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Jethro Tull: Songs from the Wood

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Chrysalis Records
Released: 1977.02.15
Time:
 41:45
Category: Progressive Rock
Producer(s): Ian Anderson
Rating:
Media type: CD
Web address: www.j-tull.com
Appears with: Ian Anderson, Martin Barre
Purchase date: 1993.04.23
Price in €: 15,99





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Songs from the Wood (I.Anderson) - 4:52
[2] Jack in the Green (I.Anderson) - 2:27
[3] Cup of Wonder (I.Anderson) - 4:30
[4] Hunting Girl (I.Anderson) - 5:11
[5] Ring Out, Solstice Bells (I.Anderson) - 3:46
[6] Velvet Green (I.Anderson) - 6:03
[7] The Whistler (I.Anderson) - 3:30
[8] Pibroch [Cap in Hand] (I.Anderson) - 8:37
[9] Fire at Midnight (I.Anderson) - 2:26

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


IAN ANDERSON - Lead Vocals, Flute, Acoustic Guitar, Mandolin, Whistles, All Instruments on [2], Arrangement
MARTIN BARRE - Electric Guitar, Lute, Additional Material, Arrangement
JOHN EVAN - Piano, Organ, Synthesizers, Arrangement
BARRIEMORE BARLOW - Drums, Marimba, Glockenspiel, Bells, Nakers, Tabor, Arrangement
JOHN GLASCOCK - Bass Guitar, Vocals, Arrangement
DAVID PALMER - Piano, Synthesizer, Portative organ, Additional Material, Arrangement

ROBIN BLACK - Engineer
TREVOR WHITE - Assistant Engineer
THING MOSS - Assistant Engineer
JAY L. LEE - Cover Artwork

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1977 LP Chrysalis 1132
1990 CS Capitol 21132
1990 CD Capitol 21132
1995 CS Chrysalis F4-21132
1995 CD Chrysalis F2-21132
1996 CD Alliance 21132
1996 CS Alliance 21132
1998 CD Mobile Fidelity 734



Released Feb. ’77. In avoiding big concert toursfor almost two years and moving from the city to the countryside, Ian Anderson had a chance to relax and rekindle his interests in British folk music. Ian’s new songwriting was refreshed, and the band rose to the challenge of the new music that combined Heavy Rock with folk-influenced acoustic guitar. The second album recorded by the band’s sixth line-up – this collection of excellent songs was seen as a comeback for the band. David Palmer didn’t officially become a member of the group until three months after the release of ‘Songs From The Wood’, but his work did appear throughout the album.
On the strength of renewed airplay and an excellent concert tour, the album charted N.8 in the US and No.13 in the UK. The tour also marked the first time Tull had played in England for over 3 years.

J-Tull.com



Ian Andersons vertrauter Singsang setzt ein, kündet von "Songs From The Wood", geleitet von einem A cappella-Bandchorus, die ersten Querflötentöne -- und schon sieht man vor dem geistigen Auge den Vormann, Sänger und Flötisten auf einem Bein stehen und trillern. Ihr schrulliges, sympathisches Image pflegten Jethro Tull hier 1977 auch im Album-Untertitel: "with kitchen prose, gutter rhymes and divers". Ihre "Küchenprosa" samt "Gossenreimen" packten sie im Jahr nach ihrem ketzerischen Hit "Too Old To Rock'n'Roll, To Young To Die" in delikate Arrangements, bei denen die folkloristische Komponente noch stärker dominierte als sonst. Von akustischer Gitarre, Mandoline und Laute über Marimbas, Glockenspiel und allerlei Pfeifen bis zur portablen Handorgel ist allerlei leises Instrumentarium versammelt, und tritt im Titelstück ebenso prominent und wohlbalanciert im Klangbild auf wie in "Jack-In-The-Green" oder dem übermütigen "The Whistler". Dabei schwingen die Songs wie Schiffchen auf einem Fluß und ziehen dank einschmeichelnder Melodik spontan in den Bann. Songs From The Wood sollte für Ian Anderson, Martin Barre und Co. kommerziell wie künstlerisch auf Jahre der vorerst letzte große Erfolg sein.

Claus Böhm - Amazon.de



Mit "Songs from the wood" stellt Jethro Tull wieder einmal eindrucksvoll unter Beweis, dass erdiger Rockn Roll und eine klassisch hervorragend gespielte Querflöte eine sehr explosive Mischung ergeben können. Ring out, Solstice bells, Pibroch und The Whistler belegen dies sehr deutlich. Allen Stücken auf dieser CD merkt man an, daß Anderson und Co wirklich Spaß am spielen ihrer Instrumente haben. Bei Jack-In-The-Green zeig Ian Anderson daß er schon damals alles in der Welt spielen und singen konnte.
Dabei versetzt die CD den Hörer so ungefähr in den Sherwood Forest zu Robin Hood und den anderen Gesellen des Waldes. Äußerst erholsam, aber nie langweilig! Diese CD ist gehört zu den die man einfach gehört haben muß und nie wieder vergessen wird.



