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Chi mi bhuam (Iain MacPhadein)
Chi mi bhuam, fada bhuam
Chi mi bhuam ri muir-làn
Chi mi Muile nam beann fuar
Fada bhuam thar an t-sàil
Fada bhuam thar an t-sàil.
Chi mi mullach nam beann mór
Anns an òg-mhadainn aigh
An t-aon as airde dhiubh nan còrr
‘S badan ceò air a bàrr
Fada bhuam thar an t-sàil.
Chì mi ghucag air an fhraoch
Chì mi’n caorann fo bhlàth
Chì mi uisge glan nam beann
Tigh’nn ‘na dheann leis gach màm
Fada bhuam thar an t-sàil.
Tir a’ bharraich, tìr nan stuadh
‘S tric a luaidh ort na bàird;
‘S nuair a thug mi riut mo chùl
Rinn mi dùsgadh gu dàn
‘S bidh mi luaidh ort gu bràth.
I would have learned this for a Mod Scotland's gaelic festival) competition many moons ago.
Lyrically it is another song in praise of a beautiful place (in this case the Isle of Mull) and melodically I feel the simplicity is so
beautiful and reminds me of village ceilidhs growing up in Taynuilt -
I think Donald's piano on this track is sublime - we did it in one take and just connected!
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Cronan Bleoghainn
Il a bho lagain il bho m’aghan
Il a bho lagain il bho m’aghan
Il a bho lagain il bho m’aghan,
Mo chrodh-laoigh air gach taobh na h-aibhne.
Buarach sioman do chrodh na t’eile
Buarach sioda do m’aghan fhein o,
Buarach sugain air crodh na duthcha
Buarach ur air mo bhuaileig ghaolsa.
Bo lurach, bo-na h-airigh
Bo a’ bhathaich mathair laogh o,
Buachaille Padruig is banchaig Brighde,
D’ ar sion, d’ ar dion ‘s d’ar comhnadh.
'S moch an diugh gun d'rinn mi eirigh
Hoireann och ù o ho éileadh,
Ho i iù a ho aodh éileadh
Hoireann och ù o ho éileadh.
‘S moch an diu gun d’rinn me éirigh,
Mas moch an diu ‘s moch an dé e,
Dhìrich mi suas gual an t-sléibhe,
Fhuair mi gruagach dhonn gun éirigh,
Chuir mi ‘n lùib mo bhreacain fhéin I;
Thug mi bòid nach éireadh beud dhith,
Nach biodh fios aig neach fo’n ghréin air,
Cha robh fios aig a màthair fhéin air.
Shiubhlainn leat fo choill nan geugan,
Shiubhlainn, Shiubhlainn, dh’fhalbhainn fhéin leat.
This track is made up of two songs - the first being a milking song I learnt from Anne Lorne Gillies while at a gaelic songs summer school at
Stirling Uni.It was also where I first met Angus Grant (senior) and the sessions where amazing. I guess I've been waiting 23 years to record
this song!
The waulking song that follows is from Margaret Fay Shaw's collection of songs from the Uists (collected in the 1930's).
Some Capercaillie fans may recognise the words from a different melody we recorded on Nadurra.
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Gleann Baile chaoil
Chorus
O nach robh mi thall ‘s a’ ghleann a’ fuireach
O nach robh mi thall an Glean Baile Chaoil
Nan robh mise thall ‘s a’ ghleann a’ fuireach
Chan fhàgainn e tuilleadh glean lurach mo ghaoil.
Nuair dh’ éireas a’ ghrian air bu chiatach bhith ann,
‘Si cho fial flathail coibh-neil a’ boillsgeadh air chrann
I dùsgadh nan lòn-dubh ‘s nan smeòrach air ghéig
Chur fàilte l’en ceòl air a mórachd ‘san speur.
