St Patrick's Day

Para aquellos que todavia no se han enterado, hoy es San Patricio, patrono de Irlanda, y con ello todo lo irlandes esta de fiesta. Por ello, que mejor modo de celebrarlo que con una guiness y la inestimable compañia (y musica, por supuesto) del grupo Pet Piper's Project; todo ello aderezado con el ambiente de un buen pub irlandes, el Max Max.
Segun me han informado, si me equivoco la culpa no es mia, el concierto empezara mas o menos a las 23:00, pero antes de ello se podra participar tocando y cantando alguna cancion.
Asi que ya sabeis, poneos vuestras kilts, coged vuestros bodhrans, violines y whistles, y nos vemos esta noche en el Max Max

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!

Para mas informacion:
http://maxmaxvalencia.blogspot.com/
http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%ADa_de_San_Patricio
http://innisfree1916.wordpress.com/2011/03/17/%C2%A1feliz-san-patricio-2/

Kilkelly

Uno de los acontecimientos que mas ha marcado la historia de Irlanda fue la llamada Gran Hambruna Irlandesa, causada mayormente por la perdida de cosechas de patata, dando lugar a una repentina falta de alimentos en el pais. Ello provocó numerosas muertes y migraciones a otros paises del mundo. Dentro de esta situación se encuentra la canción que os presento a continuación.
Escrita por Peter Jones, se basa en una serie de cartas que recibio un antepasado suyo que emigro a Estados Unidos. En ellas, el padre de este antepasado, le narra como van las cosas en el pequeño pueblo de Kilkelly, en Irlanda, las alegrias y las penas de su familia, y sobre todo como añoran volver a verle.

Letra:

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 60, my dear and loving son John

Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara's so good

As to write these words down.

Your brothers have all gone to find work in England,

The house is so empty and sad

The crop of potatoes is sorely infected,

A third to a half of them bad.

And your sister Brigid and Patrick O'Donnell

Are going to be married in June.

Your mother says not to work on the railroad

And be sure to come on home soon.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 70, dear and loving son John

Hello to your Mrs and to your 4 children,

May they grow healthy and strong.

Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble,

I guess that he never will learn.

Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of

And now we have nothing to burn.

And Brigid is happy, you named a child for her

And now she's got six of her own.

You say you found work, but you don't say

What kind or when you will be coming home.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 80, dear Michael and John, my sons

I'm sorry to give you the very sad news

That your dear old mother has gone.

We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly,

Your brothers and Brigid were there.

You don't have to worry, she died very quickly,

Remember her in your prayers.

And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning,

With money he's sure to buy land

For the crop has been poor and the people

Are selling at any price that they can.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 90, my dear and loving son John

I guess that I must be close on to eighty,

It's thirty years since you're gone.

Because of all of the money you send me,

I'm still living out on my own.

Michael has built himself a fine house

And Brigid's daughters have grown.

Thank you for sending your family picture,

They're lovely young women and men.

You say that you might even come for a visit,

What joy to see you again.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 92, my dear brother John

I'm sorry that I didn't write sooner to tell you that father passed on.

He was living with Brigid, she says he was cheerful

And healthy right down to the end.

Ah, you should have seen him play with

The grandchildren of Pat McNamara, your friend.

And we buried him alongside of mother,

Down at the Kilkelly churchyard.

He was a strong and a feisty old man,

Considering his life was so hard.

And it's funny the way he kept talking about you,

He called for you in the end.

Oh, why don't you think about coming to visit,

We'd all love to see you again.

Black is the colour

Continuamos nuestra colección de canciones con una balada. Como en todas las baladas, en ella se cuentan las bondades de su enamorada. Es una canción de origen supuestamente escocés, pudiendose encontrar una gran variedad de versiones de su letra, dando lugar incluso a interpretaciones dedicadas tanto a una mujer como a un hombre. La letra que os traigo a continuación pertenece a la versión de Christy Moore, uno de los cantantes de folk irlandes mas conocidos.

Letra:

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She's the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.

I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground, whereon she goes,
I wish the day, it soon would come,
When she & I could be as one.

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She's the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
For satisfied, I ne'er can be,
I write her a letter, just a few short lines,
And suffer death, a thousand times.

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She's the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.

Aqui la cancion interpretada por el propio Christy Moore:

Otra version interpretada por The Corrs:

Concierto Pet Pipper's Project

Despues te este largo receso, retomamos la actividad del blog con una noticia.

Si quereis pasar una buena velada, con autentica musica irlandesa en directo, estais de suerte, porque mañana sabado 29 a las 23:30 (mas o menos, no estoy seguro) en The Black Sheep tendremos de nuevo un concierto de nuestro querido grupo Pet Pipper's Project. 

Una pinta con buena musica y en buena compañia, ¿que mejor para una noche de sabado?
Nos vemos en The Black Sheep.

Traduccion: Ride On

Hoy estrenamos en el blog la seccion de traducciones. Con esta seccion os queremos descubrir las historias que narran las canciones irlandesas, canciones que hablan de temas tan variopintos como la bebida, la guerra o el amor.
Para hacer mas sencilla su busqueda y os sea mas facil encontrarlas, las traducciones se pondran directamente en las entradas originales ya publicadas, justo despues del video. Asi, por ejemplo, con la traduccion de hoy, Ride On, solo teneis que ir a la entrada que pusimos con esta cancion y ahi tendreis su traduccion al final de la publicacion. Que la disfruteis.

Molly Malone

La cancion que escuchareis a continuacion cuenta la historia de una bella mujer, llamada Molly Malone. Ella iba con su carro por las calles de Dublin vendiendo mejillones y berberechos al grito "¡Mejillones y berberechos vivos!", hasta que un dia murio a causa de una fiebres. Desde entonces se cuenta que su fastama vaga por aquellas calles entonando la misma frase.

Letra:  

In Dublin's fair city,

Where the girls are so pretty,

I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,

As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!" 

"Alive, alive, oh,

Alive, alive, oh",

Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh". 

She was a fishmonger,

But sure 'twas no wonder,

For so were her father and mother before,

And they each wheeled their barrow,

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!" 

(chorus) 

She died of a fever,

And no one could save her,

And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.

Now her ghost wheels her barrow,

Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!" 

(chorus)

The Foggy Dew

Hoy os traemos una canción sobre un combate, en ella se narran los hechos acontecidos en el Alzamiento de Pascua de 1916, momento clave en la historia de Irlanda. Esta sido interpretada por una buena cantidad de grupos lo que da lugar a una gran variedad de versiones de esta, aunque su melodía sigue siendo inconfundible...

Letra:

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha*
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

As back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew.

Aqui teneis una version interpretada por Sinnead O'Connor y The Chieftains:

Y para que tengáis opción de elegir, aquí tenéis otra versión mas movidita 
interpretada por The Young Dubliners: