Aussie Bush Ballards etc rapidshare

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Redgum

this is a musical version of the famous Banjo Paterson poem "clancy of the Overflow" about a drover in 19th century outback Australia.

Most Australians would know this almost word for word, well the first verse at least

A profile of redgum can be found here;
http://octopussgarde.forum5.com/viewtopic.php?t=254&start=0&postdays=0&postorder=asc&highlight=&mforum=octopussgarde

the download link
http://rapidshare.com/files/87174530/clancy_of_the_overflow.rar

the words

Clancy of the Overflow
Andrew Barton ‘Banjo’ Paterson

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows, “Clancy, of The Overflow”.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
’Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
“Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.”

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving “down the Cooper” where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal—
But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of The Overflow.

Guest

I was only 19

Only Nineteen aka I Was Only Nineteen aka A Walk in the Light Green is the most widely recognised song produced by Australian folk group Redgum. The song was released in March 1983 as a single and then recorded on the live album Caught in the Act (Epic Records), which hit number one in Australia, and the album stayed in the top forty for four months. Redgum's John Schumann wrote the song based on experiences he heard from veterans (particularly Mick Storen and Frankie Hunt). The single reached #1 on the Australian charts for two weeks in 1983. Royalties for the song go to the Vietnam Veterans Association of Australia. It is in APRA's top 30 of All Time Best Australian Songs.

"The power derives from the detail, provided by my mate and brother-in-law, Mick Storen, who was brave and trusting enough to share his story with me." John Schumann.
The song is sung as a first person account of a typical Australian infantry soldier's experience in the Vietnam War, from training in Australia to first hand exposure to military operations and combat, and ultimately his return home disillusioned, psychologically scarred and possibly suffering from the effects of the chemical defoliant Agent Orange.

Download Link

http://rapidshare.com/files/87176526/I_Was_Only_Nineteen.rar

Guest

Diamantina drover

Another song from "caught in the act"

Download

http://rapidshare.com/files/87251560/The_Diamantina_Drover.rar

THE DIAMANTINA DROVER - by Hugh McDonald. An Aussie classic arranged by The Bull Plain Riders. A drovers reflections about his life in the Australian outback after a younger life in the city. Seems his job droving cattle in the outback might just last a lifetime.

Guest

And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

http://img169.imagevenue.com/img.php?image=19352_000a_122_809lo.jpg

"And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" is a song, written by Eric Bogle in 1972, describing the futility, gruesome reality and the destruction of war, while criticising those who seek to glorify it. This is exemplified in the song by the account of a young Australian soldier on his maiming during the Battle of Gallipoli during the First World War. The song is a vivid account of the memories of a young Australian man who, in 1915, had been sent to Gallipoli - who "for ten weary weeks" kept himself alive as "around me the corpses piled higher". He recalls "that terrible day" ... "in the hell that they called Suvla Bay we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter" ... "in that mad world of blood, death and fire". In its clear and stark retelling of the events of the battle and its aftermath, it is a passionate indictment of war in general.

The song incorporates the melody and a few lines of "Waltzing Matilda's" lyrics at its conclusion. Cover versions of the song have been performed and recorded by Joan Baez, Priscilla Herdman, The Clancy Brothers, The Dubliners, Slim Dusty, The Fenians, Mike Harding, Jolie Holland, John McDermott, Midnight Oil, Christy Moore, The Pogues, The Skids, June Tabor, John Williamson and the bluegrass band, The Kruger Brothers. The Pogues cover is perhaps the best-known version; critic Robert Christgau wrote that vocalist Shane MacGowan "never lets go of it for a second: he tests the flavor of each word before spitting it out."

The song is often praised for its haunting imagery of the devastation at Gallipoli. The protagonist, a rover before the war, in the story loses his legs in the battle, and later notes the passing of other veterans with time, as younger generations become apathetic to the veterans and their cause.

