Sarah McQuaid UK tour update

Updated UK gig list from the ludicrously talented and hardworking Sarah McQuaid (see http://www.sarahmcquaid.com/tour for details of addresses, times, ticket prices etc):

Nov 1 Launceston: No. 8 Cafe & Deli
Nov 2 Trowbridge: The Village Pump @The Lamb
Nov 3 Stroud: Minchinhampton Market House
Nov 4 Barnstaple: ThePlough @StAnne’s
Nov 6 Northampton: Great kNight Folk Club
Nov 7 Pontyclun: Llantrisant Folk Club
Nov 8 Carmarthen: The Parrot
Nov 9 Shrewsbury: Snailbeach Village Hall
Nov 10 Doncaster: Cast
Nov 12 Surbiton: House Concert
Nov 13 Newport Harbour: Quay Arts – Anthony Minghella Theatre
Nov 14 Southampton: The Chapel Sessions
Nov 15 Redbourn Folk Club
Nov 16 Newbury: ACE Space
Nov 17 West Kirby Arts Centre
Nov 18 Southport: Bothy Folk Club
Nov 19 Barnoldswick Music & Arts Centre
Nov 22 St Margaret’s Hope: Cromarty Hall
Nov 23 Hoy: Gable End Theatre
Nov 25 Edinburgh: Assembly Roxy
Nov 28 Carlisle: Old Fire Station
Nov 29 Rothbury Roots
Nov 30 Tewkesbury: The Old Baptist Chapel
Dec 1 Bovey Tracey: South Devon Music
Dec 2 Truro: Old Bakery Studios

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How to say goodbye (live version)

Taken from Ian Semple’s radio show on CoastFM, summer 2018.

I really ought to get round to recording this properly.

Lyric and back-story here.

David Harley

Snowbird (live version)

A version recorded live for a CoastFM Live Lounge session. Words and music (such as it is) by me. A few rough patches but the guitar is mostly in good shape: I’m really going to have to record this properly one day.

A version recorded live for a CoastFM Live Lounge session. Words and music (such as it is) by me. A few rough patches but the guitar is mostly in good shape: I’m really going to have to record this properly one day.

I’ve got me a golden needle to help me tie my threads
I’ve got a bottle for my baby and a blanket for my head

So lay down, lay down mama, lay down and let me be
Somehow I feel like old cold turkey has his claws in me

If I had a silver dollar like I had one thin dime
You know I’d clip that turkey’s wings with another shot of turpentine

And if I had me a roll as thick as my right leg
You know I’d fly back up up country like a snowbird to its nest

I’m going back right now, back to my daddy’s farm
If I can find me a rag to bind up my right arm

Soul food when I’m hungry, white lightning when I’m dry
And maybe I’ll get to feeling better by and by

So lay down mama, lay down and let me be
Somehow I feel like old cold turkey has its claws in me

Another song I’ve written several times: basically, I wanted to do something based on the Cocaine Blues/Honey Take a Whiff on Me theme. Eventually this version popped out as a (more or less) eight bar blues around 1976.

David Harley

Wrekin [demo]

If you’re familiar with the Welsh Marches Line, it probably won’t surprise you that the first draft of this was born on my way from Shrewsbury to Newport.

This version is more solid than the previous version and incorporates a bit of second guitar.

Wrekin (words and music by David Harley)

The Abbey watches my train crawling southward
Thoughts of Cadfael kneeling in his cell
All along the Marches line, myth and history, prose and rhyme
But those are tales I won’t be here to tell

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

Lawley and Caradoc fill my window
Facing down the Longmynd, lost in rain
But I’m weighed down with the creaks and groans of all the years I’ve known
And I don’t think I’ll walk these hills again

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

Stokesay dreams its humble glories
Glories that will never come again
Across the Shropshire hills, the rain is blowing still
But the Marcher Lords won’t ride this way gain

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

The royal ghosts of Catherine and Arthur
May walk the paths of Whitcliffe now and then
Housman’s ashes grace the Cathedral of the Marches
He will not walk Ludlow’s streets again

The hill is crouching like a cat at play
Its beacon flashing red across the plain
Once we were all friends around the Wrekin
But some will never pass this way again

And I may never pass this way again

David Harley