" does not lead one to consider the record insignificant; on the contrary, we are faced with one of those "mainstream" miracles with hieratic and vertical-popular style, which lead the listener to travel to places where the soul finds vital nourishment, encounters with nature, and a time warp. It ranges from the three strictly a cappella choral songs of "A Calling-On Song", "My Johnny Was A Shoemaker", "Twa Corbies" with a gothic acute arch imprint, to the seven medieval-style ballads (identifiable in the harmonic scale) adorned by Maddy Prior's delightful singing, down to the two solely male ballads; the "Blackleg Miner", beginning in a solitary couplet of the first and fifth of the major scale leading to Tim Hart’s folk singing, accompanied by the banjo and the naturalistic hymn of "The Hills of Greenmore", sung by Terry Woods, solemnly accompanied by the concertina riff. But here we want to return to the spatial metaphor distinguishing the two celestial "The Blacksmith" and "All Things Are Quite Silent," which lull us in a "sea of tranquility" with ancient echoes, whose folk rhythm is juxtaposed with angelic choruses, while Maddy Prior's harmonious singing finds here its highest maternal manifestation. Finally, we add that "all things are quite silent" when they speak of themselves, like the distant sideral spaces reachable only with the vehicle of our soul, one day that will be the suitable place to dwell in undeserved rest, where perhaps we will all dance holding hands, a gentle pastoral. Our soul is headed there, "listen! The village waits," ah sublime vertigo!
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
02 The Blacksmith (03:40)
a blacksmith courted me, nine months and better.
he fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter.
with his hammer in his hand, he looked so clever,
and if i was with my love, i'd live forever.
and where is my love gone, with his cheek like roses,
and his good black billycock on, decked with primroses?
i'm afraid the scorching sun will shine and burn his beauty,
and if i was with my love, i'd do my duty.
strange news is come to town, strange news is carried,
strange news flies up and down that my love is married.
i wish them both much joy, though they don't hear me
and may god reward him well for the slighting of me.
'what did you promise when you sat beside me?
you said you would marry me, and not deny me.'
'if i said i'd marry you, it was only for to try you,
so bring your witness, love, and i'll never deny you.'
'oh, witness have i none save god almighty.
and he'll reward you well for slighting of me.'
her lips grew pale and white, it made her poor heart tremble
to think she loved one, and he proved deceitful.
04 Blackleg Miner (02:47)
Oh, it's in the evening after dark,
When the blackleg miner creeps to work,
With his moleskin pants and dirty shirt,
There goes the blackleg miner!
Well he grubs his dugs and down he goes
To hue the coal that lies below,
There's not a woman in this town-row
Will look at the blackleg miner.
Oh, Delaval is a terrible place.
They rub wet clay in a blackleg's face,
And around the heaps they run a foot race,
There goes the backleg miner!
So, don't go near the Seghill mine.
Across the way they stretch a line,
To catch the throat and break the spine
Of the dirty backleg miner.
Well he grubs his dugs and his stick as well,
And he hoys them down the pit of hell.
It's down you go, and fare you well,
You dirty blackleg miner!
So join the union while you may.
Don't wait till your dying day,
For that may not be far away,
You dirty blackleg miner!
06 Copshawholme Fair (02:35)
on a fine eve'n fair in the month of avril
o'er the hill came the man with the blythe sunny smile
and the folks they were throngin' the roads everywhere
makin' haste to be in at copshawholme fair
i've seen 'em a-comin' in from the mountains and glens
those rosy-faced lasses and strappin' young men
with a joy in their heart and unburdened o' care
a'meetin' old friends at copshawholme fair
there are lads for the lasses, there's toys for the bairns
there jugglers and tumblers and folks with no arms
there's a balancing act here and a fiddler there
there are nut-men and spice-men at copshawholme fair
there are peddlers and potters and gingerbread stands
there are peepshows and poppin-darts and the green caravans
there's fruit from all nations exhibited there
with kale plants from orange at copshawholme fair
and now above all the hiring if you want to hear tell
you should ken it as afar i've seen it myself
what wages they adle it's ill to declare
the muckle they vary at copshawholme fair
just the gal i have seen she's a strapping young queen
he asked what her age was and where she had been
what work she'd been doin', how long she'd been there
what wages she wanted at copshawholme fair
just then the bit lass stood a wee while in gloom
and she blushed and she scraped with her feet on the ground
then she plucked up her heart and did stoutly declare
well, a five pound and turn at copshawholme fair
says he, but me lass, that's a very big wage
then he'd turning about like he been in a rage
says, i'll give ye five pounds but i'll give ye nay mare
well i think him and tuck it at copshawholme fair
he took out a shilling but to haul the bit wench
in case it might enter her head for to flinch
but she grabbed it muttering i should have had mare
but i think i will tuck it at copshawholme fair
now the hirin's o'er and off they all sprang
into the ballroom for to join in the throng
and "i never will lie with my mammy nae mair"
the fiddles play briskly at copshawholme fair
now this is the fashion they thus passed the day
till the night comin' on they all hurry away
and some are so sick that they'll never join more
with the fighting and dancing at copshawholme fair
07 All Things Are Quite Silent (02:40)
All things are quite silent, each mortal at rest,
When me and my true love got snug in one nest,
When a bold set of ruffians broke into our cave,
And they forced my dear jewel to plough the salt wave.
