Five things - songs

I used to prefer songs , as I've mentioned before. I suppose it's easier to be exposed to songs than to tunes, the repetition of chorus aids memorability, songs are maybe less challenging than tunes because we're all familiar with words.

I suppose, as well, that as a Literature student I've always been drawn to lyrics, to words. In folk, however, the songs tend to be ballads, my least favourite wodge of the poetry spectrum. They tell often unlikely stories in a simple manner: there's not a whole lot of metaphor, striking imagery, or other literary tricks. 

That said, I am reasonably intrigued by songs that have clearly changed over time, split, or merged, maybe got a little garbled along the way. I like the way that songs - stories - travel, and each place they come to changes them, so that the story suits the locality. I suppose ballads are a form of urban legend, and urban legends never tell tales of long ago in a far off land: the whole point is that this happened to my neighbour's sister's cousin. Somehow we feel that a story must be true when it has happened so near to us. Not only could it be true, but the same thing could happen to us. We want our musical stories to feel local, relevant.

If I listed all the CD tracks I skip on every playing, on repeat playings, or when I have the CD on permanent loop every last one of those tracks would be songs. They aren't all bad. Here are five I don't really tire of.

Road to Drumleman. (Ossian - Seal Song.) There is nothing like a tale of homesickness, the wonders of the old land, to bring out the Celt in me. I love the rather domestic scale of this: it's not mountains and drama he misses, but the people, and the chance of "a dram and a wee cup of tea". 

Rosie Anderson. (Smalltalk - Smalltalk) I love some of the marvellous turns of phrase in this: "I'm all in to surprise he said” and “I only brought her safely home from the dangers on the way”. Like many sad songs, it seems, it closes with a repeat of the opening, just to remind you of the pleasant days that have gone, the days when Hay Marshall loved Rosie as his life. There's also a comic note, as in all the best tragedies, with Rosie on the lookout for an officer, her "broken heart to cheer". It's rather reminiscent of Lydia Bennet.  Note, also, the Jean Redpath version (linked from the song title) has an extra  verse about Rosie's maid, and that the errant Rosie "played the loon" after a month in London, whereas Billy Ross has her languishing long enough in London ("months but barely  nine") to have "gotten a son".

Cruel Lowland Maid. (Caladh Nua - Next Stop). This is a bit of a cheat because it’s the tune I love, all boppy and uplifting, despite the grim tale of murder, with a cheerful "whoop!" at the end to underline the hanging of the cruel lowland maid. 

Bonnie Earl of Moray. (Jock Tamson's Bairns - Rare). Another where the tune is almost the main draw, the lovely Swedish tune that the Bairns use for it, the interesting arrangement with the song surrounded by tune. And again the conceit of coming back at the end to the beginning, although here not reminding us of good times before the tragedy, but just underlining again the woefulness of the situation. This, of course, is the song that gave the world the Mondegreen.

Little Musgrave. (Billy Ross - Shore Street). I've heard Fairport sing Little Matty Groves unplugged. In their hands it's a rock anthem with a twist each time ("How do you like my brand new curtains, that I got in Ikea last week?" was one memorable lyric variation). It's different each time, and it's lots of fun. Little Musgrave is an Appalachian version, a sweet and sorry tale. There seems to be lots of other verions of this, and much discussion about its history. It's an English song, though, no links to Scotland at all, it seems.