All tracks written by Steve Tilston except Track 7 Steve Tilston, Chris Smither; Tracks 9 trad. arr. Steve Tilston
Produced and arranged by Steve Tilston and Chris Newman Recorded at Old Bridge Music Ilkley, West Yorkshire Engineer Chris Newman Digital Editing and mastering by Warwick Pilmer at Beaumont Street Studios, Batley Co-ordination assistance Bill Byford Cover painting Rachel Bray Photograph by Janet Kerr Sleeve design and artwork Bryan Ledgard
Steve Tilston, vocals [1-10, 13], Spanish guitar , acoustic guitar [2-13], harmonica [10, 13]; Maggie Boyle, vocals , bodhrán [1, 4, 9], harmonium , flute [5, 12]; Tony Hinnigan, charango , pan pipes , cello [4, 6, 8-9]; Chris Newman, guitar , acoustic bass [1, 3-4, 8], piano ; Richard Curran, violin [3-4, 6, 8-9, 12]
Soon Comes The Rain (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Soon comes the rain. In a little while, dry skin crack old wrinkled smile. Tongues that wag, dogs that bark, Soon comes the rain, skies getting dark.
And in a game of cards old men place their bets, bless themselves, and roll up a cigarette. And in the hills see the lightning flash, and in the distance hear the thunder crash. Soon comes the rain, soon comes the rain.
All who breath wake from your sleep. from under the stones see the reptiles creep. from the earth is all life born. from the earth springs the green corn.
Soon comes the rain … etc.
Steve Tilston: vocal, spanish guitar (EADGBE) Tony Hinnigan: pan pipes, charango Chris Newman: acoustic guitar, bass Maggie Boyle: bodhran
And So It Goes … (Tilston. Hubrisity)
So round and round, this old world spins. One day you loose, the next you win. And so it goes, for everyone. One day you’re here, the next you’re gone.
You might be of royal blood as blue as Spanish skies. Life will cut you soon enough, it’ll cut you down to size. Every man must leave his hearth. Every King his throne. Though Kings find it harder still to leave the world alone.
You might be a fisherman who casts his nets so wide. You’re still a captive of the wind, subject to the tide. Day and day you chase the shoals, watch the dolphins dive. In your heart you know you’lI never leave the seas alive.
You might be a general sat astride your horse. Dreaming up your stratagems for changing history’s course. It’s all just pieces on a board, you don’t hear mothers weep? Do the cries of lowly pawns ever pierce your sleep?
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (DADGBE)
Don’t Blame The Wind (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Oh sometimes the wind it will do crazy things, make you think that it’s playing a game. Stop you dead in your tracks, try to beckon you back. Make you think that it called out your name.
And between walls of stone you’ll stand there alone, wondering which way to take or to turn. You may look with both eyes, but the greatest surprise, is the lesson you forgot to learn.
Chorus Don’t blame the wind, no don’t blame the wind. If your choices should turn out wrong. Don’t blame the wind, no don’t blame the wind. for it carried you this far along.
Oh, between your ten toes, feel the dust of time blows, all footprints soon fade away. Oh and the hardest road will crack and erode for always the wind has its say.
Just before the sun’s rise a man closes his eyes. On the next wing a new babe is born. And in the darkest night even heros take flight, and like roosters crow for the dawn.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar Chris Newman: piano, bass Richard Curran: violin
Hideaway (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Somewhere in Whitehall a grey civil servant buries the truth in a file, marked classified secrets, no one’s to peek till the pyramids float down the nile. Neath a wig and a gown see some pontificous clown decide that nothing’s revealed. To encourage the others, truth is on trial, found guilty, its fate quietly sealed.
Hide away, behind their secrets Tightly bound by the old school tie. Hide away, theirs the Treason Ours is not to reason why. The Iron Lady is over the water, peddling presumption and pride. It’s called good house-keeping, though the house is left leaking, through the holes that she made on the side.
And see the smoke signals that rise from the third world. There’s gold in the lungs of a child. It’s good market freedom, first hook’ em then bleed’ em. Everything gets justified. Are these supposed to be, the ones that we cheer then go following blind?
While men armed with shovels crawl on their bellies and pick at the bowels of the earth. Lesser men pick on the bones of their struggle, deciding how much it is worth. From their high places those sleek well-bred faces peer down and then grandly disclaim. They are the enemy lurking within, see they’re pouring it all down the drain.
All the arms dealers, high office deceivers decide where the red carpet’s curled. Bogota or Baghdad the money ain’t bad its ‘real livin’, in the ‘real world’. They have the audacity now the capacity they don’t care who they must hang. But who cleans the mess? It aint no ‘Brown Bess’, it goes off with a much bigger bang.
Steve Tilston: vocals, acoustic guitar (DADGBE) Tony Hinnigan: cello Richard Cunan: violin Chris Newman: bass Maggie Boyle: bodhran, harmonium
Goodbye To The Snow (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Goodbye to the snow, soon even the back roads will clear. Now is the time to go, there’s nothing for me here. I will melt away, between the rocks I’ll retreat. Cold will be the day, when next we chance to meet.