Chorus
‘S a’ mhadainn ‘n uair dh’ eirinn gun eislean gun ghruaim
‘S e thug solas do m’inntinn bhith sealltainn riut suas
Chaneil glean eil’ air Gaidhealtachd bheir barr ort an snuadh;
Gur mis ha fo chradh-lot bhith ‘n drasd cho fad uait.
Chorus
Ballachulish Glen
Chorus
O that I were living in the glen
O that I were over in Gleann Baile Chaoil
If I were living over in the glen
I would never leave it again, my beautiful, beloved glen.
When the sun rises on it (the glen), delightful it is to be there
And (the sun) so liberally, gracefully and warmly shining on the trees
Awakening the blackbirds and thrushes on branches
To proclaim with their music its majesty in the Heavens.
Chorus
In the morning when I’d arise, without worry or discontent
What brought happiness to my mind was to look up towards you
There is no other glen in the Highlands to match you in appearance
It is I who is dejected, presently being so far from you.
Chorus
There are some songs that I've know since a small child and have always wanted to record them but felt that they didn't suit for whatever reason.
This one is considered very Victorian in style but I have always loved the melody and feel it almost sings itself because of it's simplicity.
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I will not wear the willow
I will not wear the willow
Though my love is gone
There’s a cool corner of the pillow
I will lay my head on
I will lay my head on
I will not grieve in sorrow
For what has come to pass
Turn my thoughts to tomorrow
I will not cast the glass
Will not cast the glass
I will not tremble
With the women in black
He’s gone to the devil
He won’t be coming back
Some say he took the shilling
Some say he took to the sea
Some said there was a killing
And the killer was he
The killer was he
I will not wear the willow
Will not lower my eyes
Though it’s not on my pillow
I know where he lies
I know where he lies
I will not tremble
With the women in black
He’s gone to the devil
He won’t be coming back
Another great song from our favourite songwriter, James Grant.
It's written in the style of a murder ballad that perhaps could have been written 200 years ago,
though what is not so traditional is that it's written from a female perspective.
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Riobainean Riomhach
Riobainean riomhach, Nighean an Fhidleir
Còta dimitidh, beatagan caileago
Riobainean riomhach, Nighean an Fhidhleir
Còta siod air Mairi.
Brògan àrda, Cleòca, sgàrlaid
Còta dimitidh, beatagan caileago
Brogan àrda, Cleòca sgàrlaid
Riobainean riomhach Mairi.
Gorgeous Ribbons
Gorgeous ribbons, daughter of the fiddler
Skirt of dimity, petticoats of calico
Gorgeous ribbons, daughter of the fiddler
Silk skirt on Mary.
High-heeled shoes, Scarlet cloak
Skirt of dimity, petticoats of calico
High-heeled shoes, Scarlet cloak
Gorgeous ribbons, Mary.
O Mhairi ‘s tu mo Mhairi
I oireann ó ra u
I oireann ó dhiù a
Hi òireann ó ra u
O Mhàiri ‘s tu mo Mhàiri
‘S truagh nach robh sinn air an àirigh
Le spréidh de chrodh bainne
Togail àl de laoigh ghasda
Togail àl de laoigh bhoireann
Deanamh ime agus chàis ann
Chunna mi tighinn na féidh
‘S iad a’ tighinn as am bùirean
’S truagh nach robh mi air an cùlaibh
Le m’ ghunna ‘s le m’ adhairc fhùdair
O Mary, you are my Mary
Would that we were in the shieling
With a herd of milk cows
Raising a herd of fine calves
A herd of female calves
Making butter and cheese there
I saw the deer coming
Bellowing as they came
I wish I was behind them
With my gun and my powder horn
The first of these jig songs I learnt from Katie MacKenzie from Dingwall while singing with her at the feis ceolraidh in Inverness last year.
The second song is one of 2 songs on this record that we heard to a tape of waulking songs produced by The Harris Tweed association about 20 years ago.
