Banks of Red River

Poitin

In cart Not available Out of stock

River. Métis. Blood letter. This CD reflects the Red River region through its music and its connection to the Celtic world. Through its stories, rhythms and sounds, Poitin explores the land of visionary Louis Riel and composer Andy DeJarlis, focusing on the convergence of native and Irish cultural elements. We have found a new spirit in this music, and we hope your spirit is touched as well.

Read more… close
/
  1. 1 Red River Jig 03:14
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  2. 2 Cedar Grove 04:38
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  3. 3 Lavelle's 02:59
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  4. 4 Road to Batoche 04:14
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  5. 5 Ballad of Louis Riel 03:48
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  6. 6 Bridle on the Mare 03:08
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  7. 7 Simone's Reel 03:51
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  8. 8 My Darling Dear 03:47
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  9. 9 Pembina Trail 02:41
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  10. 10 Fred and Joan's Waltz 05:25
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  11. 11 Louis Riel/Free Gardeners 03:33
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  12. 12 Boatsmen/Firemen's Reel 04:05
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  13. 13 Butcher Boy 04:27
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  14. 14 The White 99/Buffalo Gals 02:52
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  15. 15 Sliabh Luachra Polkas 03:45
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  16. 16 Banks of Red River 03:57
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /

Credits & Lyrics

River. Métis. Blood letter. 


This CD reflects the Red River region through its music and its connection to the Celtic world. Through its stories, rhythms and sounds, Poitin explores the land of visionary Louis Riel and composer Andy DeJarlis, focusing on the convergence of native and Irish cultural elements. 

We have found a new spirit in this music, and we hope your spirit is touched as well. 

CREDITS
Alex Rydell – fiddle, bass, vocals
Jason Thorstad – bass, bouzouki, tenor banjo, guitar, vocals
Jim Haney - guitar, mandolin, harmonica, vocals
Don Rice – guitar, banjo, vocals
Bonnie Haney – vocals
Lance Tessman – drums, djembe
Bob Schieffer – sound & recording, backing vocals

Produced by Bob Schieffer and Jason Thorstad
Recorded by Bob Schieffer at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN
Photography by Haney’s Photography
Graphic Design by John Berdahl
Mastering by Darren Skanson, Colorado Creative Studios
Thanks to Miss Ann Schluter, Bob Kuzak, Joe Mackintosh
All traditional tunes and songs arranged by Poitin

Copyright 2013 Poitin, All Rights Reserved


Red River Jig 
Red River Jig / Big John McNeil
traditional
3:12

Cedar Grove
Cedar Grove/Gan Ainm
words traditional, music & adaption by Jason Thorstad
Gan Ainm traditional
4:32

Of late, a noble steamer, the Cedar Grove by name
All across the briny ocean, from London City came.
Whilst steering on one stormy night, to thick to see the land
By some miscalculation near Canso she did strand

The weather thick and stormy, the lookout at his post
First saw the sign of danger, was the breakers on the coast
The order it was given, the engines to reverse
“Starboard your helm! Our ship is off her course!”
Ch.
Bound for Halifax and the city of St. John
The latter port we did belong
She was well-built on the banks of the clyde
But with rocky Canso, did collide

But straight toward the breakers, our noble ship steered on
One moment more, a fearful brought on
The engineers and firemen were hard work below
And through their perseverance, our ship did backwards go

And soon she gained deep water, and yet her doom was sealed
The briny flood rushed in, and then to port she keeled
The heavy weight of water, from forward it did go
Bursting into all compartments, and down our ship did go. 



Lavelle’s
Jason Thorstad
2:55

Road To Batoche 
Road to Batoche/ Blood Letter / Cherokee Shuffle
Road to Batoche - Andy Dejarlis, Published under license by Rig Publishing
Blood Letter attributed to Louis Riel 
Cherokee Shuffle traditional
4:11

To you I’ll send this letter
To tell of my grief and pain
And as I lay imprisoned
How I long to see you again

And you my beloved mother
And all my comrades dear
I will write these words in my own blood
For no pen or ink be near

My friends in arms, my children
Please weep for me and pray
Know I fought to keep our country
So that we may always be free

And when you receive this letter
Please weep for me and pray
That I may die with bravery
All alone that fateful day

Ballad of Louis Riel 
music traditional, words by Don Rice
3:46

Hear the tales of stalwart men who talk of days gone by
Round the fire they ramble on with anger in their eyes
About the leader of the band that kept Fort Garry safe
They tell of him who came to die on the gallows here that day

For Schultz and Scott he had no grace, he gave them both their due
MacDonald’s scorn was hotly felt, when Scott’s demise he knew
To save our land, the Great Northwest, he tread the narrow way
and Louis Riel came to die in on the gallows here today

In black cravat and clean white shirt, he listened to their lies
“They say I am a lunatic, a prophet, lo, says I”
For the people and the land, I fought, for the Meti life I pray
But Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today

Henderson, the hangman scorned, gave purpose to his hate.
He taunted Riel as he died, and the noose dealt out its fate
The Lord’s Prayer was on his lips, the prophet dared to pray
And Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today.
And Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today
.