Go gather me up the spring. The spring has never failed me yet. One last look behind. There’s a chance that I might forget. I might forget. That it’s too late for regret.
Goodbye to the snow. Beneath the roots I have peered. Seen new life a’glow, gone are all reasons for fear. Now comes the time, only a faint heart would wait. This chance is mine, only a fool would talk of fate.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (DADGBD) Richard Curran: violin Tony Hinnigan: cello Chris Newman: bass
Can’t Shake These Blues (Tilston/Smither. Homunculus Music)
What ever I try I just can’t shake these blues What ever I try I just can’t shake these blues There’s a black crow that’s been circling’ me. Been tryin’ to shake me from my tree. Shake through and through but it just don ‘t shake these blues. It’s kind of a clue when you finally find me alone, Just a dark lump of shadow with nobody taking me home. Fear is a shadow that shades my soul, dark is a demon that swallows me whole, ’till I shake in my shoes but it just don’t shake these blues.
I don’t believe I’m down in this hole again. I don’t believe I’ve lost my way. I do believe I’ll sit here stranded ’til l shiver and shake my life away. I’ve been sick in my time, this aint nothin’ new. It’s just worse than the first and it lasts just as long as I do. I went to my Doctor, such a waste of time, he gave me a bottle full of dope of some kind, it said shake for your use, but it just don ‘t shake these blues.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (EADGBE), harmonica
Is This The Same Boy? (Tilston, Hubrisity)
Is this the same boy who whistled with the wind? A gap tooth smile to chase the clouds behind those hills of childhood, and caused the sun to stay?
Is this the same boy who called for cake in his sleep? fought the demons, caused the rocks to weep, with breathless stories that banished cares away?
Is this the same boy in tattoes and tatters? who snarles like a wild dog, lurks in the shadows? Grabs at the small change, smashes the bottle? Damns you to hell as he staggers and totters? Down the lane, Down the lane, Surely not the same boy?
Is this the same boy who always had bloody knees, Swung like a monkey through the tallest trees. learned the hard way that only angels fly, Is this the same boy who sang so high and pure, Built a castle on the the sandy shore, Tried to save it from the rising tide,
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (EADGBE) Tony Hinnigan: cello Richard Curran: violin Chris Newman: bass
The Dowie Dens of Yanow (Trad arr.Tilston. Hubrisity)
There was a lady in the north, she n’er could find her marrow. She was courted by nine gentlemen and a ploughboy lad from Yarrow.
These nine sat drinking at the wine as they had done before-o, They made a vow to fight with him, on the dowie dens of Yarrow.
So she’s washed his face and combed his hair. Just like she’d done before-o And laid a blade down by his side, to fight for her in Yarrow.
Well, it’s three he’s slain and three retired, and three he’s wounded saw-o ’till her brother John stepped in behind and pierced his body through.
So she’s washed his face and combed his hair. Just like she’d done before-o And she’s kissed the blood clean from his wounds. On the dowie dens of Yarrow.
Oh father dear I dreamed a dream, I dreamed it will prove sorrow, I dreamed I was pulling heather bells, On the dowie dens of Yarrow.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (DADGBD) Tony Hinnigan: cello Richard Curran: violins Maggie Boyle: bodhran
Blues for the Northwind (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Hark hear the winter as it prowls across the moor. Rattles through the birches, howls outside my door.
I brush aside the dead leaves, the wind blows them back. finds a way to enter, chides me through the cracks.
The sky is full of thunder, my head is full of storms. I once knew a woman, who tried to keep me warm.
Kept my heart from freezing, then came the icy looks. I bartered fire for reason by burning all my books.
All some other lifetime, an ice age ago. All of those footprints were covered by the snow.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (EADGBE) Maggie Boyle: flute Richard Curran: violin
Lilypond (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Oh and I was born to wander. Sometime to squander time on a wager, for a fleeting glance at a greater treasure. Gone like the golden ripples on a lily pond.
Oh and often in my fingers, the creak of whiskey lingers. I fret the strings like a drunken dancer, chasing a passing fancy somewhere over the hills.
I oftimes rise on wings of iron, that defy the laws of nature, and gaze down at a thousand rocky peaks, with thoughts of lost adventure.
I once had room for heroes, my face pressed at the window. I thought I saw the hidden answers, in the cool reflection of a fiery glow.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (DADGBE), harmonica
Back Where I Came From (Tilston. Hubrisity)
Went down to the river, tried to get across, called out for a ferryman, but the ferry man was lost. And I said, I’ve been down here too long, and if I’d known where it was I started, well I’d go back where I came from.
They’re selling up the country, cutting up the pie. If the moon was made of cheddar cheese they’d be selling off the sky. And I said, I’ve been down here too long, and if I’d known where it was I started, Well I’d go back where I came from.
Cutting down the foundations, letting the whole thing slide. Steaming up their windows so they don’t have to look outside. And I said, I’ve been down here too long, and if I’d known where it was I started, Well I’d go back where I came from.
So one of these mornings, send me back to school, with an apple for the teacher I won’t be nobody’s fool. And I said, I’ve been down here too long, and if I’d known where it was I started, Well I’d go back where I came from.
Steve Tilston: vocal, acoustic guitar (EADGBE), harmonica