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Laoidh fhearchair Eoghainn
S iomadh fear bòidheach,
‘S an Fhraing air a’ chòmhnard,
Tha’n am parantan brònach
Agus leòinte air an sgàth,
Nach fhaic iad ri’ m beò iad
Gun cruinneachar iad còmhla,
‘ bi Fearchar Beag Eòghainn
‘S an dròbh a-measg chàich.
Gur mòr a bha dhùil àm,
Ri’d fhaicinn ‘s an dùthaich,
Is gàire air do ghnùis,
On dh’fhairich thu cùisean-
Nach tig thu gam ionnsaigh
Bhon dh’fhàillig a’ chùis ort,
Mo bheannachd a-null
Dhan an ùir is bheil thu cnàmh.
‘Se dh’fhàg mi cho cianail,
Bhi cuimhneachadh d’iomhaigh,
Do ghruaidhean bha brèagha,
Agus sgiamhach le càch,
Nach fhaic mi gu siorraidh
Air sàilleabh an dìocail,
Am mòr-fhear ‘gar h-iarraidh
Chuir ceudan gu bàs.
Ach sguiridh an Càisear,
Dha innleachdan gleusda
Tha balaich ‘na dhèidh,
Chuireas e ann an sàs.
Nuair shuidheas na treumhan,
‘S an cinn chuir ri chèile,
Bi litir ‘s a’ phàipear,
‘Ga leughadh ma bhàs.
Ged dh’ fhàg iad an dhiochuimhn’,
Gun fhios dè bu chrìoch dhut,
Chan fhàgar le Dia thu,
Nuair dh’iarrar thu n’àird,
Gun èirich le iomhaigh,
Mar chunna’ mi riamh thu,
Bidh do nàimhdean le fiamh,
A’ toir fianais mu’d bhàs.
Na bithinn-sa dlùth dhut
Nuair thàrr iad ‘gad ionnsaigh
Le gunna nach dùbailt,
Is e ùr na mo làmh,
Bhiodh preasadh air fùdar,
Fo bheugaileid rùisgte,
Mas faicinn thu rùin,
Is do chùl ris an làr.
Song for Farquar Ewen
Many a beautiful man
In France on the plain/field
There relatives sorrowful
And wounded for them
That will not rise alive from it
Until they awaken together,
Small Fearchar Eoghainn
Will be with everyone else amongst the drove.
I had high hopes
That I would see you in the country
With a smile on your face
Coming close to the poet,
You will not be coming to towards me
Since the situation failed for you
My blessing over
To the soil that you consumes you.
What left me so sad
Was remembering your image
Your cheeks which were beautiful
And handsome to everyone else
That I will never see again
Because of the lowering/diminishing
The large man was wanting us
That put many to death.
But the Kaiser will finish
With his skilful instruments
There are boys after him
That he will put in custody
When they sit in judgement
And their heads are put together
There will be a letter in the paper
Where you will read about their deaths.
Although they may have left you forgotten
Without knowing how you died
You will not be left with the Lord
When you will request upwards
Your image will rise
As I always saw you
With the enemies with awe
Testifying of your death.
If I was to be close to you
At the point they set about attacking you
With a double (barrelled) gun
It is new in my hands
Their would be pressing for ignition
Under an unsheathed bayonet
Before you see my dear
With your back to the ground.
I heard gaelic singer Alasdair Codona performing this beautiful song on a tv programme about the Lewis bard Alexander Ferguson.