Bridle on the Mare
music by Bonnie Haney & Jason Thorstad 
words by A.C. Doyle
3:05

Put the saddle on the mare, For the wet winds blow
There's winter in the air, And autumn all below.

For the red leaves are flying And the red bracken dying, 
And the red fox lying Where the oziers grow.

(chorus)

Put the bridle on the mare, For my blood runs chill; 
And my heart, it is there, On the heather-tufted hill, 
With the gray skies o'er us, And the long-drawn chorus 
Of a running pack before us From the find to the kill. 

Then lead round the mare,For it's time that we began, 
And away with thought and care, Save to live and be a man, 
While the keen air is blowing,And the huntsman holloing, 
And the black mare going, As the black mare can. 

(chorus) 

Simone’s Reel
Simone’s Reel / Sitting Bull / Buckskin Reel
Simone’s Reel - Eugene Lauderoute
Sitting Bull & Buckskin Reel - Andy Dejarlis
Published under license by Rig Publishing
3:51

My Darling Dear
words & music traditional, adapted by Jason Thorstad
3:44

Oh my darling dear, its you and I must part,
I am bound to cross the ocean pray keep me in your heart;
For I am to board new vessel so fare you well my dear 
I must release my days a board the binded, dusted, sphere

Oh,my darling dear, stay sound if you can,
Many a man has lost his life since this cruel war began.
Stay you near my darling dear, to keep me from the cold
For every heart and hand you've touched, has been drawn more bold

Oh, my darling dear I bitterly bid adieu
your good ship, she lies at anchor in the harbor so blue
go run up our colours and take to the sea with no fear
for you will soon let all know that time is ne'er more dear.

And when this war is over pray God has spared our spines,
and that we return in health back to our homes and lives
and when i am homeward bound to meet the arms of my dear
we'll toast the sound, sturdy timbers that did remain here.

Pembina Trail
music traditional, words by Jim Haney
2:40

John, b’ba won, b’ba won,
Why did you go, b’ba woe, b’ba woe,
down to the field, b’ba wee-yel’, b’ba wee-yel’,
Where the buffalo roll?
To-Ra, To-Ra, Taow-Ra.

For the robes, b’ba wobes, b’ba wobes,
So soft and fine, b’ba wine, b’ba wine
We chase the bis-son, b’ba woan, b’ba woan,
On the wide prairie
To-Ra, To-Ra, Taow-Ra

The wheels, squeeky wheels, squeeky wheels,
They screech and squeal, b’ba weal, b’ba weal,
On the Pembina Trail, b’ba wail, b’ba wail,
All the way to Pig’s Eye,
Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu

The girls, lovely girls, lovely girls
They dance so sweet, so sweet, so sweet
In the bright firelight, b’ba wight, b’ba wight
On the Pembina Trail
Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu

The wheels, squeaky wheels, squeakin’ wheels,
They don’ squeal no more, b’ba wore, b’ba wore,
When the girls ride the wheels, b’ba wheels, b’ba wheels
On the Pembina Trail
Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu



Fred and Joan’s Waltz
Jason Thorstad
5:23

Louis Riel / Free Gardeners
Andy Dejarlis, Published under license by Rig Publishing
3:31

Boatsmen / Firemen’s Reel
traditional
4:02

Butcher Boy
traditional
4:26

In Dublin town, where I did dwell, lived a butcher boy I loved so well
He courted me my life away, and now with me he will not stay
I wish, I wish, but I wish in vain. I wish I was a maid again
But a maid again, I ne’er can be, ‘til apples grow on an ivy tree.

She went upstairs to go to bed, and calling to her mother said
“Bring me a chair, so I sit down, and a pen and ink, so I write down”
At every word, she shed a tear, after every line, cried “Willie, dear”
Oh, what a foolish girl was I, to be let astray by the butcher boy.

He went upstairs, and the door he broke, and found her hangin’ from a rope
He took his knife and he cut her down, and in her pocket these words he found
“Make my grave large, wide and deep. Put a marble stone at my head and feet
And in the middle, a turtle dove, so the world may know, I died for love”



The White 99/Buffalo Gals
traditional
2:49

Old Fred, sitting on top of an old hill,
Trying to distill his moonshine.

And when his moonshine is distill’t’d,
All his neighbors will have a good time.

And all of the boys that drink from his bottle,
They call it the White 99.

And now old Fred is sitting by his table,
And his bottle is empty again.

Now boys, take this as good warning,
Please don’t drink Freddy’s White 99.