I begged hard for my darling as I would for my life.
They'd not listen to me although a fond wife,
Saying the king must have sailors, to the seas he must go,
And they've left me lamenting in sorrow and woe.
Through green fields and meadows we ofttimes have walked,
And the fond recollections together have talked,
Where the lark and the blackbird so sweetly did sing,
And the lovely thrushes' voices made the valleys to ring.
Now although I'm forsaken I won't be be cast down.
Who knows but my true love some day may return?
And will make me amends For all trouble and strife,
And me and my true love might live happy for life.
08 The Hills of Greenmore (04:02)
One fine winter's morn my horn I did blow
To the green fields of Keady for hours we did go
We gathered our dogs and we circled around
For none loves the sport better than the boys in the dell.
And when we arrived they were all standing there
We set off for the fields, boys, in search of a hare
We didn't get far till someone gave the cheer
Over high hills and valleys the sweet puss did steer
As we flew o'er the hills, 'twas a beautiful sight
There was dogs black and yellow, there was dogs black and white
As she took the black bank for to try them once more
Oh it was her last look o'er the hills of Greenmore.
In a field of wheat stubble this pussy did lie
And Rory and Charmer they did pass her by
And there where we stood at the top of the brae
We heard the last words that this sweet puss did say:
“No more o'er the green fields of Keady I'll roam
Nor trip through the fields, boys, in sport and in fun
Or hear the long horn that your toner does play
I'll go home to my den by the clear light of day.”
You may blame ol' MacMahon for killing the hare
For he's at his ol' capers this many's a year
On Saturday and Sunday he never gives o'er
With a pack of strange dogs round the hills of Greenmore.
09 My Johnny Was a Shoemaker (01:12)
My Johnny was a shoemaker and did he love me
My Johnny was a shoemaker but now he's gone to sea
With pitch and tar to soil his hands
And to sail across the sea, stormy sea
And sail across the stormy sea
His jacket was a deep sky-blue and curly was his hair
His jacket was a deep sky-blue, it was a do declare
For to reeve the top sails up against the mast
And to sail across the sea, stormy sea
And sail across the stormy sea
Some day he'll be a captain bold with a brave and a gallant crew
Some day he'll be a captain bold with a sword and spy glass too
And when he has his gallant captain's sword
He'll come home and marry me, marry me
He'll come home and marry me
10 Lowlands of Holland (06:01)
the love that i have chosen i therewith be content
the salt sea shall be frozen before that i repent
repent it shall i never until the day i dee
but the lowlands of holland has twined my love and me.
my love lies in the salt sea and i am on the side
it's enough to break a young thing's heart that lately was a bride.
but lately was a bonny bride with pleasure in her e'e.
but the lowlands of holland has twined my love and me.
my love he built a bonny ship and set her on the sea
with seven score good mariners to bear her company.
but there's three score of them is sunk and three score dead at sea
and the lowlands of holland has twined my love and me.
my love has built another (or: a nether) ship and set her on the sea
and nane but twenty mariners all for to bring her hame.
but the weary wind began to rise, the sea began to roll
and my love then and his bonny ship turned with the shins about.
there shall nae a quiff come on my head nor comb come in my hair
there shall neither coal nor candlelight shine in my bower mair.
and neither will i marry until the day i dee
for i never had a love but one and he's drowned in the sea.
oh hold your tongue my daughter dear, be still and be content.
there's men enough in galloway, you need not sore lament.
oh there's men enough in galloway, alas there's none for me
for i never had a love but one and he's drowned in the sea.
11 Twa Corbies (02:06)
As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies makin' mane
And one ontae the other did say
Where shall we gang and dine the day
Where shall we gang and dine the day
In behind yon oul fail dyke
I wot there lies a new slain knight
And naebody kens that he lies there
But his hawk and his hound and his lady fair
His hawk and his hound and his lady fair
His hawk is tae the hunting gane
His hound to fetch the wild fowl hane
His lady has taken another mate
So we can make our dinner sweet
We can make our dinner sweet
You can sit on his white breast bone
And I'll pick out his bonny blue e'en
And with a lock of his yellow hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare
And many's a one for him makes mane
Naebody kens where he has gane
Through his white bones when they grow bare
The wind shall blow forever mare
The wind shall blow forever mare
(theek=feather our nest)
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