Dynablob 3

Originally released in 200.
Rereleased on WOW/DRT 2003.

We asked you what you (some of you) wanted and, almost unanimously, the vote was for an entire unedited concert. So, here at the RSPCJWH, we decided to begin an archive series of unedited concerts and Dynablob 3 is the first in this series.

Recorded on 26th March 1999 at The Freight And Salvage, Berkeley,
Dynablob 3 features JWH and Robert Lloyd in full Trad Arr Jones
force. The album features the entire unedited concert, including
requests, a broken string and unexpected chat. JWH solo (6,7,8)
JWH and RL, pump organ (1,3,5)
JWH and RL, accordion (2,4)
JWH and RL, mandolin (9,10)

On Annan Water:
   Guitar, Vocals, Harmonica: JWH
   Piano: Robert Lloyd
   Pump Organ: Alison Faith Levy
   Bass: Chris Xefos
   Harmony Vocal: Ellis Paul

Dynablob 3 is a whole unedited show because it was easily the most popular vote when we asked you what you thought the next ‘Blob should be. I picked The Freight And Salvage show because it’s a representative show from this last tour and features Robert and I doing what we do best. The sound is great because the source is one of Bob Whitfield’s excellent tapes, on which Kurt Bloch and I did the minimum amount of post-production. Also the whole concert fits on to one compact disc which is an added advantage as it keeps the price down. The idea would be to do a few more of these from other tours so at least a show from every year is ‘on record’. Most of the rest would have to be two CD sets, however, due to the length of shows but, because I was playing this show with Ellis Paul, my set was a little more concise than usual!
 
Many of the usual things happen: I break a string right at the end of Talkin’…. Blues (but you can hardly tell). I invite requests, refuse some and do others. I have a conversation with an audience member that I wasn’t bargaining on. We have no idea what we’re going to play next. Some people accompany me on a song that we’ve never played together before (and in Alison’s case on an instrument that she’d never played before!) These are the hallmarks of a regular night out and, in fact, if you bought this CD at a concert, you’ve probably just witnessed some or all the above…

As you know, I am not a great advocate of the set list. However there is a great moment of audible live set-listery when you hear me say to Robert loudly (but off-mic): "Golden Glove or Isle Of France?" after Things Snowball. Obviously, this would be a whole different release if he’d chosen The Golden Glove because it would have certainly sent the show off in a totally different direction (and that’s a beautiful thing…)
 
There is a useful suggestion from an audience member that the Isle Of France is, in fact, Paris. I have done considerable historical research into this and have discovered that the Isle Of France was, in fact, Mauritius called Ile de France by the French. (Actually, the research was done by Stephen Winick of Dirty Linen magazine.)
 
It’s very interesting that the two vocal screw-ups occur during the two songs I know the best. In Things Snowball, I sing the second line of the second verse instead of the second line of the first verse, and then sing it again (which is why I then say ‘deja vu!’.) In The Red Rose And The Briar, I mess up the very bit I know best. These are ‘bad’ mistakes, if anyone minds. The perfectionist in me (oh yes, there is one…) minds a little but not enough not to release the tape (or, heaven forbid, do an overdub). I say during Window Seat, for no good reason, "I made the girl in 7b" — this isn’t the real lyric which is "I met the girl in 7b" but it’s a ‘good’ mistake because Mick Jagger wouldn’t have been able to get away with it in the 60s. But the idea was that you would receive this tape as it happened and, therefore, here it is.
 
Just to put the show in context, the previous night, in the company of James and Trudy, we had played a very strange concert in Ben Lomond, CA as mentioned during the set. After this show, James and I stayed up all night and then watched England play football at 7am at The Mad Dog In The Fog. The next morning, rather too early, Robert, Ellis Paul and I drove to Monterey where we played two shows on the Saturday night.
 
