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STORM Emeritus: Meade Stith |
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Also appearing on this album: Martin Smith-Rodden - Harmonica
Producers: Dramtreeo and Jim Fox
Studio: Lion & Fox Recording, Inc.,Washington, D.C.
Engineer: Jim Fox
Digital Mastering: Jim Fox at Lion & Fox. Washington, D.C.
Art Director: Susie Cucura, Yorktown, VA
Photographer: Martin Smith-Rodden, Portsmouth, VA
This album is dedicated to Barbara, Marcia, Phyllis, William, Brent, Rosie, Anna, Parchelle, Carla, CJ, Emma, Matt, Tom, Meade Stith, Jim Fox, Sharon & Mike Fijalka, Cathy Augustine, Reggie Mitchell, Larry & Mary Mercieca, Carl Costa, Bob Augustine, Bob and Kay Zentz, Dick Cerri, the Tanner's Creek Whalers, Clan Heely, Capt. Lane Briggs and the NORFOLK REBEL, Capt. Pete Hall and the ALEXANDRIA, USCG Barque EAGLE, S/V OISIN'S WANDERINGS, and the Elizabeth River, which connects us to the rest of the world.
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Lyrics
Black Velvet Band
In the days before electricity illuminated red light districts, the ladies of the evening would indicate their calling by displaying a subtle signal. In some cases this was a black ribbon tied in an appropriate place. This tune is from the great Irish folk waltz craze. Put it on and do a little 3/4 time with your sweetheart.
In a neat little town they call Belfast, an apprentice to trade I was bound
And many's the hours sweet happiness, I had in that sweet little town
'Til sad misfortune came o'er me, and caused me to stray from the land
Far away from me friends and relations, I followed the black velvet band.
Well her eyes they shone like the diamonds
You'd swear she was queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulders
Tied up with a black velvet band.
Well I went a strolling one evening, not meaning to go very far
When I met with a frolicsome damsel, a plyin' her trade at the bar
Well a watch she took from a customer, and slipped it right into me hand
And the law came and put me in prison, bad luck to her black velvet band.
Well her eyes ...
Next morning before judge and jury, at trial I had to appear
And the judge looked down and he said, "Me boy, the case against youis quite clear.
So seven long years is your sentence, you're going to Van Diemen's Land,
Far away from your friends and relations, you follow the black velvet band."
Well her eyes ...
So come all you jolly young fellows, take careful warning by me
If you ever get drunk with the liquor, me lads, beware of the pretty cailin
Sure, she'll ply you with uisce and porter, 'til you are not able to stand
And the very next thing that you know, me boys, you've landed in Van Diemen's Land.
Well her eyes ...
Aragon Mill
This song tells about what happened to many mill towns after the plants on which they depended for their economic health shut down. Living in the Hampton Roads area, one becomes particularly attuned to the area's dependence on the Department of Defense budget. The moral of this song is diversify, diversify, diversify and pray that the angel of BRAC passes over the door.
At the east edge of town, at the foot of the hill
Stands a chimney so tall, it says "Aragon Mill."
And the only tune I hear
Is the sound of the wind
As it blows through the town
Weave and spin, weave and spin.
Well there's no smoke at all, coming out of the stack
The mill has shut down, boys, these jobs ain't comin' back.
Well I'm too old to work, and I'm too young to die
Tell me where will I go, my old gal and I?
There's no children at all, in the narrow empty street
Since the mill has shut down, it's so quite I can't sleep.
Yes the mill has shut down, it's the only life I know
Tell me where will I go, tell me where will I go?
And the only tune I hear ...
Storm Coming On Click here for a sound bite. (WAV format)
One of the many projects the Roosevelt administration's WPA initiated in the 1930s was the Shenandoah National Park, in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. The park gave work to thousands who had lost their jobs in the Depression, and now it gives pleasure to millions of visitors. But there were people living where the park now lies, whose families had farmed those hills for three hundred years. The WPA paid those people what the government said their land was worth, and unceremoniously evicted them. Jim and his brother Rob were born near the Blue Ridge, and this song is Rob's tribute to the people who lost their land so that we could go camping.
I was born in the backwoods, raising hogs and chopping wood
Hoeing corn, getting water by hand, set down and planted on the land.