Far and away the prettiest record Tull has released at least since Thick as a Brick, and a special treat for anyone with a fondness for the group's more folk-oriented material. Anderson had moved to the countryside sometime earlier, and it showed in his choice of source material. The band's aggressive rock interplay and Anderson's fascination with early British folk melodies produce a particularly appealing collection of songs--the seriousness with which the group took this effort can be discerned by the album's unofficial "full" title on the original LP: "Jethro Tull with Kitchen Prose, Gutter Rhymes, and Divers Songs from the Wood." The group's sound was never more carefully balanced between acoustic folk and hard rock--the result is an album that sounds a great deal like the work of Tull's Chrysalis Records label mates Steeleye Span (though Nigel Pegrum never attacked his cymbals--or his entire drum kit--with Barriemore Barlow's ferocity). The harmonizing on "Songs from the Wood" fulfills the promise shown in some of the singing on Thick as a Brick, and the delicacy of much of the rest, including "Ring Out, Solstice Bells" (where the group plays full out, but with wonderful elegance), "Hunting Girl," and "Velvet Green," set a new standard for the group's sound. "Pibroch (Cap In Hand)," which is dominated by Martin Barre's electric guitar--in a stunning array of overlapping flourishes at full volume--is the only concession to the group's usual hard rock rave ups, and even it has some lovely singing to counter-balance the bulk of the song.

Bruce Eder - All Music Guide
 

 L y r i c s


Songs From The Wood

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.


Jack-In-The-Green

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree -
in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground -
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.
It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green -
no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier -
carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack, do you never sleep -
does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
motorways, powerlines,
keep us apart?
Well, I don't think so -
I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.


Cup of Wonder

May I make my fond excuses
for the lateness of the hour,
but we accept your invitation, and we bring you Beltane's flower.
For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
will heed the song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.
Ask the green man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones that show the sun its way to bed.
Question all as to their ways,
and learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of nature's palm
crossed with silver and with gold.
Pass the cup and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.

Join in black December's sadness,
lie in August's welcome corn.
Stir the cup that's ever-filling
with the blood of all that's born.
But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
will heed this song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.


Hunting Girl

One day I walked the road and crossed a field
to go by where the hounds ran hard.
And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased
to where the path was barred.
One fine young lady's horse refused the fence to clear.
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.
Crop handle carved in bone;
sat high upon a throne of finest English leather.
The queen of all the pack,
this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man's downfall in hand;
I raised the flag that she unfurled.

Boot leather flashing and spurnecks the size of my thumb.
This highborn hunter had tastes as strange as they come.
Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over - me on my knees underneath.

My lady, be discrete.
I must get to my feet and go back to the farm.
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate,
I might come to some harm.
I'm not inclined to acts refined, if that's how it goes.
Oh, high born Hunting Girl,
I'm just a normal low born so and so.


Ring Out, Solstice Bells

Now is the solstice of the year,
winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.

Join together beneath the mistletoe.
by the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.

Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.

Praise be to the distant sister sun,
joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.


Velvet Green

Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Won't you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on velvet green, with a country man.
Who's a young girls fancy and an old maid's dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
One dusky half-hour's ride up to the north.
There lies your reputation and all that you're worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
And the long grass blows in the evening cool.
And August's rare delight may be April's fool.
But think not of that, my love,
I'm tight against the seam.
And I'm growing up to meet you down on velvet green.
Now I may tell you that it's love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let's lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
that washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.
We'll dream as lovers under the stars -
of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.
As you walk home cold and alone upon velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.


The Whistler

I'll buy you six bay mares to put in your stable -
six golden apples bought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune,
but I must be gone by the seventh day.
So come on, I'm the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day -
whistle along on the seventh day.

All kinds of sadness I've left behind me.
Many's the day when I have done wrong.
But I'll be yours for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.

So come on, I'm the whistler.
I have a fife and a drum to play.
Get ready for the whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day -
whistle along on the seventh day.

Deep red are the sun-sets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle.
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.


Pibroch (Cap in Hand)

There's a light in the house in the wood in the valley.
There's a thought in the head of the man.
Who carries his dreams like the coat slung on his shoulder,
Bringing you love in the cap in his hand.
And each step he takes is one half of a lifetime:
no word he would say could you understand.
So he bundles his regrets into a gesture of sorrow,
Bringing you love cap in hand.
Catching breath as he looks through the dining-room window:
candle lit table for two has been laid.

Strange slippers by the fire.
Strange boots in the hallway.
Put my cap on my head.
I turn and walk away.


Fire at Midnight

I believe in fires at midnight -
when the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle -
a broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken mist outside the window.
Frogs and newts slip in the dark -
too much hurry ruins the body.
I'll sit easy ... fan the spark
kindled by the dying embers of another working day.
Go upstairs ... take off your makeup -
fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, I'll sit and write this love song
as I all too seldom do -
build a little fire this midnight.
It's good to be back home with you.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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