Welcome to the seventh podcast of 2023 in the Letters from Quotidia series. Are you old enough to remember the first Terminator movie? Released in 1984 (and does that year ring any bells for you?) It tells of the point, in the year 2029, when the Artificial Intelligence systems of the time interconnect, become prescient, decide that we- as a species- are superfluous to requirements and immediately inflict nuclear Armageddon on the human race. Skynet, for such is the name of the malevolent intelligence that we in our hubris created, then sets about constructing machines to wipe out the remnants of humanity from the earth.
This launched James Cameron’s career as an A-list director and also catapulted Arnold Schwarzenegger’s career as a leading man. Just shy of forty years later, this is not a distant sci-fi dystopian tale but a pressing possibility for our near future. ChatGPT and similar programs are presently shaking up the zeitgeist as workers, artists, writers, and the administrative and managerial classes wonder if they will still have meaningful jobs in the near future. Even in Quotidia, the tremors have been felt. I asked Bing’s AI bot the following question:
Me: Can you put together a short article of about 250 words about St James Infirmary, The Lock Hospital and The Streets of Laredo?
I was thinking of recording one of these for this podcast.
Bing AI: Sure! Here’s a short article about St James Infirmary, The Lock Hospital and The Streets of Laredo: St. James Infirmary Blues is an American jazz song of uncertain origin. It has been suggested that it is based on an eighteenth-century traditional folk song called “The Unfortunate Rake” (also known as “The Unfortunate Lad” or “The Young Man Cut Down in His Prime”) about a soldier who uses his money on prostitutes and then dies of venereal disease. The American version of St James’ Infirmary is along the same theme, but puts the song into third person, while the American cowboy is suffering from a gun shot in the chest. The Lock Hospital is a traditional song that Christy Moore recorded on his album “Prosperous” in 1972. The song is about a young soldier who dies of venereal disease and is wrapped in old linen. The Streets of Laredo is an American cowboy ballad that dates back to at least the 1870s. It tells the story of a dying cowboy who tells his story to another cowboy. The song has been adapted from an Irish folk song called “The Unfortunate Rake” (also known as “The Unfortunate Lad” or “The Young Man Cut Down in His Prime”) about a soldier who uses his money on prostitutes and then dies of venereal disease. I hope that helps. Me: Thank you, I will credit you for this when I publish it on my podcast. Bing AI: You’re welcome! I’m glad I could help. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask. Good luck with your podcast! 😊
Now, let’s be frank, the article is a bit clunky, repetitious and it isn’t how I would have synthesised and presented the material after research- but here’s the thing- it took Bing just seconds to churn out the article whereas I would have spent an hour or two on the same task. Anyway, in the end, I decided to record St James Infirmary for this podcast- here’s my rendition of it: [insert song]
Now to a song I first heard off the eponymous Planxty LP. I have heard other versions of The Blacksmith over the years but retain a fondness for Andy Irvine’s 1973 version. On the great site, Mainly Norfolk Jon Boden wrote: Having studied Old Norse literature at university I’m interested in the idea that the character of the blacksmith (who crops up in many folk songs) may be an oral-tradition descendant of Volundr (or Weland) the smith—a very significant cult figure in Norse and Anglo-Saxon heathenism. Certainly, blacksmiths in folk song seem to have a slightly ‘outlandish’ other-worldly feel to them, whether they are jilting lovers or severing hands of rival suitors. An old poem about blacksmiths by that prolific writer, Anonymous, shall set the scene for the song:
Swart swarthy smiths besmattered with smoke/Drive me to death with din of their dints./Such noise on nights heard no one never;/What knavish cry and clattering of knocks!/The snub-nosed changelings cry after “col, col!’/And blow their bellows till all their brains burst:/”Huf, puf!’ saith one; “Haf, paf!’ another./They spit and sprawl and spell many spells;/They grind their teeth and gnash them, and groan together,/And hold them hot in their hard hammers./Of bulls hide are their leather aprons./Their shanks are shielded from the fierce sparks:/Heavy hammers they have; that are hard handled,/Stark strokes they strike on an anvil of steel/Lus, bus! Las, das! they strike in rotation/The Devil destroy such an doleful noise./The master lengthens a little piece, belabours a smaller/,Twines the two together, strikes a treble note/Tik, tak! Hic, hac! Ticket, taket! Tyk, tak!/Lus, bus! Las das! such lives they lead/All horseshoers: Christ give them sorrow/For none for these waterburners at night may rest.//
This wonderful old onomatopoeic poem finds a gentler resonance in Seamus Heaney’s The Forge: All I know is a door into the dark./Outside, the old axles and iron hoops rusting;/Inside the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring,/The unpredictable fantail of sparks/Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water./The anvil must be somewhere in the centre,/Horned as a unicorn, at one end and square, Set there immovable; an altar/Where he expends himself in shape and music.[insert song]
You know, or maybe have just heard of, that strange zone between sleep and waking where all sorts of weird stuff may intrude into your conscious life. Thus it was the other day when I had a- what shall we call it?- seniors’ nap in the early afternoon after a spot of weeding in the garden. I put on some earphones and reclined listening to a music compilation. Forty minutes later, I awoke refreshed and, with a bossa beat bouncing along in my mind, I became aware that I was reciting a line that became the opening of the next song. I sat at the computer and quickly fleshed out the rest of the lyrics, then hopped onto my music composition program and nutted out the chords to accompany the words.
