A multi-media song-cycle MUSIC BY COLIN RILEY

inplaceproject.co.uk

1 Contents

Introduction 3 In Place has its roots deep in the Weather Words 6 loam of language and landscape. Half Written Love Letter 7 Colin Riley has set out to show Jaan Jalebi 7 Litanies for the 8 how grained words are into Moss 10 our places, and places are into Deep Forest 11 our words. He has made – with Lost Engines 11 Warp in the Rain 12 his numerous collaborators & Beneath Above Along 14 contributors – a kind of musical Water Over Stone 15 deep-map, which it seems to me plots and celebrates one quality above all others: diversity. The voices that speak here come from many different communities, draw on different histories, even reach out to different species. Landscape here is no singular simplicity, and the smooth consolations of the pastoral are resisted at every turn. Thanks Instead we hear – we listen to – All the wonderful writers landscape as a polyphony, fabulous Robert Macfarlane for his inspiration and support and irreducible in its complexity, Fiona Robertson (soundfestival) for her commitment to the project to which this song-cycle is just one Reuben Abbott – keyboard patches and field recordings among countless testimonies.

Jamie Lawson – field recordings Robert Macfarlane Katrina Lovie and Kathleen Farquhar – Nan Shepherd readings

From Landmarks by Robert Macfarlane (Penguin Books, 2015). Reproduced with permission from the author. From In the Cairngorms by Nan Shepherd. Reproduced with permission from Galileo Publishers. From The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd. Reproduced with permission from Erlend Clouston and the Nan Shepherd estate. From Lights Out by Edward Thomas. Reproduced with permission from Rosemary Vellender.

2 3 My recent compositions have explored how smaller details in the music might be brought to a listener’s attention to illuminate something bigger. In an age when there is ubiquitous use of headphones and a consumption of music as a commodity or mood-enhancer, I feel my role as a composer is to reclaim a more mindful listening mode, celebrating details and potentially hidden intricacies of a piece of music.

Discovering Robert Macfarlane’s recent book Landmarks was a catalyst for bringing together my ideas about a sense of place and the way we listen. The book introduced me to the work of several wonderful writers as well as Robert’s own words. It has most significantly highlighted place can make you feel many things. the parallel between reconnecting via lost There is something very powerful words to a keener sense of seeing and my about the intersection of a particular hopes for keener musical listening.

location and our moment in it. Places In Place is a gathering together of feelings, are constantly renewed in unexpected associations, geographical details, ways by changing conditions; weather, regional identities, dialects, place names, personal memories, imagined routes, and seasons, times of day, the company historical connections. To help in this I have we keep, sounds and smells, and the commissioned new texts from a broad range of writers for whom a sense of place is very surrounding culture. much at the core of their work. These, along with a scattering of various existing texts, I have always been fascinated with the idea have become the lyrics for the ten songs. In that layers of history leave contours and the very different ways they have each provoked imagined traces of those who have been in and challenged me, enabling the piece to the same space before us. I love the way that be diverse, multi-dimensional and hopefully, ruins and industrial relics act as signs to how unexpected. different a place would have been in a previous time. Tracing the routes of disused railways, Now the set of songs is compete I can see canals and ancient tracks has always appealed that in their own way, each brings the past and to me. present together. All the songs contain what can be seen as a kind of spell or chant, through the naming of places, actions or things. As Robert Macfarlane’s ‘Landmarks’ says, “Words act as a compass; place-speech serves literally to en-chant the land – to sing it back into being, and to sing one’s being back into it.”