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O nach eisdeadh tu'n sgeul le aire
Refrain
O nach éisdeadh tu ‘n sgeul le aire
Dh’innse ‘n éifeachd tha’n réit’ na fala
O nach éisdeadh tu ‘n sheul le aire
Chuirinn impidh ort thu ghrad philltinn
M’am bi thu millt, o gabh suim dha d’anam
Sluagh gun chùram, tha’n dorus dùint’ orr’
‘S tha claidheamh rùisgt’ air a chùl dha’m faire
Sluagh gun àireamh ‘nan seasamh làmh ris
Ach ‘s daor a thàinig thu ghràidh dha’n ceannach
Ni Nicodemus is a chéile
‘S Manasseh féin fuil na réit a ghlanadh
Faic an t-óigear rinn ‘fhuil a dhòrtadh
Do pheacaich mhór thainig beò tre ‘ghlanadh
Cluinn thu tàirneanach beinn Shinài
Tha bagraidh bàis ‘g iarraidh làn de pheanas
Ma tha thu ad’bhantraich, ‘s e féin is ceann ort
Cur séile teann ann am bonn(t) a gheallaidh
Oh that you would listen to the tale attentively
Refrain
Oh that you would listen to the tale attentively
To tell of the efficacy that is in atonement by blood
Oh that you would listen to the tale attentively
I implore you to turn back quickly
Before you’re destroyed, oh, take care for your soul
Careless people, the door is closed on them
And there is a naked sword behind it to watch them
People without number, standing near him
But it was at great cost that you came, love, to redeem them
Nicodemus, and his partner
And Manasseh himself can be washed in the blood of atonement
See the young man who split his blood
For great sinners who came alive though his cleansing
Hear the thundering of Mount Sinai
Death threatens, asking for full penance
If you are widowed, he is at your head
Putting a firm seal on the trueness of his promise.
Also from the Orain luaidh collection from the Harris Tweed association, the recording I heard of this was sung by Mrs Christine MacLeod
and chorus from a recording by National Geographic in 1973 in Harris. According to research by Morag MacLeod of the school of Scottish
studies during periods of evengelical revival in the Prebyterian church some girls forbore to sing secular songs at waulkings,
and substituted religious songs, giving them the appropriate rhythm.
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Singing in the dark
All your burned bum notes
Thistle in your throat
You've gone the distance
You hear them laugh
Skip along the path of least resistance
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
While no one listens
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
You need a witness
To your song
The crow on your shoulder
Looks down over the dead umbrellas
A smile on his face
‘There but for the grace of God go I’
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
While no one listens
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
You need a witness
To your song
All your still born songs
Never sung along
Kept in cages
Sing them all to me
Play your masterpiece
Blank pages
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
While no one listens
Wont break nobody’s heart
Singing in the dark
You need a witness
To your song
A lament for anyone who has ever written a song that no-one will hear! (JG)
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Puirt a beul
I bhì à dà, ù à iodailean;
I bhì à dà, adail iodail ù-an.
Ciamar a ruidhleas mo nighean
‘S dithis às a’rathad oirre?
Ciamar a ruidhleas mo nighean,
‘S ceathrair air an ùrlar.
‘S ioma rud a chunna mi,
‘S ioma rud a rinn mi;
‘S ioma rud a chunna mise
A-muigh air feadh na h-oidhche.
Chunna mi na cudaigean,
Na cudaigean, na cudaigean;
Chunna mi na cudaigean
A’cluich air allt na muilleadh.
Chunna mi na piseagan,
Na piseagan, na piseagan;
Chunna mi na piseagan,
Air spiris bean an t-saighdeir.
How can my girl dance
when two people are in her way.
How can my girl dance,
and four people on the floor.
Many a thing I saw,
Many a thing I did,
Many a thing I saw,
Out during the night.
I saw the cuddies,
Playing on the mill pond.
I saw the kittens
On the soldier’s wife’s roost.
A set of four songs of typical mouth music - the first two I have known for many years
(thanks to Kenna Campbell (for the right words) and the third and fourth were new to me. "Fear a' Choire" is from a collection of Skye songs
Called Orain an Eilean and "Cairistion 'Nighean Eoghainn" was collected by Calum MacLean for the school of Scottish studies from the singing
of Alasdair Boyd in 1956.
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Luadh an Toraidh
Uair a bha an tir mar fhàsach,
cha robh bròg a thogadh danns ann,
‘s gann am beul a sheinneadh duan ann,
smior an dream mar ath-sgal tuamach.
