Get all 11 Jon Wilks releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Before I Knew What Had Begun I Had Already Lost, The Cruel Mother, Up The Cut, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Mary Ashford's Tragedy, Tell Old Bill, The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove [Roud 29], Toryanse - 通りゃんせ, and 3 more.
1. |
Tape Machine
03:36
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At the age of just 22
I discovered my calling
Watching streets as they come alive
At five or six in the morning
You can really define a town
By the first light of day
Like a face before the paint goes on
Shadows carved out of grey
I’d been given a tape machine
It lived here in my satchel
I’d sneak it out to a cheap cafe
I’d hide it under the table
From Nagasaki to old Soho
Greetings cast on the rise
Voices hewn in the analogue
And there I severed my ties
In Jeddah I taped the prayer call
In Porto, Christ on the breeze
In Singapore, well I caught them all
Floating in from the seas
From a Tokyo window ledge
I heard the morning begin
Same way it does everyday
From Tokyo to old Medellín
Won’t you please take good care of yourself
And without words understand
Because I love every part of you
Because you’re all that I am
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2. |
Johnny Sands
01:41
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Well, a man whose name was Johnny Sands
He’s married old Betsy Hague
And though she’s brought him gold
And she’s bought him land
She’s proved him a terrible plague
For, oh, she was a scolding wife
She’s full of caprice and whim
When he said he was tired of life
Well, she was tired of him
Right fa la
Right fullerum fullerum
For she was tired of him
Oh, says he, “Then I will drown myself
In the river that runs below”
Says she, “I pray you do,
You silly old elf,
I’ve wished long ago”
Says he, “Upon the brink I’ll stand
And you run down the hill
And push me in with all your might”
She says, “My love, I will”
Right fa la
Right fullerum fullerum
She says, “My love, I will”
“All for fear that I should courage lack
And try to save my life,
I pray you tie my hands behind my back”
“I will,” replied his wife
She’s tied them fast as you may think
And when securely done
“Now stand,” says she, “upon the brink
And I’ll prepare to run”
Right fa la
Right fullerum fullerum
“And I’ll prepare to run”
Well, all down the hill his loving bride
She’s run with all her force
All to push him in…
…but he’s stepped aside
And she’s fell in, of course
Now splashing, dashing like a fish
“Oh save me, Johnny Sands”
“I can’t my dear, though much I wish,
For you have tied my hands”
Right fa la
Right fullerum fullerum
“For you have tied my hands”
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3. |
Greek Street
06:52
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It’s of a Soho morning in shades of dirty grey
At 6am, well I stumbled once more into the day
The street’s in need of hosing down to wash away the gloom
And I was 19 years of age, the time has gone so soon
‘Twas there I spied a maiden with glitter in her hair
And it fell in shards of crimson and it lit the morning air
She’s teetered on her platform heels and scaffolded my mind
Me, without a hard hat on, just begging to be fined
Chorus
And I would recommend
And I’d write it in a song
A night that ends on Greek Street
To anybody young
Well, she took her name from winter, no robin went without
And she fluttered on the petrol breeze as neon picked her out
The soul of Cambridge Circus, a phoenix from the frost
Before I knew what had begun I had already lost
So we took a bus to Lewisham where her mother had a place
And against the kitchen sideboard, well I kissed her on the face
And on a Swedish packing bed I kissed her naked breast
And it wasn’t ‘til the midnight moon we stopped to take a rest
Chorus
It’s strange what I remember - it’s strange what I recall
I don’t remember conversations - I don’t remember words at all
I remember trips to Brighton, wrapped warm against the cold
I remember thinking time had stopped and we weren’t growing old
And that’s the wonder of the transient; a sense of life alive
And the magic of the twilight sky and fingers intertwined
And fingers then unravelled, and distance in the sheets
And distance in the way she gazed way back on down the street
Chorus
So we lingered in the summer months, my winter maid and me
And in the Soho evenings I loved her tenderly
But by the time the autumn came, her eye began to roam
And I wandered back to Lewisham all longing and alone
So she took her Swedish packing bed for some other blade to game
And I tried my best to blame her but the blame it never came
For she was but 18 years of age and barely in her bloom
That one sweet misty morning on old Greek Street in the gloom
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4. |
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Instrumental
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5. |
Haymaking Song
02:33
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‘Twas was in the merry month of may
In the springtime of the year
When down in yonders meadow
There runs a river clear
To see those little fishes
How they do sport and play
Calling many a lad and many a lass
All there to making hay
Then in come both Will and Tom
With pitchfork and with rake
And likewise black-eyed Susan
The hay all there to make
With sweet jug and sweet jug
How the nightingale does sing
From the morning to the evening
As we go haymaking
Then just as Bright Phoebus
The sun was going down
Along came two piping men
Approaching from the town
They pulled out their tabor and pipes
Which made those pretty girls to sing
Then they all put down their forks and rakes
And left off haymaking
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6. |
Lofty Tall Ship
05:38
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As we were gone sailing
Five cold frosty nights
Five cold frosty nights
And four days
It was there we a-spied
A lofty tall ship
She’s come bearing down on us
Brave boys
Now, where are you going
You lofty tall ship
How dare you to venture so nigh?