And when Old Fred is dead and gone,
There’ll be no more White 99.

(chorus)
Buffalo gals, won’t you come out tonight,
Come out tonight, come out tonight?
Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight,
And dance by the light of the moon?

As I was walking down the street, 
Down the street, down the street,
A pretty little gal I chanced to meet,
Oh she was fair to see.

(chorus) 

I stopped her and we had a talk, 
Had a talk, had a talk,
Her feet took up the whole sidewalk,
And left no room for me.


(chorus) 

I asked her if she’d have a dance, 
Have a dance, have a dance,
I thought that I might have a chance,
To shake a foot with her.

(chorus) 

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking,
And her knees kept a-knockin’, and her toes kept a rockin’,
I danced with a gal with a hole in her stockin’,
And we danced by the light of the moon.

(chorus) 


Sliabh Luachra Polkas
Sliabh Luachra/ Listowel / The Kerry Cow
traditional
3:45

Banks of Red River
traditional, adapted by Jason Thorstad & Jim Haney
3:51

O When I was a young girl, I heard my mother say
That I was a foolish maiden, and easily led astray
And before I would work, I would rather sport and play
With my Johnny, on the Banks of Red River

On the Banks of Red River, his love and he sat down
And he took out his fiddle, for to play his love a tune
In the middle of the tune, oh, the lovely maid, she said,
Oh, my Johnny, dearest Johnny, do not leave me

Then he took her to his lodge, and he treated her to tea,
Saying, drink. my dearest Mary, and come along with me
Saying drink my dearest Mary, and come along with me
To the lovely sweet Banks of Red River.

Then they walked and they talked, ’til they came unto a cave
Where Johnny all the day had been digging up a grave
Where Johnny all the day had been digging up a grave
For to leave his Mary low along Red River.

Then he pull’d out his trade knife, it was both long and sharp
And he plunged it right into his own dear Mary’s heart
Yes, he plunged it right into his own dear Mary’s heart
And he left her lying low along Red River.

Tramps and Triumphs

Poitin

In cart Not available Out of stock

For our 4th CD release, we thought we would take some inspiration from one of Jim's ancestors, historian and pioneer newspaperman John T. Bell, who fought with the 2nd Iowa in the American Civil War. Irish music has had a wide influence on music in America and here we explore Irish and American experiences around the Civil War era. We added some jigs and reels, some new originals and a couple of old favorites. Tramps and Triumphs it is the result.

CREDITS Jim Haney: vocals, guitar, mandolin, harmonica Don Rice: vocals, guitar, banjo Jason Thorstad: electric and acoustic basses, tenor banjo, bouzouki, guitar, vocals Alex Rydell: fiddle Pat Crary: drums, spoons Bonnie Haney: vocals Bob Schieffer: sound & recording, backing vocals

Special Guests:
Mike Kelly plays piano on Summerfly and Sally Garden Bob Stone plays guitar on Up with the Petticoats

Produced and Recorded by Bob Schieffer at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN Photography by Haney’s Photography Graphic Design by John Berdahl Mastering by Darren Skanson, Colorado Creative Studios www.poitinband.com Copyright 2010 Poitin. All rights reserved.

Read more… close
/
  1. 1 Howling Wind Reels 05:32
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  2. 2 Tramps & Triumphs 03:31
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  3. 3 Foxhunter's Reel/Cripple Creek 03:29
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  4. 4 Stewball 03:44
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  5. 5 Jiggery Pokerwork 04:03
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  6. 6 Summerfly 03:45
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  7. 7 Ann Maguire's Silver Wedding 06:17
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  8. 8 Rakes of Fargo 03:43
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  9. 9 Meeting is a Pleasure 04:40
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  10. 10 Up With The Petticoats 02:30
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  11. 11 Malahide Castle 03:16
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  12. 12 Merry Blacksmith Reels 03:33
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  13. 13 Sally Garden 03:23
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  14. 14 Keel Row Slide & Polkas 03:03
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  15. 15 Vicksburg 06:12
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /

Credits & Lyrics

CREDITS
Jim Haney -vocals, guitar, mandolin, harmonica
Don Rice -vocals, guitar, banjo
Jason Thorstad -electric and acoustic basses, tenor banjo, bouzouki, guitar, vocals
Alex Rydell -fiddle
Pat Crary -drums, spoons
Bonnie Haney -vocals
Bob Schieffer -sound & recording, backing vocals
Special Guests- Mike Kelly plays piano on Summerfly and Sally Garden 
                       - Bob Stone plays guitar on Up with the Petticoats

All traditional tunes and songs arranged by Poitin. 

Produced and Recorded by Bob Schieffer at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN
Mastering by Darren Skanson, Colorado Creative Studios
Photography by Haney’s Photography
Graphic Design by John Berdahl
Copyright 2010 Poitin. All rights reserved.



