Paul Brady - The Green Fields of Canada (montage)

No copyright claim, against any audio or image content, is assumed in the publishing of this video. Copyright is owned by original artist or artists, or their legally appointed representatives. http://www.paulbrady.com/ form the 1985 album charity album "Feed The Folk" Temple Records - FTP01 Originally recorded by Paul while in studio recording his album 'Back To The Centre' this first appeared on a charity album in 1985 to raise money for Ethiopian famine victims called 'Feed The Folk'. Paul plays tin whistle, keyboard and sings. "This version, newly recorded by Brady at the Birdland Studio in Bucks, with engineer Hugh Murphy, is a curious and haunting rendition. Although essentially a song of hope and aspiration, set at the time of the second great economic migration from Ireland, and not the Great Famine, the sparse accompaniment, of echoed whistle and plaintive harmonium-like keyboards, give the song an irresistible undercurrent of desolation . The minor key and fragile phrasing that Brady employs ensures that the song is nothing less than an aching cry of melancholic despair. Like a giant wave of pity breathing on some lonely southern Galway shoreline, it is an exquisitely balanced masterpiece off unsettled longing. Eire's own "Hiraeth"...... but before the traveller has even gone." Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and shamrock, Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round. May their hearts be as merry as ever I would wish them When far away across the ocean I'm bound. My father is old and my mother quite feeble, To leave their own country it grieves them full sore. Oh, the tears down their cheeks in great drops they are rolling To think they must die upon a foreign shore. But what matters to me where my bones may be buried If in peace and contentment I can spend my life. Oh, the green fields of Canada they're daily a-blooming; That I'll find an end to my misery and strife. So it's pack up your sea stores and consider no longer, Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay; With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages When you're on the green fields of America. The sheep run unsheared and the land's gone to rushes; The handyman's gone and the winder of creels. Away o'er the ocean go journeyman tailors And fiddlers who flaked out the old mountain reels. But sure I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing, When lots of our tradesmen did work for good pay. But since out manufacturies have crossed the Atlantic, Sure, now we must follow to America. So it's pack up your sea stores and consider no longer, Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay; With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages When you're on the green fields of America. And it's now to conclude and to finish my ditty; If ever friendless Irishmen chances my way: With the best in the house I will greet him and welcome At home on the green fields of America. So it's pack up your sea stores and consider no longer, Ten dollars a week isn't very bad pay; With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages When you're on the green fields of America.