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The Middle Ages, Vol III

by Tyler Shipley

/
1.
Up in the Armagh Prison, where they keep the women, young Devlin lies in a prison cell. And for the Bogside people, there'll be no sleeping until young Devlin has been set free. Oh the old judge framed her, while they tried to shame her, but the world's acclaimed her for all she's done. And for the Bogside people, there'll be no sleeping until young Devlin has been set free.For defending Bogside, that was why she was tried, she forced the policemen all to fly. And for the Bogside people, there'll be no sleeping until young Devlin has been set free. Oh the day is coming when we'll all stop running and Connolly's cause will rise again. And for the Bogside people, there'll be no sleeping until young Devlin has been set free. By the Men of No Property
2.
I was born by the railroad tracks. Train whistle wailed and I wailed right back. Papa left mama when I was quite young, he said "one of these days you're gonna follow me son." I ain't ever satisfied. Well I had me a women she was my world. But I ran off with a backstreet girl. My woman could not be true. Left me standing on a boulevard thinking about you. I ain't ever satisfied. Well I dreamt I made it to the Promised Land. I was standing at the gate I had the key in my hand. Saint Peter said "come on in, boy, you're finally home." I said, "no thanks Pete I'll just be moving along." I ain't ever satisfied. By Steve Earle
3.
I was a docker, I was a miner, I was a railway man between the wars. I raised a family in times of austerity with sweat the foundry between the wars. I paid the union and as times got harder I looked to the government to help the working man. But they brought prosperity down at the armoury, we're arming for peace me boys between the wars. I kept the faith and I kept voting not for the iron fist but for the helping hand. Cos theirs is a land with a wall around it, and mine is a faith in my fellow man. Theirs is a land of hope and glory, mine is the green fields and the factory floor. Theirs is a sky all dark with bombers and mine is the peace we shared between the wars. Call up the craftsman bring me the draftsman, build me a path from cradle to grave, and I'll give my consent to any government that does not deny a man a living wage. Bring me the young man never to fight again, bring back the banners from the days gone by. Sweet moderation, build a new nation, desert us not we are between the wars. By Billy Bragg
4.
I've travelled round this continent from shore to muddy shore, and it surely made me wonder, the things I heard and saw. I saw the weary farmer working sod and loam and I heard the auction hammer a-knockin' down his home. But the banks are made of marble with a guard at every door and the vaults are stuffed with money that the workers sweated for. I saw the sailor standing idly by the shore and I heard the bosses saying "got not work for you no more." I saw the weary miner scrubbing gold dust from his back, and I heard his children crying, "can't use gold to heat the shack." But the banks are made of marble with a guard at every door and the vaults are stuffed with money that the workers sweated for. I saw the garment worker, working finger to the bone, and I heard the soldier's footsteps a-followin' her home. I've seen my people working every corner of this land and I prayed we'd get together and together make a stand. That we'd take these banks of marble with a guard at every door, and we'd share those vaults of money that our bodies sweated for. By Pete Seeger
5.
We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who've come to understand more of the horror, we will not fit in, we will not give in. We who find brothers and sisters in the struggling peoples of this earth, we who are coming to understand more of the mystery, we who know tragedy in the unending cycles of destruction, we who gamble with our lives. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are wise enough to continue learning, we will not fit in, we will not give in. We who are thirsty for greater knowledge, we who walk the night this side of desperation, we who are thirsty and looking for better ways to proceed, we who tremble and proceed. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are able to go beyond our anger, we will not fit in, we will not give in. We who are able to go beyond our awe, we who are not content to admit despair, we who care, we who burn, we who struggle with the knowledge that the path is long. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who believe in the flowering of freedom, we will not give in, we will not fit in. We whose anger cannot be conquered, we whose love cannot be bound, we who are singers of the new morning, we who have met the beast within ourselves. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. We who are the spirits of the revolution, we will not fit in and we will not give in. By Larry Estridge
6.
I hate the rich, they should dig a ditch. I hate the rich, got a life without a hitch. Got a life without a hitch. Look at the poor, crawling on the floor. Look at the poor, always needing more. Always needing more. I hate the rich, I don't want their money. I hate the rich, now it ain't so funny. Now it ain't so funny. Look at the poor, crawling on the floor. Look at the poor, always needing more. Always needing more. I hate the rich. I hate them all. I hate the rich. They should dig a ditch. I hate the rich. I hate the rich. By The Dils
7.
Here comes the helicopter, second time today. Everybody scatters and hopes it goes away. How many kids they've murdered only god can say. If I had a rocket launcher I'd make somebody pay. I don't believe in guarded border, I don't believe in hate. I don't believe in generals or their torture states. And when I talk with the survivors of things too sickening to relate. If I had a rocket launcher I would retaliate. On the Rio Lacantun one hundred thousand wait to fall down from starvation or some less humane fate. Cry for Guatemala with a corpse in every gate. If I had a rocket launcher I would not hesitate. I want to raise every voice, at least I gotta try. Every time I think about it, water rises to my eyes. Situation desperate, echoes of the victim's cry. If I had a rocket launcher some son of a bitch would die. By Bruce Cockburn
8.
I'll choose my martyrs for myself. Not guys who died to save the health of a parasitic "empire lite," killing the dark to make space for the white. I'll choose my martyrs for myself. Won't wear a poppy on my shirt for men who use their guns to hurt a farmer trying to grow some food that wasn't IMF approved. I'll choose my martyrs for myself. Don't tell me I'm supposed to cry for a jacked-up privileged white guy shooting rounds into a crowd. (Coincidentally everyone was brown.) I'll choose my martyrs for myself. Just cos you televise the wake (some cop, his body's held in state) that don't make him my hero. The cops kill people that I know. I'll choose my martyrs for myself. I will commemorate the lives of normal people went to die to stop the fascists and the snakes who haunt our nights and break our days. I'll choose my martyrs for myself. The Mackenzie-Papineau Brigade packed up their shit and went to Spain. Old Churchill didn't give a fuck; Spanish Republic out of luck. I'll choose my martyrs for myself. One day they'll knock upon my door; "don't want your trouble anymore." If I forgot what side I'm on, won't have forgotten very long. I'll choose my martyrs for myself.