Little History by Jim Haney, Jr.
From my earliest memories, back in the Fifties, I was aware that my ancestors had fought in the American Civil War.

There was a room upstairs at my great uncle Albert Bell’s Sarpy County, Nebraska farmhouse which contained my great-great Grandfather Will Bell’s cavalry saber, two battle drums, two Springfield rifles, some cannon balls- a Sharps carbine, his bayonet, and a .36 caliber Navy Colt pistol. We knew he had been a cavalryman, in the Fifth Iowa Cavalry, and a dispatch rider. The story handed down to us was that he had been sabered in a battle and had lost an eye in the fight.

Two years ago, I drew my dad’s name for a Christmas gift. Bought him a copy of ‘Southern Storm’, by Noah Andre Trudeau, a new book about Sherman’s March to the Sea during the Civil War. While reading the bibliography, I saw that one of the sources named was ‘Tramps and Triumphs of the Second Iowa Infantry’ by John T. Bell. My ancestor’s brother. My great great great uncle.


One thing led to another, and we discovered that Uncle John T. Bell was the author of at least five books of history, two about the Civil War. Due to the wonders of the Internet, we were able to obtain copies of those John Bell books, including ‘Tramps and Triumphs’. In places in his dry dispassionate military history, he expresses his-and the other Volunteers’ belief- that common men fought and died for four terrible years –not to preserve the Union- but to end the terrible institution of Slavery.

Because it was wrong.

Hence the inspiration-and title- for our fourth album, ‘Tramps and Triumphs’. 




Howling Wind Reels
Tam Lin/Reel Beatrice/The Fermoy Lasses
traditional
5.25 

Tramps & Triumphs 
music traditional, arrangement & lyrics by Jim Haney 
3.28 

Ye fighting men of North and South
I'd have your ear my friends
A story of valor and courage told
True to meet my ends
Some volunteer lads from Iowa
Minnesota and Nebrask'
Who broke the cruel slaver's chains
Let's all hoist a flask!

(chorus)
We fought like Hell and rang the bell
Of Liberty for all
These are the tramps and triumphs of
The Second Iowa

In that cold winter of '62,
The blizzards they did blow
On board of a big side-wheeler
All the way from Old St. Lou,
We disembarked at Cairo 
To the battle sounds we marched
We charged the Rebs at Donelson,
Old Sam, he tipped his hat

We stood firm at the Hornet's Nest
General Johnston was laid low
Wallace was late and good men died
At the church they called Shiloh
The Rebs, they fought and charged four times
And the Rebel cannon roared
But they doffed their caps 
To those that were left
Of the Second Iowa

We tramped on down to Corinth town
And battled the Boys in Grey
We fought for Battery Robinett
And we raised our tattered flag
Headed South with Uncle Bill
Fighting all the way
When Savannah fell
They cheered full well
For the Second Iowa

Foxhunters/Cripple Creek 
traditional 
3.24 

Stewball 
traditional 
3.40

Old Stewball was a racehorse,
And I wish he were mine
He never drank water
He only drank wine

I rode him in England,
I rode him in Spain
And I'll bet you five dollar
I'll ride him again

His bridle was silver
And his mane it was gold
And the worth of his saddle
Has never been told

The fairgrounds was crowded
And Stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare

They're out there a'runnin'
About half way around
When the gray mare she stumbled
She fell on the ground

Then away up yonder
Ahead of them all
Come a'prancin' and a'dancin'
My noble Stewball

I bet on the gray mare
I bet on the bay
If I'd a bet on old Stewball
Be a free man today

The hoot owl she hollered
The turtle dove moaned
I'm a poor boy in trouble 
I'm a long way from home

Old Stewball was a racehorse,
And I wish he were mine
He never drank water
He only drank wine

Jiggery Pokerwork
Ships in Full Sail/Jiggery Pokerwork/Brother John
Jiggery Pokerwork permission granted by John Spiers, Fellsongs Publishing
3.58

Summerfly 
written by Cheryl Wheeler, Bug Music Publishing
3.41

In another younger day, I could dream the time away
In the universe inside my room.
And the world was really mine from June until September
And if it wasn't really so, well I was lucky not to know,
And I was lucky not to wonder why
'Cause the the summer time is all that I remember.

Summerfly was buzzing every night when I was young,
In the gentle world my child-like senses knew
When the world was just my cousin
And the wind was just the tone,
In the voice my lonely moments listened to.

And I look at me today and the dreams have gone away,
And I am where I never thought I would be,
Seeing things I never thought I would see
Happening to me.
And I lay awake at night, while the darkness turns to light,
Hearing voices calling out my name,
Droning over again the same message to me:

Crying who's your partner, who's your darling,
Who's your baby, now?
Who wakes up at night to pull you in?
Well it don't matter, you'll just make her
Lonely anyhow,
I don't know why you even try to win.

