Released November, 1999
Recorded and Mixed by Jeff Balke, Zero Zero 8 Production (Houston, TX)
Recorded and Mixed by Dan Yeaney, Houston Audio Labs (Houston, TX)
Produced by Wolf Loescher, Off Hand Productions
Photos by Christina Ford
Graphic Design by Wolf Loescher
© 1999 Off Hand Productions. All Rights Reserved.
- Amazing Grace, Again (Words and Music by Wolf & Michael Loescher)
- The Shepherd’s Wife (Words and Music by Robert Burns)
- Lies (Words and Music by Stan Rogers)
- Loch Tay Boat Song (Traditional)
- The Errant Apprentice (Word by Bill Watkins, Music by Gerry O’Beirne)
- Diesel & Shale (Words by Cyril Tawney, Music by Tom Lewis)
- Under Fiery Skies (Words and Music by Spencer Franklin)
- Holy Grail (Words and Music by Wolf Loescher)
Musicians
Wolf Loescher – Lead Vocals, Backing Vocals, Irish Bouzouki, Rhythm Guitar, Percussion, Highland Pipes
Steve Rees – Lead Guitar, Backing Vocals (1)
Wayne Wilkerson – Lead Guitar (8)
Amy Price – Fiddle (5,7)
Bill Galbraith – Backing Vocals (6)
Michael Loescher – Backing Vocals (1)
Amazing Grace, Again
A song about my experiences as both drummer and pipe with the Silver Thistle Pipes & Drums (Austin, TX). The judges weren’t impressed by our assorted piercings and knee-high green Doc Martins, hence, no Prizes for Deportment. (Philistines!)
Another day on the thin red line
Between the present and the past
My feet they hurt, my shoulder is numb
But they say “This too shall pass.”
The women they blush, and the old men cry
And the children they run away
A dog starts howling somewhere down the street
As the pipes begin to play
Chorus
Amazing Grace, again
Auld Lang Syne, my friend
And the low road, it never ends
Will ye no come back again?
Well I started out young, and I practiced real hard
To try to make the grade
But now I’m older, and all I’m thinking about
Is getting through this damn parade
Yet still I return, again and again
Though the novelty has died
Is it the machismo, or the leather, or the luke-warm beer
Or something deeper down inside
Through endless competitions, and highland games
The songs remain the same
The tartan, and the shortbread, and the single malt
And the “Mac” before the name
Mighty influential for a backwards place
On the edge of the Third World
Strange how everyone becomes a Scot
When the pipes begin to skirl
We won’t win any prizes for Deportment
But when all is said and done
I become my best self
When I’m strapping on that drum
So we’ll put up with the jokes and the hateful stares
For this noise that would curdle stones
“Band! By the right!”, and we’re heroes again
As the pipes kick in the drones
Words and Music by Wolf & Michael Loescher
© Off Hand Productions
WL – Lead Vocals, Rhythm Guitar, Highland Pipes
SR – Lead Guitar, Backing Vocals
ML – Backing Vocals
The Shepherd’s Wife
A song in broad Scots about marital negotiations. The wife in questions thinks her husband has been spending unseemly amounts of time with his livestock, and offers various inducem3ents to encourage his return home.
