For All That

by Jon S. Patton

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about

I decided, on a whim, to record an album of Scottish folk songs for St. Andrew's day with a week's notice. Silly? Maybe. Fun? Undoubtably.

See the blog post here for all the details: jonpattonmusic.com/2015/11/30/scots-ep-st-andrews-day-2015/

credits

released November 30, 2015

Jon: Vocals, guitar, bass, mandolin, banjo, fiddle, drums and percussion, drum programming, engineering/mixing/mastering. And I built a lot of the equipment involved to boot.

Rick Vaeder: Whistles, flute, and backing vocals on "Battle of Harlaw"

Dave Benham: Native American flute on "Twa Corbies"

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about

baltimericana Baltimore, Maryland

Baltimericana is a place for me (Jon Patton) to stash my solo projects and collaborations with friends. I'm a writer, musician, and (unfortunately) day job schlub from Baltimore and the founder of Baltimore-based folk rock band Midway Fair (midwayfair.org). Be sure to also check out Joe Scala (joescala.wordpress.com), who produced the Baltimericana EP. ... more

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Track Name: Twa Corbies
As I was walking, aye all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane untae the ither did say-o,
‘Where shall we gang ere we dine the day?’

‘In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies there a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

‘His hound is tae the hunting gane,
His hawk tae fetch all the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s taen anither mate,
So we may mak oor dinner sweet.

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
And wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll theek wir nest when it grows bare.

‘Mony an ane for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he has gane;
Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw, aye, for evermair.’

As I was walking all alone, I heard two ravens complaining. One said to the other: "So ... who's on the menu today?"

"There's a dead knight in that ditch over there. And no one knows that he's there, but his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. His hound gone hunting (without him), his hawk's chowing down on whatever the hound catches, and his lady's already found someone else to shack up with. So let's eat. You'll sit on his breast bone, I'll poke out his pretty blue eyes, and we'll use some of his golden hair to thatch our nest. There's going to be a lot of people sad that he's gone, but they won't know where he is. Over his white bones when we've picked them clean, the wind will blow forevermore.

My friend Dave Benham recorded some native American flute on this, essentially learning the song on the spot. He's fun to work with.
Track Name: Glenlogie (Bonnie Jean o' Bethelnie)
There was fower and twenty nobles sat doun in the king's haa
And bonnie Glenlogie was the flower o them aa
There was fower an twanty nobles rade thro Banchory fair
Aye and bonnie Glenlogie was the flowor o them there

There was six and six maidens sat down in the king's haa
Bonnie Jeannie o Bethelnie was the flowor o thwm aa
Doun cam Jeannie Gordon she cam trippin doun the stairs
An she's chosen Glenlogie o aa that was there

Saying, "Glenlogie, Glenlogie, gin ye'll prove sae kind
My love is laid upon ye an I've tellt ye my mind"
But he's turning aroun lichtlie, as the Gordons gaze on
I'm sorry, Jeannie Gordon, but I'm promist awa'

And now she's caad tae her maidens for tae mak her a bed
Wi' ribbons sine wi' napkins tae for tae tie up her head
Bit it's up spake her faither an a wey man was he
"Ach, I'll wed ye tae Dumfendrum, he's mair gowd than he"

"Och, hide yer tongue, faither, this willnae be
Gin I get nae Glenlogie for him will I die
But her faither's ain chaplain, a man o great skill,
He's written a braid letter an indicted him weill

A pox on ye, Logie, nou since it is sae
There's a lady's love's laid on ye, must she die in her woe?
And a pox on ye, Logie, nou since it is time
There's a maiden's love laid on ye, must she die in her prime?

When Logie got the letter, he bein amongst men
It's up and spake Glenlogie, "What's this young woman mean?"
And when Logie's read the letter, a right laugh laughed he
But ere he read oe'r it, the tear blinds his ee

Saying saddle me the black horse, saddle me the broun
Bonnie Jeannie o Bethelnie will be dead ere I win
But the horses werenae saddled, nor lead on the green
When bonnie Glenlogie was three miles his lane

An it was pale an wan was she when Glenlogie cam in
Aye but reid an rosie grew she when she kent it was him
Where lies yer pain, lady, does it lie in yer side?
Where lies yer pain, lady, does it lie in yer head?

O nay, nay, Glenlogie, ye're far fae the part
For the pain that you speak o', it lies in my heart
Turn around, Jeannie Gordon, turn around on yer side
It's I'll be the bridegroom if ye'll be the bride

Now Jeannie's gotten married an her tocher's doun tauld
Bonnie Jeannie o Bethelnie was scarce sixteen years auld
Bethelnie, o Bethelnie, ye shine where ye stand
An the heather bells around ye shine on Fyvie's land
Bethelnie, o Bethelnie, ye shine where ye stand
An the heather bells around ye shine on Fyvie's land

There were twenty-four nobles and knights who came to party down with the king. They had a tournament, and the Lord of Glenlogie beat the snot out of everyone else there. There were sixty-six girls at the afterparty, and Jean of Bethelnie was the prettiest one there. She came up to Glenlogie and said, "Okay, you're my boyfriend now." Glenlogie said, "I'm flattered, but I, uh, have to go to ... somewhere else. Not here."

