Far From The Tree

by TEYR

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    A beautiful gatefold imprint with original artwork and a 16 page booklet filled with photography, scribbles and lyrics.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Far From The Tree via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 5 days

      £10 GBP or more 

     

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

      £8 GBP  or more

     

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about

TEYR
Cornish num / f “three” (tɛɪr / tay-er)

James Gavin
Dominic Henderson
Tommie Black-Roff

Ours is the image of a flying seed, a sycamore wing, a sculpted samara. It contains the tale of our origin, the means for our journey and the intent of our future. Cornish artist Billy Wynter made our samara by the same fashion lanterns are built in west Cornwall for solstice celebrations and feast days, from whithies and papiermâché.

We make folk music. The name suggests the music of a people, but in today’s interconnected world, the myth of separate races and cultural boundaries has begun to fall away. The Folk, if they ever existed, live on now in our stories, our songs and our imaginations.

So what are we doing? We are the sycamore seed. We have many threads. Some lead from Kernow, Éire, Euskadi and London. Some lead from our families, parents, and grandparents. Some lead from notions of tradition, ways of forming notes, words, melodies and music. But the seasons shifted and we drift loose of old attachments. We fly, like many of our generation, free from our past, drifting or driving. Our tree gave us these wings, the means to fly. Yet how far we travel and where we land is up to the wind and up to us. This album is our first landing.

First there was a jam session, almost every Sunday on Holloway Road since 2012. That session evolved into TEYR. Of course that’s not what we called ourselves at first, but casting round for a name we grasped for something open and simple. The Cornish Language, with its connection to us through Tommie held the answer. Teyr is the feminine form of the number 3. But three of what? Take your pick: teyr leuvyow (three hands), teyr notennow (three notes), teyr karetys (three carrots) or maybe just teyr neujen (three threads).

© & ℗ TEYR - Sleight Of Hand Records 2016
all rights reserved

www.teyr.co.uk

credits

released September 23, 2016

Produced and mixed by Gerry Diver
Recorded in South London
Mastered by Nick Watson at Fluid Mastering

Sculpture: Billy Wynter
Photography: Hannah and Tremendous Percy
Design: Dan Biddulph

tags

tags: folk London

license

all rights reserved

about

TEYR London, UK

Folk trio TEYR evolved out of London’s thriving session scene, combining bothy ballads, focsle shanties, folk tunes and Irish poetry. Their unique blend of voices and instruments draws links between the many sounds of the Celtic and British isles.

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Track Name: Banks of the Newfoundland
You western ocean labourers
I’ll have you all beware
That when you sail them packet ships
No dungaree jumpers wear
But have a big monkey jacket
All ready to your hand
For there blows some cold Northwesters
On the Banks of the Newfoundland

As I lay in me bunk one night
A-dreaming all alone
I dreamt I was in Liverpool
On the way to Marylebone
With my true love beside of me
And a jug of ale in hand
When I woke quite broken-hearted
On the Banks of the Newfoundland, the land, the land

We’ll scrape them and scrub them
With holystone and sand
For there blows some cold Northwesters
On the Banks of the Newfoundland

We had Jack Lynch from Ballinahinch
Mike Murphy and some more
And I’ll tell you boys they suffered like hell
On the way to Baltimore
For they'd pawned their gear in Liverpool
And sailed as they did stand
For they'd pawned their gear in Liverpool
Not thinking of Newfoundland

Well we had one female passenger
Bridget Reilly was her name
Unto her I had promised marriage
And on me she had claim
For she tore up all her petticoats
To make mittens for my hands
Saying I can’t see my true love freeze
On the Banks of the Newfoundland, the land, the land

We’ll scrape them and scrub them
With holystone and sand
For there blows some cold Northwesters
On the Banks of the Newfoundland

We’ll scrape them and scrub them with holystone and sand [Repeat]

Well the mate he did stand on the foc’sle head
And loudly did he roar
Now rattle her in me lucky lads
We’re bound for America’s shore
Come wipe that blood off a dead man’s face
And haul or you’ll be damned
For there blows some cold Northwesters
On the Banks of the Newfoundland

Well our luck has changed once more me lads
And the land is white with snow
And soon we’ll see the pay table and spend the night below
And down the docks come down in flocks
The pretty girls will demand
It’s snugger with me than on the sea
On the Banks of the Newfoundland, the land, the land

