the journal

Whiskey has a prominent place in the history of the frontier. There is of course the obvious reason. But one must not discount the economics. It takes a lot of grain to make whiskey, and a barrel of whiskey is easier and cheaper to transport than wagons full of grain.

Whiskey You’re The Devil seems to have its source in a broadside ballad titled John and Moll, which dates from Ireland sometime after 1790. If it was popular in the Ohio River Valley prior to the Civil War then it would likely have had very different lyrics.

These lyrics were popularized by the Irish folk group, The Clancy Brothers in the late fifties. These lyrics were more or less compiled by a Jewish-American lawyer for James Bracken, Esq., a New York City Irish/American judge in 1873.

It’s a fascinating journey that the lyrics took, the military part of the song apparently dating to the Napoleonic Wars, then blending with what was likely a traditional Irish drinking song. War and whiskey once made a very good match. Perhaps if the world would have less of one, we might have ended up with less of the other.

Those who preach temperance have long drawn the association between drinking and violence. Or as Zappa so eloquently put it, “whiskey makes you want to beat your wife, beer makes you want to do it with your buddies around.”

Whiskey You’re The Devil
Traditional, Ireland, 19^th Century

Now brave boys, we’re on the march
Off to Portugal and Spain
Drums are beating, banners flying
The Devil at home will come tonight

So it’s go, fare thee well
With a too da loo ra loo ra doo de da
A too ra loo ra loo ra doo de da
Me rikes fall too ra laddie-o
There’s whisky in the jar

Oh, whisky you’re the devil
You’re leading me astray
Over hills and mountains
And to Amerikay
You’re sweetness from the Bleachner
And spunkier than tea
Oh whisky you’re my darling drunk or sober

The French are fighting boldly
Men are dying hot and coldly
Give every man his flask of powder
His firelock on his shoulder

So its go, fare thee well
With a too da loo ra loo ra doo de da
A too ra loo ra loo ra doo de da
Me rikes fall too ra laddie-o
There’s whisky in the jar

Oh, whisky you’re the devil
You’re leading me astray
Over hills and mountains
And to Amerikay
You’re sweetness from the Bleachner
And spunkier than tea
Oh whisky you’re my darling drunk or sober

Says the old wan do not wrong me
Don’t take me daughter from me
For if you do I will torment you
When I’m dead my ghost will haunt you

So its go, fare thee well
With a too da loo ra loo ra doo de da
A too ra loo ra loo ra doo de da
Me rikes fall too ra laddie-o
There’s whisky in the jar

Oh, whisky you’re the devil
You’re leading me astray
Over hills and mountains
And to Amerikay
You’re sweetness from the Bleachner
And spunkier than tea
Oh whisky you’re my darling drunk or sober

In rural Scotland, as well as Ireland and England, agents of the king would wander rural areas, looking for the poor, those who found themselves in trouble, or even the feeble minded to serve in the king’s wars. Some used strong arm tactics, others offered a glamorous life of a soldier, while the more disreputable ones just got the unfortunates drunk and shipped them off while they were passed out.

The quality of the man mattered little, because there was always a need for soldiers to fill out the front ranks. These poor fellows were little more than cannon fodder, their job being to be the first to march upon the enemy and get obliterated in the process.

The song is related directly to the song “Over the Hills and Far Away,” and relates to the Black Watch, a highland Scottish regiment known for wearing kilts, and red feathers in their headdress.

The song’s lyrics require the Scottish dialect to make the rhyme scheme work, which poses difficulties for midwestern American folks trying to sing the verses. Having no Scottish singers on hand, we settled for a drunk with an advanced sense of confidence.

We stole the version from the Waterboys, and it’s recorded more or less live in an unlicensed drinking establishment which shall remain nameless.

Two Recruiting Sergeants
Traditional, Scotland, 1770-1815

For it’s over the mountain and over the main
Through Gibralta to France and Spain
It’s a feather to your bonnet, a kilt upon your knee
So list bonny laddie and come awa’ wi’ me

Now, twa recruting sergeants came frae the black watch
Through markets and fairs some recruits for to catch
But all that they listed was forty and twa
So list bonny laddie and come awa’ wi’ me

Now, laddie, you canna know the danger that you’re in
If your horses was to fly and your house was to ruin
This greedy, old farmer will na’ pay your fee
So list bonny laddie and come awa’ wi’ me

For its out by the barn and in by the fire
This old farmer thinks he’ll never tire
It’s a slavery job of lowly degree
So list bonny laddie and come awa’ wi’ me

Now, laddie, if you have a sweetheart in the barn
You’ll easy be rid of her ill-spun yarn
Twa rattles on the drum and that will pay it all
So list bonny laddie and come awa’ wi’ me

One from the Paul Brady/Planxty songbook, the liner notes for Planxty’s version state that it was likely brought back to Ireland from soldiers fighting in the War of 1812, which is likely as it’s also listed as a traditional Creole song. The lyrics however must have gone through several revisions, as the train line which ran from New Orleans to Jackson, Mississippi didn’t open up till the 1860s, and skirted the lakes of Pontchartrain.

That the lyrics are from the Civil War can also be attested to by the line about his money “being no good,” as both Confederate money and money issued by southern banks was of little or no value as the north took command of the southern states.

