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Introduction: Fanny Smith singing
There’s a photo on a wall in a museum in Hobart
It was taken in October of 1903
Of a woman and a man with an Edison phonograph
Recording her songs of the land and the sea
There’s a button on the wall there next to the photo
If you press it you can hear the ghosts of her songs
As they echo through the halls of that museum in Hobart
A scratchy reminder of all we’ve done wrong
The man and the woman and the Edison phonograph
Salvaging pieces of song
White man’s black cylinder, the story of progress
The song lives on - but the singers are gone
Not yet 50 years since white man first settled
She was born on an island in Bass Strait’s cruel seas
Where the few who remained of her people were herded
And left there to die of despair and disease
At 7 she was taken from her mother and family
To work as a servant and be taught about God
But she still learnt the old ways, the songs and the stories
And with old Truganini she’d go bush for food
And after Truganini, the scientists descended
Was Fanny Smith now the last of her race?
The futile debates it seemed never ended
They took her dimensions and examined the shape of her face
The man and the woman and the Edison phonograph ...
And the man in the photo was born to an immigrant
He married a woman of inherited wealth
He lived in a mansion overlooking the harbour
Worked hard for their business, did well for himself
And in time he became a gentleman of leisure
And developed an interest in the native folks’ ways
He collected and catalogued those cultural treasures
Archived and referenced for future display
He was a member of the Royal Society
Propertied wealth, a man of propriety
She and her people were torn from their land
Betrayed, dislocated, dissected - according to plan
- But they came together through song
The man and the woman and the Edison phonograph ...
There’s a photo on a wall in a museum in Hobart
It was taken in October of 1903
Of a woman and a man with an Edison phonograph
Recording her songs of the land and the sea
And the man had a son, who in turn had a son
Who in turn had a son, who was me
Horace Watson: “This record was fixed on October 8th, 1903, by Horace Watson, Barton Hall, Sandy Bay, Tasmania”
Fanny Smith singing, then saying: “I am Fanny Smith. I was born on Flinders Island. I am the last of the Tasmanians”
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2. |
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Well, not long ago I ventured forth
For a holiday up in the Queensland North
Up in Queensland in the wet,
Now, if you think you've ever seen rain
Take a trip up there, you'll think again
Up in Queensland in the wet.
I saw the road that old Joh built
Clogging up the coral with lots of silt, Up in . . .
Went for a ride in a four wheel drive
But our three hour trip lasted twenty five! Up in . . .
(A three hour cruise!)
Well, we parked the car and we waded 'cross a creek
Walkin' through the rain, it was looking pretty bleak Up in . .
Rain pourin’ down, the sky was black
When we got to the creek, we couldn't get back, Up in . .
Rain, rain, rain, rain . . .
Creek's up 10 foot, more or less
Had to get rescued by the S.A.S., Up in . . .
Well, to be perfectly accurate, they were also stuck!
But at least they had rations and a nice dry truck! Up in . . .
Gave us some coffee, nice and hot
Three spoons of sugar really hit the spot, Up in . . .
Soggy hands and feet, looking like prunes
Couldn't get 'em dry all afternoon, Up in . . .
Sitting in the truck by the Emmagine Creek
Thinking we might be stuck for a week, Up in . . .
Looking at our car on the other side
Now the water's past the bonnet, now it's all inside, Up in . .
Rain, rain, rain, rain . . .
Damn mosquitoes, couldn't be worse
Private Bluey slaps one and he starts to curse, Up in . . .
Trying to get some sleep on the camouflage net
Sergeant Sully smokin' soggy cigarettes, Up in . . .
Early morning light, creek's gone down
Truck got through and we're headed back to town, Up in . . .
(Here’s the moral:) If you're headed up to Cape Tribulation
Be prepared for some heavy-duty precipitation, Up in . . .
Rain, rain, rain, rain . . .
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3. |
Toddler with Attitude
03:07
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I’m a tough son of a gun, and I’m two years old
When I get my way, well I’m good as gold
Got the cutest eyes, a golden smile, big hugs for Daddy and Mummy
But if I don’t my way, I really spit the dummy
’Cos I’m a mean rough tough wild stubborn little dude
I’m a toddler - toddler with attitude.