Then one night I heard my Mama say, "Son we got to get away,
There's a man with a government form, says we got to leave where we
was born."
There's a storm coming on, most folks already gone
There's a rain, goin' to wash these hills away.
Now I voted for the New Deal, guess you know just how I feel
Thought Franklin would be my friend, but now he's gone and let 'em do me in.
When you live in the bottom half, it's enough to make you laugh
Can't afford no lawyer fees, rich folks can take just what they please.
There's a storm ...
Now I live up Charleston way, digging coal for miner's pay
Guess I'll be a union man, got to find some way to make a stand.
But I won't trust the government, won't forget I'm paying rent
It don't matter what they give to me, they can't give back the man I used to be.
There's a storm ...
Jacob's Vision
The Sacred Harp, first published in 1844, is proclaimed as "The Best Collection of Sacred Songs, Hymns, Odes & Anthems ever offered the Singing Public for General Use." The 1991 edition observes that "[b]ack as far as Jubal, 'the father of all such that handle the lays, pipe and organ' (Genesis 4:21), music is mentioned 3,875 years before Christ. Vocal Choruses of men are mentioned in the Bible 556 years before Christ. Music is a God-given faculty that by sounding its melody and harmony opens the doors to human hearts and souls and brings man back to his first relationship with God."
As Jacob with travel was weary one day
And at night on a stone for a pillow he lay
There he saw in a vision a ladder so high
That its foot was on earth and its top in the sky.
Alleluia to Jesus who died on the tree
And has raised up a ladder of mercy for me
And has raised up a ladder of mercy for me. (repeat)
The ladder is long, it is strong and well made
It stood hundreds of years and is not yet decayed
Many millions have climbed it and reached Zion's hill
And the thousands by faith are now climbing it still.
Alleluia to Jesus ...
Come let us ascend, all may climb it who will
For the angels of Jacob are guarding it still
There are regions of light, there are mansions of bliss
Oh then who would not climb such a ladder as this.
Alleluia to Jesus ...
Mbube
The appeal of this African folk song was evident nearly fifty years ago when the Weavers sang and recorded it as "Wimoweh," long before Disney's "The Lion King." The song was first recorded in South Africa in the 1930's by Solomon Linda & The Original Evening Birds. Mbube {"Eem-boo-bveh") means "lion" in Zulu, the lion being king (and the elephant, queen) of the jungle in African lore. Mbube is also used as a term of respect for a leader or a person of great stature in the community (hence, "lionizing" someone).
The Mistress
Jerry was sitting in the audience at Reggie's Pub in Norfolk, Virginia a few years ago listening to a performance by his friend Marsha Gilmore. A friend of Marsha's, who had just married a merchant mariner, was sitting at the table waxing eloquently on how she was going to change her new husband's views on going to sea. Having served in the Coast Guard and knowing not a few merchies, he was inspired to write this tune.
I was sittin' in a bar the other day, listenin' to a young wife complain
She spoke out fiercely with that look in her eye, boldly she started to say:
"I found out my husband has a mistress, a witch against whom I must compete
Well I'm tellin' you now, I will not share, my husband will be mine to keep."
She started to tell me 'bout the Merchant Marine, her husband who sailed upon the waves
How he'd start to fidgetin' after three weeks ashore, talk about sailin' again
She said that she was goin' to change him, fill him with desire to stay
She said that she was goin' to fill his heart, his desire for the sea would go away.
Well I listened on to the rest of her story, a classic tale told many times before
Then I picked up the tab, headed for the docks, thought as I opened the cabin door:
Stand on the deck and watch a storm a risin', look up at the stars up in the sky
The sea is a temptress, her moves will astound you, haunting you until you die
Stand on the bridge and watch the dolphins play now, two thousand at a time
A mistress that tempts you with that kind of wild way, locks up your heart and your mind.
Shawnee Town
Until the railroads took over in the latter half of the nineteenth century, the principal means of inland commercial transportation in America was by river boat, usually a "bateau" (keelboat or flatboat), propelled along the rivers and canals by current, mule, or manpower. This song is about a keelboat that drifts downstream on the current, with the help of a long steering oar to shift her off of shoals and snags. On the return trip, against the stream, the boatmen have to move her along by "bushwhacking," that is, standing on the deck, grabbing the bushes and trees along the river bank and pulling, hand over hand.
