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Sams' Song

Monday, July 18, 2011

Although a song title, this blog does not refer to that endearing ditty written by Lew Quadling and Jack Elliot and sung by Bing and his son Gary back in 1950.

The melody is the familiar, haunting and eerie tune, "Ghost Riders in the Sky" by composer Stan Jones, and recalls a "cowboy" legend of an endless roundup, similiar in style to the northern European epic, "Wild Hunt" in which the doomed hunt a stag forever across an endless eternal forest.

This song, however, begins with the words: 

"I have been a Provo now for fifteen years or more. With armalites and motorbombs I thought I knew the score."

And ends with the chilling:

"I can't forget the massacre that Friday at Loughgall. I salute my fallen comrades as I watch the choppers fall."

This is a tune gloryfing surface-to-air-missiles and about murder, death and ruin and memories that run so deep they cut to the bone.

Ireland has been called by some the  land of happy wars and tragic love affairs.

I don't know about human love, (nor will I ever) but I do know that there are no happy wars. And there is still today no happiness many places in Northern Ireland, nor will there be as long a song can be raised with a glass of stout, celebrating martyrs and mayhem, slaughter and vengeance.

For 800 years the might of the English have fought a small band of  "patriots" and stubborn folks who believe in an eye for an eye, a death with another death. There are those today who say "f**k the Brits" and "Go Home British Soldiers, Go Home."

The Treaty of Lisbon means nothing to them.

Years ago I spent 3 hours alone; one on one, with Tommy Makem, a poet, musician and storyteller from County Armagh in Northern Ireland. Three hours does not an expert make, but if I learned one thing in that time, it is that Ireland will never know freedom until the English leave. So said Makem, and so I believe.

And how much blood will it take, Tommy? Do you know? You are no longer with us, but are playing your long-neck Celtic banjo with your lads, The Clancy Brothers and drawing a perfect pint in Heavens Pub.

"Sams' Song" is sung today in pubs across the world. Youtube will slap you senseless with dozens of other ant-Brit songs filled with hate and avenging violence.

Warren Zevon came close to defining this type of terror the world over with his "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" and Dominic Behan (younger brother of Brendan) nearly nailed it with his eulogy to slain IRA member Fergal OHanlan and "The Patriot Game".

But even this song begot political fall out when the Clancy Brothers were singled out and chastised by Behan for not singing the line with says ".....and still de Velara is largely to blame. For shirking his part in the patriot game."

And so it goes. On and on. In this world where mankind is such a precious commodity even now we spill our blood and our childrens blood in places and for ideas which are, in the end, only pride.

Pride goes before the fall. Are we too blind to see?

I am sick of heart and will speak no more of this now.

(C) 2011 George Locke

 

2 comments

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It was 1960 and I was fresh out of high school. I had left rock and roll behind for a while after Dave Guard and the Kingston Trio crept up to whack me with a "Tom Dooley"-stick in 1957. Then came "The Brothers Four", "The Highway Men" and "The New Christie ." and I was hooked. I joined the Army because Uncle Sam promised he would send me to Public Information School to learn journalism, photography and a smattering of radio broadcasting. Hootenany was in the air. I followed my favorites, including the heart-breaking clear voice of Joan Baez to Korea while I wrote for "The Cavalier" and "The Stars and Stripe". I was a correspondent and photographer. Then it was on to New Mexico where I found "Peter, Paul and Mary", early" Bob Dylan" and some scratchy "Jimmy Rodgers"('The Singing Brakeman'). I bought my first guitar while I was producing radio programs for "White Sands Missile Range" and learned a few chords. I recorded a few live concerts, using purloined equipment in Coffee houses through the Southwest. Places like "The Don Quixote" in El Paso, Texas. And I listened to performers, gaining knowledge along the way. When I got out, the 60's and ?'s came hurtling at me, dressed with songs from new writers and performers. I went to broadcasting and drama school for a season in Boston and began to listen to the likes of Dylan, Tom Rush, Dave Van Ronk, Donovan, Mark Spoelstra, Patrick Skye, Jim Kweskin and Phil Ochs. I traded my $30 red and black Stella for a Gibson and began haunting places like the "Unicorn" plus "Club 47" in Cambridge and numerous clubs in New Hampshire. Then a group called "The Beatles" changed my view on everything. I became lead singer and rhythm guitarist in a band called, "The Notables". I bought a more expensive Gibson and an electric 12 string. We did 'Stone's' covers and 'Lovin' Spoonful'. I plunged into James Brown. A 22 year old white kid doing James Brown. I was nothing if not audacious. I went into commercial radio in a small market station back in NH. I wrote news, sports, rip and read weather off the teletype and interviewed everyone from William Shatner to Eugene McCarthy.and George Gobel. I got another twelve string. I got married. I acquired 4 children, and lost everything in the war. And I stopped playing for awhile. Then I met my passion. The love of my life. We married. We produced 5 children together. I was writing in earnest, after I began a spriritual journey. I started telling stories. Childrens tales, Anansi, Coyote and all the worlds mythical characters were part of a woven tapestry I still am adding to today. A friend gave me a Martin D35. Another gave me a Yamaha acoustic/electric 12 string. A few months back I sort of 'retired'. That's another way of saying I was let go. It was then I received my 'Dana Fligg' long neck banjo and am now writing for a local literary mag. I sold the Martin. I bought a Washburn acoustic/electric. My wife gave me a fire-engine red solid body Epiphone electric. I have five beautiful grandchildren. There is much more to say and much more to sing about, but I am glad to have found this place.

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