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STAN

Release Date: 
June 30th, 2009

Tracks

Bluenose

(Composed by Stan Rogers | © Fogarty's Cove Music)

Once again with the tide she slips her lines
Turns her head and comes awake
Where she lay so still there at Privateer's Wharf
Now she quickly gathers way
She will range far south from the harbour mouth
And rejoice with every wave
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?

Feel her bow rise free of Mother Sea
In a sunburst cloud of spray
That stings the cheek while the rigging will speak
Of sea-miles gone away
She is always best under full press
Hard over as she'll lay
And who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
And who will know the Bluenose in the sun?

That proud, fast Queen of the Grand Banks Fleet
Portrayed on every dime
Knew hard work in her time... hard work in every line
The rich men's toys of the Gloucester boys
With their token bit of cod
They snapped their spars and strained to pass her by
But she left them all behind

Now her namesake daughter remains, to show what she has been
What every schoolboy remembers and will not come again
To think she's the last of the Grand Banks Schooners
That fed so many men
And who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?

That proud, fast Queen of the Grand Banks Fleet
Portrayed on every dime
Knew hard work in her time... hard work in every line
The rich men's toys of the Gloucester boys
With their token bit of cod
They snapped their spars and strained to pass her by
But she left them all behind

So does she not take wing like a living thing
Child of the moving tide
See her pass with grace on the water's face
With clean and quiet pride
Our own tall ship of great renown still lifts unto the sky
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?
Who will know the Bluenose in the sun?

Fogarty's Cove

We just lost sight of the Queensport light
Down the bay before us
And the wind has blown some cold today
With just a wee touch of snow
Along the shore from Lazy Head
Hard abeam Half Island
Tonight we let the anchor go
Down in Fogarty's Cove

My Sally's like the raven's wing
Her hair is like her mother's
With hands that make quick work of the chore
And eyes like the top of a stove
Come suppertime she'll walk the beach
Wrapped in my old duffle
With her eyes upon the masthead reach
Down in Fogarty's Cove

She will walk the sandy shore so plain, watch the combers roll in
'Til I come to Wild Rose Chance again down in Fogarty's Cove
She’ll walk the sandy shore so plain, watch the combers roll in
'Til I come to Wild Rose Chance again down in Fogarty's Cove

She cries when I'm away to sea, nags me when I'm with her
She'd rather I'd a Government job or maybe go on the dole
But I love her waves as I pull about and nose into the channel
My Sally keeps the supper and a bed for me down in Fogarty's Cove

She will walk the sandy shore so plain, watch the combers roll in
'Til I come to Wild Rose Chance again down in Fogarty's Cove
She’ll walk the sandy shore so plain, watch the combers roll in
'Til I come to Wild Rose Chance again down in Fogarty's Cove

Lock-keeper

You say, "Well-met again, Lock-keeper!
We're laden even deeper then the time before,
Oriental oils and tea brought down from Singapore."
As we wait for my lock to cycle
I say, "My wife has just given me a son."
"A son!" you cry, "Is that all that you've done?"

She wears bougainvilla blossoms.
You pluck 'em from her hair and toss 'em in the tide,
Sweep her in your arms and carry her inside.
Her sighs catch on your shoulder;
Her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through her tears
And I say, "How could you stand to leave her for a year?"

"Then come with me" you say,
"To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder."
"Come with me!" you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older,
While your blood grows colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.

Sure I'm stuck here on the Seaway
While you compensate for leeway through the Trades;
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made.
And you laugh at hearts you've riven,
But which of these has given us more love or life,
You your tropic maids, or me, my wife.

"Then come with me" you say,
"To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder."
"Come with me!" you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older,
While your blood grows colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.

The Field Behind the Plow

Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Feel the trickle in your clothes, blow the dusk cake from your nose
And hear the tractor's steady roar, O you can't stop now
There's a quarter section more or less to go

And it figures that the rain keeps it's own sweet time
You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you've got a while
So ease the throttle out a hair, every rod's a gain
And there's victory in every quarter mile

Poor old Kuzyk down the road
The heartache, hail and hoppers brought him down
He gave it up and went to town
And Emmett Pierce, the other day took a heart attack and died at 42
You could see it comin' on, 'cuz he worked as hard as you

In an hour, maybe more, you'll be wet clear through
The air is cooler now, pull your hat brim further down
And watch the field behind the plough turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground

And if the harvest's any good, the money just might cover all the loans
You've mortgaged all you own
Buy the kids a winter coat, take the wife back east for Christmas if you can
All summer she hangs on when you're so tied to the land