Some rows up, but we floats down
Way down the Ohio to Shawnee Town.
And it's hard on the beech oar, she moves too slow
Way down to Shawnee Town on the Ohio.
Now the current's got her and we'll take up the slack
We'll float her down to Shawnee Town and bushwhack her back.
And it's hard ...
There's whiskey in the jug, boys, and the wheat is in the sack
We'll trade 'em down in Shawnee Town and bring the rock salt back.
And it's hard ...
The water's mighty warm, boys, and the air is cold and dank
The dadgum fog, it gets so thick you cannot see the bank.
And it's hard ...
Well, I've got a wife in Louisville, and one in New Orleans
When I get down to Shawnee Town, going to see my Indian queen.
And it's hard ...
Some rows up, but we floats down
Way down the Ohio to Shawnee Town.
And it's hard ...
Sixteen Tons
Of all the members of Dramtreeo, Carlton probably has the closest ties to the coal mines. His grandfather ran a store that served the miners in Beckley, West Virginia. This song tells the story of the drudgery of the mines, where you cannot die because you still owe the company store money for your meager rations. Funny, but this is a common theme wherever workers were (are) being taken advantage of, whether they come back from a five-year whaling trip finding they owe money for the experience or they go to claim their pay for picking crops only to find out that it is completely offset by what the grower has charged them for food and rent.
Some people say a man is made out of mud
But a poor man's made out of muscle and blood
Muscle and blood, skin and bone
With a mind that's weak and a back that's strong.
You load sixteen tons, and what do you get
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call me, 'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store.
I was born one morning when the sun didn't shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of Number 9 coal
And the boss man said, "Well bless your soul."
You load ...
If you see me coming you better step aside
Another man didn't and another man died
I got a fist of iron, I got a fist of steel
If the right one don't get you then the left one will.
You load ...
Strike The Bell
In the days when ships were made of wood and men were made of steel, the ships leaked and the men spent many off-watch hours working the pumps. This pumping chantey calls for the mate to strike the bell, indicating the end of the watch and a reprieve from the arduous task of keeping the ship afloat.
Up on the poop deck walking about
There goes the second mate so steady and so stout
What he is thinking of he only knows himself
We're wishing he would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.
Strike the bell, second mate, let us go below
Look you well to weather you can see it's going to blow
Look at the glass you can see that it has fell
We're wishing you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.
There on the waist, working at the pumps
There stands the larboard watch all ready for their bunks
They're looking off to windward and they see an awful swell
They're wishing you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.
Strike the bell ...
There is old Hagan, standing at the wheel
Hands frozen to the spokes, we know just how he feels
Looking at the compass and the course is clear as hell
He's wishing that the second mate would strike, strike the bell.
Strike the bell ...
There on the poop, our gallant Captain stands
Staring at the crosstrees, a spyglass in his hands
What he is thinking of, we all know very well
He's thinking more of shortening sail than strike, strike the bell.
Strike the bell ...
The Gypsy's Hemorrhoids
Why do fiddle players name their tunes the way they do? The world may never know, but whatever they are called they are fun. Scottish fiddle enthusiasts may recognize the base of this tune as "The Mason's Apron." Andy has modified it in a very untraditional way. That's what happens to an Englishman when he moves to the States.
Soldier's Joy
During the American Civil War, morphine was used to ease the pain of those unfortunate enough to be hit in the fighting. The troops referred to it as "soldier's joy." Jerry took the traditional tune and added a few verses to reflect the fact that often which army an immigrant served in depended upon which port they arrived in. They really didn't care about the war, but it was a job.
I am my mother's darlin' boy
I am my mother's darlin' boy
I am my mother's darlin' boy
Singing a song called soldier's joy.
Thirty-five cents for the morphine, nickel for the beer
Thirty-five cents for the morphine, gonna drink me out of here
Thirty-five cents for the morphine, and nickel for the beer
And if I had both me legs, I'd walk right out of here.
Well I really didn't care about the war
But I needed a job and I needed it sore
Went and joined that old Gray Line
Promptly marched away.
Thirty-five cents ...
Well I fought hard and I fought with pride
'Til I took a Minie ball in the side
Now here in the hospital I lie
All the livelong day.
Thirty-five cents ...