The Shepherd’s wife cries o’er the knowe
Will ye come hame, when will ye come hame
The Shepherd’s wife cries o’er the knowe
Will ye come hame again e’en, jo
What will ye gie me tae my supper
Gin I come hame, gin I come hame
What will ye gie me tae my supper
Gin I come hame again e’en, jo
Ye’se get a panfu o’ plumpin parridge
Wi butter in them, aye wi butter in them
Ye’se get a panfu o’ plumpin parridge
Gin ye’ll come hame again e’en, jo
Ha, ha how! That’s naething that dow
I winna come hame, I canna come hame
Ha, ha how! That’s naething that dow
I winna come hame gin e’en, jo
A reekit fat hen, weel fried i’the pan
Gin ye’ll come hame, gin ye’ll come hame
A reekin fat hen weel fried i’the pan
Gin ye’ll come hame again e’en, jo
A weel made bed, and a pair o’ clean sheets
Gin ye’ll come hame, gin ye’ll come hame
A weel made bed and a pair o’ clean sheets
Gin ye’ll come hame again e’en, jo
A luving wife in lily-white linens
Gin ye’ll come hame, gin ye’ll come hame
A luving wife in lily-white linens
Gin ye’ll come hame again e’en, jo
Ha, ha, how! That’s something that dow
I will come hame, I will come hame
Ha, ha, how! That’s something that dow
I will come hame again e’en, jo
Words and Music by Robert Burns
WL – Vocals, Bodhran
Lies
A wonderfully poignant song about self-perception.
At last the kids are gone now for the day
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away
Another day to tend the house and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she’s dancing with her man
Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine
And maybe last year’s Easter dress will serve her one more time
She’d pass for twenty-nine but for her eyes
But winter lines are telling wicked lies
Chorus
All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or disguise
They must be telling lies
Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand?
No need to search that mirror for the years
The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears
So this is Beauty’s finish, like Rodin’s “Belle Heaulmiere”*
The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife’s toil and care
Well, after seven kids, that’s no surprise
But why cannot her mirror tell her lies
Then she shakes off the bitter web she wove
And turns to set the mirror, gently, face down by the stove
She gathers up her apron in her hand
Pours a cup of coffee, dripps Carnation from the can
And thinks ahead to Friday, ’cause Friday will be fine!
She’ll look up in that weathered face that loves her’s, line for line
To see that maiden shining in his eyes
And laugh at how her mirror tells her lies
Words and Music by Stan Rogers
© Fogarty’s Cove and Cole Harbour Music
WL – Vocals, Irish Bouzouki, Guitar
Loch Tay Boat Song
A Loescher family favorite, I learned this one (and many more) from The Corries.
When I’ve done my work of day
And I row my boat away
Doon the waters of Loch Tay
As the evening light is fading
And I look upon Ben Lawers
Where the after glory glows
And I think on two bright eyes
And the melting mouth below
She’s my beauteous nighean ruadh
She’s my joy and sorrow too
And although she is untrue
Well, I cannot live without her
For my heart’s a boat in tow
And I’d give the world to know
Why she means to let me go
As I sing “horee horo”
Nighean ruadh, your lovely hair
Has more glamour I declare
Than all the tresses rare
‘Tween Killin and Aberfeldy
Be they lint white, brown or gold
Be they blacker than the sloe
They are worth no more to me
Than the melting flake of snow
Her eyes are like the gleam
O’ the sunlight on the stream
And the songs the fairies sing
Seem like songs she sings at milking
But my heart is full of woe
For last night she bade me go
And the tears begin to flow
As I sing “horee, horo”
Traditional (Scotland)
WL – Vocals, Guitar
The Errant Apprentice
Thanks to “Uncle Billy” (whom I met at Kieran’s in Minneapolis) for this wonderfully silly song. Kudos to Amy for her impromptu fiddle stylings.
