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An English folk tune. Rebsie Fairholm sings, I don't. This is an example of what might have happened if electric guitars had been around in medieval times. The Lyke Wake Dirge is a very old song about the soul's journey through purgatory. T
punk rock folk groove celtic accordion fiddle fretless political english jigs leftwing tut tricks upon travellers knocker boys
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An eclectic collection of songs taking in most styles of music from acoustic folk to jazz, heavy rock and orchestral ballads.
TUT started in the early 1990s playing a punk folk hybrid. A politically aware band we wrote all our own material and had a good deal of critical (if not financial!) success with our first 3 CDs - "Cillataped", "The Last Fish Supper" and "Where the Skeletons Dance" - with an appearance at Glastonbury the high spot. One thing which was a constant was the need to entertain. No-one wants to be slapped round the face with a wet fish polemic so we made sure we always communicated with the audience (mind you at some gigs we could have gone round and had individual conversations although I was always disappointed the one man never brought his dog). The band lost Grahame Hobbs (singer) and Mark Knight (fiddle) in 2001 and with me the only original band member left the last CD "From another Plaice" was a real departure from the previous "in yer face" style - Much more acoustic and darker both musically and lyrically. TUT2 folded in 2003 and since then I've been writing and recording with various people and in our "virtual" band The Phobias with Richard Marris. Mostly cheerful stuff like murder and corruption. I've also been working once again with TUT's old singer Graeme Hobbs on a series of contemporary rock operas and contributing songs to a campaign to keep a London housing estate from being bulldozed by the council and replaced by luxury flats
Song Info
Charts
Peak #129
Peak in subgenre #14
Author
Trad arr Fairholm/Langford
Rights
Fairholm/Langford
Uploaded
November 26, 2007
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.8 MB 128 kbps 5:13
Lyrics
This ae nighte, this ae nighte Any nighte and alle Fire and fleet and candle-lighte And Christe receive thy saule When thou from hence away art past Any nighte and alle To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last And Christe receive thy saule If ever thou gavest hosen or shoon Any nighte and alle Then sit thee down and put them on And Christe receive thy saule But if hosen or shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane Any nighte and alle The whinnes will prick thee to thy bare bane And Christe receive thy saule When thou from hence away art past Any nighte and alle To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last And Christe receive thy saule If ever thou gavest meat or drink Any nighte and alle The fires will never make thee shrink And Christe receive thy saule But if meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane Any nighte and alle The fires will burn thee to thy bare bane And Christe receive thy saule This ae nighte, this ae nighte Any nighte and alle Fire and fleet and candle-lighte And Christe receive thy saule this ae nighte = this one night fleet = floor or hearth Whinny-muir = moorland covered with nasty prickly spiky stuff hosen and shoon = socks and shoes (useful for crossing prickly spiky moorland) whinnes = gorse spikes bane = bone Brig = bridge
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