From The Edge Of Memory - TARA 4007
Phil Callery & The Long Wave Band

Album Sleevenotes

 

Tracks

 
Audio Samples
(1) The Bonny Blue Eyed Lassie : 5:29
(2) The Maid With The Bonny Brown Hair : 4:07
(3) In This Heart : 2:59
(4) Westlin Winds : 4:02
(5) Lovely Willie : 2:54
(6) Annan Waters : 5:00
(7) The Cocks Are Crowing : 5:42
(8) The Green Linnet : 5:40
(9) Burns Melody : 2:41
(10) The Trampwoman's Tragedy : 7:55
(11) Rounding The Horn : 4:34
(12) Lady Le Roy : 4:21
(13) Stolen Child : 5:14

 
 
SHOP BOX
Album
Format
From The Edge Of Memory
Many's The Foolish Youth
Holly Wood

 

 

 

Sleevenotes & Audio Clips
(Click Cover to see Sleevenotes)

 

Third Party Sites
PhilCallery.com

 

Sleeve Notes

MUSICIANS

Phil Callery - Vocals & Fiddle.
Jimmy Faulkner - Guitar.
Kevin Murphy - Cello.
Niall Ó'Callnáín - Bouzouki.
Belinda Morris - Obeo.
Colm McCaughey - Fiddle.
Rosa Callery - Vocals.
Sarah Callery - Vocals.

Guests

Steve Cooney - Guitar.
Stephen Sheridan - Guitar.
Kieran Kennedy - Acoustic & electric guitar.
Frankie Lane - Dobro guitar.
Gay McKeon - Uilleann pipes.
Ritchie Buckley - Saxophone.
Dermot Byrne - Accordion.
Mick Kinsella - Mouth organ.
Liam O'Maonlai - Vocals.
Brian Kennedy - Vocals. (courtesy of 19th Management Records, London)
Bronagh Gallagher - Vocals.
Maria Doyle Kennedy - Vocals.

Traditional singer, Phil Callery best known as a member of "The Voice Squad" introduces his first solo album

Album recorded in Pulse Studios, Pleasant Lane Dublin and in The Mill Studios, Swords, Co. Dublin.
Engineer : Catherine Considine
Tape Opp. : Debbie Smyth
Producer : Phil Callery
All tracks mixed by Catherine Considine and Phil Callery at The Mill Studio
Artwork and Photography by Helen Smith
Mastered by Mary Kettle at Trend Studios, Dublin

Track Notes

1. The Bonny Blue Eyed Lassie : Trad arr. Phil Callery (IMRO)

How could I live on the top of a mountain
With no money in my pocket, nor gold for the counting
I would let the money go, all for to gain her fancy
For I would marry no one but, my bonny blue eyed Nancy.

She's my bonny blue eyed Nancy with an air so sweet and tender
Her walk like swans on water, and her waist so small and slender
Her golden hair and ringlets fairhung o'er her snow-white shoulder
And I'd ask her to marry me, and there's no man could be bolder

And there's some people say that she is very low in station
And there are more people say she'll be the cause of my ruination
Oh but let them all say what they will, to her I will prove constant still
Till the day that I die, she will be my own lovely lady.

And gently swim the swan o'er the dark waters of Eochaill
An lightly sing the nightingale so happy to behold her
And the winds may blow, and the moor cocks crow
And the moon shall shine so deeply
Oh! But deeper by far is my love for my own lady

And there's some people say that she is very low in station
And there are more people say she'll be the cause of my ruination
Oh but let them all say what they will, to her I will prove constant still
Till the day that I die, she will be my own lovely lady.

GUESTS:
Brian Kennedy
Ritchie Buckley

This song was collected by Seamus Ennis and Jean Ritchie, from the late Elizabeth Cronin, Ballyvourney, Co. Cork. A personal favourite of mine.

2. The Maid With The Bonny Brown Hair : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

As I roved out one morning so early,.
for to view the green meadows in spring,
It was down by the banks of the river.
That I heard a fair maiden to sing.
I stood in completed amazement,
As I gazed on this maiden so fair,
She appeared to be brighter than Venus,
Was this maid with the bonny brown hair.

Her eyes they did shine like diamonds,
And her cheeks like the red rose in June,
And her skin was a white as a Lily,
And her breath bore the rarest perfume.
And a dress of the best speckled velvet,
This charming wee lass did wear,
And the chains of white gold and pure silver,
Were twined in her bonny brown hair.