I’m obstinate, pig-headed, dogged, determined, headstrong and mulish
I advise you not to mess with me, to mess with me would be foolish
And when I’m feeling tired, I get irritable and squabbily
So don’t you touch my teddy bear, or I’ll really chuck a wobbly
’Cos I’m a mean rough tough wild stubborn little dude
I’m a toddler - toddler with attitude.
If you see me cruising down the street on my trike, well you’d better step aside
A lot of babies didn’t, a lot of babies cried
And if I see something that I want, I’m prepared to make a row
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it now’
Cos I’m a mean rough tough wild stubborn little dude
I’m a toddler - toddler with attitude
I can stamp my feet, make my face turn face red, I can scream, yell and wail
Embarrassing parents in public places is a trick that will never fail
And if you don’t give me what I want precisely when I want it
Well, I’m a master of the strategically timed inconvenient vomit
’Cos I’m a mean rough tough wild stubborn little dude
Yes I’m a mean rough tough - whoops, I think I just pooed
I’m a toddler - toddler with attitude
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4. |
The Old Bush Dance
05:37
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It’s Saturday night in a small country town
The women squeeze into their long flowing gowns
The men swap their overalls for a tie and a suit
Round up the kids, and it’s off in the ute
At the hall ladies glide through the still summer air
As the young and the old dance away the week’s cares
Chasséeing, swinging and clapping their hands
As they sway to the tunes of the accordion band
They played, they played, those fingers danced lightly
The notes cascade, we all danced so sprightly
Those far off days, those Saturday nights
When we danced the Waltz Cotillions & the Polka Quadrille
It’s “Take your partners, please,” says the caller once more
As the weary hot couples find their way to the floor
For the Alberts Quadrille and the Waltz Country Dance
A short introduction, then up strikes the band
Young couples dance closely, some awkward and shy
As the mothers and fathers keep a close watchful eye
The kids weave and dart like a flock of galahs
As the music drifts up through the night to the stars
Now it’s karaoke bars and it’s poker machines
For some people that’s what a good time out means
Not for them the concertina, the banjo and bones
The button accordion or the fiddle’s sweet tones
Real music is people like you and me here
Not woofers and tweeters and electronic gear
So let’s sing and let’s dance for the music of old
May it live on and on, may it shine through like gold
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5. |
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I shared a urinal with Martin Ferguson
We didn’t have much to say
We nodded g’day
Both had a spray
Zipped up our flies and went our separate ways
I shared a urinal with Martin Ferguson
It probably won’t happen again
It’s amazing who you see
When you go to have a pee
At that long metal wall in the Men’s
I shared a urinal with Martin Ferguson
A watershed in my life
It was something not to miss
A most exciting . . . experience
And it could never happen to my wife
I shared a urinal with Martin Ferguson
It’s something I’ll always remember
Perhaps I was silly
But I didn’t see his willy
So I can’t tell you about his union member
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6. |
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Snow’s falling in a sleepy town in the Caledonian hills
Spring’s coming and it won’t be long till the blooming of the daffodils
Early morning, children wake, wipe the cobwebs from their eyes
Cornflakes and Sesame Street and the stoking up of fires
Another day in a small town
Another day in a small town
Another day in a small town
Dad drives to the city to earn their daily bread
Hugs Mum, gives each child a quick peck on the top of the head
Mum rushes through the dishes and struggles to get the kids dressed on time
“Hurry up, you’ll be late for school, I’ve told you a thousand times”
School assembly, nine o’clock just like any other day
Sports results from the weekend and the Head’s got a few words to say
Then it’s off to class to learn the three Rs And train for life ahead
Young minds keen to learn but you can’t always be prepared (for)
Boy scouts, accusations, misdirected dedication
The man’s got a grudge
Weapons hold a fascination, fixation on salvation
The man’s got a gun
The roses in the church yard stretch as far as you can see
One town’s had its heart ripped out one tormented man is free
The pictures flash across the globe and the whole world mourns as one
But it’s happened before, it’ll happen again just as long as men have guns
Another day in a small world . . .