Annie Maquire’s Silver Wedding 
permission granted by John McCusker PRS/MCPS Publishing
6.12

Rakes of Fargo
Rakes of Fargo/Dubuque
Rakes of Fargo by Jason Thorstad/ Dubuque traditional
3.38

Meeting is a Pleasure 
traditional 
4.36

Meeting is a pleasure
Between my love and I
And it's down in yonder valley
I will meet her by and by.

It's down in yonder valley
I will meet her by and by
And it's with you, Lovely Molly
I will stay 'til the broad daylight

While going to Mass on Sunday,
My true love, she passed me by
And I knew her mind had altered
By the roving of her eye.

I knew her mind had altered
By the roving of her eye,
And it's farewell, Lovely Molly,
Your thoughts have wounded me.

I stepped up to my own true love 
With a bottle in my hand
Saying take you, Lovely Molly
For our courtship is at it's end.

Saying drink you off the top
Leave the bottom unto me
For there's wagers laid, and money made
That it's married we ne'er shall be.

So never marry a fair young maid 
With a blue and a roving eye
Just take her in your arms 
And don't you tell her the reason why.

Just take her in your arms until
You feel her heart to yield
For a faint-hearted soldier 
Will never gain the field.

So fare-thee-well to McCuskey Braes
That place I shall ne'er see more
And fare-thee-well to the Banna Strand
I know I'll ne'er see ye no more

For Americay lies far away
A place I shall soon go see,
And a curse upon the Kerryman who
Has parted my love and I.


Up with the Petticoats
The Smiling Little Man/Up with the Petticoats
written by Jason Thorstad
2.24

Malahide Castle 
words and music by Don Rice 
3.11

Chorus:
He stands there in Dublin Like Malahide Castle
Unmoving, unchanging For 400 years
And he wished he’d been better to her through the decades
Thank God for the whisky which makes him see clear

And the dwellers at Newgrange
They watched him
Through the haze of their crystal ball
And they wondered why he wasn’t one of them
In the depths of their earth-covered dome.

And every ritual they had there
Called ahead to his hidden name
And the trios of circles prefigured his life
And pointed him back home again

Chorus

He tried to step over the juggler
As he slept in the temple bar
He fell and knocked over the piper
Hit his head as he tumbled down

Now he floats into space around Dublin
And touches the stars spinning round
He hopes to come back for one more pint
And one more chorus of dirty old town

Chorus

He walked with the sheep around Tara
And put his hand on the magical stone
They circled around him pushing him down
Made a meal out of him truth be told

Now his essence is spread over Ireland
He is part of the emerald isle
The sheep made sure he would stay there forever
Or at least for a very long while

Chorus

Merry Blacksmith Reels
The Merry Blacksmith/The New Rigged Ship/Mrs. Margaret MacDonald's Delight
traditional
3.28

 

Sally Garden 
traditional 
3.18

Down by the Salley Gardens, 
My love and I did meet,
She passed the Salley Gardens 
With her little snow-white feet.

She bid me take love easy,
As the leaves grow on the trees,
But I, being young and foolish,
With her I would not agree.

In a filed down by the river
My love and I did stand.
And on my leaning shoulder
She laid her snow-white hand

She bid me take life easy,
As the grass grows on the weir,
But I was young and foolish,
And now I am full of tears.

Keel Row Slide & Polkas
Keel Row/Gan Ainm/Skipton Road
traditional
2.57

Vicksburg 
text traditional, music by Jason Thorstad 
6.12

On Vicksburg's globes and bloody ground
A dying soldier lay,
His thoughts were on his happy home,
Some thousand miles away.

Oh comrades dear, come close to me,
My heart's with you today,
Come hear the word I have to send
Some thousand miles away,

An' when you meet my mother dear,
Be careful how you speak,
The cords of life are almost run,
Her heart may be too weak,

An' there's another so dear to me,
She's gentle as a moonbeam
She lives behind yon distant glow,
Down by the murmurin' stream,

An' when I'm dead take this here ring
An' bear it to yon shore,
Tell to her 'tis the gift of one
Who sleeps to wake no more,

An' here's a tress her own hand gave,
With it I never shall part,
An' when I'm dead don't you forget
To press it to my heart,

The blood fast trickled down his side,
A tear stood in his eye,
He sighed, I ne'er shall see thee more,
Sweet maid, before I die.
Oh comrades dear, come close my eyes,
An' make for me my last cold bed,
Before the mornin' sun shall rise
I shall be numbered amongst the dead.

Down the Down

Poitin

In cart Not available Out of stock

An album with a mix of old favorites, maybe played a little differently, some new dance music, and some fine original songs. Jason, Bettina, and Teresa came up with some sets; Bettina, Bonnie and Don each contributed songwriting talents.

