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The Green Fields of America - Live in Concert 1988

by The Green Fields of America

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1.
Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore From Derry Quay we sailed away On the 23rd of May We were boarded by a pleasant crew Bound for Americay Fresh water there we did take on Five thousand gallons or more In case we'd run short going to NewYork Far away from the Shamrock shore We safely reached the other side In three and twenty days We were taken as passengers by a man And sent 'round in six different ways We each of us drank a parting glass In case we should never meet more And we drank a health to old Ireland And Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore So fare thee well, sweet Lisa dear And likewise to Derry town And twice farewell to my comrades bold Who still dwell on that sainted ground If fortune, it ever should favor me Or I do should have money in store I'll go back and I'll wed the wee lassie I left On Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore
2.
Kilkelly 07:09
Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and sixty My dear and loving son John Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara’s So good as to write these words down Your brothers have all gone to find work in England The house is so empty and sad The crop of potatoes is sorely infected A third to a half of them bad And your sister Brigid and Patrick O`Donnell Are going to be married in June Your mother says not to work on the railroad And be sure to come on home soon Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and seventy My dear and loving son John Hello to your missus and to your four children May they grow healthy and strong Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble I suppose that he never will learn Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of And now we have nothing to burn Brigid is happy you named a child for her Although she's got six of her own You say you found work but you don't say what kind Or when you'll be coming home Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and eighty Dear Michael and John my sons I'm sorry to give you the sad news That your dear mother has gone We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly Your brothers and Brigid were there You don't have to worry, she died very quickly Remember her in your prayers And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning With money he’s sure to buy land For the crop has been poor and the people are selling At any price they can Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and ninety My dear and loving son John I suppose that I must be close on eighty It’s thirty years since you've gone Because of all of the money you sent me I'm still living out on my own Michael has build himself a fine house And Brigid’s daughters are grown And thank you for sending your family picture They're lovely young woman and men You say that you might even come for a visit W hat joy to see you again Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and ninety two My dear brother John I’m sorry I didn't write sooner to tell you That father passed on He was living with Brigid she says he was cheerful And healthy right down to the end Ah, you should have seen him playing with the grandchildren Of Pat McNamara your friend And we buried him alongside of mother Down at Kilkelly churchyard He was a strong and feisty old man Considering his life was so hard And it’s funny the way he kept talking about you He called for you at the end Oh why don't you think about coming to visit We’d all love to see you again Words and Music by Peter Jones (copyright control)
3.
4.
A ghaoth andeas na mbraon mbog glas, A ní gach faithe féarmhar, Bheir iasg ar eas is grian i dteas, Is líon is meas ar ghéagaibh, Más síos ar fad mar mbínn féin seal Is mianach leat-sa séide, Cuirim Rí na bhFeart dhod chaomhaint ar neart, ‘S túir don tír sin blas mo bhéil-se!” Sínim andeas a’ díonamh cleas Nach ndíonann neach sa’ saol so, Mar íslím gaimh is sgaoilim leac Is díbrim sneacht’ as sléibhte. Ó taoi tú ar lear go bhfuí tú mo neart, ‘S gur mian liom do leas a dhéanamh, Go bhfúigfe mé mo bheannacht ins gach aon tslí ar maith leat, Agus choíche i gCathair Éamoinn! A Chonnachta an tsóidh, an tsuilt is an spóirt, I n-imir t ‘s i n-ól an fhíona, Sin chugaibh mo phóg ar rith ins a’ ród, Leigim le seól gaoithe í. Tá mise beó i mboige na seód, Mar a mbrúitear gach sórt bídh dhom, Ach is mian liom fós tarraing d’bhur gcomhair Muna gcluine mé ach ceól píopa! O south wind of the gentle rain, You banish winter’s weather, Bring salmon to the pool again, The bees among the heather. If northward now you mean to blow, As you rustle soft above me, God-speed be with you as you go, With a kiss for those that love me!” From south I come with velvet breeze, My work all nature blesses, I melt the now and strew the leas With flowers and soft caresses. I’ll help you to dispel your woe, With joy I’ll take your greeting And bear it to your loved Mayo Upon my wings so fleeting!” My Connacht, famed for wine and play, So leal, so gay, so loving, Here’s a fond kiss I sent to-day, Borne by the wind in its roving. These Munster folk are good and kind, Right royally they treat me, But this land I’d gladly leave behind, With your Connacht pipes to greet me!
5.
