My latest album-in-progress involves finding a collection of folk songs based around tragic romances - hence the name "dead lovers."
While part of my interest lies in a kind of grim amusement of how common this type of song always has been, I'm also noticing how fascinated people have always been by "true crime" tales and "reality" stories.
I'll be heading out to the East Coast next week with a guitar, a mandolin and a box of CDs*, if you want to hear some of these songs live, and don't live in Wisconsin, this is your chance!
I've written before about variations on everybody's favorite sororicide ballad "The Cruel Sister" (aka "Binnorie," "The Bonny Swans," "The Dreadful Wind and Rain" etc, Roud 8, Child 10).
To sum up the basic story again, if you didn't know: There are two sisters who live in a remote castle by the North Sea. A knight comes courting and favors the younger one, so the jealous older one kills her sister and marries the knight. Some minstrels find the body and make a musical instrument out of it, which then magically reveals the murder.
It's a pretty fun, gruesome story, and a decent bit of music.
Now, when I last wrote about it, I found myself wondering what a harp made out of a dead body would sound like. I wasn't the only one to wonder, and a Finnish luthier named Yrjänä Ermala Soitinrakentaja actually made one to try it out (he didn't use a dead noblewoman, but a deer carcass and hair from a wig). Turns out, it's not the most sonorous instrument ever.
But as I was working on polishing up my own version of the song something occured to me: the lyrics of this particular version describe the "harp" as having three strings, and being played with a bow. Now, I've played the harp for a while and while there's no reason you couldn't build one with only three strings, you wouldn't be able to play many tunes on it. You COULD sound a droning chord on it to accompany singing, in the style of a classical lyre. So that's one possibility, it could have been a single-chord instrument to accompany singing.
Speaking of lyres, we probably shouldn't necessarily think of this harp as the familiar triangle-frame instrument like the contemporary folk harp I play in the video. While these style instruments certainly did exist when the song likely emerged, there was also a tendency - and still is - to refer to a whole range of plucked string instruments as harps. In modern nomenclature, a harp is an instrument where the strings come out and away from the soundboard, while a lyre is an instrument where the strings run across the soundboard, but in older sources things like Anglo-Saxon lyres were sometimes referred to as "harps." It's very possible that this is what the song refers to.
Another possibility, and one that would tie in nicely with some versions where the harp sings all on its own is that it was actually an Aeolian harp. This is an instrument that, rather than being played by a person, makes sound as the wind blows across the strings. My own harp is prone to this when played at outside events, where the wind can cause the strings to make strange moaning sounds. It's a very interesting and somewhat spooky sound, which would be in keeping with the mood of the song.
In other variations of the song, I could very much believe that the instrument in question was an Aeolian harp. I mean, wind is basically magic anyway, and if this thing made out of bones just started moaning away on its own, I bet someone with a guilty conscience would start to feel a bit haunted.
But in THIS version of the song, the minstrels use a bow to play the alleged harp. So what gives? Well, let's go on a bit of a linguistic diversion for a second. In Irish and Scottish Gaelic, the triangular harp is referred to as a "clairseach" or "clarsach" but there is mention of an older small harp referred to as a "cruit." There is a surviving string instrument by that name, though it's most often known by its Welsh name instead, the crwth. The crwth (pronounced like "krooth" if you're wondering), is shaped like a lyre, more or less, and traditionally had six strings, but tuned in unison, so three courses. it has a fretboard, allowing the player to press down on each string to get more than one note out of it, like a guitar or violin, and is played with a bow. It's not really a "harp" but a type of fiddle.
And looking at the shape of the crwth, one could see a vague resemblance to a rib cage, with the central neck being a kind of "breast bone," so with a little imagination one could picture using an actual sternum to make the fretboard of such an instrument. Actually, it's not uncommon for modern fretted instruments such as guitars or mandolins to have bone components, though usually not human bone as far as I know, so while an instrument entirely from bones would be quite unusual, an instrument with a bone inlay or bridge could pass unremarked until it began to work its magic.
So, to sum up, harp=cruit, cruit=crwth, at least in this particular version of the song.
The album is up and available for purchase on CDBaby through the link here. It should also begin appearing on streaming services such as Pandora and Spotify soon.
Enjoy!
It's about time! At least, that's what I'm telling myself this week. Tomorrow I'll be celebrating the official release of "Dead Lovers" on CD, with a show/party locally at Bos Meadery here in Madison.
I'm getting the digital version up and available, and it should be ready through various online sources... well, however long it takes. I'll give you an update when that happens.
And I'm still working on booking a bit of an East Coast tour. Between January 5 and 18 or so.
In the mean time, if you do get a copy of the album, you can read the extended liner notes here. I hope to see you this weekend!
The recording portion of the album is all finished! It's ten tracks, mostly just guitar and voice (with a little mandolin overdub here and there) recorded at Paradyme Productions, where I've done some session work in the past. Jake Johnson, the owner and engineer, is a great guy and I can't recommend them enough.
Now I'm working on packaging, liner notes and song order, which I expect to have done soon, and I'll be planning out the next big expensive part of the whole thing, which is getting copies made. I'm running a pre-sale to help with that, basically I've set up a GoFundMe and anyone who kicks in $10 or more will get a copy of the album.
In the mean time, my album release party is planned for November 18 at Bos Meadery, here in Madison.
I also have some cover art, drawn by my daughter Isabella. And yes, there's a werewolf.
Black is The Color (Roud 3103), is a pretty generic broken-heart type song. Person is in love with other person, person can't be with other person, person is sad. It's been interpreted many ways by many different artists and has been kicking around since at least the 1800 in various forms.
It's not even clear that the singer's beloved is actually dead, in the version I sing all that's clear is that he's not going to marry her. She may have rejected him, she may be already be married, she may be sailing away to another country or she may have been eaten by werewolves (as "DeBlass' Rule of Folk Music" states, when the death of a character in a song is unexplained, one can assume they were eaten by one or more werewolves).
More interestingly, however, is how this song illustrates how music travels and changes. In its original version, it likely came from the Lowlands of Scotland. The biggest clue to this is that it mentions going "to the Clyde." Now, I've said before, and it's still true that just because a song mentions a place, there's no reason to assume it's from there, but based on what we know it's a pretty good hypothesis.
From Scotland, it seems to have traveled to the Appalachian region of America (which had a large population of Lowland Scots and Scots-Irish settlers) where in the early 20th Century noted song collector and composer John Jacob Niles decided he didn't like the traditional melody, and wrote his own setting for it. From there it made its way into the popular repertoire, being reinterpreted by a number of Jazz singers including Nina Simone's excellent take.
It also became a staple, like so many of these songs, of the American folk revival, and seems to have made its way back into popularity in the Celtic folk repertoire again through this American influence. The version I learned came through Christy Moore, who in turn learned his from Scottish singer Hamish Imlach. Imlach, apparently having heard the song and, working from an imperfect memory, somewhat revised the melody and lyrics to create the version that he recorded in the 1960s and Moore has been performing ever since.
As for myself, I learned my own version from some guy named Noel in a youth hostel in Galway about 20 years ago. Noel was a big Christy Moore fan (as we should all be) and taught me a couple of simple songs while I spent a few months in Ireland living as a street musician. I've been singing it ever since as a regular part of my repertoire.
"If I Was A Blackbird" (Roud 387), alternately "I Am A Young Maiden" after the opening line in versions with a female protagonist (the version I'd first heard started "I am a young sailor" which is what I used, but you can plug in any two-syllable word and swap the pronouns to suit yourself) is first recorded in the early 20th Century and is possibly pieced together out of various broadside ballads of the 19th. Its origins are most likely Scottish and/or Irish, as it doesn't seem to have been as popular in England or the Americas, and it mentions "Donnybrook Faire" which was located in Dublin, though just a mention of a place is, of course, no guarantee of origin.
It's a slightly unusual addition to this series, as nobody actually DIES in it, it's simply a really sad and plaintive song. But I like it and it's going to be included on the album anyway, so there you go.
It tells the story of a young lover who is rejected by his/her love, and discouraged from courting them by their parents. And indeed, the protagonist doesn't seem to take any action (such as murder, as we've seen in past entries) but is just really sad about the whole thing. The language, as in many modern love songs, is a bit stalker-y, describing how they would like to follow their (non-reciprocating) true love as a bird and build a nest in the ship's rigging just to be close to them. A bit creepy yes, but after reading of murder, murder and even more murder in past ballads, pretty mild.
I think a more interesting speculation about this song, and various other "pining away in anguish" type ballads, is what function they may have served for the singers and listeners. I can't find the link at the moment (I'll come back and add it in later if I can) but not too long ago I read an article about how a lot of classic country (Hank Williams Sr. etc) dealt with heartbreak and infidelity largely because it was a socially acceptable way for men to express negative emotions. It could be hard to say "I'm not sure how things are going and I have doubts about my relationship" but "I caught my wife with my best friend" is a concrete image that stands in for those other uncomfortable feelings (it's worth noting that a lot of other Country pioneers struggled with alcoholism and very likely depression, so there's that).
By the same token, I suspect that in addition to the very human fascination with crime and gory drama that murder ballads give us, these sad old songs also had another purpose as a channel for negative emotions that balladeers and audiences alike may have had a hard time putting into words. Our terminology for generalized depression is pretty new after all, but depression itself likely isn't, nor are a host of other psychological ills. However, when somebody sings about being heartbroken because their true love dumped them, most folks can relate and it gives a shape to pour those nebulous feelings into (and if you up the ante by having your love die of violence, or illness or werewolves, all the more dramatic and emotionally poignant. After all, we may not have all lost our fiancée to werewolf attack, but a lot of us have had days when we've felt like we have).