When I was a young apprentice, and less than compos mentis
I took leave of all my senses, with a maid I fell in love
Her ringlets so entwined me, Aphrodite’s smile did blind me
Cupid’s arrow struck behind me…and her father owned a pub
It was there I met my nemesis in her father’s licensed premises
Like the Seraphim of Genesis sat Mary Anne Maguire
Arrayed in fine apparel, astride a porter barrel
She looked the kind of girl that would fill you with desire
All the turtle doves were cooing as I took to my wooing
Her Loveliness pursuing in the springtime of that year
But she thought I should be older, and more gallant and much bolder
In the uniform of a soldier, ’tis then she’d hold me dear
In extremis and euphoria I joined with Queen Victoria
For a spell of death or gloria a-fighting with the Boers
To the wind I threw all caution, I’ll return with fame and fortune
And together make a portion of matrimony’s chores
On the gravestone of her mother she swore she loved no other
But I was to soon discover that she played me for a berk
For lady-luck had beached me, and intelligence had reached me
Whilst I’d been overseas she had married to a Turk
Well me, I then deserted for to find the girl who’d flirted
Back to Ireland I reverted, for my jealousy was roused
In Maguire’s Pub in Derry, I found him making merry
With his arms around my Mary as together they caroused
So I took my time and waited until his thirst was sated
And home he navigated through the streets of Derry town
At his lodgings he stood knocking, and whilst they were unlocking
I put a stone into a stocking on his head I brought it down
‘Twas then the night’s serenity was rent with loud obscenity
And Ottoman profanity that I couldn’t understand
With an oath he made to grab me with full intent to stab me
But as he tried to kebab me I was screaming up the strand
All around the town’s perimeter he chased me with his scimitar
A powerful passion limiter to an errant in his pride
Through the waterside he chased me, to the Bridge of Foyle he raced me
And at Derry Quay he faced me…so I jumped into the tide
Sure bravery’s no virtue when some heathen’s trying to hurt you
And all noble thoughts desert you when you see his curly knife
For there’s many things worth trying for, and occasionally worth lying for
But there’s bugger-all worth dying for, so I’ll stick to the single life
Word by Bill Watkins, Music by Gerry O’Beirne
WL – Vocals, Irish Bouzouki, Bodhran
AP – Fiddle
Diesel & Shale
Thanks to Bill for pointing out that this is not, in fact, a shanty…but a “For Bitter”…the sort of song you sing in the pub (preferably in return for a beer).
On the 5th of November back in ’53
The big man at Dolphin, sure, he sent for me
“We brought you here, sonny, ’cause we want you to know
We’ve booked you a berth in water below”
With the diesel and shale, diesel and shale
We’ve booked you a berth with the diesel and shale
But when I protested, “I’m no volunteer”
They said “we ain’t had one in many’s a year
But that’s a wee secret between you and me
There’s many a pressed man down under the sea”
With the diesel and shale, diesel and shale
Down under the sea with the diesel and shale
“Oh doctor, oh doctor, I don’t think I’m well”
“Well, never mind, sonny, we’ll very soon tell
Try holding your breath ’til I counts up to three
There! That proves you’re fit to go under the sea”
With the diesel and shale, diesel and shale
To go under the sea with the diesel and shale
I went to the storeroom to gather me rig
They gave me a sweater ten sizes too big
I climbed down that boat like an old polar bear
I says to meself “there’s a smell in the air”
And it’s diesel and shale, diesel and shale
There’s a smell in the air and it’s diesel and shale
A blast on the klaxon, ring on the gong
And then you go down where no mortal belongs
Where the air’s goin’ bad, the bread’s goin’ stale
They mix you a nightcap of diesel and shale
Diesel and shale, diesel and shale
They mix you a nightcap of diesel and shale
We circled the Med for a summer or two
Where the water’s so warm and the sky is so blue
‘Least that’s what they tell me, but I wouldn’t know
You don’t see much sun when you’re stuck down below
With the diesel and shale, diesel and shale
When you’re stuck down below with the diesel and shale
“Oh Susie, oh Susie, won’t you be mine?
Submariners’ wives have a hell of a time
You’ll live like a duchess with cash on the nail
If you don’t mind the smell of the diesel and shale”
Diesel and shale, diesel and shale
If you don’t mind the smell of the diesel and shale
Then the big man at Dolphin, ‘e told me at last
“It’s time you went back to your ship with a mast”
“I’ll feel just like Jonah, leaving his whale
But you know where to stick all your diesel and shale
Diesel and shale, diesel and shale
You know where to stick all your diesel and shale
Words by Cyril Tawney, Music by Tom Lewis
© Philip Martin Cunningham and Galactic Playground Music
WL – Lead Vocals, Backing Vocals
Bill Galbraith – Backing Vocals
Under Fiery Skies
Here’s to happily ever after…this one is always for my wife, Christina.