Creid ar nàimhdean is an cumhachd,
iad a dh’iarr ar muchadh buileach;
ann an lagh is ann am foghlam,
dhiùlt iad dhuinn ar cliù ’s ar còirean
Seòlta mar a chaidh ar mealladh
gu bhi measadh faoin ar teanga
gus an robh i cnàmhte ’s anfhann,
an impis a bhi suaint san anairt -
’S ged a dh’fhàs i liùgte ’s lapach,
fann ri fiùran seang an earraich,
ann a cridhe bha sìol dùbhlain
blàth na déine rinn ar dùsgadh -
Thog sinn strì ’s cha b’ann le fòirneart
ach le fonn is ruighl’ is òran
Cha b’e caismeachd tromh na sràide
ach tromh a buadhan grinn, a Ghàidhlig.
Seinn is seinn, O seinn a nàbaidh, mireadh chasan, o hi
seinn as ùr i, ar seann chànan, binneas bhilean, o ho
(Verse 4 is not recorded on Downriver)
Harvest waulking
Once the land was like a desert,
not one shoe engaged in dancing,
scarce the mouths to sing a song there,
the people’s spirits in tomb-like echoes.
Believe our enemies in their vigour,
those whose wish was our extinction;
both in law and education
denied us our respect and justice.
How cunningly we were deceived to
see our tongue as without value
till it became both weak and wasted,
ready to be wrapped in grave clothes -
Though it was both lamed and feeble
and as faint as spring’s thin sapling,
in its heart a seed of challenge
the bloom of vehemence that woke us -
We waged our struggle, not with violence
but with tune and reel and song. and
not with marching through the streets. but
through the elegant powers of Gaelic
Sing and sing, O sing good neighbour,
sing it new, our ancient language
vigour of feet, o hi
melodious lips, o ho
A brand new song written for the Celtic connections commission "Harvest" from 2004.
The words by the fantastic Aonghas MacNeacail are full of hope.
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Crucan na bpaiste
Is briste mo chroí, is uaigneach mo shlí
Is mo stóirín in a luí is mé cráite;
‘S é deireadh mo shaol, is mo chailín beag rua
Sínte i gCrucán na bPáiste
Ni fheicfidh sí arís an drúcht ar an bhféar
Nó an sneachta i ngleannta Mhaamtrasna
Gan ghrian ar a h-aghaidh, gan ceol binn na n-éan
Ach an chré fuar i gCrucán na bPáiste
Chorus:
In ainm an Athair is in ainm an Mhic
Is a Mháithrín atá lán de ghrásta;
In ainm an Spioraid Naomh ná fág me beo
Is mo mháinlín i gCrucán bPáiste
Is buartha na sléibhte, is tá mairg ar an Mask
Is olc mise gan i bheith sábháilte;
Is an fhad a bhéas mé beo ní sheasfaidh mé ar fhód
Na hÉireann nó i gCrucán na bPáiste.
Repeat chorus:
Broken my heart, lonely my life
With my darling child lying here and me tormented
It is the end of my world, my little red-haired girl
Laid out in Crucán na bPáiste
She will not see again the dew on the grass
Nor the snow in the glens of Maamtrasna
No sun on her face, no sweet song of the birds
Only the cold earth of Crucán na bPáiste
Chorus:
In the name of the Father and in the name of the Son
And Mother Mary full of grace;
In the name of the Holy Spirit, don’t leave me alive
With my little angel in Crucán na bPáiste
There is sadness on the mountains, anger on the Mask
But much worse am I that didn’t save her
And for the time I am alive never more will I stand
In Ireland or in Crucán na bPáiste.
Repeat Chorus
'the burial place of the children' - lies on a hilltop in Maamtrasna, Co.Mayo, overlooking Lough Nafooey, and Lough Mask in Ireland.
The song was written by Brendan Graham for one of the characters in his new novel "The Brightest Day, The Darkest Night" published
by Harper Collins.
