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Print at Jul 18, 2019 5:27:13 PM
|Posted by Loosebones at Jan 22, 2009 7:42:53 AM|
Re: [Entry thread] PUZZLE PIRATES WEEKLY Valentine's edition.
Valentine shanties reviewed
Wind O'er Wavelets (My Hearte's Rest)
Ah, where would the romantic tar, misty-eyes on the glitterin horizon, be without the melodies of Anya? Probably winnin more silver with firmer sword thrusts in melee, but ye can't tell 'em... The symphonic, seductive (syrupy, soporific) diva is back with another broodin epic. She delivers an auld-fashioned lament, in pathos-laden dialect, hung on a hauntingly atmospheric tune, with all her hallmarked moody tension. This may delight broad beamed oakum-fiddlin old maids and earnest youths clad in baggy breeches alike, but by cuddlin listeners up to its familiar bosom, it's chartin no new courses.
Queen Beth's Boys
The Brineland Navy Pipe Band
It's not clear how this martial swill got off the over-swabbed decks of Brineland's finest, but here it is - a ploddin shanty meant to raise the patriotic spirit of those parted from loved ones by Neptune's call. The tune is traditional, though in an irksome key, but the worst is in the lyrics. Even if Queen Beth were to spill a tsunami of compassion for the companions of her fleet's servants, it's hardly cause to gleefully break yer back and risk yer neck under her colours. Their author, fortunately hidden by the anonymity of uniform, must either have an imagination shallower than a punt's keel or a contempt for blue-jackets that out-does Admiral Finius. Flush this sop out with the bilge, say I!
Ballad of the Salty Dog
Long John Bone-Swinger
If ye don't know the scandalous yarns that made Bone-Swinger infamous amongst the ladies who work in taverns, ask yer parents. Gossip hounds for those periodicals read below deck may not be stalkin the sottish entertainer so closely these days, but he's hardly captain of the abstinence crew yet. This is a folk ditty, narratin the misadventures of the singer's trouser-familiar. It has some blues gravel, but it's mostly just simply blue. The verses jerk around an uninspirin in-out tempo, interrupted by a chorus of predictably coarse chanted slogans. One for old, unenlightened fans only.
Hoist Sail fer yer Mammy
Ye're most likely bored of swabbies gushin about Neusis, but there's no denyin their tunes have been breakin both records and barriers. Here's a riotous jig that hits a fine-spiced ballad full broadside. It's catchy, but has an emotional depth measurable in fathoms. The ambiguity of the song's subject - mother, wife or homeland - only deepens the pity for the returning sailor. But that doesn't even matter when the tune dances over the scale like snake on a skillet to a rhythm that pulls you and yer dancin partner along like a gig behind a galleon, to leave ye both flush-cheeked and similin. This is right on the money, and bound for renown.
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