Colin Riley, 2017 4 5 Weather Words Half Written words by Robert Macfarlane and drawn from his wordhoard in Landmarks Love Letter Language is fundamental to the possibility of re-wonderment, for words by Selina Nwulu language does not just register experience, it produces it. The contours and colours of words are inseparable from the feelings we create in I often imagine my parents came here relation to situations, to others and to places. after hearing the sea of the British isles. Words act as compass; place-speech serves literally to en-chant the land – As if they put their ears to its shell to sing it back into being, and to sing one’s being back into it. and the waves threw themselves tipsy against conch, willing them to come over. Day break - Cock crow - Wee hours - First light (dawn) Then there were the things we understood without words; Grumma – Rafty Grumma – Haar How sun in these parts is a slow swell, Haze-fire – Summer geese the coastal path walks of Dundee, Ammil – Dag – Fret – Roke graffiti hieroglyphics, damp shoes (mist) against Sheffield cobbles and Jaan Jalebi the tastebud clench of a tart apple. words by Daljit Nagra Oiteag – Flam – Fuaradh-froise We learnt this country fiercely Up’tak – Whiffle Jaan of Jalebi Junction whose newfangled my father felt its knuckles crush his jaw Piner – Moor-gallop – Lamkin’ storm rickshaw, outside a shop of sweetmeats, my mother delivered its children Huffling – Gurl – Greann-gaoth confects I have been kissed deeply by its tongue (wind) our pavement with a mega-wok karahi, propped it has licked Yorkshire on my vowels, left me in place of handle bars. For the fulsome day, Aquabob – Clinkerbell – Daggler – Cancervell – Ickle – Tankle – Shuckle with the blushed cheeks of a first crush. the Sanyo pumps heartsore time-bubble (ice) I am a half written love letter bhangra it does not know where to send. Hjalta dance – Simmer kloks – Simmermal brim while Jaan elevates his pastry bag, bloated like Glouse – Blinter So when go home becomes a honey sac, (sun) a neighbourhood war cry, we understand with creamed maida piping the pan-blaze for an Bange – Blatter – Blunk - Cow-quaker - Down-come down-faw – Dreich we are not what you wanted, have been involution! – Dringey – Drisk – Flist – Haar – Haitch – Haster – Hemple – Henting – clean written out of your folklores. Oh memory of village plait, of braided wheat Kelching – Leasty – Letty – Mizzle – Moky – Moor-gallop – Parny – Perry – But we have built here, loved here, died here, sun-lit to bind a dreamer to the origin dream. Plash – Plothering – Rawkey – Scoor – Skew – Skite – Slat – Smirr – Smither – already carry the heartache of leaving. Imagine each Broadway passerby waylaid Snivey – Sope – Spitting – Stotting – Teem – Thunner-pash - Yukken it down When we go home we go back reeking of you. by this one-man band (rain) whose wood wheels are pimped filigree-slick, whose aft of vehicle’s a syrup vat words also taken from Melissa Harrison’s glossary in Rain, 2016 plunging each crusted runnel so it portals Burr – Dark bour – Dimity – Doomfire the arterial cane of balmy motherland. Eawl-leet – Hornlight – Shepherd’s lamp Lethal nostalgia consumed in the guts of a (dusk) Blighty mizzle! From the sweetness of home, that’s phoren, Jaan’s afters are an outbound pleasure that kill for the bite, for the mushy crackle and blood uprooted! The saffron hark of Amritsar.

6 7 Litanies for the words by Richard Skelton and Autumn Richardson

between hills mile upon mile church house hare raise pen, the hill of the heron’s island where wolves played lift from the open veins of close, the harter pike how ulpha bridge hill of crow berries between two furrows hills cockley moss hartley crag pike how close ulpha fell hill of the crow at the point that corney fell haws, the pike side underbank hill of the dog fox move with the sun’s blood divides crook crags hazel head pike, the wallhead crag crag of the doves high ground * crook wood height, the rainsbarrow wood wallowbarrow coppice stream of alders and low ground rugged valley crosby gill, crosbythwaite hesk fell wallowbarrow heald crag of the ewe the road lying between may all your roots crosbythwaite bridge high ground red gill washfold point fox’s earth a line of feathers become winged crowberry hill high stonythwaite red scar water crag rock face of the goat a tenement now lost crowhow end highford beck redgill head watness coy shieling of the gorse [litany one] demming crag hinning house close rigg beck wet gill great crag of the snake * hole house rough crag whelpsty how cairn-hill of the hare forget: place-names of ulpha dod knott holehouse bridge rough how mountain of the red deer ice patterns acre gate dog how holehouse gill rowantree beck whincop, whincop bridge crag by the deer clearing on the blind tarn almshouses, the holehouse tarn rowantree force whis gill hill of hazels arminghow gill dropping crag hollin how rowantree gill white crag hill of sedge giant’s grave barnscar dunnerdale horsehow crags rowantree how white how cairn-hill of the holly deep in the moss basin barrow dunnerdale forest hows, the saddlebacked how white moss crags by the horse’s hill the wind’s baskell farm ellerbeck bridge iron crag scar crag white pike crag of the horse never ceasing tongue bigert mire far hill iron groves seat how, seat, the white wall hill of the red kite bigertmire pasture fickle crag kepple crag sergeant crag stream of the flax tree the deep hole birkby fell fox bield kepple crags sike moss winds gate small crag of the snake in the river foxbield moss kitt how withe bottom crag of the martens wake: birker force fox crags knott, the skelly crags wonder hill wood by the raven’s hill birkerthwaite freeze beck lad how smallstone beck wood knotts crag of ravens the ancient river name birks garner bank linbeck bridge smithy mire woodend stream by the mountain ash the burnt tree stump low birker pool gate crag linbeck gill spothow gill woodend bridge hill of the pig sty the wyrm’s cist low birker tarn grassguards little arming how stainton beck woodend height marsh of the lapwing the swallow’s copse black beck grassguards gill little beck stainton fell woodend pool hill of hawthorns * black crag gray stone little crag stainton pike wormshell how stream by the wolf traps yarrow bleak haw great arming how little gill stanley force yoadcastle hill of the wolf juniper brackenthwaite great crag little worm crag stord’s hill hill of the deer wallow wormwood brandy crag great gill long crag storthes [litany two] ridge of gorse brant rake, brantrake crags great whinscale long hill storthes gill summit of gorse oral and faunal place-names mile upon mile brantrake moss great wood low ground swinsty how valley of willow lift from the open veins of brighouse great worm crag low stonythwai(te) marsh by the barley fields hill of the snake’s shieling hills broad crag maiden castle tewit moss shieling by the birch trees fort of the horse green how mart crag thorn how move with the sun’s blood brown rigg clearing where bracken grows buck crag grimcrag, grimecrag bridge meeting hill tongue beck rocky height of the deer birch burn moor, burnmoor stake hall beck moor house tonguedale moss marsh by the woodcock’s heather castle how, castlehow beck hare gill ox pike ulgra beck clearing rowan