For the good times come and go, but at least there's rain
So this won't be barren ground when September rolls around
And watch the field behind the plough turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground
Watch the field behind the plow, turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground

45 Years

Where the earth shows its bones of wind-broken stone
And the sea and the sky are one
I'm caught out of time, my blood sings with wine
And I'm running naked in the sun
There's God in the trees, I'm weak in the knees
And the sky is a painful blue
I'd like to look around, but Honey, all I see is you

Now the summer city lights will soften the night
‘Til you'd think that the air is clear
And I'm sitting with friends, where 45 cents
Will buy another glass of beer
He's got something to say, but I'm so far away
That I don't know who I'm talking to
Cause you just walked in the door, and Honey, all I see is you

And I just want to hold you closer than I've ever held anyone before
You say you've been twice a wife and you're through with life
Ah, but Honey, what the hell's it for?
After 23 years you'd think I could find
A way to let you know somehow
That I want to see your smiling face 45 years from now

So alone in the lights on stage every night
I've been reaching out to find a friend
Who knows all the words, sings so she's heard
And knows how all the stories end
Maybe after the show she'll ask me to go
Home with her for a drink or two
Now her smile lights her eyes, but Honey, all I see is you

And I just want to hold you closer than I've ever held anyone before
You say you've been twice a wife and you're through with life
Ah, but Honey, what the hell's it for?
After 23 years you'd think I could find
A way to let you know somehow
That I want to see your smiling face 45 years from now

And I just want to hold you closer than I've ever held anyone before
You say you've been twice a wife and you're through with life
Ah, but Honey, what the hell's it for?
After 23 years you'd think I could find
A way to let you know somehow
That I want to see your smiling face 45 years from now
I want to see your smiling face 45 years from now

Giant

Cold wind on the harbour and rain on the road
Wet promise of winter brings recourse to coal
There's fire in the blood and a fog on Bras d'Or
The giant will rise with the moon

'Twas the same ancient fever in the Isles of the Blessed
That our fathers brought with them when they "went West"
It's the blood of the Druids that never will rest
The giant will rise with the moon

So crash the glass down, move with the tide
Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside
Crash the glass down, Fingal will rise
With the moon

In inclement weather the people are fey
Three thousand year stories as the night slips away
Remembering Fingal feels not far away
The giant will rise with the moon

The wind's in the North, there'll be new moon tonight
And we have no circle to dance in its sight
Light a torch, bring the bottle, and build the fire bright
The giant will rise with the moon

So crash the glass down, move with the tide
Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside
Crash the glass down, Fingal will rise
With the moon

Cold wind on the harbour and rain on the road
Wet promise of winter brings recourse to coal
There's fire in the blood and a fog on Bras d'Or
The giant will rise with the moon

So crash the glass down, move with the tide
Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside
Crash the glass down, Fingal will rise
With the moon

Lies

At last the kids are gone now for the day
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away
Another day to tend the house and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man

Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine
And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time
She'd pass for 29 but for her eyes
But winter lines are telling wicked lies

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or to disguise
They must be telling lies

Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand?
No need to search that mirror for the years
The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears

So this is Beauty's finish like Rodin's "Belle Heauimiere"
The pretty maiden trapped inside the ranch wife's toil and care
Well, after seven kids, that's no surprise
But why cannot her mirror tell her lies

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or to disguise
They must be telling lies

Then she shakes off the bitter web she wove
And turns to set the mirror, gently, face down by the stove
She gathers up her apron in her hand
Pours a cup of coffee, drips Carnation from the can
And thinks ahead to Friday, 'cause Friday will be fine
She'll look up in that weathered face that loves her's, line for line
To see that maiden shining in his eyes
And laugh at how her mirror tells her lies.

All lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or to disguise
They must be telling lies
All those lines are telling wicked lies
Lies all lies
Too many lines there in that face
Too many to erase or to disguise
They must be telling lies

The Jeannie C.