And of course, in a lot of traditional cultures, especially among men, expressing too much emotion wasn't always socially acceptable. The allowable range of emotion would probably be limited to "Angry, hungry, drunk, horny or folk song." Thus music, which on one hand has often had such a role in bringing people together in joyful dance and celebration, also served the vital function of providing an outlet for negative and hard to define feelings. I don't know that, with the ever expanding, yet still incomplete, understanding we have of the human mind nowadays that depressing music could be considered the healthiest or most effective form of therapy, but there was a time when it was all we had.
And besides, it seems to be working OK for some modern English singers.
I've mentioned this one before, and it's one of the classic Dead Lover songs, with versions by dozens of famous artists as well as thousands upon thousands of lesser singers like myself.
"She Moved Through the Fair" (Roud 861) has been kicking around for over a century, though it's hard to tell exactly how MUCH longer, exactly. It seems the currently known set of lyrics were pieced together and written in part by Irish poet and playwright Padraic Colum, but it's likely some version of the song, and certainly the melody, existed long before that.
Without getting too deep into the music theory, tune is in mixolydian mode, that is based around what would be the fifth tone of a modern "major" scale, giving it an ancient and -to our modern ears - somewhat exotic sound. I can't think of too many late-19th or early-20th Century folk ballads that rely heavily on this mode, but it was common in some older music. This is all pretty much speculation on my part, as I don't have sources to confirm this.
The story of the song is particularly moving, as it fixes on the cheerful parting of young lovers and a subsequent, unnamed tragedy. The singer's beloved tells him that her parents approve of their upcoming marriage, and they part lovingly. "It will not be long, love, till our wedding day" she says. He watches her move gracefully across the fairgrounds, not knowing that it would be the last he would see her alive.
Whatever happens, happens, and his beloved is no more, and in the last verse the narrator tells of his dream, in which his dead lover came to his bedroom and once again repeated her parting words, "it will not be long love, till our wedding day."
It's a lovely melody, and the imagery of her moving across the fairgrounds "like a swan in the evening" is pretty evocative. As such some singers have tried to find ways to present the song without its tragic elements, usually omitting the last verse or more often the next to the last verse and its line "that was the last that I saw of my dear," making the dream sequence one of anticipation rather than pathos. Obviously, I'm not on board with that, and not just because of my affection for Dead Lover songs. The whole feel of the piece is just too dependent on that melancholy, haunting mood to be a cheerful song. If you want a happy song about getting married, go to Scotland, the West of Ireland is the place for ghosts.
The label "folk music" is a pretty broad one in modern times, often being applied to all sorts of contemporary recorded music that features primarily acoustic instrumentation, or even electrified genres of pop, rock and metal that draw on elements of traditional stories, melodies or instrumentation.
But for the sake of this blog, I'll stick with the dictionary meaning of music of unknown authorship that's passed down orally through a popular tradition, or music by known authors that has passed into the tradition of folk performance. The bulk of my own repertoire consists of just such music, primarily from English-speaking traditions from Western Europe or North America. Not because I think English-language folk songs are inherently better than those of other traditions, but mostly because I'm too lazy to figure out songs in other tongues.
But also, I fit the "bearded guy with an acoustic guitar" image so nicely, why fight it?
While there are new songs being absorbed into the folk tradition all the time (though I suspect current copyright laws slow that down some) the bulk of the material is quite old. And part of what makes it "traditional" music is that, as it's been passed through all the countless hands and voices, it's been changed and polished and re-imagined many different ways. And a lot of it is forgotten or set aside, while things are added, until all that remains are elements that for one reason or another resonate with common feelings and experience.
A lot of my love for folk songs is rooted in this, how it provides a common thread running from people who lived and died generations ago to our modern selves. And how, while the songs change and evolve much like our lives, we still hold something at the heart of them in common. We may not be a lowly potato farmer conscripted to fight in some colony-grabbing conflict far away (there's a lot of corn and dairy farmers around here too), but we understand the fear and loneliness and the joy of coming home.
But this blog is, after all, about the darker elements of folk music. The heartbreak, the loss, the pining away and, of course, the murder.
This too, speaks to something we can relate to and see reflected in our modern lives. Killings committed in a fit of jealous rage, abuse, fights over the attention of a woman or man. And, of course, there's the unrequited attraction.
In the real world, if you're interested in someone, and they're not interested in you, a fairly normal response is to mope a bit, maybe write a sad poem or song and eventually get on with your life. In a folk song, like Barbara Allen, you also have the option of just dropping dead like William did (as I've said before, these songs are terrible life advice).