For a long time we courted together,
Till at last we named our wedding day,
But one evening while courting together,
Very cruelly to me she did say,
Oh! I have another far kinder,
My land and my fortune to share.
So farewell to you now and forever.
Said the maid with the bonny brown hair.

And so I went over the ocean
Being bound for the proud land of Spain,
Some were singing and dancing together,
Oh, but I had a heart full of pain.
And as the ship sailed down the river,
I spied my old sweetheart so fair,
Quiet content in the arms of another
Was the maid with the bonny brown hair.

So farewell to my friends and relations
Perhaps I will see you no more.
And when I'm in some far foreign nation,
I will sigh for my dear native shore.
And when I'm in some far foreign nation,
My land and my riches I'll share,
And I hope it's with someone more kinder,
Than the maid with the bonny brown hair.

This is a song I first heard from Cathal McConnell, "Boys of the Lough". I like the unusual reference to Spain as a choice of country the young man chose to emigrate to.

 

3. In This Heart : Sinead O'Connor (E.M.I.)

In This heart lies for you,
A lark born only for you,
Who sings only to you,
My love, my love, my love.

I am waiting for you,
For only to adore you
My heart is for you,
My love, my love, my love.

This is my grief for you,
For only the loss of you,
The hurting of you,
My love, my love, my love.

There are rays on the weather,
Soon these tears will have cried,
all loneliness have died,
My love, my love, my love.

I will have you with me,
In my arms only,
For you are only,
My love, my love, my love.

This Song is for Laura Greeves, Hollywood, Co. Wicklow

 

4. Westlin Winds : Trad arr. Phil Callery (IMRO)

Now Westlin Winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Above the blooming heather;
The waving Grain, wide O'er the plain
Delights the weary farmer;
The moon shines bright as I rove at night
To muse upon my charmer.

The pheasant love the fruitful fells,
The plover loves the mountains;
The moorcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring heron the fountain;
Through every grove the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush overhangs the thrush,
The spreading the thorn the linnet

Thus everykind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander;
Avaunt, away! The cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;
The huntsman's joy, the murdering cry
The fluttering, gory pinion!

Now, Peggy dear, the evening's clear,
Thick fly the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
Are faded green and yellow;
So let us stray our gladsome way,
To view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
While the silent moon shines clearly,.
I'll grasp your waist and fondly praise,
For I swear I love you dearly;
Not vernal showers onto budding flowers,
Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear to me as thou can be,
My own, my lovely charmer!

GUESTS:
Brian Kennedy
Frankie Lane
Mick Kinsella

This is a Robert Burns song I heard from the singing of Len Graham, Mullagabawn, Co. Armagh. Set to the air of "Rattling Guns". This song is dedicated to Michael Sutton and Robbie Dunphy (Grandad), New Ross, Co. Wexford.

 

5. Lovely Willie : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

Oh! it happened one evening at the playing of ball,
When I first met lovely Willie he was proper and tall.
He was neat fair and handsome and complete in each limb,
There's a part of my bosom lies aching for him.

And its will you go along with me a short step of the road
Unto my fathers garden and a place of abode
And he knew by the look in her languishing eye
That he was the young man she treasured most high.

There's a place in my fathers garden young Willie said she,
Where the Lords, Dukes and Earls they do wait upon me.
And when they are sleeping in their long silent rest,
I'll go with you lovely Willie, you're the boy I love best.

But her father being near them and in ambush he lay,
For to hear the fond words that these two lovers did say.
And with a sharp rapier he pierced her love through,
And the innocent blood of young Willie he drew.

And a grave was made open lovely Willie laid in,
And a mass it was chanted for to free his soul from sin.
And it's Oh honoured father you may say what you will,
but the innocent blood of young Willie you spilt.

And it's I will go off to some far country,
Where I will know no one and no one knows me
And its there I will wander, till I close my eyes in death
For you lovely Willie you're the boy I love best.

GUEST:
Dermot Byrne

This is song from my good friend and singing companion Frank Harte.

 

6. Annan Waters : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

Oh Annan Waters wondrous deep, and my love Annie is wondrous bonny,
I loathe that she should wet her feet because I love her best of any.
Go saddle for me the bonny grey mare, go saddle her soon and make her ready,
For I must cross that stream tonight , or never more I'll see my Annie.

And woe betide you Annan Waters, by night you are a gloomy river,
And over you I'll build a bridge, that never more true love may sever.