about

The Middle Ages is an album about growing up, somewhat. Getting over yourself, dealing with hardship, putting your head down and tending the crops. And saying goodbye to your dad.

The songs were written between 2011 and 2015. They were recorded between 2014 and 2017 in a glass box above the Gardiner Expressway in Toronto. That's why there's a lot of noise in the background.

This album is a product of the kindness of dear friends. Jesse Carlson sent pedal steel tracks from Brandon, MB. Susanna Wiens sent violin tracks from Ottawa, ON. Robin Linton came to the glass box and sang. Ryan McVeigh mastered the album in Winnipeg. Nathan Nun contributed the fabulous cover art. The album is so enriched by these contributions and the time each of them put into getting them right.

And, above all, Jason Hollander. It was his glass box, his equipment, his handmade guitar, his time, his patience, his ears and his ideas that made this album anything worth listening to. We spent more hours than either of us ever anticipated, tracking synths, battling noise, learning about drums, recording and re-recording, losing and finding takes, and ultimately building something we both like. These recordings would not exist without Jason's generosity, and I'd be without a lot of good memories. Thanks pal.

All paw sounds courtesy of Jason's gentle old black lab, Marshall.

credits

released September 3, 2017

Tyler Shipley, Jason Hollander
Jesse Carlson, Susanna Wiens, Robin Linton, Ryan McVeigh
Nathan Nun

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Tyler Shipley Toronto, Ontario

Tyler Shipley was the founding member of the Consumer Goods (theconsumergoods.bandcamp.com) and now performs as a solo artist.

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