There's a June bug sittin' on a sweet potato vine
There's a June bug sittin' on a sweet potato vine
There's a June bug sittin' on a sweet potato vine
Along come a chicken and he says "you're mine."
Thirty-five cents ...
Well I'm gonna get a drink, don't you want to go?
I'm gonna get a drink, don't you want to go?
I'm gonna get a drink, don't you want to go?
Hold on to soldier's joy.
Thirty-five cents ...
Hard Times (Come Again No More)
It is said that Stephen Foster wrote this song based on listening to the singing in the black churches of his day. Although meant to be a sad, maudlin tune, we think it works better in a happy mode.
Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor.
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard times, hard times come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,
'Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore,
'Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song ...
While we seek mirth and beauty and music bright and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door.
Though their voices be silent, their pleading looks still say,
Oh, hard times, come again no more.
'Tis the song ...
Fiddler's Green
When sailors die, if they have been good sailors, they head to a place known as Fiddler's Green, "where the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free." We hope that weekends spent sailing on the Bay qualify us for residency.
As I walked by the dockside one evening so rare
To view the still water and take the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing this song
Come take me away boys, me time is not long:
Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper
No more by the docks I'll be seen
Tell me old shipmates, I'm takin' a trip mates
I'll see them someday in Fiddler's Green.
Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell
Where sailors all go if they don't go to hell
The sky's always clear and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away.
Wrap me up ...
Well the sky's always clear and there's never a gale
The fish jump on board with a swish of their tails
You lie at your leisure with no work to do
And the skipper's below making tea for the crew.
Wrap me up ...
Now when we are docked and the long trip is through
There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too
The girls are all pretty, the beer is all free
There's bottles of rum growin' from every tree.
Wrap me up ...
Now I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me
Just give me a ship and a big rolling sea
I'll play me old squeezebox as we sail along
With the wind in the riggin' a singin' this song:
Wrap me up ...
PPM (Parts Per Million)
The Chesapeake Bay is a wondrous place and, although a lot of posturing has been done by the politicians and environmental groups, it still is in need of help. Zero emissions is a noble goal and one that needs to be looked at by both the industrial plant operator and the person driving the gasoline powered car with the "Stop Offshore Drilling" and "Save the Whales" bumper stickers. A mirror is a wonderful place to start for serious environmental feedback.
Well I don't want any parts per million
Flowing down into my Bay
Just give me the bright clean flowing waters
Clean flowing waters of Chesapeake Bay.
Take your poisons, don't put them elsewhere
Clean them, wash them, make them right
Don't put them into my clean flowing waters
Whether by permit or still of the night.
Well the oysters are dying, the fish are in trouble
There's rivers now you can't eat the crab
Can't you see they are very tightly related
The health of the Bay and the use of its land?
Tell me, Sir, why do you wonder
You catch less fish off Virginia Beach
Can't you see that they're very tightly related
The health of the oceans and estuaries?
Well I don't want any parts per million
Flowing down into my Bay
Just give me the bright clean flowing waters
Clean flowing waters of Chesapeake Bay.
This Land is Your Land
Most of us learned this song in kindergarten. What they never told us was that it was written as a protest by Woody Guthrie. During the dust bowl days of the Depression, thousands of farmers, driven from their land by the dust and the economy, headed to what they thought were the greener pastures of California. They were met at the California line by state troopers, sheriff's deputies and big men with shotguns and baseball bats, who told them they were not welcome. Woody responded with the song "This land is your land, this land is my land" and it has become our folk national anthem.
This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York island
From the redwood forest to the gulfstream waters
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking that ribbon of highway
I saw before me that endless skyway
I saw below me that golden valley
This land was made for you and me.
This land ...
I roamed and rambled and followed my footsteps
To the sparking sands of your diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was chanting
This land was made for you and me.
This land ...
In the squares of the city, in the shadow of a steeple
By the relief office I saw my people
As they stood there hungry I stood there whistling
This land was made for you and me.
This land ...
Ain't no one living who's going to stop me
As I go walkin' that freedom highway
Ain't no one living who's going to take my rights away
This land was made for you and me.
This land ...
I saw a sign there that tried to stop me,
'Cause on the one side it said "private property"
But on the other side it didn't say nothing
That sign was made for you and me.
This land ...
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