Shades of Grey

The other day, the new Album from folk duo Show of Hands arrived. This is an unusual album in that one CD has been chosen by the Band (two tracks from each studio album with some remixes & live versions thrown in) and the other chosen by the fan base, or Longdogs, as they are known.As is often the case with such an album, you stick it in and play a bit of each track. My first impression of this was fairly lacklustre- some songs I knew well (in the form presented here) and some sounded uninspiring, banal even.

however, I put it on in the car going to and from Runcorn yesterday and was delighted to find that another song had got under my skin and was worthy of much closer attention.

The first CD is called “Short Stories” and it does exactly what it says on the box. Each song paints an audio picture of something, whether farming, whaling, or the demise of English culture. One song in particular is called “Cousin Jack” and it tells the story of mass emigration from Cornwall a couple of hundred years ago. The term Cousin Jack is a nickname that denotes origins much as the term Geordie does, often meaning a Cornishman in exile. This song is a chilling lament to the economic failure of the mining industry and the need for miners to travel the world, taking their talents with them, often sending money home to their families the way many immigrants do today. In a couple of verses and a catchy singalong chorus, Steve Knightley manages to encapsulate the entire essence of the County and which way it was heading. Listening to the song, first the tune seeps into your conscience, then the craftsmanship of the playing, the richness of the harmony then finally the words start to stick and make sense. Then you find yourself singing along with vigour to the fishermen’s chorus, resisting the temptation to cup one ear (although you can visualise the singers doing it). Next, you are looking up mining terms on the internet, reading the geography and history of the South West and tracking down other versions of the song. When music grabs you by the gonads like this, you know it is good.

The song opens with the following line;

This land is barren and broken,
Scarred like the face of the moon,
Our tongue is no longer spoken
And the towns all around face ruin

And you know what? This paraphrases my barber lamenting the sad state of Bradford in the 21st Century last time I had a haircut in my lunch hour.

One of the highlights of going to Lindisfarne gigs in Newcastle in the late 70s was getting into the crowd when they did Run for Home, clapping hands over our heads in time to the beat and singing the chorus in the bit where they stop playing and the only instrument was Ray Clements thumping out the beat- dum, duh-dum/snare/… dum, duh-dum/snare/… dum, duh-dum/snare/…

Run for home…(clap) run as fast…(clap) as I can…(clap) WHOOOAAAH …running man…running for home…

(after all, I was a Geordie Cousin jack then).

I’m now really looking forward to seeing Show of Hands next week in Leeds at the tiny City Varieties. I will be watching the crowd with interest to report back to Tom Paine and I don’t expect it to be an albert Hall gig but they do have a close following and it will undoubtedly be full.

If they sing Captain Jack, I can probably do a good job at joining in the chorus;

Where there’s a mine or a hole in the ground
That’s what I’m heading for that’s where I’m bound
So look for me under the lode, or inside the vein
Where the copper, the clay, the arsenic and tin
Run in your blood and under your skin
I’ll leave the country behind
I’m not coming back
Oh follow me down cousin Jack

I might even stick my elbow out and cup my ear…

The song is on YouTube, although the Roots: version is much, much better…