And he has ridden o'er field and fen, o'er moor and moss and many's the mire,
His spurs of steel were sore to bite, sparks form the mare's hooves flew like fire,
The mare flew on o'er moor and moss and when she reached the Annan Waters,
She couldn't have ridden a furlong more had a thousand whips been laid upon her.

And woe betide you Annan Waters, by night you are a gloomy river,
And over you I'll build a bridge, that never more true love may sever.

Oh boatman come put off your boat, put off your boat for gold and money,
For I must cross that stream tonight or never more I'll see my lady,
The sides are steep; the waters deep, from bank to brae the waters pouring,
And the bonny grey mare she sweats for fear, she stands to hear the waters roaring.

And woe betide you Annan Waters, by night you are a gloomy river,
And over you I'll build a bridge, that never more true love may sever.

And he has tried to swim that stream and he swam on both strong and steady ,
But the river was wide and strength did fail and never more he'll see his Annie,
And woe betide the willow wan and woe betide the bush and briar,
For they broke beneath her true loves hand, when strength did fail and limbs did tire.

And woe betide you Annan Waters, by night you are a gloomy river,
And over you I'll build a bridge, that never more true love may sever.

GUESTS:
Maria Doyle Kennedy
Bronagh Gallagher

 

7. The Cocks Are Crowing : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO) N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

The cocks are crowing, daylight is appearing
Its drawing night to the break of day.
Arise my darling out of your slumber.
Arise my darling and come away.

And when he came to his love's window
He kneeled low down on a stone.
And through the window whispered softly
Arise my darling and let me in

Oh! who is that that is at my window
And who is that that gives me no rest?
'Tis I, 'Tis I a poor wounded lover
Who fain would speak with you love a while.

Oh go away then and ask your Daddy
If he would have you my bride to be
And if he says no then return and tell me
For this is the last time I will trouble.

Oh my dada he is in his bedchamber
He is fast asleep on his bed of ease
And in his pocket there lies a letter
Which reads much a darling unto your dispraise.

Oh what dispraise can he do unto me?
A faithful husband to you I'd be
And what other neighbours have round their houses
The same, my darling you will have with me.

Oh go away then and ask your mammy
If she will have you my bride to be
And if she says no then return and tell me
For this is the last time I will trouble thee.

My mama she is an old age woman
And scarce can hear, love, a word I'd say
But she bids you go love and court some other
For I'm not a fitting love your bride to be.

Oh I may go but I'll court no other,
My heart my linked all in your charms
I would have you wed, love, and leave your mammy
For you're just fit to lie in your love's arms.

I will go to the wild mountains
Where I'll see nothing but the wild deer
And I'll eat nothing but the wild herbs and
I'll drink nothing but my true love's tears.

If the Killyboyne it were mine in the chorus
And the green felds they were mine in white
And if my pen were made of the tempered steel
Sure my true love's praises I could never write.

A song from a wonderful man, the late great Eddie Butcher, Magilligan, Co. Derry. This is dedicated to Pauline McPhail

 

8. The Green Linnet : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO)

Curiosity led a young native of Eireann
For to view the lone banks of the Rhine
Where an Empress he saw and the
Robes that she was wearing
All over with diamonds did shine
No Goddess in splendor was ever yet seen
To equal this fair maid so mild and serene
In soft murmurs she cried
Oh! My Linnet so green sweet bonnie will ne'er see you more

And the cold frosty Alps you did freely pass over
Which nature and placed in your way
At Marengo, Bellona all around you did hover
All Paris rejoiced the next day
It grieved me the hardships that you did under go
The mountains that you traveled all covered with snow
But the balance of power that your courage laid low,
Sweet Bonnie will ne'er see you more

And the crowned heads of Europe, they
were in great splendor
And they swore they would have you submit
But the Goddes of Freedom soon had them to surrender
And they lowered their standards to your wit
Old Frederick's colours to France he did bring
His orphan off spring found shelter all under your wing
Oh! That year in Vienna you so sweetly did sing
Sweet bonnie will ne'er see you more
And the number of men there were eager to slay you
Their malice you view with a smile
And their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you
And they joined with the Maladukes on the Nile
Like ravenous vultures their vile passions did burn
The orphans they slew and caused the widows to mourn
But my Linnet is gone and he never will return
Sweet Bonnie will ne'er see you more
I would roam through the desert of wild Abyssinia
And could yet find no cure for my pain
I must go and inquire at the Isle of St. Helena Were soft murmurs whisper your name
Come tell me ye critics Come tell me in time
What nation I must roam my green Linnet to find
Was he slain at Waterloo in France or on the Rhine
No he's dead on St. Helena's bleak shore