8 9 Moss Lost Engines words by Paul Farley words and melodies from our industrial heritage

Crown Street, Collins Green, Kenyon Junction, Astley, Flow Moss Cottage O who’ll replace this old miner (some of the stations along the Manchester-Liverpool Railway, now closed) And who will take my place below? And who will follow the trepaner At the junction where The Wrong Side of the Tracks O dear God when I go? meets Memory Lane where the mighty sodium mast looks down on everything from a kestrel’s height O who will wield my heavy pick as the cutting passes through the fossil record That I did wield for forty years? and filed horizons where sandstone turns the green And who will hew the black, black coal of a sea wall ferns the green of a banker’s lamp Who dear God when I go? beyond Broad Green where we trespassed on the line O who will cry when the roof caves in? and put our ears to the rail like they did in films When friends are dying all around? where an Iron Age head listens to the party wall And who will sing the miner’s hymn? of a pond where thrown-back carp bask in their status Who dear God when I go? and all are shaken by timetable where the moon fits the description of the smoked-out sun For forty years I’ve loved the mine over Manchester to the east which we could hear For forty years I’ve worked down there. as a loom rumble through the steel where the buddleia Now who’ll replace this old miner held the signal at maroon for miles in summer When I’ve paid God my fare? where we time our blinks with the freight train’s red lantern Mill, sweep, card, reap so as not to miss a thing where stones pulled up Churn, hew, doff, brew to cast leave an empty chocolate tray in the earth Deep Forest words from the poem Lights Out where the coal rises to the surface near St. Helens Levant Tin Mine (Cornwall) by Edward Thomas and the great spoil banks of the motorway are seeded Maunsall Forts (Thames Estuary) and goblins weave down minor roads on mopeds I have come to the borders of sleep, Laboratory 1 (Orford Ness) with the horsepower of sewing machines in fishtail The unfathomable deep Bass Maltings (Sleaford) parkas where the fields brew runoff and plinths Forest where all must lose Rhosydd Quarry (Tanygrisiau) of concrete stand with no discernible function Their way, however straight, SS Castle Fan House (Eston Hills) where the night glitters in a ring around potato drills Or winding, soon or late; Magpie Mine (Sheldon) where being given down the banks meets the highest praise They cannot choose. Redcar Steel Works (Teeside) and we are young and green in the old and afterwards Finnieston Crane (Glasgow) stood out in it not knowing the storm has passed Many a road and track Chatterley Whitfield Colliery (Staffordshire) and the first landscape of speed is gathering moss That, since the dawn’s first crack, Up to the forest brink, Deceived the travellers Suddenly now blurs, And in they sink.

The tall forest towers; Its cloudy foliage lowers Ahead, shelf above shelf; Its silence I hear and obey That I may lose my way And myself.

10 11 Warp In The Rain words by Nick Papadimitriou

Pumping Station Four (circa 1974) Nakładka Garbus

E x c e p t f o r t h i s w a r m c h u g o f c l a v i n e t The fish-plate (a) And bent notes from mellatron Held “Man with glasses, Like soft silk tresses Its conatus One day I will be your leader!” Warping in rain, These Sixty-five Introducing the cabbage-patch masturbator: Except for the bus conductor Years, He who dreams of love in Omsk or Nowa Huta. W h o ’ s a t r o p h i e d a o r t a f a i l s i n A c t o n In oil And the side-burned copper who And muck And these we salute. Slips on dogshit, Of rails Here by Pumping Station Number Four, We salute you. E x c e p t f o r t h e s t r i p e d m a r q u e e i n w h i c h And rain: -