Some very good friends of mine were in the audience of this show and I’d like to thank them: The Clancys, Trudy Fisher, James Wesley Healey, The Taylors, Bruce and Babette Jackson, and Chris von Sneidern. I’d also like to dedicate it to Bob, Martin, Trudy and Rose, without whom…

A Singer's Request

Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray
Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray

Now the sun it does decline
Pour the beer and pour the wine
Let us lead your thoughts astray
From the world and from the day

Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray

We bring songs from history
Love and war and mystery
We can lead you from despair
Or can chill the darkening air

Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray

And you can choose to pass us by
With a cruel or a scornful eye
We shall see the ending through
Then we’ll turn and say to you

Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray
Dark the night and long til day
Do not bid us further stray
Dark the night and long til day

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Things Snowball

You might remember this conversation when you get older
You may recall the warning signs on the road
But if you lose all recollection
Or misplace your sense of direction
Here’s a quarter taped to the number of my phone

When childish habits are slow to die
You might look up and wonder why
Things snowball in the twinkling of an eye

You could be paying for the present on expenses
You might realise your biggest lies on a movie screen
You might be living in a mansion
Your corporation in expansion
With a broken heart that far exceeds your wildest dreams

Somewhere way under the rainbow
Dragging round an empty pot of glue
Bruised and confused it could happen to you
Seeing for the first time that dreams can come true

I was living up the stairs from a mortuary
He could hear me bring the bodies home at night
He tried to say "I was just like you"
I shouted back "you’re an old fool"
He said "listen" and I told him "I’d rather die"
But I changed my mind

Music and lyrics by Peter Case and John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

The Isle of France

Oh the sky was dark and the night advanced
When a convict came to the Isle of France
And round his leg was a ringing chain
And his country was of the Shamrock Green

I’m from the Shamrock this convict cried
That has been tossed on the ocean wide
For being unruly I do declare
I was doomed to transport these seven long years

When six of them they were up and past
I was coming home to make up the last
When the winds did blow and the seas did roar
They cast me here on this foreign shore

So then the coastguard he played a part
And with some brandy, he cheered the convict’s heart
Although the night is far advanced
You shall find a friend on the Isle of France

So he sent a letter all to the queen
Concerning the wreck of the Shamrock Green
And his freedom came by a speedy post
For the absent convict they thought was lost

God bless the coastguard this convict cried
For he’s saved my life from the ocean wide
And I’ll drink his health in a flowing glass
And here’s success to the Isle Of France

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Save a Little Room for Me

When it’s time to pack your bags
When everything appears as the drag that it is
Get down that brown case that your grandma had
Open it up and think of your dad
When you’re feeling empty
And the echoes round this cold white room have no identity
When it’s time to pack your bags
Save a little room for me

When it’s time to buy a home
When you’re sick of using a different phone everyday
Settle up your debts and then settle down
Take that suitcase back to the lost and found
When you’re feeling lonely
I guarantee the neighbourhood community will rally round you
Wait and see
When it’s time to buy a home
Save a little room for me

When it’s time to lie down
When you’re sick of the sound and the sight hurts your eyes
Wrap up warm in a single bed
Tie up the loose strings that are in your head
When you’re feeling empty
Dreams will fill you up in the Big Sleep City
When it’s time for you lie down
Save a little room for me
Save a little room for me

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

William Glenn

It’s of a ship and a ship of fame
Launched off the stocks, bound to sail the main
With one hundred and fifty brisk young men
Well picked and chosen every one
And William Glenn was the captain’s name
He was a fine and a tall young man
As fine a sailor as sailed the sea
And we were sailing to New Barbary

On the first of April, then we set sail
Blessed with a fine and a prosperous gale
And we were bound for New Barbary
With all of our whole ship’s company
We hadn’t been sailing a league or two
Til all of our whole ship’s jovial crew
They all fell sick but 63
As we were sailing to New Barbary

One night the Captain then he did dream
A voice came to him and said to him
"Prepare yourself and your company
For tomorrow night you must lie with me"
This woke the captain in a terrible fright
It being the third watch of the night
And aloud for the bosun then he did call
And to him told his secrets all

"Bosun" he said "it grieves my heart
To think I’ve played a villain’s part
A man I slew in Staffordshire
And all for the sake of his lady fair
And of the ghost of that I am afraid
That has in me such terror bred
So keep the secret within your breast
And pray to the lord that he gives you rest"