For I have turned robber
All on the salt seas
To maintain my two brothers and I
Now heave up your courses
And let go your main sheets
And bring yourself under my lea
For I shall take from you
Your rich merchants, goods merchants
And I’ll point your bow guns to the sea
I’ll not heave up my courses
Nor let go my main sheets
Nor bring myself under your lea
Nor you shall take from me
My rich merchants, goods merchants
Nor you’ll point my bow guns to the sea
Now broadside to broadside
These two vessels they went
They were fighting for hours or more
When at length Henry Martin
Gave her a broadside
And she’s sank and she’s rose never more
Bad news Henry Martin
Bad news I must tell
Bad news it is going around
Of a lofty tall ship
Lost on the salt seas
And the most of her merry men drowned
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7. |
Will Watch
05:12
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One morn when the wind
From the northward blew keenly,
When sullen roared
The big waves on the main,
A famed smuggler, Will Watch,
Kissed his Susan serenely
Took helm, and to sea
Boldly steered out again.
Will had promised his Sue
That this trip, if well ended,
Should coil up his ropes,
And he'd anchor on shore;
When his pockets were lined,
Why his life should be ended,
The laws he had broke
He would never break more.
His sea-boat was trim
Made her port, took her loading,
Then Will stood to sea,
Reached the offing, and cried,
”This night, if I've luck,
Furls the sails of my trading.
In dock I can lay -
Serve a friend or two besides.”
We lay to ‘til night
Came on darksome and dreary,
To crowd every sail
Then he piped up all hands;
But a signal soon spied -
'Twas a prospect uncheerly,
'Twas a signal that warned him
To beat from the land.
“The Philistians are out”,
Cries Will, “we'll take no heed on't,
Attacked, who's the man
That will flinch from his gun?
Should my head be blown off
I shall ne'er feel the need on't,
We'll fight while we can;
When we can't, boys, we'll run.”
Through the haze of the night
A bright flash now appearing,
“Oh ho!” cried Will Watch,
”The Philistians bear down.
Bear a hand, my tight lads,
Ere we think about sheering.
Our broadside poured in;
Should we swim, boys, or drown?”
“But should I be popped off,
You, my mates left behind me,
Pay regard of my last words,
See 'em kindly obeyed.
Let no stone mark the spot,
And, my friends, do you mind me,
Near the beach with this grave
Where Will Watch should be laid.”
Poor Will's yarn was spun up -
For a bullet next minute
Laid him low on the deck
And he never rose more.
The crew fought the brig
While a shot remained in him,
Then sheered, and Will's hulk
To his Susan they bore.
In the dead of the night
His last wish was complied with,
To few known his grave
And to few known his end;
He was borne to the earth
By the crew that he died with;
He'd the tears of his Susan,
The prayers of his men.
Near his grave dash the billow,
That wild low last billow,
Yon ash struck with lightning
That marked his cold bed.
Will Watch, the bold smuggler,
That famed lawless fellow -
Once feared, now forgot -
Sleep in peace with the dead.
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8. |
The Old Miner
03:12
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Oh, who’ll replace this old miner?
And who will take my place below?
And who will follow the trepanner
Oh, dear god, when I go?
Oh, who will wield my heavy pick?
That I did wield for forty years?
And who will hew the black, black cole?
Who, dear god, when I go?
Oh, who will ride the miner’s train
That takes him to the dark coal face?
Who’ll take my place upon that train?
Who, dear god, when I go?
Oh, who will load this great iron tub?
Oh, who will strain his bending back?
And who will work, sweat and ache like hell?
Who, dear god, when I go?
Oh, who will cry when the roof caves in
When friends are dying all around?
And who will sing the miners’ hymn?
Who, dear god, when I go?
For forty years I’ve loved this mine
For forty years I’ve worked down there
Now, who’ll replace this old miner
When I’ve paid my god my fare?