What, you may wonder, was the immortal line I awoke to? I dig Lana Del Rey and her Technicolor alt-pop. Coleridge may rest in peace, assured that his dream sequence, Kubla Khan remains undisputed as the apotheosis of such dream compositions. Here’s a sample of that great fragment to introduce my rather pedestrian effort:
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A stately pleasure-dome decree:/Where Alph, the sacred river, ran/Through caverns measureless to man/Down to a sunless sea./ So twice five miles of fertile ground/With walls and towers were girdled round;/ And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,/Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;/And here were forests ancient as the hills,/Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.//But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted/Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!/A savage place! as holy and enchanted/As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted/By woman wailing for her demon-lover!…[insert song]
Now for an additional segment to this and the next four podcasts: a couple of episodes ago I referred to my former student, friend and collaborator, Mark Dougherty who died unexpectedly on Christmas Day of 2020 in a Belfast hospital. Mark was a talented musician and a musical director in high demand. We collaborated on a jazz suite which he had proposed for his music honours degree at Queens University, Belfast in the mid-1980s. I came up with the idea of a sequence of lyrics exploring various sections of a city newspaper. We called this The Paper Suite and Mark wrote the music and rehearsed a jazz quartet he played keyboards for. The suite was broadcast on BBC Radio Ulster. So here is the opening of that piece that shows Mark’s talent as an arranger for a traditional four-piece unit comprising drums, stand-up bass, tenor sax and keyboards. The song is entitled What’s On in Town. [insert song]
That’s it for another fortnight and I hope you keep well until I return with more news and music from Quotidia.
St James Infirmary (traditional)
It was down in old Joe’s barroom,
on the corner by the square
The drinks were served as usual,
and the usual crowd was there
On my left stood Big Joe McKennedy,
His eyes were bloodshot red
He turned to the crowd around him
These were the very words he said
I went down to St. James infirmary,
To see my baby there
She was stretched out on a long white table,
So sweet, so cool, and so fair
Let her go, let her go, God bless her
Wherever she may be
She may search this whole wide world over
She’ll never find another man as sweet as me
When I die, oh Lord, please bury me
In my high top Stetson hat
Put gold coins over my eyelids
So the boys will know I died standing pat
Get six gamblers to be my pallbearers
Six chorus girls to sing me a song
Put a Jazz band behind my hearse wagon
To raise hell as we roll along
Get sixteen coal black horses
To pull that rubber tired hack
There’s thirteen men going to the graveyard
Only twelve are coming back
Now that you’ve heard my story
Let’s have another round of booze
And if anyone should ask you
I’ve got those St James Infirmary blues
The Blacksmith (Traditional)
A blacksmith courted me nine months or better
He fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter
With his hammer in his hand he looked so clever
And if I were with my love I would live forever
Oh where has my love gone with his cheeks like roses
His good black billycock on, decked with primroses
I’m afraid the shining sun might burn and scorch his beauty
And if I were with my love I would do my duty
Strange news is a-come to town, strange news is carried
Strange news flies up and down that my love is married
Oh I wish them both great joy, though they don’t hear me
And if I were with my love I would do my duty
What did you promise me when you lay beside me
You said you’d marry me and not deny me
If I said I’d marry you twas only for to try you
So bring your witness love and I’ll not deny you
O, witness have I none save God Almighty
And may He reward you well for the slighting of me
Her lips grew pale and wan; it made her poor heart tremble
For to think she had loved one, and he proved deceitful
I Dig (words and music Quentin Bega)
I dig Lana Del Rey and her Technicolor alt-pop
Gregorian chant and Taizé playing non-stop.
Hard bop, smooth jazz, freeform and doo-wop
Let me tell the truth I even like some hip-hop
My ears opened wide when I first heard the Beach Boys
Before than music was a rhythmical nice noise
The Rock revolution provided counterpoise
To what the classics serve up for all our joys
Oh I need a break I need some respite
A pre-chorus line may give me what I need
Before I modulate and provide some insight
Bare my soul so you may see how I bleed
Baby I’m in the mood for whatever love you choose to bring
To consummate what we know is just a heartbeat away
And don’t tell me now that you need some sort of ring
Let’s just have some fun and indulge in our fantasy play
I dig Lana Del Rey and her Technicolor alt-pop
Gregorian chant and Taizé playing non-stop
Hard bop, smooth jazz, freeform and doo-wop
Let me tell the truth I even like some hip-hop
My ears opened wide when I first heard the Beach Boys
Before than music was a rhythmical nice noise
The Rock revolution provided counterpoise
To what the classics serve up for all our joys
What’s On In Town (words Quentin Bega, music Mark Dougherty)
What’s on in town, can you hear the city calling
What’s on in town, listen to the rhythm
Come into town where the bright lights shine on
Belfast Saturday night, what’s on in town
For you might lose your heart tonight
For you can always dream
Of someone who will lead you to heaven
Come and see
What’s on in town, it’s an open invitation
What’s on in town, you don’t need a reason
Come into town, there it is in flashing neon
Belfast Saturday night, what’s on in town
Oh you might lose your heart tonight
For you can always dream
Of someone who will lead you to heaven
Come and see
What’s on in town, can you hear the city calling
What’s on in town, listen to the rhythm
Come on, come into town where the bright lights shine on
Belfast Saturday night, Belfast Saturday night, Belfast Saturday Night
What’s on in town!
Credits: All written text, song lyrics andmusic (including background music) written and composed by Quentin Bega unless otherwise specified in the credits section after individual posts. Illustrative excerpts from other texts identified clearly within each podcast. I donate to and use Wikipedia frequently as one of the saner sources of information on the web.
Technical Stuff: Microphone- Shure SM58; (for the podcast spoken content) Audio Technica AT 2020 front-facing with pop filter); Apogee 76K also used for songs and spoken text.
For recording and mixing down: 64-bit N-Track Studio 9 Extended used; Rubix 22 also used for mixing of microphone(s) and instruments. I use the Band in a Box/RealBand 2023 combo for music composition.
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