This is our third CD and the first with this line-up. The POITIN veterans, Don, Bob Teresa, Bonnie and Jim are joined by talented young musicians, Bettina Villamil, Jason Thorstad, Pat Crary and Alex Rydell.

Produced at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN by Bob Schieffer and assisted by Jared Anderson.

Read more… close
/
  1. 1 Dempsey's Jigs 05:01
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  2. 2 Waiting on the Strand 03:26
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  3. 3 Come Out Ye' Black & Tans 03:39
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  4. 4 Butterfly Slip Jigs 03:31
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  5. 5 Omie Wise 03:08
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  6. 6 Horo, Johnny 03:15
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  7. 7 Devil is Dead 03:07
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  8. 8 The Mermaid 03:56
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  9. 9 Lanigan's Ball 02:46
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  10. 10 The Reel Conciliation 03:56
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /
  11. 11 Star of the County Down 05:37
    In cart Not available Out of stock
    /

Credits & Lyrics

CREDITS 
Jim Haney - Vocals, Mandolin, Octave Mandolin, Guitar
Bonnie Haney - Vocals, Bodhran
Don Rice - Vocals, 6 and 12-String Guitars, 5-String Banjo, Irish Tenor Banjo
Teresa Brenden - Flute
Bettina Villamil - Vocals, Fiddle, Octave Mandolin, Mandolin, Guitar
Alex Rydell - Fiddle, Backing Vocals
Jason Thorstad - Bass, Guitar, Backing Vocals
Pat Crary - Drums, Bodhran
Bob Schieffer - Sound Engineering and Recording, Backing Vocals

Produced and Recorded by Bob Schieffer
Assistant Producer – Jared Anderson
Recoded at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN
Graphic Design – Raoul Gomez
Photography – Gabe and Jim Haney, Haney’s Photography and Jared Anderson
Copyright 2008 Poitin. All rights reserved


Dempsey’s Jigs
Traditional
Graemsay Jig / Around The World For Sport / Haste To The Wedding

Waiting on the Strand
Music and Lyrics by Bonnie Haney

CHORUS
You’ll be here 
You will be here
You will be here soon 
I can feel you near
I can feel you near

Standing here by day, by night
Waiting for my heart’s delight
I can see by candlelight
Where my love shall be 
Where my love shall be 

I shall wait through fog and cold
Waiting shepherds flock to fold
To me you shall come to hold
I would swim the sea
I would swim the sea

Here I’m standing o’er the hill
Waiting for my love at will
I will lie here oh so still
Waiting on the strand 
Waiting on the strand


Come Out Ye Black and Tans
Music Traditional, Lyrics by Dominic Behan

I was born on a Dublin street where the royal drums do beat.
And them lovin’ English feet, they tramped all o’er us.
And almost every night, when me dad would come home tight,
He’d invite the neighbors outside with this chorus.

CHORUS:
Come out ya black and tans.
Come out and fight me like a man.
Tell your wives how you won medals down in Flanders.
Tell ‘em how the IRA made you run like hell away
From the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra

Let them hear you tell, how you slammed the great Parnell.
How you fought him well and truly persecuted.
Where are the cheers and jeers that you bravely let us hear
When our heroes of ’16 were executed.

Tell them how you slew, those brave Arabs two by two.
Like the Zulus, they had spears and bows and arrows.
How you bravely slew each one, with your 16-pounder gun.
And you frightened them poor natives to the marrow.

The time is comin’ fast, and the day is here at last,
When each yeoman will be cast aside before us.
And if there be a need, sure my kids will yell “Godspeed,”
And they’ll sing a verse or two of this fine chorus.


Butterfly Slip Jigs
Traditional
Comb Your Hair and Curl It / The Butterfly / Barney Brallaghan


Omie Wise
Traditional

Come listen to my story, and I'll tell you no lies, 
how John Lewis done murdered poor little Omie Wise,
He asked her to meet him at Adams's spring, 
he promised her money and other fine things,

Though he gave her no money, yet he flattered the case. 
Saying we’ll go and get married, And there'll be no disgrace." 
She got up behind him, and away they did ride
All down by the river, Where the deep waters flow. 

Two boys went a-fishin’, on a fine summers day
When the body of little Omie, came floating away.
They cast their net around her, and they drew her to the bank.
Her clothes all wet and muddy, and they laid her on a plank.

Then they sent for John Lewis, for to come to that place.
And they held up little Omie, so that he might see her face.
Though he made no confession, they carried him to jail.
And no friends or relations, would go on his bail.

Horo Johnny
Sean McCarthy

CHORUS
Horo Johnny, won’t you come home soon,
The winter is coming and I’m all alone,
A candle is burning in my window, love,
And the wild geese, they are coming home.

