Old Riley

chaingang.jpg

Painting by: William H. Johnson
Chain Gang
National Museum of American Art
Smithsonian Institution,
Washington, D.C.

This song is actually made up of two traditional songs combined by Lead Belly. They are prison work songs used for flat weeding. ‘Rattler’ was the name generally given to the lead search dog on a prison farm.

The name ‘Old Riley’ comes up in at least one other prison song. The line ‘Believe I’ll do like Old Riley, Old Riley walked de Brazos’ appears in ‘Ain’t No More Cane on the Brazos.’ When an inmate tried to break out of prison, he would make his way up the river bed through the shallow water, to lose his scent to the blood hounds who were in hot pursuit. This was called ‘walking the water.’ Apparently Old Riley was one prisoner who got away.

Lyrics:
OLD RILEY

[G] Old Riley walked the [C] water,
[G] Old Riley walked the [C] water
[G] In them long hot [D] summer [G] days.

Old Riley he is gone,
Old Riley he is gone
In them long hot summer days.

[G] Riley walked the [C] water;
[G] Here, [D] Rattler, [G] here
[G] Old Riley walked the [C] water;
[G] Here, [D] Rattler, [G] here.

Old Riley’s gone like a turkey in the corn
Here, Rattler, here.
Old Riley’s gone like a turkey in the corn
Here, Rattler, here.

Rattler come when I blow my horn
Here, Rattler, here.
Old Rattler come when I blow my horn
Here, Rattler, here.

Old Rattler’s got him a marrow bone,
Here, Rattler, here.
Old Rattler’s got him a marrow bone,
Here, Rattler, here.

Old Riley’s gone like a turkey in the corn,
Here, Rattler, here.
Old Riley’s gone like a turkey through the corn,
Here, Rattler, here.

Old Riley walked the water
Old Riley walked the water
In them long hot summer days.

Combination of traditional Words & Music by Huddie Ledbetter.

Another variation is here:

Here Rattler Here

Old Riley crossed the water,
On them long hot summer days
Old Riley crossed the water.
On them long hot summer days,

Oh Sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
here rattler here
Oh sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im.
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
Here rattler here

Riley crossed the water;
On dem long hot summer days
Riley crossed the water
On dem long hot summer days
He’s headed for the river;
As sure as your born.
Here, Rattler, here.
He can hear the sheriff blowin his horn
Here, Rattler, here.

Here old rattler
Here rattler here
Hey old rattler
Here rattler here

Oh Sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
here rattler here
Oh sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im.
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
Here rattler here

Riley crossed the water;
On dem long hot summer days
Riley crossed the water
On dem long hot summer days

He’s headed for the river;
Where we can’t go.
Here, Rattler, here.
Headed up north for freedom land
Here, Rattler, here.

Hey old rattler
Here rattler here
Hey old rattler
Here rattler here

Oh Sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
here rattler here
Oh sic ‘im, oh sic ‘im.
Oh sic ‘im done gone,
Here rattler here

Old Riley crossed the water
In them long hot summer days.
Old Riley crossed the water;
In them long hot summer days.

So Early In The Spring

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This is a sea chantey that got distilled, and transformed into a love ballad in the Appalachian Mountains. The origin is Scottish, but the lyrical style is obviously from the Southern United States. Many settlers to the New World brought their music with them, only to have it subtly changed over time.

Another example of this phenomenon is Jean Ritchie’s song ‘Nottamun Town,’ which only survived by being brought to North America. When, as a Fulbright Scholar she visited Nottingham, England to research the roots of the song, it had completely disappeared in its original form.

Appalachian Traditional Music, A Short History:
http://www.mustrad.org.uk/articles/appalach.htm

Lyrics:
SO EARLY IN THE SPRING

[A] It being early in the spring
I went on board to serve my [E] king
[A] Leaving my dearest [F#m] dear behind
She [E] oftimes swore her heart was[F#m] mine

As I lay smiling in her arms
I thought I held ten thousand charms
With embraces kind and a kiss so sweet
Saying We’ll be married when next we meet

As I was sailing on the sea
I took a kind opportunity
Of writing letters to my dear
But scarce one word from her did hear

As I was walking up London Street
I shoved a letter from under my feet
Straight lines being wrote without any blot
Saying seldom seen is soon forgot

I went up to her father’s hall
And for my dearest dear did call
She’s married, sir, she’s better for life
For she has become a rich man’s wife

If the girl is married, whom I adore
I’m sure I’ll stay on land no more.
Straight lines being wrote without any blot
Saying seldom seen is soon forgot

So come young lads take a warn from me
If in love you’ll ever be
For love is patient,love is kind,
Just never leave your love behind

It being early in the spring
I went on board to serve my king
Leaving my dearest dear behind
She oftimes swore her heart was mine

New words and new music by Roger McGuinn (C) 2005 McGuinn Music (BMI)