Snow’s falling in a sleepy town in the Caledonian hills
Spring’s coming and it won’t be long till the blooming of the daffodils
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7. |
Outback Love Song
05:21
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We’re gonna make a go of it, we’re gonna struggle on
We’ll keep on with this life we’ve chosen, whether right or wrong
I don’t know, but I reckon we’ll pull through
And in the end what counts is we’re together
Station life’s not easy, you knew that when we met
If it isn’t drought for years on end, then it’s too damn flamin’ wet
And I blush as I remember when I asked you for your hand
To leave the comforts of the town, and go onto the land
Little Robby’s classroom stretches 500 mile each way
From Bedourie to the Gulf, you couldn’t drive it in a day
And he doesn’t see his classmates for weeks and weeks on end
But each day across the shortwave Robby’s talking to his friends
The sweetest water’s flowing from that new bore past the creek
And at the Isa market we sold 50 head last week
After five bad years it’s looking good, so we might end up ahead
The generator’s humming and the cattle are well fed
And now your face is weathered, and now your hands are hard
And each day has its worries, it’s enough to break your heart
But at night as we lay together, the years just disappear
‘Cos the sparkle hasn’t left your eyes and I know you’re glad you’re here
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8. |
The Pirate Song
04:01
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Aaargh, me hearties, I’m a pirate
I loot and plunder and rob
Aaargh, me hearties, I’m a pirate
I’m only doing my job
1, 2, 3, AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH
I wake up in the morning at half past four
Pick all my pirate clothes up off the floor
I put on me wooden leg, me hook and my hat
‘Cos a pirate has to go to work like that
On my shoulder is a parrot whose name is Jake
All he ever says is “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight”
I love dear Jake, but it annoys me a lot
‘Cos I’ve never understood: pieces of eight what?
Then it’s off we go on the high rolling seas
Me ship and me crew, me parrot and me
We steal and we plunder and we swear and we shoot
It’s a tough old job, but someone’s gotta do it
When we find buried treasure we put it in the bank
And if someone is naughty we give them a spank
(- and then we make them walk the plank)
But no matter where we go on the seven seas
We always make sure we’re home for tea
Sailor’s Hornpipe
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9. |
Half a World Away
03:37
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10. |
Olegas
04:46
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Olegas, you went walking through the mountains of Tasmania
Rolling down her rivers free and wild
Your camera and your lenses at your side
He fled from Lithuania in 1945
Fought in the Resistance, lucky to be alive
Came out to Tasmania to start his life anew
A ten pound fare, two years with a mining crew
To most the South West wilderness was empty and unknown
But to him it was a chance to be with nature, all alone
Down the Dennison River, up the Western Arthurs peaks
He'd go out on his own for weeks and weeks
The first to navigate the Gordon river all its length
A tribute to his spirit, his courage and his strength
Treading paths that no white man had ever trod before
Taking photographs to show this land to all
Of grey forbidding mountains, etched in golden setting sun
The crashing of the rapids, where the wild rivers run
Silhouettes of trees against the mounting tempest's cloud
The trickle of the spring, the tiny flower
He led the fight to save Lake Pedder from the HEC
Too precious to be flooded, he said the world just had to see
To the music of Sibelius, and his voice so rich and bright
Thousands saw his slides and joined the fight
Olegas died the same year that Lake Pedder was destroyed
And now those photographs are all that's left to fill the void
But the Franklin runs today because of what this man began
He taught us we must fight to save our land
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11. |
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Hello to chaos, farewell to freedom
You've got to clothe 'em, clean 'em, change 'em, chase 'em, feed 'em
Your life's turned upside down from the moment you conceive 'em
- But I wouldn't have it any other way.
I used to have a tidy house with each thing in its place
But now no matter what I do it's just a sheer disgrace
There's toys on every inch of floor and food on all the walls
And something in the carpet that you can't describe at all!
I used to rest on weekends, I used to sleep at night
But now I'm changing nappies, healing wounds and stopping fights
Running errands, wiping bottoms, working hard at play
- But I wouldn't have it any other way!
Hello to poverty, farewell to freedom . . .
We used to go to swank cafes and restaurants to eat
But living on our budget now, a pizza is a treat,
As DINKIES we'd take jaunts each year to countries chic and far
Now the best we do is go out to the country in the car
(See the cows, see the horsies? Stop fighting in the back!)
I used to buy the finest clothes and fancy things to wear
Now the kids need new shoes all the time and my clothes are threadbare
From saving for the future to surviving day to day
- But I wouldn't have it any other way!