The next day, she has a hangover but decides that it actually has something to do with the rejection from Glenlogie, so she calls for her ladies in waiting to bring her some nice hot towels. And her dad says, "That guy's a jerk and not worth it. I can set you up with my buddy Dumfendrum. He's way richer!" And Jeanie says, "Ugh, dad, you just don't get it. If I can't have Glenlogie, I'll just keel over an die right here."

So her dad goes to his clerk and says, "Hey, you're pretty wise. Any ideas?" And the clerk writes a nastygram to Glenlogie saying that there's a young lady that's going to just die if she doesn't get to marry him.

Glenlogie's at another tournament and kicking butt as usual, when someone gives him the letter. And he says to his bros, "Chicks, am I right, guys?" And he reads the letter and does the thing that everyone in folk songs has to do when they get it: First he laughs, and then he cries. And he says, "Go get me the black horse. And the brown one! I need two horses!" And they go saddle up the horses, and by the time they come back, he's already run three miles, either on foot or on the horse he forgot he already had.

So he comes into her bedroom (it doesn't say if she's alone, so let your imagination run wild) and she's all pale. And then she sees him and she gets all flush. (Woo!) And he says, "So, uh, you said you were dying. I mean, I'm not a doctor or anything, but is it a headache?" And she says, "Dummy, it's in my heart." And he puffs out his chest and says, "Let's get married!"

And they do. And there was a wedding, and he gave her a huge ... dowry ... and then some flowers grew on the hillsides in Fivie.
Track Name: Battle Of Harlaw
As I cam in by Dunideer and doun by Nether Haa
There were fifty thousand heilan men a-marching tae Harlaw
As I gaed on and farther on and doun and by Balquhain
It's there I saw Sir James the Rose and wi' him John the Graeme

"It's cam ye fae the Heilands man, cam ye aa the wey?
Saw ye MacDonald and his men as they cam' in fae Skye?"

"It's I was near and near enough that I their numbers saw
There was fifty thousand heilan men a-marching tae Harlaw."

"Gin that be true," says James the Rose, "We'll no cam muckle speed
We'll cry upon wir merry men and turn wir horse's heid."

"Oh na, oh na," says John the Graeme, "This thing will nivver be
The gallant Graemes was nivver beat, we'll try fit we can dae."

And as I gaed on and further on and doun and by Harlaw
There fell full close on ilka side sic straiks ye nivver saw
There fell full close on ilka side sic straiks ye nivver saw
And ilka sword gaed clash for clash at the Battle of Harlaw
The Heilan' men wi' their long swords, they laid on us full sair
And they drave back wir merry men three acres breadth and mair

An' Forbes tae his brother did say, "Now brother, can't ye see
They've beaten us back on ilka side and we'll be forced tae flee"

"Oh na, na, my brother bold, this thing will nivver be
Ye'll tak yer guid sword in yer hand, and ye'll gang in wi' me"

Well, it's back tae back the brothers bold gaed in amongst the throng
And they drave back the heilan' men wi' swords sharp and long
And the firstan stroke that Forbes struck, he gart MacDonald reel
And the neistan stroke that Forbes struck, the brave MacDonald fell
An siccan a pilliarachie of the likes ye nivver saw
As wis amongst the Heilan' men fan they saw MacDonald faa
Some rade, some ran, and some did gang, they were of small record
For Forbes and his merry men, they slew them on the road
Of the fifty thousand Heilan' men, but fifty-three gaed hame
And out o' a' the Lawlan' men, fifty marched wi' Graeme
Gin anybody spier at ye of them that marched awa'
Tell them plain and very plain they're sleeping at Harlaw
Track Name: MacPherson's Rant
Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang, fareweel, fareweel tae ye,
MacPherson's time will no be lang on yonder gallows tree
It was by a woman's treacherous hand that I was condemned tae dee
Above a ledge at a window she sat and a blanket she threw ower me

Chorus
Sae rantinly and sae wantonly, sae dauntinly gaed he
For he played a tune and he danced aroon, below the gallows tree

The Laird o Grant, that Hieland saunt, that first laid hands on me,
He pleads the cause o Peter Broon, tae let MacPherson dee
Untie these bands frae aff my hands and gie tae me my sword,
And there's no a man in all Scotland but I'll brave him at a word.

There's some come here tae see me hang, and some come tae buy my fiddle
But before that I would part wi her I'd brak her through the middle
And he took the fiddle intae baith o his hands and he brak it ower a stane
Sayin, nay other hand shall play on thee when I am dead and gane

Oh little did my mither think, when first that she cradled me
That I would turn to the roving trade and I’d hang on a gallows tree
The reprieve was comin ower the Brig o Banff tae set MacPherson free,
But they pit the clock a quarter afore, and they hanged him frae the tree.
Track Name: The Blackest Crow
The time draws near my dearest dear when you and I must part
How little you know of the grief and woe of my poor aching heart
Each night I suffer for your sake, you're the one I love so dear
I wish that I was going with you or you were staying here

The blackest crow that ever flew would surely turn to white
If ever I prove false to you bright day will turn to night
Bright day will turn to night my love, the elements will mourn
If ever I prove false to you the seas will rage and burn

And when you're on some distant shore think of your absent friend
And when the wind blows high and clear a note to me pray send
And when the wind blows high and clear pray send a note to me
That I might know by your hand light how time has gone with thee
Track Name: Is There For Honest Poverty (A Man's a Man For A' That)
Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.