Wanderin'

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This was originally a post World War I lament of a soldier returning
to hard times in America. I’ve interpreted it as a tribute to traveling and have
written a few new verses to reflect my love of wanderin’
Lyrics:
[C] My daddy is an engineer, [Em] my brother drives a hack
My [F] sister takes in washing and the [Dm] baby balls the jack
[C] And it looks like I’m [Em] never going to [Am] cease my [Dm] –
[G7] – [C] wandering

I’ve been out a-wandering both early and late
From New York City to the Golden Gate
And it looks like I’m never going to cease my wandering

Been across this country so many times before,
But I never lose the feeling, that’s what God made me for
And it looks like I’m never going to cease my wandering

Been working in the city, working on the farm
I always have a guitar underneath my arm
And it looks like I’m never going to cease my wandering

Played most every country, played most every town
Want to keep on playing, this whole wide world around
And it looks like I’m never going to cease my wandering

There’s fish in the ocean, and eels in the sea
And everywhere I haven’t been, that’s where I want to be
And it looks like I’m never going to cease my wandering

Traditional, New lyrics by Roger McGuinn (C) McGuinn Music 2005 / BMI

Follow The Drinking Gourd

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Special thanks to Nedra Talley Ross (of the Ronettes) for background vocals.
http://www.history-of-rock.com/ronettes.htm

FOLLOW THE DRINKING GOURD DECODED

[A] Follow the [Em] drinking gourd!
[A] Follow the [Em] drinking gourd.
For the [G] old man is [D] waiting to [C] carry you to [D] freedom
[Em] Follow the [D] drinking [Em] gourd.

The old man in this chorus was Peg Leg Joe, a sailor-turned-carpenter who had lost part of his right leg in an accident at sea. Joe wintered in the South doing odd jobs, from plantation to plantation. When he wasn’t working he taught the slaves this song containing a secret escape route to freedom in the North.

The Drinking Gourd is not a gourd, but the Big Dipper with its two pointer stars (Dubhe and Merak) that visually lead to the North Star.
By following the North Star the slaves were able to consistently navigate northward.

When the sun comes back and the first quail calls,
Follow the drinking gourd,
For the old man is waiting to carry you to freedom
If you follow the drinking gourd.

Each year when the quails migrated south, the slaves were told to begin their journey northward, which entailed crossing the unnavigable Ohio River. It was too swift and wide to cross, except in winter, when it was frozen and slaves could walk to the other shore on the ice.

The riverbank makes a very good road,
The dead trees will show you the way,
Left foot, peg foot traveling on,
Following the drinking gourd.

Peg Leg Joe marked one bank of the Tombigbee River in Mississippi with his easily identifiable footprints. By following them and the dead trees along the riverbank, the slaves could have a safe journey free from plantation owner’s hounds.

The river ends between two hills,
Follow the drinking gourd,
There’s another river on the other side,
Follow the drinking gourd.

When the Tombigbee ended, the slaves were told to continue northward, over the hills, to the Tennessee River where the Underground Railroad would help them.

Lyrics:
FOLLOW THE DRINKING GOURD

[Em] When the sun goes back and the [C] first quail calls
[Em] Follow the [D] drinking [Em] gourd
[Em] The old man is a-waitin’ for to [C] carry you to freedom
[Em] Follow the [D] drinking [Em] gourd

[A] Follow the [Em] drinking gourd!
[A] Follow the [Em] drinking gourd.
For the [G] old man is [D] waiting to [C] carry you to [D] freedom
[Em] Follow the [D] drinking [Em] gourd.

The river bed makes a mighty fine road,
Dead trees to show you the way
And it’s left foot, peg foot, traveling on
Follow the drinking gourd

CHORUS

The river ends between two hills
Follow the drinking gourd
There’s another river on the other side
Follow the drinking gourd

CHORUS

I thought I heard the angels say
Follow the drinking gourd
The stars in the heavens gonna show you the way
Follow the drinking gourd

CHORUS

Let The Bullgine Run

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The term bullgine was derisive shipboard slang for an engine. Sailors didn’t like them much, and many still don’t today.
I recorded this song on the album ‘Judy Collins 3’ on Elektra Records in 1963. This is a slightly different version,
but my banjo part is pretty close to the one I played on Judy’s record. This is a rollicking halliards chantey. The Margot Evans was a packet ship, one of the first vessels to guarantee delivery of its mail packets across the Atlantic in a specified amount of time.
Lyrics:
[Em] Oh the smartest clipper [G] you can [Am] find
[G] Heave away, [D] haul away
Is the [Em] Margot Evans of the [G] Blue Cross [Am] Line
[G] So clear away the [D] track and let the [Em] bullgine run!

[Em] Tell me, are you most done?
[G] Heave away, [Am] haul away
[Em] With Liza Lee all [G] on my [Am] knee,
[G] So clear away the [D] track and let the [Em] bullgine run!

