Danny boy

"Danny Boy" is one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs ever written. If you've heard it, you were moved. You’ve probably heard it sung by a women or a man with an Irish lilt, and a voice so lovely that everything around just... stops. The sound is stunning, but I wonder if you’ve really heard the words.

The melody is Irish, but the words were written, not by an Irishman, but by an English lawyer and writer, Frederick Edward Weatherly in 1910, just after the death of his father. Mr. Weatherly had no roots in Irish music, the original version of “Danny Boy” was actually set to a completely different tune. His sister, Margaret, from America, heard "A Londonderry Air" from Irish immigrants and sent it to Weatherly who found that it fit the words of "Danny Boy" with minor adjustment. The current version of the song was published in 1913, the year before the start of World War One.

It has been said that the song was about Irish youth being marched off by the pipers to fight the Brits, or perhaps immigrating to the new world. But the bagpipes are played by many people in England (Irish, Scottish, and English alike) at important events; Weatherly heard them at his father’s funeral; he later said "there is nothing of the rebel song in it, and no note of bloodshed". There is no hint in the words of Danny being in danger.

Where is Danny going then? What takes our children from us? Not race, not wars, not resettlement, not anything we can hope to avoid; but instead the hopeless end, age, the passing of time, and the cycle of life. At some point the children must go on without us, as we have gone on without our own dear mothers and fathers:



Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so
And when ye come, and all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an Ave' there for me
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me
And all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be
For you shall bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me

My Unca Glen runs the Roseville Big Band (how many guys can say they've run a big band these days?) and this is him singing his big band version of "Monster Mash." Although we can certainly act as silly as the next bunch, in general, we Newtons don't dance (my wife's genetics have apparently spared my kids since they are both in ballet) but Glen does a pretty good monster here... And "Igor" nails the voice... And the band is great of course; over all it's a fun bit for the big band crowd.

I sing, you just suffer.

My dear uncle Glen sent me a song list he had reciently played as a DJ at a company funciton and asked if I and his daughter had performed any of them: I thought my answer was amusing enough to share. Professional music, or rather the reaction people have to those who are not professionals, has been a sore point with me for years. I long for the days of the entire pub singing along with the one guy who can play the piano. Everyone "sings"; thats the way it should be.

The only songs on that list that I’ve “performed” are “Dancing Queen” (the ABBA version, ‘cause I’m in touch with my feminine side) and “Rock around the clock” ‘cause I’m a big enough dork to think I can pull that off. And by “performed” I mean sang along with the radio or CD. And by “sang” I mean croaked.

What I’ve performed in front of people, other than with the church choir (which the entire family is now in: S.A.T.B. Allie, Maria, Remy, Me) includes “Brother Can You Spare a Dime” and “Power to the People” (aka “Bomb the World to Peaces”) both of which were recorded and both recordings will remain mercifully hidden.

There was also “Country Roads” with two other guys and ukes; another guy playing one he made and me on the one I inherited from dad, We lost our place about ¾ of the way through. I mean, how do you loose your place in “Country Roads”?

And I sang “Morning has Broken” with a nice older lady from the church and I’m fairly sure I didn’t break it, but there was no recording so I can keep fooling myself.

4 of us did a arrangement by a 5^th of the barbershop classic “On the Banks of the Wabash”; we worked on it so hard we almost quit, we got to the point that we hated it. But we sang it _perfectly_ several times. Then when we performed it, our bass got off on the wrong note and it sucked all the way through. We haven’t been able to find a new bass. We were nice; he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

In the near future, I hope to again embarrass myself, by singing something well beyond my technical ability; and enjoy the heck out of it. Because that is my terrible secret: No matter how totally incompetent I am, I truly love singing. I just love it.

Y’all can just suffer.