We hadn’t been sailing a league but three
Til raging grew the roaring sea
There rose a tempest up in the skies
Which did our seamen much surprise
And the main mast sprung by the break of day
Which made our rigging all but to give way
And did our seamen much afright
The terrors of that awful night

And then the bosun he did declare
That the captain was a murderer
This so enraged the whole ship’s crew
That overboard our captain threw
Our treacherous captain he being gone
Immediately there came a calm
And the winds abated and so did the sea
And we went sailing to New Barbary

And when we came to the Spanish Shore
Our good little ship for to repair
The people there were amazed to see
Our dismal case and such misery
Now seamen all wherever you may be
I pray you take a warning from me
As you love life won’t you have care
And never go sailing with a murderer.

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Talkin' Return of the Great Folk Scare Blues

Well I was born in 1965
That was a hell of a good time to be alive
Except that by the age of ten
The music had turned crap again
Now people say they wanna bring back the 70’s
I say hey give the bad music of today a chance

Punk came round, that was pretty scary
It was like a contemporary Peter, Paul and Mary
Shocking!
And before the 80’s got too far
It was time for me to pick up my guitar
Picked it up
Looked good!

All my friends turned up their noses
At Freewheelin’ and For The Roses
Preferring image over substance
A hairstyle for a musical influence
All those Ultravox records, they’re gathering dust
But me, I’m still listening to Live Rust
And if the 90’s are the 60’s turned upside down
Then the 80’s were the 60’s the right way up
Only with half the top cut off…
If you think about it!

And in the town where I did live
There was no-one I could do hoot night with
So I sat alone with my six strings
And I learned how to play and sing
Woody Guthrie’s guitar killed fascists and crime
But in Hastings, East Sussex, South of England
My guitar killed time…

And I got gigs opening for bands
And things would get outta hand
Cos big men would yell out their derision
So I developed humor as a defense mechanism…
The main band of the night would be…..
And I’d go on first and I’d get carried away…
Literally

And I moved to the big old smoky city
Just after University
And I got a gig opening for a friend of mine
Where I happened to be playing my ace in the right place at the
Right time…
So I gave up my PhD
To become a dustbowl folky
That’s Phil Ochs not Phil Oakey

And then I learned the Folksinger’s Prayer and it goes like this:

Our Father
Who art on Folkways
Ramblin’ Jack be thy name
Thy Folk City come
Thy will be done
On CD as it was on vinyl
Give us this day our daily gig
And forgive us our protest
As we forgive those who protest against us
And lead us not into electricity
But deliver us from commercialism
For Prine is the kingdom
The power of the story
Forever be clever
A minor…

So hey everybody the time is near
The Folk revival’s coming here
But it’s a tough thing to revive today
Cos it never really goes away
That’s cos it’s a good thing
So everyone it’s time to come and claim your share
It’s time to re-iron your hair
It’s time to relearn Scarborough Fayre
And in 5 years time you’re gonna look back
You’re gonna say ’I was there’
At the return of the great folk scare

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Little Musgrave

As it fell out upon a day
As many in the year
Musgrave to the church did go
To see fair ladies there

And some came down in red velvet
And some came down in Pall
And the last to come down was the Lady Barnard
The fairest of them all

She’s cast a look on the Little Musgrave
As bright as the summer sun
And then bethought this Little Musgrave
This lady’s love I’ve won

Good day good day you handsome youth
God make you safe and free
What would you give this day Musgrave
To lie one night with me

I dare not for my lands, lady
I dare not for my life
For the ring on your white finger shows
You are Lord Barnard’s wife

Lord Barnard’s to the hunting gone
And I hope he’ll never return
And you shall slip into his bed
And keep his lady warm

There’s nothing for to fear Musgrave
You nothing have to fear
I’ll set a page outside the gate
To watch til morning clear

And woe be to the little footpage
And an ill death may he die
For he’s away to the green wood
As fast as he could fly

And when he came to the wide water
He fell on his belly and swam
And when he came to the other side
He took to his heels and ran