Come all ye lads, draw near to me, that I be not forsaken
This day was lost the Jeannie C. and my living has been taken
I'll go to sea no more

We set out his day in the bright sunrise, the same as any other
My son and I and old John Price in the boat named for my mother
I'll go to sea no more

Now it's well you know what the fishing has been, it's been scarce and hard and cruel
But this day, by God, we sure caught cod, and we sang and we laughed like fools
I'll go to sea no more

I'll never know what it was we struck, but strike we did like thunder
John Price give a cry and pitched overside. Now it's forever he's gone under
I'll go to sea no more

Now a leak we've sprung, let there be no delay if the Jeannie C. we're saving
John Price is drown'd and slip'd away. So I'll patch the hole while you're bailing
I'll go to sea no more

But no leak I found from bow to hold. No rock it was that got her
But what I found made me heart stop cold, for every seam poured water
I'll go to sea no more

My God, I cried as she went down. That boat was like no other
My father built her when I was nine, and named her for my mother
I'll go to sea no more

And sure I could have another made in the boat shop down in Dover
But I would not love the keel they laid like the one the waves roll over
I'll go to sea no more

So come all ye lads, draw near to me, that I be not forsaken
This day was lost the Jeannie C. and my whole life has been taken
I'll go to sea no more

Acadian Saturday Night

Uncle Emile, been gone, now nearly ten days
Told his wife he’d be gone for the fishing
But in the waters off St. Pierre and Miquelon Isles
The fishes come in bottles of gold
If the Anne-Marie would break, and the Mounties stay blind
We'll be back before the moon is rising
With a very fine catch, all safe in the hold
Thirty cases of Trinidad light
For Acadian Saturday night!

Now Emmeline Comeau works the general store
My Papa says she's good for the customs
She's got eyes like fire and hair past her shoulders
As shiny black as Cumberland coal
You can see her Sunday morning on the St. Phillipe road
Her mother close behind like a dragon
But her mama don’t know what she does behind the hall
Away from the music and the light
On Acadian Saturday night!

And it’s Oh ho - don't the fiddles make you roll
Your heart, she will pound like a hammer
There's a fat lady beating a piano like a drum
And everybody's higher than a kite
On Acadian Saturday night!

Now Grandpa says, it was better in his day
The Mounties stayed away from the parties
And they didn't mind a fight, when the spirit got high
(You could always throw them out in the snow)
And the rum was better and it came in bigger bottles
And the revenue cutters were slow -
Still, the old Anne-Marie, has wings on the water
And there's nothing like Trinidad light
For Acadian Saturday night!

And it’s Oh ho - don't the fiddles make you roll
Your heart, she will pound like a hammer
There's a fat lady beating a piano like a drum
And everybody's higher than a kite
And it’s Oh ho - don't the fiddles make you roll
Your heart, she will pound like a hammer
There's a fat lady beating a piano like a drum
And everybody's higher than a kite
On Acadian Saturday night!

You Can't Stay Here

You can't stay here
Your company's good, I know
But I must wake up alone
And the party is over

You can't stay here
I'm moments away from sleep
And what you want to say can keep
‘Til I'm awake and I'm... sober

You can't stay here
When everyone else has gone
I've nothing for you,
No song to sing for you only

You can't stay here
Maybe you can't see why
But I'm an old-fashioned guy
And I'd rather be...lonely

Maybe you think I'm unkind when I tell you to go away
I know what you offer, and I could be softer
And tell you to stay

But to me, you're a stranger, to touch you is danger, I know it's true
'Cause what I've got at home is too dear, to risk for an hour with you
You can't stay here

I'll be all right alone
And when I'm safe in her arms at home...
I'll thank you for leaving

You can't stay here.
You can't stay here.
You can't stay...here.

Production Notes: 
Recording engineer: Jon Matthews
Recording studio: Big Grey Sound Studio, Charlottetown, PE, Canada (biggrey.ca)
Mixing engineer: Dave Hillier
Mixing studio: Wee House of Music Co., Pictou County, NS, Canada
Mastering engineer: J. LaPointe
Mastering studio: Archive Mastering, Mineville, NS, Canada (archivemastering.com)
 
CD Design & Layout: Cheryl Smith, OutFront Productions Inc. (www.outfrontproductions.com)
Photography: images by Louise Vessey (lightandvision.com)
Joey Kitson – Music Profile written by Sandy MacDonald
 
Producer: Chris Corrigan
Musical Arrangements: Chris Corrigan and Joey Kitson
Executive Producer: Ian McKinnon, Ground Swell Productions
 
The Musicians:
 
Joey Kitson (lead and backing vocals, harmonica)
Brian Bourne (bass)
Dave Burton (drums, percussion)
Chris Corrigan (guitars)
Kim Dunn (keyboards)
Emmanuelle LeBlanc (bodhran, tin whistles, backing vocals)
Pastelle LeBlanc (accordion, backing vocals)
Ray Legere (fiddle, mandolin)
 
A Note from Joey
 
My first opportunity to perform the music of Stan Rogers was as a contributor to the 1995 album project, Remembering Stan Rogers: An East Coast Tribute. I found the songs to be a natural fit for me vocally. Being East Coast born and raised I could also truly identify with the people, stories and emotions depicted in Stan’s great songs.
 