I first heard this song from the singing of Dick Gaughan, a mighty man. It is dedicated to my dear brother Mick

9. Burns Melody (Instrumental) : Trad arr. P.Callery (IMRO)

GUESTS;
Steve Cooney
Gay McKeon
Dermot Byrne


10. The Trampwoman's Tragedy : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO) N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd., Tim Laycock

From Wynyard's Gap, the livelong day,
the Livelong day,
We beat afoot the northbound way
We'd travelled times before.
The sun-blaze burning on our backs,
Our shoulders sticking to our packs,
By fosseway fields, and turnpike tracks
We skirted sad Sedge-Moor.

Full twenty miles we jaunted on,
we jaunted on,
My fancy man and jeering John,
And Mother Lee and I.
And, as the sun drew to the West,
We climbed the toilsome Poldon crest,
And saw, of the landscape sights the best,
The inn that beamed thereby.

For months we padded side by side,
Ay, side by side,
Through the Great Forest, Blackmoor wide,
And where the Parret ran.
We'd faced the gusts on Mendip ridge,
And crossed the Yeo unhelped by bridge,
Been stung by every marsh wood midge,
I and my fancy-man.

Lone inns we loved, my man and I,
My man and I;
"King's Stag", "Windwhistle" high and dry,
"The Horse" on Hintock Green
The cosy house at Wynyard's Gap,
"The Hut" renowned on Bredy Knap,
And many another wayside tap
Where folk might sit unseen.

And as we trudged -
O deadly day, O deadly day!
I teased my fancy-man in play
And wanton idleness.
I walked alongside jeering John,
I laid his hand my waist upon
I would not bend my glances on
My lover's dark distress

Thus Polden top at last we won,
at last we won,
And gained the inn at sink of sun
Far-framed as "Marshal's Elm".
Beneath us figured tor and lea,
From Mendip to the western sea,
I doubt a finer sight there be
Within this royal realm.

Inside the settle all a-row -
all four a-row
We sat, I next to John to show
That he had wooed and won.
And then he took me on his knee,
And swore it was his turn to be
My favoured mate, and Mother Lee
Passed to my former one

Then in a voice I never heard,
I never heard,
My only love to me: "One word,
My lady if you please!
Whose is the child you are like to bear?
His? After all my months of care?"
God knows 'twas not! But, O despair:
I nodded - still to tease.

Then up he sprung and with his knife
- and with his knife
He let jeering Johnny's life,
Yes; there, at the set of sun.
The slant ray through the window nigh
Gilded John's blood and glazing eye,
Ere scarcely Mother Lee and I
Knew that the deed was done

The taverns tell the gloomy tale
the gloomy tale,
How that at Ivel-chester jail
My love, my sweetheart swung;
Through stained till now by no misdeed
Save one horse ta'en in time of need;
(Blue Jimmy stole right many a steed
Ere his last fling he flung.),

Thereaft I walked the world
alone, alone, alone!
On his death-day I gave my groan
And dropt his dead born child.
'Twas nigh the goal, beneath a tree,
None tending me for Mother Lee
Had died at Glaston, leaving me
Unfriended on the wild

And in the night as I lay weak,
as I lay weak,
Dead leaves a falling on my cheek,
The red moon low declined -
The ghost of him I'd die to kiss
Rose up and said: "Ah, tell me this!
Was the child mine, or was it his?
Speak, that I rest may find"

Oh doubt not but I told him then,
I told him then,
That I had kept me from all men
Since we joined lips and swore.
Whereat his smiled, and thinned away
As the wind stirred to call up day.....
- 'Tis past! And here alone I stray
Haunting the Western Moor.

This is a song I learned from a wonderful Dublin singer, Terry Timmons.

11. Rounding The Horn : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO) N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

The Gallant Frigate Anphitrite, she lay in Plymouth Sound.
Blue Peter at the foremast head, for we were outward bound.
We were waiting there for orders, to send us far from home.
Our order came for Rio, And thence around Cape Horn

When we arrived in Rio, we prepared for heavy gales.
We set up our rigging boy's and bent out all new sails
From ship to ship they cheered us, and we did sail along.
And wished us pleasant weather, in the rounding of Cape Horn.

While beating off Magellan Straits, it blew exceeding hard.
While shortening sails two gallant tars, fell from the topsail yard.
By angry sea the ropes we threw, from their poor hands were torn.
We were forced to leave them to the sharks, that prowl around Cape Horn.