HOW COULD REAVY DIE! By Father Michael Doyle The plumber of the hornpipes is dead. The old diviner with the hazel bow, That found the Shannon's source And spread its magic waters over the world. “Oh No,” she said "he's not dead, How could Reavy die!" And who are you to say! "I am the Wind: The Wind That drove the clouds in herds Above the Cavan hills and Drexel too And whispered to the oats in Barnagrove. I am the breeze that touched O'Carolan's lips With moisture on my breath 'Til notes danced within his mind Like flames behind a blind. I am the breath in Reavy's body I would visit in the evening I would dwell within his soul He tamed me with his reverence But I always had to go ... But I bore him sounds of sweetness Some were sad and some were glad And he composed half a thousand tunes About the happy time we had." Hush! I whispered. Did you see his fiddle On the altar - silent as a stone And his body on the grave in Drexel Hill? It was stuck on the hole in a final salute Like an old finger frozen on a flute. Did you see the people in a circle Standing sadly all around, When the pipes refused to play in the cold? “Yes,” she said "I was there" I am the Breath of the earth. Every voice is a wisp of my prayer Breathing blessings of incense on the bites of the air Because life has the edge on the ice. Listen my friend, to the lad with the whistle With his finger tips timid and cold... Hear the life that he brings to the old man's tune And the leaks that he brings to the eyes. And hear Reavy arise from the holes in the tin And announce on his grave "I'm alive!"
6.
Reynardine 06:49
One evening as I rambled, Two miles below Pomeroy, I met a pretty maiden, All on the mountains high. I said, "My pretty maiden, Your beauty shines most clear, Oh ‘tis on these lonesome mountains, I'm glad to see you here." I’m glad to see you here, I’m glad to see you here, Oh ‘tis on these lonesome mountains, I'm glad to see you here She said, “Kind, sir, be civil now, My company forsake, For to my great opinion, I fear you are some rake. And if my parents knew of this, My life they would destroy, For the keeping of your company, All on the mountains high." All on the mountains high All on the mountains high For the keeping of your company All on the mountains high I said, “My maid, I am no rake Wrapped up in Venus' train, Or seeking for advancement All in me father's name; But your beauty has enchanted me, I cannot pass you by, And that’s why I travel far from home, All on the mountains high." All on the mountains high All on the mountains high And that’s why I travel far from home, All on the mountains high This pretty fair young maiden then, She fell in to amaze Her eye’s as soft as amber Upon me she did gaze Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips, They lost their former dye, And then she fell into his arms, All on the mountains high; All on the mountains high All on the mountains high And then she fell into his arms All on the mountains high I had not kissed her once or twice ‘Til she came to again, Quite modestly she asked of me, "Kind, sir, what is your name?" “If you go to yonder forest, The answer there you’ll find, 'Tis writ in ancient history, They call me Reynardine." They call me Reynardine They call me Reynardine Oh, ’tis writ in ancient history They call me Reynardine I said,“My pretty maiden now, Don’t let your parents know, For if you do I’ll surely rue, And fate, will overthrow And if you come in search of me, Perhaps, you’ll not me find. But I’ll be in my castle, Enquire for Reynardine” Enquire for Reynardine Enquire for Reynardine Oh, I’ll be in my castle Enquire for Reynardine So come all you pretty fair maidens now And a warning take by me: Beware of your common ways And shun bad company, For if you do you'll surely rue, Until the day you die, And beware of meeting Reynardine All on the mountains high. All on the mountains high All on the mountains high And beware of meeting Reynardine All on the mountains high...
7.
Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers About curing the vapors, the scratch and the gout With their medical potions, their serums and lotions Ochone in their notions they're mighty put out Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic And pitch to the Divil cramp, colic and spleen You'll know it I think if you take a big drink With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen So stick to the craythur the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys Oh what botheration, no dose in the nation Can give consolation like poteen me boys As a child in the cradle, me nurse with her ladle Was filling me mouth with a notion of pap When a drop from the bottle fell into me throttle I capered and scrambled clean out of her lap On the floor I lay crawlin' and screaming and bawling 'Til me father and mother were called to the fore All sobbing and sighing they feared I was dying But soon found I only was crying for more So stick to the craythur the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys Oh lord how they'd chuckle if babes in their truckle They only could suckle on poteen me boys Through my youthful aggression, and times of depression My childhood impression still clung to my mind And at school or at college the basis of knowledge I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined And as older I'm growing, time's ever bestowin' On Erin's potation a flavor so fine And howe'er they may lecture on Jove and his nectar Itself is the only true liquid divine So stick to the craythur the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys Oh lord, 'tis the right thing for courting and fighting There's nought so exciting as poteen me boys Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam What'll make the lame walk, what'll make the dumb talk The elixir of life and philosopher's stone And what helped Mr. Brunnell to dig the Thames Tunnel Sure, wasn't it poteen from old Inishowen So stick to the craythur the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys Oh lord, 'tis no wonder if lightning and thunder Weren't made from the plunder of poteen me boys Now, ye maidens pathetic, with lovers athletic For liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop With a glow to your cheek, it'll make your heart leap It would quieten a stallion or cure an old cob From the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool You'd kick up your heels and you'd peel to the buff And 'tis you'd be athletic while he'd be pathetic If only you'd take a few drops of the stuff So stick to the craythur the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys For there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky It soon separates all the men from the boys
8.

