Today we dive deep into the Celtic, with more than a touch of Robert Burns — presenting four songs by BBC2 2019 Folk singer of the year Ríoghnach Connolly (pronounced Rihanna).
Connolly is the real deal, having grown up surrounded by a rich musical familial heritage. Now based in Manchester England, she is a professional vocalist, flautist, and lyricist, with many current and recent projects, including The Breath, LI Ban (Remembering old and creating new aspects of traditions from Lough Neagh and the Bann in the ancient province of Ulster in Ireland).
Ríoghnach collaborates with family; aunts, uncles and cousins, and Band of Burns, a unique gathering of 12 international folk artists, coming together to celebrate the life, works, and philosophies of Robert Burns. 3 albums (The sweetest hours, The Thread, Live from Union Chapel)
Now Westlin WInds
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWuPlKcOqO8
w/ Band of Burns
Now westlin winds and slaught’ring guns
Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shines bright, as I rove by night,
To muse upon my charmer.
Bruce’s Address
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDqrY93WGf8
w/Band of Burns
SCOTS, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, whom BRUCE has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to glorious victorie!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour!
See the front o’ battle lour!
See approach proud EDWARD’s pow’r!
EDWARD, chains and slaverie!
She moved her way through the fair
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu2cm1tZc9w
traditional Irish song attributed to Longford poet Padraic Colum
My young love said to me:
‘My father won’t mind
And my mother won’t cite you
For your lack of kind.’
Then she drew closer to me
And this she did say:
‘It will not be long, long, love
‘Till our wedding day.’
Seán Ó Duibhir a’ Ghleanna
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTioYq9HuH4
W/ Ellie Davies
aka Sean O’Dwyer of the Glen, this song was originally a poem by Canon Sheehan of Doneraile; it has become a ballad dealing with the Williamite Wars
After Aughrim’s great disaster
When our foe, in sooth, was master
It was you who first plunged in and swam
The Shannon’s raging flood
And through Sliabh Bloom’s dark passes
You led your Gallowglasses
Although the hungry Saxon wolves
Were howling for your blood
And as we crossed Tipperary
We rived the Clan O’Leary
And drove a creacht before us
As our horsemen onward came
With our spears and swords we gored them
As through flood and fire we bore them
Still Sean O Diubhir a’Ghleanna
We were worsted in the game.
Long, long we’ve kept the hillside
Our couch hard by the rillside
The sturday knotted oaken boughs
Our cutain overhead
The Summer sun we laughed at
The Winter snow we scoffed at
And trusted to our long bright swords
To win us daily bread
Til the Dutchman’s troops came around us
In steel and fire they bound us
They blazed the woods and mountains
Till the very clouds were flame
Yet our sharpened swords cut through them
To their very hearts we hewed them
Still Sean O Duibhir a’Ghleanna
You were worsted in the game.
Here’s a health to yours, — and my – king
The sovereign of our liking
And to Sarsfield, underneath whose flag
We’ll cast once more a chance
For the morning dawn will wing us
Across the seas and bring us
To take a stand and wield a brand
Amongst the sons of France
And as we part in sorrow
Still, Sean O Duibhir, a chara
Our prayer is ‘God Save Ireland’
And pour blessings on her name
May her sons be true when needed
May they never fail, as we did
For Sean O Duibhir a’Ghleanna
We were worsted in the game.
RADIO POET!QUE: A Spoken Word Radio Review 