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9. |
The Boatswain
04:43
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There was a bold boatswain and in Dover he did dwell
And a handsome wife had whom a tailor’s loved well
And when the bold boatswain was out of the way
His frolicsome young wife and the tailor they would play
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
One day she’s gone a-walking and she’s out into the street
When this loving tailor man, well she has chanced there to meet
“My husband is on board with the rest of the crew
So on this very night I shall frolic here with you”
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
Now as it all fell out, about twelve of the clock
Well, the boatswain he’s returned and on the door there he did knock
Which surprised them in their frolics, for neither were to sleep,
Says the tailor, “loving woman, O where shall I creep?”
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
So there they’ve laid a-pondering and musing in the bed
When a comical fancy has come into her head
“My husband’s chest’s a-waitin ‘neath the dresser, there,” she’s cried
Where in it my young tailor you may certainally hide
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
So down the stairs she goes and she’s opened up the door
Where she’s found the boatswain there with sailors three or four
“My dear I am so sorry I’ve disturbed you in your rest
But here I am returned for I need to have my chest”
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
From the chest the tailor whispers, “woman, pay me some regard
They’ll be breaking all my bones and they’ll be cutting off my yard
And if that were to happen then I’m ruined I’m afraid
For I get more from my yard than from the tailor trade”
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
Well the sailors scarcely carried that old chest from the town
When the weight of it had drenched them in sweat all running down
They sat themselves all comfy on their baggage for to rest
Saying one to another, well the devil’s in the chest
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
Now, neither of these sailors this old chest could undo
So up comes the boatswain and the rest of the crew
He’s opened up the cargo and in view of them all
There lay the tailor like a dog inside a stall
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
“Now, what have we here, bold fellow,” the boatswain cried
“I’ve been cuckolded on shore many times I’m afraid”
So he pressed this bold tailor and took him off to sea
Saying, “he’ll not be staying at home with his yard to cuckold me”
To my rally tally tall, oh rally tally tay
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10. |
Erin, Sad Erin
03:48
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Erin, Sad Erin, it grieves me to ponder
The wrongs of thy injured isle
Thy sons in their thousands deploring do wander
On shores far away in exile
O give me the power to cross o’er the main
America might yield me some comfort from pain
Though I’m only lamenting whilst here I remain
For the joys I shall not see no more
With wonder I gazed at that lofty high mountain
As in grandeur it rose o'er it's lord
With sorrow I beheld my own garden yielding
The choicest of fruits for his board
Oh, where is my father's low cottage of clay
Where I have spent many a long happy day?
Alas has his lordship contrived it away
It is gone I shall not see no more
The sloe and the berry hung ripe on the bushes
I’ve gathered them off without harm
And I went to the fields for to view the green bushes
Preparing for winter's cold storms
And I’ve sat by the fire on a cold frosty night
Along with my friends telling tales of delight
Those days gave me pleasure and I could invite
But they're gone I shall not see no more
So, farewell then to Erin and those I’ve left weeping
Upon this disconsolate shore
Farewell to the grave where my father lies sleeping
The ground I do dearly adore
Farewell then to pleasure, I’ve once had a home
Farewell, now a stranger in England to roam
Oh give me my freedom or give me my tomb
Friends, in pity, I ask for no more
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11. |
The Fowler
03:50
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Well, come all you bold fellows who handle a gun
I would have you come home by the light of the sun
For young Jimmer was a-fowling, and a fowling alone
And he shot his own true love by the light of the sun
When Polly was walking in a shower of rain
Well, she stopped by a green bush, her beauty to save
With her apron wrapped ‘round her, well he’s took her for a swan
And he shot his own true love by the light of the sun
When first he’s come to her and he found it was she
He was shaking and trembling, his eyes couldn’t see
For now you are dead love, and your sorrows are o’er
Fair thee well my dear Polly, I’ll see you no more
Well, home ran young Jimmer with his dog and his gun
Crying uncle, dear uncle, d’you see what I’ve done?
Cursed be the old blacksmith who made me this gun
‘Cause I’ve shot my own true love by the light of the sun
Well, up spoke his uncle, his locks hanging grey
Saying, Jimmer, oh Jimmer, don’t you run away
Don’t you leave this old country ‘til your trial it comes on
For you never will hang for the death of a swan
When his trial it’s come on Polly’s ghost did appear
Crying honor, your honor, let Jimmer go clear
With my apron wrappen ‘round me, well he’s took me for a swan
Now his poor heart lies bleeding for Polly his own
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12. |
Banjo Therapy
02:43
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Instrumental
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Jon Wilks Whitchurch, UK
'The sort of performer folk circles mean when they talk of the living tradition' - Mike Davies,
Folking.com
“One of the best of the New Wave of Folk Blokes. As a guitar player and arranger of traditional songs, Jon Wilks already deserves speaking of in the same breath as your Simpsons and your Morays.” – Ian A. Anderson, fRoots Mag
... more
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