When we got round the horn me boys, we had some glorious days.
And very soon our Kitlick dropped in Valparaiso Bay.
The pretty girls came down in flocks, I solemnly declare.
They're far before those Plymouth girls, with their long and flowing hair.

They love the jolly sailor boy, when he spends his money free.
They laugh and sing and merry merry be, and have a jovial spree.
And when your money is all gone, they won't on you impose.
They're far before those Plymouth girls, who'd pawn and sell your cloths.

Farewell to Valparaiso and farewell for a while.
Likewise to all the Spanish girls, along the coast of Chile.
And if ever I live to be paid off, I'll sit and sing this song.
God bless those pretty Spanish girls, that we met around Cape Horn.

GUESTS:
Maria Doyle Kennedy
Liam O'Maonlaí
Fergus O'Farrell

I first heard this song sung by Andy Irvine, "Sweeneys Men" at the Neptune Rowing Club, Island Bridge.


12. Lady Le Roy : Trad arr. P Callery (IMRO) N O'Callnáín (peermusic)(Irl) Ltd.

As I went a walking one morning in May
Viewing wild flowers all nature seemed gay
I spied a fair damsel on Eirn's green shore
She was viewing the ocean where the wild billows roar.

He said pretty Polly you're the girl I adore
And parting from you love would grieve my heart sore
Your parents are rich love and angry with me
But if I tarry with you I ruined will be.

So she dressed herself in a suit of mens clothes
And straight to he father immediatly goes
She purchased a ship, laid down its demand
But little he thought it was from his own daughter's hand.

Now when her father found out how he cursed and did swear
He sent for his captain and bade him prepare
To seek and to find them and their lives destroy
For they never will enjoy his proud "Lady Le Roy"

He bade them return to Ireland once more
Or broadside with broadside upon them would pour
This brave Irish hero has made his reply
We will never surrender we'll conquer or die

Then broadside with broadside on each other did pour
Louder and louder the cannons did roar
This brave Irish Hero has gained victory
Hurrah! for true lovers may they always run free.

They landed in Boston that city of fame
Of the other ship's commander I'll mention no name
Here's a health to pretty Polly long may she enjoy
Her proudest of heroes and the "Lady Le Roy".
.
GUEST:
Steven Sheridan

Another song from Andy Irvine
For Linda Sullivan, Kenmare.


13. Stolen Child : W.B. Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy
Where flapping herons wake
The Drowsey water-rats;
There we filled our faery vats,
Full of berries
And the reddist stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
By far off furthest Rosses,
We foot it through the night,
Weaving olden dances, Mingling hand and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
and chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hill above Glen-Car,
In pool among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams:
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of caves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For here comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy
Where flapping herons wake
The Drowsey water-rats;
There we filled our faery vats,
Full of berries
And the reddist stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of
weeping than you can understand.

I was given this song while visiting Inishbofin island with Frank Harte, on a memorable Winter weekend.
For Simon Muarry

"Phil Callery's voice has great resonance and emotional range, but it also excerises control, it exudes tact, seriousness, and integrity. His style of singing plays with ideas of suggestiveness and simplicity, letting nuanced melancholy of the lines and the tragic inevitability of the stories speak for themselves, using arrangements which are imaginative and unobtrusive and subtly haunting. There is sense of mastering and technical perfection here, a talent at the height of its powers, which means From The Edge Of Memory will certainly become a classic recording."

Colm Tobin, Writer

Thank You to:
Christy Sheridan (The Mill Studio, Swords) Michael Coyne (Ennis), Frank Harte, Eric Greves, Nicholas Carolan and staff, (Irish Traditional Music Archive, 63 Merrion Square, Dublin 2) Paul Kelly, Sue McSweeney, Dave Allen, Stephen Sheridan, Ann & Sean Sutton, Derek Whitfield, Graham Ivie, Fergus O'Farrell & Lee, Ann Lambert, Peter Crotty, Martin Butler, Tim & Geraldine Callery, Jim McKeogh, Sinead & John Slattery, James Naylor, Pat & Jim Flynn, Nic Jones, Robin Laing, Betty McDermott, John Butler, Dierdre Costello (Westland Studios), Simon Mellor, Ursula Ryan, Richard & Sue Smith, Lar Clancy, Gerry & Karen, Clare & Roísín, Graham Warne, Frank & Carol Nugent, Lynn Dalzel & Rachel Franklin.

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