A young man’s love is something to behold,
First it burns and then it soon turns so cold.
He’ll whisper in the moonlight and your hand he’ll hold,
Then he’ll vanish like the morning dew.

He’ll court you by a meadow in the summertime,
When first you love it is the sweetest time.
He’ll promise a golden ring and then one day,
He’ll vanish with the morning dew.

You’ll be waiting for his footsteps in the room,
Listen by the window, he’ll be coming soon.
Your heart will be breaking by the early dawn,
For he’ll vanish with the morning dew.

So come all you young men who are in your prime,
A young maiden’s love is like the rarest wine,
When first you taste it ‘tis the golden time,
Sweeter than the morning dew

Devil is Dead
Traditional

CHORUS:
Some say the devil is dead, the devil is dead, devil is dead.
Some say the devil is dead and buried in Killarney.
More say he rose again.
More say he rose again. (audience)
More say he rose again
And joined the British army.

Feed the pigs and milk the cow,
And milk the cow and feed the pigs
Feed the pigs and milk the cow,
So early in the morning.
Polly put the kettle on.
The kettle’s siging loud and strong.
Polly put the kettle on.
Get out of bed this morning.

My old man is 8 feet tall, he’s 8 feet tall, 8 feet tall.
My old man is 8 feet tall.
He drinks a lot of Guinness.
Had to build a bigger bed, 
Had to find a bigger bed,
Had to buy a bigger bed
For him and all his misses.

Katie she is tall and thin, tall and thin, tall and thin.
Katie she is tall and thin.
She likes her sugar candy.
Eats it in the bed at night.
Eats it in the bed at night
Eats it is the bed at night.
It makes her nice and randy.

My wife she has a hairy thing, a hairy thing, a hairy thing.
My wife she has a hairy thing,
She showed it to me Sunday.
Bought it in the finest shop.
Bought it in the finest shop.
Bought it in the finest shop.
It’s going back on Monday.

The Mermaid
Traditional

It was Friday morn when we set sail
And we were not far from the land
When our captain he spied a mermaid so fair
With a comb and a glass in her hand

CHORUS
And the ocean waves do roll
And the stormy winds do blow
And we poor sailors are skipping at the top
While the land-lubbers lie down below, 
While the land-lubbers lie down below

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship
And a fine old man was he
"This fishy mermaid has warned me of our doom
We shall sink to the bottom of the sea"

Then up spoke the first mate of our gallant ship
And a fine spoken man was he
Saying I have a wife in Brooklyn by the sea
And tonight, a widow she will be

Then up spoke the mate of our gallant ship
And a fine spoken man was he
Saying "I have a wife in Salem by the sea
And tonight she'll be weeping for me"

Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship
And a crazy old butcher was he
I care more for my pots and my pans
Then I do for the bottom of the sea

Three times round spun our gallant ship
And three times round spun she
Three times round spun our gallant ship
And she sank to the bottom of the sea

Lanigan’s Ball
Traditional

In the town of Athy one Jeremy Lanigan
Battered away 'til he hadn't a pound.
His father he died and made him a man again
Left him a farm and ten acres of ground.
He gave a grand party to friends and relations
Who didn't forget him when came to the well,
And if you'll but listen I'll make your eyes glisten
Of the rows and the ructions of Lanigan's Ball.

Myself to be sure got free invitation,
For all the nice boys and girls I might ask,
And just in a minute both friends and relations
Were dancing as merry as bees 'round a cask.
There were lashings of punch and wine for the ladies,
Potatoes and cakes; there was bacon and tea,
There were the Lally’s, the Lawler’s, and all the O'Heaney’s
Courting the girls and dancing away.

They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas
‘Round and around the room in a whirligig.
Julia and I, we banished their nonsense
And tipped them the twist of a real Irish jig.
Then, the girls, they all got mad at me
Danced 'til they thought the ceiling would fall.
I spent six months at Brooks' Academy
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball

CHORUS
Six long months I spent up in Dublin,
Six long months doin’ nothing at all,
Six long months I spent up in Dublin,
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.
She stepped out and I stepped in again,
I stepped out and she stepped in again,
She stepped out and I stepped in again,
Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.

The boys, they were merry, the girls all hearty
Dancing all around in couples and groups,
An accident happened, young Terrance McCarthy
Put his right leg through miss Finnerty's hoops.
Poor creature fainted and cried, ``Meelia murther,''
Called for her brothers and gathered them all.
Carmody swore that he'd go no further
'Til he had revenge at Lanigan's Ball.

Boys, oh boys, 'twas then there were runctions.
I got a kick from big Phelim McHugh.
I replied to his introduction
And kicked him a terrible hullabaloo.
Kelly, the piper, was near being strangled.
They leapt on his pipes, bellows, chanters and all.
The boys and girls, they got all entangled
And that put an end to Lanigan's Ball.