Hello to mindlessness, farewell to freedom . . .
At parties I would once partake in witty repartee
But conversations now revolve round babies' poohs and wees
How Timmy's almost toilet trained, but Tammy wets her bed
From discussing dialectics, now it's diarrhoea instead!
Where once we talked of Plato now it's recipes for playdough
From Bordeaux wines and chateaux, now it's "Eat up those potatoes!"
From Descartes to billy carts, from Karl Marx to school marks,
- But I wouldn't have it any other way!
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12. |
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All Australian boys need a head
It keeps your ears apart
And that's just for a start
A hunk of wood just wouldn't do instead
Yeah, all Australian boys need a head
All Australian boys need a head
Best place to grow yer hair
Except for way down there
And without one yer beard
Would sure look pretty weird
It's just the thing to give a bloke street cred
A place where us true blues
Can pour in all that booze
To stop yer pillow movin' round yer bed
Yeah, all Australian boys need a head
All Australian boys need a head
A place to bung yer hat
And other stuff like that
To bump into the rafters of yer shed
A place to keep yer brain in
To keep it dry when it's raining
Without one, well, let's face it, you'd be dead
Yeah, all Australian boys need a head
Yeah, all Australian boys need a head
Yeah, all Australian boys . . . . . need a head
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13. |
The Twilight Café
03:55
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At the Twilight Café I've come here to play
Sling my guitar on and croon away
Another night at the Twilight Café
And the crowds come and go like the tide’s ebb and flow
Some come for the friendship, some come for the show
Or the nachos, at the Twilight Café
Sometimes you come here and your worries just fade away
With a coffee and a chat at the Twilight Café
And sometimes there's nights when the atmosphere's right
Amongst all the others there's a couple of lovers
Whose eyes meet at the Twilight Café
And sometimes you'll see someone sipping their tea
Alone in the corner as lonely can be
Just passing the time at the Twilight Café
Sometimes you come here and your worries just fade away
With a coffee and a chat at the Twilight Café
At the Twilight Café I've come here to play
Sling my guitar on and croon away
Another night at the Twilight Café
And the coffee machine, it roars low and mean
As the couple beside me eat cheesecake and cream
Another night at the Twilight Café
Another night at the Twilight Café
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14. |
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Well I wish I could write songs like Eric
The greatest songwriter of folk
He’s pudgy and bald, but he keeps them enthralled
He’s a lovable, well-rounded bloke
Now I ask you, has anyone else written
Fifty songs all about World War One
He’s written so many, and I’ve not written any
Not a skerrick, not a sod, none
And there’s no-one as sensitive as Eric
On the subject of domestic pets
He just loves dogs and cats, when they’re squelchy and flat
The RSPCA sends him death threats
I wish I could work crowds like Eric
It’s truly amazing to see
How the audiences ogle at the great Eric Bogle
I wish they would do that for me
He’s even got muso’s to back him
From a distance they all look the same
They’re bearded like Eric, and they’re generally spheric
And no-one remembers their names
His accent is cute and so Scottish
It’s delightful and quite full of charm
It’s just a pity that the bugger can’t pronounce “hamburger”
And you should hear him say “burglar alarm”
Well I wish I could write songs like Eric
The greatest songwriter of folk
He’s really quite sexy for a bloke pushing 60
He’s a lovable, well-rounded bloke
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15. |
Out My Window
04:02
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Out my window
I see storms across the bay
I see lovers on their way
And I see sunshine
Out my window
I see trees that reach the sky
I see someone’s baby cry
But I hear nothing
I press my face against the pane
A drop of water slowly trickles to the base
Is it a tear or is it rain?
I feel the pane/pain on my face
In my window
My reflection seems to slide
Into the world outside -
I stay within
In my window
A spider builds its lair
There’s danger waiting there
For the unsuspecting
From our windows
We seek protection in the glass
Deflections form a mask
providing safety
But our windows
Are brittle and may break
The shards of glass can make
A deadly weapon
Repeat verse 1
And so I open the door
And touch the world outside
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Bruce Watson Melbourne, Australia
Joyful, hilarious, thought provoking and totally engaging original songs from one of Australia's foremost songwriters and performers in the folk style.
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