But in both folk songs and the real world, there's a more horrific path that some choose to take. Killing the object of your affection.
Not long ago I did a blog on "The Banks of the Ohio," and since then I've been practicing it quite a bit to polish it up for recording. At the same time I'd read the news of one of the recent school shootings (and don't think that having to say "one of" in regards to this isn't more heartbreaking than any song I could sing) and read about how the killer apparently had a thing for one of the victims, and was rejected by her, which may have inspired him to shoot up the school.
The viewpoint character in the song doesn't go on a killing spree, but there's enough in common that it's definitely colored my own feelings towards the song. I'm not going to stop playing it, but I'm definitely more aware of how the events of the thing look in the real world. And it's also got me thinking about just how many old songs there are about men killing women in a sudden fit of rage, or out of jealousy.
I think this sense of rage and misplaced entitlement we see in young men like the school shooter and other examples of real world monsters was well known to our forebears. And maybe they were aware of the darker parts of our own natures and found a way to safely channel those irrational, violent impulses was through song and story. And maybe also there was the eternal fascination we all have with terrible people and horrific acts. And maybe also there was a bit of a warning in there. And, considering how many times the subject is caught and hanged, there's a desire to make these vicious killers face, in song at least, the consequences and justice that they avoided in real life all too often.
Suppose you're a father whose son is dating a woman you don't approve of. Perhaps she's got some bad habits, or your son doesn't really love her but is a bit too passive aggressive to break things off, or maybe she's gotten pregnant and now he feels obligated to marry her. What kind of fatherly advice would you offer? Maybe you'd say something like "well, raising a child can be tough, but I'll help out" or "well, you'll have to break things off and live with the consequences" or even "here's a train ticket to the coast, get a job on a ship or something and stop whining."
Of course, none of those make for a compelling folk song. If you're a father in a folk song your advice might be, "just kill her and I'll bail you out." Thus continuing the theme of "Don't Look to Folk Songs For Life Advice" with "Down in the Willow Garden" (Roud 446).
The narrator of the song meets his "love" in the titular willow garden where he serves her poisoned wine, which makes her "fall off to sleep," at which point he runs her through with either a saber or a dagger, and THEN throws her in the river, thus earning the dubious honor of a Murder Ballad Triple Crown by killing her three different ways (wait, was she a werewolf or something? I know silver bullets are a the modern method of killing one, but maybe Appalachian werewolves are less hoity-toity and you can just keep killing them until they run out of lives like a video game boss. I may have to re-evaluate my thoughts on this song later).
Anyway, "Down in the Willow Garden" is an American folk ballad that appeared some time in the late 1800s. It may be based on an even older song, and its alternate name of "Rose Connelly" had made appearances in older material, but it probably didn't take its modern form until after 1889, when William Butler Yeats published his poem "Down By the Sally Gardens" which has an almost identical opening line:
Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet
Of course Yeats may have copped that line from an older Irish ballad "Ye Rambling Boys of Pleasure," (Roud 386) from which he seems to have stolen... er, drawn inspiration for a number of lines.
Since its initial appearance in recorded music in the 1920s, "Down in the Willow Garden" has become a staple of Bluegrass, Country and Folk singers, and has also been recorded by the likes of Bon Iver, Nick Cave and The Everly Brothers. And, of course, it was performed by Holly Hunter in the Cohen Brothers' "Raising Arizona" as a lullaby.
"The Banks of the Ohio" (Roud 157) is a pretty straightforward song as far as these things go, and, as is often the case with these simpler old songs, its history is nearly impossible to trace. What I can tell is that it showed up in the United States sometime in the late 1800s, and was first recorded in the late 1920s. Beyond that, I haven't come across a direct ancestor in European folklore (though the theme of drowning someone out of romantic jealousy is pretty common), so I'm guessing it's an American original.
The story is simple: the guy ("Willie" in many versions) is in love with a girl who likes him at least enough to walk out with him. He wants her to marry him, she's not into it, so he drowns her and then feels bad about it.
It's been performed and recorded a lot, it's an easy song to play (when one isn't fumbling the F chords because your hand is sore) and the chorus makes for a nice sing-along, it's also been made into at least one delightful web comic adaptation.
Perhaps the distinguishing feature about "The Banks of the Ohio" is the theme of regret. After the murder, the narrator laments how he killed the woman he supposedly loved. There are a number of songs about jealous lovers or competing suitors killing someone in a fit of passion, but usually, if there's any aftermath it's either treated as a moment of grotesque justice as in "Mattie Groves" or something they hide until they get caught as in "The Cruel Sister," whereas our narrator has a moment to realize that losing his temper and drowning a woman was A TERRIBLE IDEA.
I mean, it shouldn't take even a three-and-a-half minute folk song to figure that out, but we live and we learn, right?