He spent a long time waiting for the storm
And when it came, she was beautiful
Her hair in wet ribbons drowning her face
And she laughed in the rain and sang under fiery skies
Chorus 1
So wrap her in the finest gauze
And try to hide the subtle flaws
That spring like hope, eternal, from her rainy lips and shining eyes
And dinna’ try to stay her with the fingers of your hand
For the clouds are drawn away by the morning
He spent a long time waiting for her hand
And when she granted it, he kissed her solemnly
And went to book their passage to a far off land
Where their fortunes lie awaiting under fiery skies
So wrap her in the finest gauze
And try to hide the subtle flaws
That spring like hope, eternal, from her rainy lips and shining eyes
And dinna’ try to stay her with the fingers of your hand
For the clouds are drawn away by the morning
They spent a long life working in the sun
And when the evening came, he wrapped his arms around her head
And laid her down beside him on the warm, receptive earth
And they laughed as the shadows moved across the fiery skies
So wrap her in the finest veil
And though the roses turn to pale
And spring no longer blossoms in her rainy lips and shining eyes
You willna’ have to stay her with the fingers of your hand
For the clouds are drawn away by the morning
Words and Music by Spencer Franklin
WL – Vocals, Guitar
AP – Fiddle
Holy Grail
A song of damnation and redemption, trigger by M. Scott Peck’s book “The Road Less Traveled”.
I woke to find me shaking, chilled by a bitter wind
That howled across the wasteland that I found myself in
And pulling out my map to see where I had strayed
It crumbled in my hands, and with my dreams it blew away
And so I looked around me, and then into my soul
To find myself another dream, some kind of worthwhile goal
But all I saw was emptiness, and all I heard was noise
The road ahead was paved in shadow, the road behind with shallow joys
Is this my path? Is this my trail?
Am I the pilot? Am I riding my own rail?
Is this my ocean? And my wind that fills my sail?
Is this my calling? Is this my holy grail?
My faith it had been shaken, it was a dull and flickering flame
A brilliant sidewalk masterpiece, dissolving in the rain
I felt myself as empty as the pockets of my jeans
My ship it listed crazy as it leaked at every seam
But then I saw you shining, like a beacon in the black
A fixed point for my compass, a life vest on my back
So I took my first step forward, leading with my heart
And I realized that this is where every journey ends and starts
Is this my path? Is this my trail?
Am I the pilot? Am I riding my own rail?
Is this my ocean? And my wind that fills my sail?
Is this my calling? Is this my holy grail?
For we’re made up of the hard miles, of our failures and temptations
We’re a product of our travels, not just our destinations
How we choose to get there as important as where we’re going
How we choose to change and grow as important as the growing
This is my path. This is my trail.
I am the pilot. I am riding my own rail.
This is my ocean, and my wind that fills my sail.
I hear you calling — you are my holy grail.
Words and Music by Wolf Loescher
© Off Hand Productions
WL – Vocals, Rhythm Guitar, Percussion
WW – Lead Guitar
Special thanks to…
The Corries, Tom Lewis, Ed Miller, and Nobody’s Reel for inspiring me to get out from behind my drums and try my hand at being a singer.
Thanks to…
Christina (my Holy Grail, and the best wife ever), the Loescher family, the Kellaway family, Bill Galbraith, Amy Price, Steve Rees, Wayne Wilkerson, Dan Yeaney, Jeff Balke, Silver Thistle Pipes 7 Drums, Deanna Smith & Free Whiski, “Blarney Matt” Williams, Ray Younkin, McGonigel’s Mucky Duck, Mary & John at Melody’s Traditional Music, Neil Sargent, Harry O. & Rockin’ Robin’s Guitars, Les Hock, Judy Shea, Jay & Kim Ford, Preston Murchison & the “Wolf Gang.”