about

The Green Fields of America is the title of a very old Irish traditional reel, as well as that of one of the most eloquent songs of Irish emigration. It is also the name of a famous Irish American group of traditional musicians, singers, and dancers, which has toured the United States on several occasions sponsored by the National Endowment for the Arts.

“The Green Fields of America'' captures precisely what the group represents -- the persistence of traditional Irish music and dance in the New World.The opportunity America held out, its “green fields,” attracted millions of rural Irish emigrants since the earliest times. Between 1848 and 1900 alone, an estimated twelve million Irish emigrated to America.Those emigrants brought with them a rich culture forged through centuries of suffering, struggle, and hope.This country provided a new home for this culture, which was revitalized over the years by successive generations of emigrants from the old country. It is also important to realize that, however, these cultural traditions are now as American as they are Irish. New styles and forms developed in the Irish American communities in New York, Chicago, Boston, and Philadelphia and have been carried back to the old country for decades.

For example, the Bible of Irish musicians on both sides of the Atlantic is Captain Francis O’Neill’s MUSIC OF IRELAND, published in 1903 in Chicago, where he was Commissioner of Fire and Police. Similarly, for a generation, the best makers of the beautiful uilleann pipes of Ireland were the Taylor Brothers of Philadelphia.The brilliant recordings made in New York in the 1920s and 30s of Sligo fiddlers Michael Coleman, James Morrison, and Paddy Killoran forever changed the development of Irish fiddle music in Ireland as well as in America. In the large American cities, musicians from widely separate villages in Ireland came together, musicians who would not have met in the old country.A rich cross fertilization of styles and repertoires was the result.

Ireland’s sons and daughters still emigrate, as they have for over 200 years, and many of its finest artists are found in American cities. Moreover, there is an exciting new development, one that adds new vigor to the back-and- forth quality of Irish American arts. Brilliant young musicians and dancers of Irish ancestry, born and reared in the United States, have chosen to perform within the Irish tradition but with extensions and innovations that delight those devoted to the arts. When the All-Ireland dance and music competitions are held in Ireland, these young Americans of Irish ancestry are always among the winners. Irish enthusiasts take as much pride in the accomplishments of these young cultural relatives as they do their own.

The personnel of The Green Fields of America has varied since the group was founded in 1977 by Mick Moloney and Washington D.C. attorney Dick Shea, but the concept is constant: to show in one major gathering some of Irish America’s foremost artists -- both immigrants and American-born performers.

credits

released January 19, 2022

Produced by Mick Moloney

Recorded and mixed by Glenn Barratt at International House of Philadelphia in 1988

Remastered by Jimmy Keane in 2021

Liner notes by Mick Moloney, Robbie O’Connell, and Jimmy Keane

Cover artwork by Declan Forde

Cover & Booklet design by Jimmy Keane

Mick Moloney: tenor banjo, guitar, mandolin, vocals, spoken word
Robbie O’Connell: guitar, vocals
Jimmy Keane: piano accordion, elkavox. vocals
Eileen Ivers: acoustic and electric fiddle
Seamus Egan: whistle, bodhran, flute, uilleann pipes, tres
Donny & Eileen Golden: step-dancing

All Tunes and Songs contained in this recording are Traditional, Arranged and Adapted by the musicians on this recording - expect those Tunes and Songs which are mentioned separately in the track notes

Mick Moloney (Green Groves Music ASCAP)
Robbie O'Connell (Slievenamon Music BMI)
JImmy Keane (Cappal Beag Music BMI)
Eileen Ivers (BMI)
Seamus Egan (BMI)

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Mick Moloney, Robbie O'Connell, and Jimmy Keane

Since 1984, Mick Moloney, Robbie O'Connell, and Jimmy Keane have been delighting audiences with their unique blend of Irish music and song, both traditional and contemporary. An evening with this trio is an experience that covers much musical ground and is not easily forgotten. ... more

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