We’ll scrape them and scrub them with holystone and sand
For It’s snugger with me than on the sea [Repeat]
On the Banks of the Newfoundland
Track Name: Hosting of the Sidhe
The Host is riding from Knocknarea, over the grave of Clooth-na-bare,
Caoilte tossing his burning hair, and Niamh calling away, come away:
Empty your heard of its mortal dream, winds awaken leaves whirl around,
Our cheeks are pale our hair unbound, our breasts are heaving our eyes are agleam.
Are arms are waving our lips are apart, and if any gaze on our rushing band;
We come between him and deed of his hand, we come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is riding ‘twixt night and day, and where is there hope or deed as fair,
Caoilte tossing his burning hair and Naimh calling away, come away.
Track Name: The False Lady
Abide abide, true love, she said, beg and stay all night
For you can have pleasure all in my room near coal and candle light, light
Coal and Candle Light

I won’t abide you false lady, beg and stay all night
For I’ve got a far better love to enjoy when I go home than you, you
When I go home than you

And as he stooped over her saddle bow, to kiss her lips so sweet
With a pen knife all in her hand, she wounded him full deep, deep
Wounded him full deep

Why woundest me you false lady, why wound’st me full sore
There’s not a doctor in all Scotland can heal my mortal wound, wound
Heal my mortal wound

She woke her maids the next morning, at the break of day
Saying there’s a dead man in my bed chamber, I wish he was away, away
I wish he was away

And some took him by the lily white hand, some took him by the feet
And they threw him in a very deep well full fifty fathoms deep, deep
Fifty fathoms deep

Lie there lie there you false young man, lie there lie there alone
Let that woman that you love best think you’re long a’coming home, home
Long a’coming home

Then up spoke a pretty little bird, sitting in a tree
“An ill death may you die lady, he had no love but thee thee
Had no love but thee”
Come down from there you pretty little bird, and sit upon my knee
For I have a golden cage at home I’m sure to give to thee thee
I’m sure to give to thee

I won’t come down you false lady and sit upon your knee
For you have slain your own true love I’m sure you would slay me me
I’m sure you would slay me

Oh if I had my bow to bend, my arrow and my string
I’d shoot you through the very heart upon the leaves so green green
Upon the leaves so green

Well if you had your bow to bend, your arrow and your string
I’d take my winds and away I’d fly, you’d never see me again, again
You’ll never see me again, again, you’ll never see me again, again
You’ll never see me again
Track Name: Nothing Grows
Apple grows on apple tree
Mighty oak from bird dropped seed
Chestnut, conker, king of nine
Swinging pendulum piece of twine
Nothing grows where nothings been
Nothing grows where nothings been

Willow slipped, to multiply
woven basket, turf supply
Mountain, ash, rowan berry
Gone you, the flowering cherry
And nothing grows where nothings been
Nothing grows where nothings been

Seed, sapling, branch, the tree
life-cycle, legacy
Seed, sapling, branch, the tree
life-cycle, legacy
Nothing grows where nothings been
Nothing grows where nothings been
Track Name: Huntley Town
As I came in by Huntley Town one morning for to feed
I met with Bogey of Lenny and with him I did agree
To bide his two best horses the harrow and the plough
And do anything about the farm that I very well should know

Now Bogey had a daughter dear, her name was Isabelle
She was the fairest in the vale, I’m sure I loved her well
And when she went a-walking she took me as her guide
Down by the banks of the Lenny to watch the small fishes glide

So I put my arms all around her waist and her feet from her did slide
It’s there she took her will of me down by Lenny waterside
She swore she’d never tell of me and the wild birds wouldn’t tell
My lily of the valley, my red rose down in the dell

Now when nine months had gone and past this lassie lost her bloom
The red rose fell down from her cheeks and her eyes began to swoon
Twas just before the harvest time when Bogey sent for me
He said his eyes as black as night, it is you I wish to see

If what my daughter says is true we no longer shall agree
And its down the road you’ll right now and not a penny of your fee
Says I’m a man you’re fairly right and I hung my head in shame
But I’ll marry her tomorrow morn and I’ll give to her my name

So I took my young son in my arms and much joy to him I’ll bring
And maybe he’ll mean as much to me as the young girl that I adore