O the Margot Evans of the Blue Cross Line,
Heave away, haul away
She’s never a day behind her time
So clear away the track and let the bullgine run!

Tell me, are you most done?
Heave away, haul away
With Liza Lee all on my knee,
So clear away the track and let the bullgine run!

Oh, when I come home across the sea,
Heave away, haul away
It’s Liza, will you marry me?
So clear away the track and let the bullgine run!

Tell me, are you most done?
Heave away, haul away
With Liza Lee all on my knee,
So clear away the track and let the bullgine run!

Oh the smartest clipper you can find
Heave away, haul away
Is the Margot Evans of the Blue Cross Line
So clear away the track and let the bullgine run!

Cindy

Cindy.jpg

This is one of the great American folk songs that I learned at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago. I love playing banjo on this song, which according to John Lomax is originally from North Carolina. Cindy is a widely known frolic tune, appearing in many folk music collections and even old elementary school songbooks.
Lyrics:
CINDY

[C] You ought to see my Cindy
She lives away down [G] south
[C] She’s so sweet the [F] honeybees
[C] Swarm [G] around her [C] mouth.

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (I’m a-gonna leave you now)

Wish I was an apple
Hangin on a tree
An’ every time that Cindy passed
She’d take a bite o’ me

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (I’m a-gonna leave you now)

She took me to the parlor
She cooled me with her fan
She said I was the prettiest thing
In the shape of mortal man

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (I’m a-gonna leave you now)

Now Cindy got religion,
She had it once before
When she heered my old banjo
She’s the first one on the floor.

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (I’m a-gonna leave you now)

Now Cindy got religion,
She wheeled round and round
She got so full of glory
That she knocked the preacher down

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (I’m a-gonna leave you now)

[C] You ought to see my Cindy
She lives away down [G] south
[C] She’s so sweet that [F] honeybees
[C] Swarm [G] around her [C] mouth.

cho: Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
Get along [C] home.
Get along [F] home, Cindy Cindy
I’ll [C] marry [G] you some [C] day. (X2)

Some additional verses:

Cindy in the summertime
Cindy in the fall
If I can’t have Cindy all the time
Have no one at all.

Cindy is a pretty girl
Cindy is a peach;
Threw her arms around my neck
Hung on like a leach.

Cindy got religion,
Tell you what she done:
Walked up to the minister
Chawed her chewin’ gum.

Cindy got religion,
She had it once before
When she heered my old banjo
She’s the first one on the floor.

Cindy got religion
She really went to town;
Got so full of glory, Lord,
Shook her stockin’s down.

If I had a pretty gal
I’d put her on a shelf;
Ev’ry time she smiled at me,
I’d jump right up myself.

Cindy had one blue eye
She also had one brown
One eye looked in the country
The other one looked in town

Wish I had a needle and thread
Wish that I could sew
I’d sew that gal to my coat tails
And down the road we’d go

alt chorus:
Git along home, Cindy
Git along home to stay
Git along home, Cindy
One more night ‘n’ day

alt cho: It’s kiss me, gal
Kiss me once again.
Oh, it’s kiss me, gal
All night long.

The First Noel

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One of my fondest childhood memories is of standing around the piano with my mother and father at my grandparents’ house in Chicago. My grandfather and grandmother sat at the keyboard. Every Christmas we would go through the small book of carols. The tree in the next room was decorated with lots of nineteenth century ornaments, and tin toys from Germany were abundantly scattered around the blanket of white material made to look like snow. This is one of the prettiest carols I remember from that time. An English Carol from before 1823.
Lyrics:
The First Noel

[D] The first Noel the [G] angel did [D] say,
Was to [G] certain poor [D] shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay [G] keeping their [D] sheep,
On a [G] cold winter’s [D] night that was [A] so [D] deep.

[D] Noel, [Bm] Noel, [G] Noel, [D] Noel,
[G] Born is the [D] King of Is [A] ra [D] el

They looked up and saw a star
Shining in the east, beyond them far,
And to the earth it gave great light,
And so it continued both day and night.

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel

And by the light of that same star
Three Wise Men came from country far;
To seek for a king was their intent,
And to follow the star wherever it went.

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel

Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heavenly Lord
Who hath made heaven and earth of naught,
And with His blood all mankind hath bought.

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel

Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,
Born is the King of Israel

The John B's Sails

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This is a sea song from around Nassau. We recorded this at Ridley Pearson’s house at the beginning of the Rock Bottom Remainders Wannapalooza 2004 Tour. Riddley, Dave Barry, Greg Iles, and I were the vocalists. Ridley played bass, and I played 6-string acoustic and Rickenbacker 12-string electric guitars.