The Reel Conciliation 
Music in the Glen / An Ugly Customer / The Reconciliation
Music Traditional, Lyrics and arrangement by Bettina Villamil

Music in the Glen, Music in the Glen, 
Playing it out for all to hear again. 
Ain't had a drink since I don't know when, 
Now I'm back with my troubles singing in the Glen. 

Music in the Glen, Music in the Glen, 
Playing it out for all to hear again. 
Loved my laddie like I loved my wine, 
And I woke up with that aching heart of mine. 

Star of the County Down
Traditional

Near Ban-bridge town, in the County Down
One morning last July
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself
For to see I was really there.

CHORUS
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped sure I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and he says, says he,
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown.
Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann
She's the star of the County Down."

She’s a soft brown eye and a look so sly
And a smile like a Rose in June
And you carved each note from her lovely throat
As she lilted an Irish tune 
At the pattern dance, you’d be held in trance
As she tripped thru a jig or a reel
When her eyes she’d roll, she would lift your soul
And your heart she’d quickly steal

At the harvest fair, she’ll be surely there
So I’ll dress in my Sunday clothes
With me shoes shone bright, and me hat cock’d right
For a smile from me nut-brown rose
No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke
Till my plow is a rust-colored brown
Till my smilin’ bride, by my own fireside
Sits the Star of the County Down

Down the Down
Music and Lyrics by Don Rice

He fought at the fair. They called him the Irishman.
He fought at the fair, bare-fisted with the boys.
When he pulled their hair, they chased him through the town
And down to the river he ran.

CHORUS:
He ran down the down-stream run ‘cross the riverbed.
He ran down the down-stream riffle of the creek.
Swept o’er the falls, way down to the Mississip
And he felt himself drifting away.

He drank Irish whiskey, like it would be the death of him.
He drank Irish whiskey, like water into wine.
Lost all he had, and when they came for him
Down to the river he ran

He moved to the city, patched holes in the ballroom wall.
Moved to the city, patched up his life.
Missed his dear brother. He would never be the same.
And down to the river he ran

When he came back to town, they didn’t know what to make of him.
When he came back to town, the mayor told him “Boy…
You’re the richest man in town. By God, you showed them all.”
And down to the river he ran.


Kill Malley 
Kilmaley aka.Glen Allen / Galway Rambler / Kitty's Wedding
Traditional


Windy Day
Music and Lyrics by Bettina Villamil

So, I’m out to find true love, I hope I’m not to fail
I’m on the bow, the rigs are up, we’re off to go and sail
Will it be the captain or will the friendship fail
Or will it be the cabin boy for love to prevail
A fleeting heart, a maiden fair, I’m often in despair

Will this windy day blow me in my true love’s way?

The wind has changed, we’ve come about, the boom is on mi way
It knocked me straight, right off the ship in the middle of the sea
Did no one see, or even know, or notice that I fell?
I’m on my own swimming frantically, I damn them all to L
Then in my sight, a strapping man had offered me his hand

Has this windy day blown me in my true love’s way?

I grabbed his hand, he pulled me up, with tenderness and care
Onto a boat, with not much room, but perfect for a pair
I soon forgot the bitterness from that same early day
And on this ship, my mystery man has sailed us far away
Away from everyone and thing, to a new life and land

Has this windy day blown us in our new life’s way?

Now we’re in Ameri-cay, we’ve no-one here to know
We haven’t much, a tiny home and a garden to grow
Our little ones, sing merrily with many friends to play
Now it seems a world once grey is very far away. 
I’ve found mi love, mi love’s found me, we’ll grow so old and grey.

Has this windy day blown us in our new love’s way

When You And I Were Young, Maggie 
1866, G.W. Johnson, and J.A. Butterfield
-This was a favorite song of Jim's maternal grandparents,Margaret & John Lally of Vail, Iowa

I wandered today to the hills Maggie
To watch the scene below
The creek and the creaking old mill Maggie
Where we sat long long ago

The green grass is all gone from the hill Maggie
Where once the daisies sprung
The creaking old mill now is still Maggie
Since you and I were young

CHORUS 
And now we are agèd and grey, Maggie, 
And the trials of life nearly done, 
Let us sing of the days that are gone, Maggie, 
When you and I were young.

A city so silent and lone, Maggie, 
Where the young, and the gay, and the blest, 
In polished white mansions of stone, Maggie, 
Have each found a place of rest, 
Is built where the birds used to play, Maggie, 
And join in the songs that we sung; 
And we sang as gayley as they, Maggie, 
When you and I were young. 
And now I'm feeble with age, Maggie, 
My steps are less sprightly than then, 
My face is a well-written page, Maggie, 
And time alone was the pen. 
They say we are agèd and grey, Maggie, 
As sprays by the white breakers flung, 
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie, 
When you and I were young.