The idea for this more extensive treatment of Stan’s material started during my preparation and research for my role in the Charlottetown Festival’s Summer 2009 production Stan Rogers – A Matter of Heart – A Musical Revue. My good friend and sometimes roommate on the road, Ian McKinnon of Ground Swell Productions and Rawlins Cross fame, has often encouraged me to consider my first solo recording project. We both agreed that Stan’s strong material would be the perfect foundation for such an album.
 
STAN has also been a great opportunity to collaborate with my longtime friend and frequent band mate, Chris Corrigan. Chris has done a great job on song choice and arrangements, as well as putting together a veritable “Dream Team” of East Coast musicians. These players have done a masterful job of capturing the essence of Stan’s great music. This album has been a great experience for me, and I hope you enjoy listening to it, as much as I’ve enjoyed making it.
 
My thanks to those who have contributed their technical talent and facilities in the making of this album, including Jon Matthews, Dave Hillier, Dave Gunning and J. Lapointe. A special thanks to Ian McKinnon and Chris Corrigan for their guidance and creative input in helping to make STAN a reality. Thanks to Stan Rogers for his legacy of great music. It has been an honor and a pleasure to record these wonderful songs.
 
Thanks to my wife Nancy, and our children Gabrielle, Annie, and Julien. Your love and support mean the world to me. Thanks also to my parents and family for their love and support. Thanks to Michel and Russel Jacob and the rest of my Acadian Family in Cap-Pelé, for their encouragement and constant support. Thanks to the boys in Rawlins Cross for all the musical experiences and opportunities you have given me through the years. Thanks to Stahl MacIntyre and his family for their support. A shout out to my musician friends in Big City, Vintage, and The Dogs. A special thanks to all the staff, cast, and crew of the Confederation Centre of the Arts. Thanks to the folks at Music PEI and the PEI Council of the Arts for all their great work.
 
Thanks to my colleagues at ITSS and the Government of PEI for their support. And finally,
thank-you to FACTOR for the funding support and also to John Poirier our friends at Warner Music Canada.   
 
- Joey Kitson
 
 Stan Rogers – A Short Biography
 
A child of Maritime stock on both sides of his family, Stan Rogers was born in Hamilton, Ontario on November 29, 1949. Stan grew to be a big man – six foot four – with a barrel chest and possessed of a voice that rumbled from his toes. He could bluff and bellow, yet was at heart a poet and intellect who would, often as not, sneak away from a gathering to curl up with a book. He made friends and enemies easily, gaining the former for life and often, in time, converting the latter.
 
He became a songwriter too, working as a rock bassist while still a teenager and later embracing the folk idiom. After a few years as a more or less conventional folkie songwriter, he discovered his real gift. After some persuasion by his Aunt June in Canso, Nova Scotia, he began to write songs about his familial home…his roots. Those early songs found their way onto Stan’s first album, Fogarty’s Cove, and he was on his way. From that point forward, Stan’s best writing was about the Canadian experience. His songs gave a new voice to ordinary folks who worked the fisheries, mines and farms of this vast country.
 
Stan was a passionate Canadian partisan, and much of his short creative life was taken up with song cycles that chronicled the East, the Plains, the West and finally the Great Lakes and Ontario. It was a natural progression for a wanderer…to scan a continent and finally return to write of the wonders of home.
 
In the last few years of his life, as he courted increasing fame, he was often on the road. Part of his dream was to establish a national identity for Canadian songwriting. It was a dream fulfilled; through his constant, soaring dynamic performances, and brilliant songs, he was known throughout most of the English-speaking folk music world.
 
Stan died in an airline fire on June 2, 1983 on his way home to Dundas, ON from a festival in the United States. Memorials and honours were numerous in the months that followed and in May 1984, the Canadian Conference of the Arts posthumously awarded him the Diplôme d’Honneur. Since then, his music has been twice nominated for a Juno Award.
 
In more recent years, the Ontario Council of Folk Festivals recognized his contribution to the Arts by conferring on him the Estelle Klein Lifetime Achievement Award and SOCAN conferred on him a National Lifetime Achievement Award.
 
His music continues to amaze, amuse and inspire people from all walks of life. It has appeared in dozens of poetry anthologies, textbooks and documentaries and has been used in numerous films and plays. The musical, A Matter of Heart is an eloquent and stirring interpretation of his incredible gift.
 
The musical and literary legacy he left for this and future generations has been referred to as “one of the touchstones of modern Canadian history.”
 
For more on Stan Rogers, visit: www.stanrogers.net