Carl Sandburg says:

‘John T. McCutcheon, cartoonist and kindly philosopher, and his wife Eveleyn Shaw McCutcheon, mother and poet, learned to sing this song on their Treasure Island in the West Indies. They tell of it, ‘Time and usage have given this song almost the dignity of a national anthem around Nassau. The weathered ribs of the historic craft lie embedded in the sand at Governor’s Harbour, when an expedition, especially set up for the purpose in 1926, extracted a knee of horseflesh and a ring-bolt. These relics are now preserved and built into the Watch Tower, designed by Mr. Howard Shaw and built on our southern coast a couple of points east by north of the star Canopus.’

In his book, ‘ FOLKSONGS OF NORTH-AMERICA,’ John Lomax offers short bits of descriptive prose to set the scene for his collected works.

Here is his entry for ‘THE JOHN B’s SAILS’:

‘The small boat piers of Nassau Harbor form the market-place of the Bahamas. The dirty, sea-scarred sloops, tethered on the pale blue water, are like so many country wagons loaded with produce for sale in the capital. A sixteen-footer stands in towards the dock, its deck only a few inches above the waves, carrying a cow, five goats, a dozen hens, four women, six children, and four of five sailors. This crowded little boat is ending a journey from an island, perhaps two or three hundred miles away. As it noses into the pier, a similar craft lifts its ragged sail and departs, its deck packed with passengers and freight, for some coral islet far down the chain toward Haiti.

These vessels carry no charts, no compasses, and no auxiliary engines, yet few of them come to grief, for the Bahaman is at home in his reef-filled azure seas. They tell and believe a story about an old sea pilot, grown blind, who could stick his finger in the water and tell precisely where his boat lay.’

Lyrics:
THE JOHN B’s SAILS

[D] We come on the sloop John B,
my Grandfather and me.
Around Nassau town we did [A7] roam.
Drinkin’ all [D] night.
Got into a [G] – [Em] fight.
Well, I [D] feel so break up, [A7] I want to go [D] home.

Chorus:
Hoist up the John B’s sails.
See how the main sails set.
Call for the captain ashore, let me go home.
Let me go home.
I want to go home.
Well, I feel so break up, I want to go home.

First mate, he got drunk.
Broke up the people’s trunk.
Constable had to come and take him away.
Sheriff John Stone,
why don’t you leave me alone?
Well, I feel so break up, I want to go home.

Chorus

Well, the poor cook he caught the fits.
Throw away all of my grits.
Then he took and he ate up all of my corn.
Let me go home.
I want to go home.
This is the worst trip since I’ve been born.

Chorus

Spanish Ladies

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This song gives a vivid picture of the sailing ships in the English Channel. The ‘Grand Fleet’ was an old name for the Channel Fleet. ‘Deadman’ and ‘Fairlee’ are sea names for Dodman Point near Plymouth and Fairlight Hill near Hastings, and Ushant is the Ile d’Ouessant off Brest in France. Source: http://ingeb.org/folksong.html
Lyrics:
[Em] Farewell and adieu unto [G] you Spanish [D] ladies,
[Em] Farewell and adieu to you [G] ladies of [D] Spain;
[Em] For it’s we’ve received [D] orders for to [C] sail for old [Em] England,
[Em] But we hope very [D] soon we shall [C] see you [Em] again.

Then we hove our ship to the wind at sou’-west, my boys,
We hove our ship to our soundings for to see;
So we rounded and sounded, and got forty-five fathoms,
We squared our main yard, up channel steered we.

Now the first land we made it is called the Deadman,
Then Ram Head off Plymouth, Start, Portland and Wight;
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dungeness,
Until we came abreast of the South Foreland Light.

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Then the signal was made for the grand fleet for to anchor,
All in the downs that night for to meet;
Then it’s stand by your stoppers, see clear your shank-painters,
Haul all your clew garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Now let every man toss off a full bumper,
And let every man toss off a full bowl;
And we’ll drink and be merry and drown melancholy,
Singing, here’s a good health to all true-hearted souls.

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors,
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Oh Freedom

This is a great old spiritual. I recorded it during a thunder storm in Florida and decided to leave the thunder on the track to give it more ambiance. Freedom is often taken for granted, but is sorely missed when it’s gone.
Lyrics:
[G]Oh freedom [D]Oh freedom [G]Oh freedom [D]over me
[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free

[G]No more moanin’ [D]No more moanin'[G]No more moanin’ [D]over me
[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free

[G]No more weepin’ [D]No more weepin'[G]No more weepin’ [D]over me
[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free

[G]No more shootin’ [D]No more shootin'[G]No more shootin’ [D]over me
[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free

[G]There’ll be singin’ [D]There’ll be singin'[G]There’ll be singin’ [D]over me
[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free

[G] And before I’ll be a [Em] slave, [C] I’ll be burried in my [Am] grave
[G] And go home to my [D] Lord and be [G] free