The song, written in 1972, has also been interpreted as paralleling the Vietnam War. The song rails against the romanticising of war. As the old man sits on his porch, and watches the veterans march past every ANZAC Day: "The young people ask what are they marching for, and I ask myself the same question".

The song was originally eight verses long but Eric Bogle pared it down to five verses without reducing its meaning. The song might have been forgotten, but at the 1974 National Folk Festival in Brisbane, Eric entered another song in a songwriting competition. The first person who performed sang two songs rather than just the one, so everyone who followed did the same and so Eric also sang "Matilda" to great acclaim and consternation by some when it did not win the competition. Jane Herivel from the Channel Islands heard the song and got Eric to send her a recording. She sang it at a festival in the south of England where June Tabor heard it and later recorded it. Unbeknownst to Bogle, the song had become famous in the UK and North America and when Bogle was in the UK in 1976 he was SPAMised to be asked to perform at a local folk club on the strength of the song.

American Vietnam veteran and Medal of Honor winner Senator Bob Kerrey sang the song to his supporters at the end of his Presidential campaign in 1992, and borrowed the first line for the title of his autobiography, When I Was A Young Man: A Memoir.

Download
http://rapidshare.com/files/87254606/And_the_Band_Played_Waltzing_Matilda.rar

Guest

The Man from Snowy River is one of Australia's most famous poems written by one of Australia's most famous poets, Andrew Barton (Banjo) Paterson.

http://img127.imagevenue.com/img.php?image=66185_000a_122_809lo.jpg
An image from the movie of the same name shows the man from snowy river galloping down a steep decent, taken from the poem.

The poem tells the story of a horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prizewinning racehorse that escaped from its paddock and is living wild with the brumbies (wild horses) of the mountain ranges. Eventually the brumbies descend a seemingly impassably steep slope, at which point the assembled riders give up the pursuit, except the young hero, who spurs his pony down the "terrible descent" to catch the mob.

Several characters mentioned in the early part of the poem are featured in previous Paterson poems, "Clancy of the Overflow" and Harrison from "Old Pardon, Son of Reprieve".

This is AB Patersons poem put to music by one of Australias greatest story tellers, Slim Dusty.

Download Link
http://rapidshare.com/files/87423068/The_Man_from_Snowy_River.rar

the poem

The Man from Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up —
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thoroughbred at least —
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die —
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, ‘That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.’
So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend —
‘I think we ought to let him come,’ he said;
‘I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

‘He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.’

So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, ‘Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.’

So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, ‘We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.’

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat —
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

Guest

The Wild Colonial Boy

This is a traditional Irish/Australian Ballard about a young man robbing from the rich and helping the poor etc etc, the same story you alway hear from that era.
This is a version from prominent band Dr Hook, who toured Australia and fell in love with the ballard.

http://rapidshare.com/files/88705353/Wild_Colonial_Boy.rar

versions of the song by other artists have appeared in such films as "the quiet man" staring John Wayne and a popular American version was made by Burl Ives.

Lyrics

There was a wild colonial boy,
Jack Duggan was his name
He was born and raised in Ireland,
in a place called Castlemaine
He was his father's only son,
his mother's pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love
the wild colonial boy
At the early age of sixteen years,
he left his native home
And to Australia's sunny shore,
he was inclined to roam
He robbed the rich, he helped the poor,
he shot James MacEvoy
A terror to Australia was
the wild colonial boy
One morning on the prairie,
as Jack he rode along
A-listening to the mocking bird,
a-singing a cheerful song
Up stepped a band of troopers:
Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
They all set out to capture him,
the wild colonial boy
Surrender now, Jack Duggan,
for you see we're three to one
Surrender in the King's high name,
you are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his belt,
he proudly waved them high
I'll fight, but not surrender,
said the wild colonial boy
He fired a shot at Kelly,
which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis,
he received a fatal wound
A bullet pierced his proud young heart,
from the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him,
the wild colonial boy