And when he came to the green wood
’Twas dark as dark can be
And he found Lord Barnard and his men
Asleep beneath the trees

Rise up Rise up Master he said
Rise up and speak to me
Your wife’s in bed with Little Musgrave
Rise up right speedily

If this be truth you tell to me
Then gold shall be your fee
And if it be false you tell to me
Then hanged you shall be

Go saddle me the black he said
Go saddle me the grey
And sound you not the horn said he
Lest our coming it would betray

Now there was a man in Lord Barnard’s train
Who loved the Little Musgrave
And he blew his horn both loud and shrill
Away Musgrave Away

I think I hear the morning cock
I think I hear the jay
I think I hear Lord Barnard’s horn
Away Musgrave Away

Lie still, lie still, you little Musgrave
And keep me from the cold
It’s nothing but a shepherd boy
Driving his flock to the fold

Is not your hawk upon its perch
Your steed is eating hay
And you a gay lady in your arms
And yet you would away

So he’s turned him right and round about
And he fell fast asleep
And when he woke Lord Barnard’s men
Were standing at his feet

And how do you like my bed Musgrave
And how do you like my sheets
And how do you like my fair lady
That lies in your arms asleep

It’s well I like your bed he said
And well I like your sheets
But better I like your fair lady
That lies in my arms asleep

Get up, get up young man he said
Get up as swift as you can
For it never will be said in my country
I slew an unarmed man

I have two swords in one scabbard
Full dear they cost my purse
And you shall have the best of them
I shall have the worst

So slowly, so slowly he rose up
And slowly he put on
And slowly down the stairs he goes
Thinking to be slain

And the first stroke Little Musgrave took
It was both deep and sore
And down he fell at Barnard’s feet
And word he never spoke more

And how do you like his cheeks, lady
And how do you like his chin
And how do you like his fair body
Now there’s no life within

It’s well I like his cheeks she said
And well I like his chin
And better I like his fair body
Than all your kith and kin

And he’s taken up his long long sword
To strike a mortal blow
And through and through the Lady’s heart
The cold steel it did go

As it fell out upon a day
As many in the year
Musgrave to the church did go
To see fair ladies there

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

The Red Rose and the Briar

Midweek and we reached Scarlet Town
I was almost dying of thirst
We parked the car in some old schoolyard
The windscreen caked in dirt
There was no water in the engine left
No tread upon the tyres
The electrics were broke cos you went mad
You ripped out all the wires
Across the road, a small cafe
In this state of disrepair
You went for papers and a shave
So I saved you a chair
I knew it wasn’t the journey’s end
And that your dream was incomplete
But I just could not stand anymore
I was dead upon my feet
I was dead upon my feet

There’s nothing there in the market square
But the ghost of the Scarlet Town Crier
I was dead upon my feet
I sing the red rose and the briar
I sing the red rose and the briar

The waitress told me her life story
She’d always meant to up and go
She wiped a cup on her red pinafore
As we waited for you to show
And I told her just a little of you
But left the picture incomplete
You still weren’t there to paint it in person
So I skipped out on the street
I skipped out on the street
The newsagent grinned, he said yes you’d been in
You bought a local paper and some shades
The washroom attendant said that you’d freshened up
That you’d left but you hadn’t paid
And I couldn’t figure out where you were
So I went back just to look near the car
There was nothing there where it should have been
Just oil on dirt and tar
Just oil on dirt and tar

There’s nothing there in the market square
But the ghost of the Scarlet Town Crier
And there was nothing there where it should have been
I sing the red rose and the briar
I sing the red rose and the briar

I saw it parked way down the street
In a garage off on the right
And a man said ’get your hands off son’
I just traded that wreck for a motorbike
There was nothing left of mine inside
Not even the broken radio
And I couldn’t figure out where that left me
So I went back to look for Rose
The Cafe Rouge was a lunchtime rush
Of regulars yelling for food
The service in there left a lot to be desired
And all the regulars were getting rude
I saw an apron thrown over a chair
A note said ’hey John we’re gone, we’re gone’
And I just smiled cos I loved you both
So I put the apron on
I put the apron on

There’s nothing there in the market square
But the ghost of the Scarlet Town Crier
And I just put the apron on
I sing the red rose and the briar
I sing the red rose and the briar

Music and lyrics by David Lewis and John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Miss Fortune

I was born with a coat hanger in my mouth
Oh yeah, and I was dumped down south
I was found by the richest man in the world
Oh yeah, who bought me up as a girl
My sheets are satin but my mind’s a mess
But there are worse things I confess
Than drinking tea in a pretty dress
and I’m here to tell you that it’s not all bad
Count your blessings and maybe you’ll be glad

When he died, I inherited his wealth
Oh yeah and I revealed my self
I was snubbed by the friends he’d never had
Oh yeah, who sided with my dad
All my riches are beyond control
But it’s the same old rigmarole
They say I’ve lost my very soul
Maybe I have
But I’m here to tell you that it’s not all bad
Count your blessings and maybe you’ll be glad

And as I grew so did my fame
So I gave it up and changed my name
It’s catch as catch can and
You’ll never know who I am

When I died, I hoped to hear the angel’s song
Oh yeah, but was I wrong
They threw me back there in that lane
Oh yeah and they said "start again"
So when you’re turning out the bedside light
Consider me and my wretched plight
Looks like I’m gonna have to get it right this time
But I’m here to tell you that it’s not all bad
Count your blessings and maybe
You’ll be glad

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Window Seat

I was bought on by my mother as her carry-on
She had me in the toilet when the seat-belt sign was on
I crawled up to the captain down the other end
I hid under the seats that’s where I played pretend
And I ate the wild pretzel and the nuts that fell
And the screech of brakes was all I knew for my school bell
And I know I’ve got the whole world at my feet
In my window seat

I learned to eat the sweet, I learned to swallow hard
I learned to ease the pressure with free playing cards
Spent my teenage setting off all of the smoke alarms
Then running down the alley saying "please stay calm"
Met the girl in 7B, we tried to settle down
But we couldn’t reach the aisle before we hit the ground
And I know I’ve got the whole world at my feet
In my window seat

And now the sisters of the sky think I’m deaf and dumb
As I wait around for upgrades that will never come
But I know that we will one day sit on his right hand
Be his automatic pilot when this plane must land
And the stewardess of Babylon will spread her arms
And show us all a thing or two about her charms
We’ll be tempted by the devil with the magic wand
He’ll make us stand with arms outstretched then wave us on
Into the great beyond (our boarding passes gone)
And I know I’ve got the whole world at my feet
In my window seat

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Annan Water

Oh Annan Water’s wondrous deep
And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny
I’m loathed that she should wet her feet
Because I love her best of any
Go saddle to me my bonny grey mare
Go saddle her soon and make her ready
For I must cross that river tonight
And all to see my bonny lady

And woe betide you Annan Water
At night you are a gloomy river
And over you I’ll build a bridge
That never more true love may sever

He has ridden over field and fell
On moor and moss and many a mile
His spurs of steel were sore to bite
And from the mare’s feet flew the fire
The mare flew over moss and moor
And when she’d won the Annan Water
She couldn’t have ridden a furlong more
Had a thousand whips been laid upon her

And woe betide you Annan Water
At 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 up your boat
Put up your boat for gold and money
For I must cross that stream tonight
Or never more I’ll see my Annie
The sides are steep, the waters deep
From bank to brae the waters pouring
And your bonny grey mare she sweats for fear
She stands to hear the waters roaring

And woe betide you Annan Water
At 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 broad and strength did fail
And he never saw his bonny lady
Oh woe betide the willow wand
And woe betide the bush of briar
For it broke beneath the true lover’s hand
When strength did fail and limbs did tire

And woe betide you Annan Water
At night you are a gloomy river
And over you I’ll build a bridge
That never more true love may sever

Music and lyrics by John Wesley Harding (Plangent Visions Inc., ASCAP)

Alternate covers.
Artwork by Trudy Fisher.