M i s z a d i s p l a y s h e r p i n k m e r k i n Now, (b) W h i l e B i e n i k , t h e m a t h s t e a c h e r The drift Recalls the war at sea: To What language is this, Where every metre between * * * Endings. Garage and wall is weighed, E x c e p t f o r a l l o f t h e s e a n d a l l o t h e r Pinion of traction, E v e n t s o f a n y s c a l e o r d u r a t i o n You are And insistence batons down, I t s fi n e m a n , b y P u m p i n g S t a t i o n F o u r An ingot Pushing, pushing through As we all Of Silesia. To marks on pages? Warp in the rain. Spat from the Who was it I needed Heat-glare To speak to in the local park? Of the foundry, Only the pumping station will know. You nestled (c) In the clinkers, dimly engaged The sewage conduit curves through In slow To the sea, Fusion, And the curbed lane, the ribbed rails, Feeling Swerve too. The river Coastlines and Wittgenstein, Creeping The difficult-to-follow navy jet, tremoring: Up. These too allow for nothing; Now These too huddle up finally against beach-shacks. The mud-flats Pucker And gulls Pick dully Where I hurled you.

12 13 Beneath, Above, Along, words by Jackie Morris

Ravens dancing the sky …. dandelions like sun Wind holds raven, kestrel and peregrine. in the fields … silver litany of charms …. snakes Lifts lark song, then flings it down to fall uncoiling from dreams …. Always the coming Where Seal sings in deep caves that I notice - never the passing …. At land’s edge.

See through owl eyes, seal whiskers. This place is theirs. Feel through snake skin. Beneath, above, along. Scent the air like fox and read the wind. Honeysuckle, heather, eyebright and violet. Speak in salt water, lark tongue, raven cry. Hawthorne, blackthorn, oak and ash Watch through hawk eyes and see the paths the Water Over Stone rodents take across the land. See through owl eyes, seal whiskers. words by Nan Shepherd Feel through snake skin. Fly above the sea and know where fish gather Scent the air like fox and read the wind. beneath. This is the river. Water, that strong white stuff, one of Speak in salt water, lark tongue, raven cry. the four elemental mysteries, can here be seen at its Dolphin, porpoise, whale, jellyfish, mackerel, Fish, bird, insect, seal, snake. origins. Like all profound mysteries, it is so simple bass, sewing and sand eels. This place is theirs. that it frightens me. It wells from the rock, and flows Fish, bird, insect, seal, snake. Beneath, above, along. away. For unnumbered years it has welled from the This place is theirs. rock, and flows away. It does nothing, absolutely This small arm of rock on which I live that pushes Beneath, above, along. nothing, but be itself. out into the sea, peopled by birdsong and wind, from The Living Mountain Wind textures the water’s skin. this is where I live, in the true sense of that word. Thickens, wrinkles. It’s where I write. It’s where I think. O burnie with the glass-white shiver Sea mirrors sky. Singing over stone, Its soundtrack is raven, buzzard and chough, So quick, so clear, a hundred year Land reaches out to sea. wren, skylark, snipe in the autumn and Singing one song alone, Sea touches land. sealsinging. The wind moves through grass, From crystal sources fed forever, Motion is constant. heather and bracken. Sometimes the sea joins all From cold mountain springs, of these and there are times when it seems all the Tides pull towards the deep. To o’erpersuade the haunted ear small winged things hatch and then the world is a Seals rise to breath. It new-creates the tune it sings. glass clatter of dragonfly wings. Sink back to light splintered water. Singing Burn from In the Cairngorms One hears it without listening as one breathes without thinking. But to a listening ear the sound disintegrates into many different notes – the slow slap of a loch, the high clear rill of a rivulate, the roar of a spate. On one short stretch of burn the ear may distinguish a dozen notes at once. from The Living Mountain

gairneag (noisy little stream) borbhan (purling, murmering) iomashruth (with eddying current) Gaelic words for the flow of water in a mountain stream

14 15 UK TOUR/AUTUMN

2ND NOVEMBER, 7PM soundfestival, The Lemon Tree, Aberdeen

4TH NOVEMBER, 5.30PM soundfestival, Logie Coldstone Village Hall, Aboyne

15TH NOVEMBER, 8PM IABF, Manchester

25TH NOVEMBER, 7.30PM The Tabernacle, Talgarth + Owen Sheers

29TH NOVEMBER, 8PM The Stables, Wavendon

Full listings/booking info at inplaceproject.co.uk

Players Melanie Pappenheim voice Ruth Goller bass Kate Halsall keyboards Stephen Hiscock percussion Nic Pendlebury viola

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