Joanna Newsom - "Ribbon Bows" (early version w/ fiddle/drums/mandolin/vocal harmonies
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- Опубликовано: 21 сен 2024
- This is an old version of "Ribbon Bows'. The album version contains (I believe) her harp and a guitar. This is quite different, with drums, fiddle, mandolin, and some male harmonies. I saw it in 2008, during her performance of "Ys" with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and it was stunning. Between the rollicking drums and the catchy harmonies, this version of the song sounds quite different from what would appear on the record. Both, of course, are fantastic.
I love this song so much. Probably my favourite from the album. Shame it's not played as much (hardly ever) live in her concerts. I think there's a piano version too from a festival a while ago.
There are so many ways one could arrange this epic song. I would love to hear it with an orchestra!
There is a spring, not far from here,
The water runs both sweet and clear -
both sweet and clear, and cold:
could crack your bones
with veins of gold.
I stood, a-wagging, at the tap;
just a-waiting on the lagging, rising sap.
I held the cold tin ladle to my lip.
At the Shrine of the Thousand Arms,
I lowered my eyes to sip.
What a beautiful day to catch my drift,
or be caught up in it.
You want your love, Love?
Come and get your love;
I only took it back
because I thought you didn't.
How my ears did ring,
at the municipal pound,
from that old hangdog
to which I was bound:
curled 'round the bottom rung -
doesn't nobody want you?
Well, come on, darlin.
I could use someone like you around.
I am not like you, I ain't from this place.
And I do reserve the right
to repeat all my same mistakes.
And, in the night, like you,
I certainly bite and chew
what I can find,
and never seem to lose the taste.
What a horrible face I feel me make -
For Pete's sake,
what you have told me, I cannot erase! -
(Though I keep on saying,
and I do believe, it is not too late).
All day, you're hassling me with trifles:
black nose of the dog, as cold as a rifle,
indicating, with a nudge,
God, No God. God, No God.
Sweet, appraising eye of the dog,
blink once if god,
twice if no god.
My mama may be ashamed of me,
with all of my finery:
carrying on,
whooping it up till the early morn,
lost and lorn,
among the madding revelry!
Sure, I can pass.
Honey, I can pass.
Particularly when I start to tip my glass.
I'll be a sport,
and have a go at that old song,
singing unabashed, about
'Them city girls,
with their ribbon bows,
and their fancy sash...'
But, though I get so sad
(could swear the night
makes a motion to claim me,
around that second verse),
I reckon I've felt worse,
and still held fast.
But, later on, when I am alone,
alone at last,
well I take my god to task.
I take my daggone god to task.
Rawr! Welcome back to my place
You mean it?
:O