Lakes of Pontchartrain
Traditional Creole Folk Song, mid eighteenth century

It was one fine March morning, I bid New Orleans Adieu
And I took the road to Jackson Town, my fortune to renew
I cursed all foreign money, no credit could I gain
Which filled my heart with a longing for, the Lakes of Ponchartrain

I stepped on board of a railroad car beneath the morning sun
I rode the rods till evening and I laid me down again
All strangers there no friends to me ’til a dark girl towards me came
And I fell in love with the Creole Girl, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain

I said “Me pretty Creole Girl, me money here’s no good,
If it weren’t for the alligators, I’d sleep out there in the wood”
“You’re welcome here kind stranger, Our house is very plain”
“But we never turned a stranger out, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain”

She took me into her mammy’s house and treated me right well
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell
To try and paint her beauty, I’m sure ‘twould be in vain
So handsome was my Creole girl by the Lakes of Ponchartrain

I asked her if she’d marry me, she said that ne’er could be
For she had got a lover and he was far at sea
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
Till he’d return to his Creole girl, on the Lakes of Ponchartrain

It’s fare thee well, me Creole girl, I’ll never see you more
I’ll never forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore
And at each social gathering, a flowing bowl I’ll drain
And I’ll drink a health to my Creole girl, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain

OLD ENGLISH SONG SMASHED together with Dylan’s version. Not sure if Dylan actually wrote or compiled Girl of the North Country. Some things are just mysteries.

Todd Lane and I sang it George and Tammy style, one mike. I’m sure in his mind as well, we were wearing rhinestones and cowboy hats.

Scarborough Fair

Are you going to Scarborough Fair,
Parley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
She once was a true love of mine

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Without no seams nor needlework,
She once was a true love of mine

See for me if her hair hangs long,
Curls and flows, down her breast,
See for me if her hair hangs long,
That’s the way I remember her best

Sometimes I wonder if she remembers me at all,
Many times I’ve often prayed,
In the stillness of my night,
In the darkness of my days.

So if you’re going to Scarborough Fair,
Parley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
She once was a true love of mine

THE HISTORY OF THE OHIO RIVER VALLEY is of course, tied to rivers. Not just the Ohio, but a plethora of smaller rivers flow into it, bring with them the stories and songs of the regions the rivers meander through. The Ohio was the river that brought the songs to mass popularity.

Shenandoah’s lyrics come from fur trappers working the Missouri River, and often incorporate references to the Native American Chief of the same name. These fur trappers, as well as the flatboat pilots traveling down the Missouri brought the song to the Mississippi. It then made its way down that river to the ports on the Gulf of Mexico, and to the ocean going ships of the time. By the mid nineteenth century it was a sea shanty known throughout the world.

Fur trappers by necessity, had to get along with the Native American tribes, and it wasn’t unusual for them to marry from those same tribes. It’s often mistakenly thought that the river referred to is the Shenandoah River, but that lies mainly in Virginia, far away from the wide Missouri.

There is also more than a bit of the Negro spiritual in the melody, which is to be expected, as many slaves were forced to work the rivers, and used their songs as a form of shanty, to help keep the men working in unison.

We nicked the lyrics from Pete Seeger, who is known for another river altogether

Shenandoah
Traditional, United States, early nineteenth century

Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you,
Look Away you rolling river,
Oh Shenandoah I long to hear you,
Away I’m bound away,
‘Cross the wide Missouri

Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter,
Look away you rolling river,
Oh Shenandoah I love your daughter,
Look away I’m bound away,

‘Cross the wide Missouri
Oh Shenandoah, I’m bound to leave you,
Look away you rolling river,
Oh Shenandoah, I’m bound to leave you,
Away I’m bound away, ‘Cross the wide Missouri

THIS IS THE ONE SONG with a direct connection to Carmi, Illinois’ bicentennial. Which was the reason we were recording folk songs to begin with.  In the booklet for Carmi’s sesquicentennial, the author, J. Robert Smith referred to the song being sung in Carmi’s parlors, accompanied by the pump organ.

The music was written by a black street musician by the name of Richard Milburn. The lyrics were written by one Alice Hawthorne, which was a nom de plume for a fellow named Septimus Winner.

The song was written in 1855, and the sheet music for it went on to sell twenty million copies. Even Abraham Lincoln loved it. The lyricist however, didn’t love Lincoln, and also wrote a song urging Americans to vote for Gen. George McClellan, Lincoln’s opponent when he ran for re-election to the presidency.

This version kicks off with Fred Lowery’s performance in 1939, complete with bird calls. It’s part of the charm of the song that despite its tragic lyrics, it was given what can only be described as a spritely melody. Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from Crying

Listen to the Mockingbird

Lyrics by Alice Hawthorne, Music by Richard Milburn, United States, 1855

Last night I dreamed of my Halley,
Of my Halley, my sweet Halley,
Last night I dreamed of my Halley,
For the thought of her is one that never dies

She’s sleeping now in the valley,
In the valley, my sweet Halley,
She’s sleeping now in the valley,
And the Mockingbird is singing where she lies

Listen to the Mockingbird, listen to the Mockingbird,
Oh the Mockingbird is singing oe’er her grave,
Listen to the Mockingbird, listen to the Mockingbird,
Still singing where the yellow roses grow

How well do I yet remember,
I remember, I remember,
How well do I yet remember,
For the thought of her is one that never dies

It was in that sweet September,
In September, I remember,
It was in that sweet September,
That the Mockingbird was singing far and wide

Listen to the Mockingbird, listen to the Mockingbird,
Oh the Mocking bird still singing oe’er her grave,
Listen to the Mockingbird, listen to the Mockingbird,
Oh the Mockingbird still singing in the spring