River Clyde, near Abington

Drawn into the Clyde Water


My introduction to “Drowned Lovers” began with hearing a spare bit of guitar playing, opening up with regular, almost transmitter-like pulses as the tenth track on Kate Rusby‘s solo debut album, Hourglass, (1997).  The earlier part of the album had been delightful, with a few of Rusby’s original compositions, several tastefully arranged pieces of traditional or contemporary origin, and a lovely fresh voice.  All very pleasant and well done, but “Drowned Lovers” really grabbed my attention, which was no accident. 

Kate Rusby

Rusby writes of the song in the liner notes to the CD:  “A tale of two mothers who use witchcraft and deception to separate their son and daughter, and just about everybody ends up being drowned!  This is a common ballad found in many collections and is also known as ‘The Mother’s Malison’ and ‘Clyde’s Water.’  However, I first heard and learnt it from ‘Penguin Eggs,’ by Nic Jones, a performer who has greatly influenced me.”

OK, not much we didn’t know already, except the allegation that May Margaret’s mother’s deception was also aided by witchcraft, which I neglected to consider in the previous post.  Also, we have a further testament to the influence of the all-too-short musical career of Nic Jones.

Most of Rusby’s work is not available on Spotify, but there are a few YouTube recordings of this song from the album.

The clip below is a live version, released five years later.  The opening of the arrangement is quite similar, at least until the end of the song.  The second instrument in the studio version (above) sounds a bit lighter in tone to me, and might be a cello.  It is almost certainly a bass in the live version (below).

It’s worth paying attention to the arrangement here. The initial pulsing of the guitar, and the response from the bass set an ominous tone for what is to come.  The song builds energy, in some respects like Fairport Convention’s “Matty Groves,” but not as locomotive-like or menacing.


The opening three verses maintain the call and response between the guitar and bass, with Rusby’s voice carrying the melody.  By the fourth verse, the guitar changes its tune a bit, and between verses four and five the flute or whistle kicks in (as Willie successfully navigates the Clyde the first time), the guitar is strummed more energetically, and the accordion joins the ensemble.  There is a little backing off in the verses where Willie meets his end, a respectful and mournful accordion; but the percussion soon joins in, and the song concludes in an almost festive jam–musically speaking, that is.  The live version above adds to this, with an extended jam and a bit of “tra-la-la”-ing on Rusby’s part.


I find this a remarkably successful arrangement, but I can’t tell if it’s because the tune starts off ominously and builds to an ending that contrasts musically with the narrative tragedy on the one hand; or if it’s because the music presents an implicit celebration that the two lovers are together at the end, however terrible that end might be.


As I noted in the previous post, both Willie and May Margaret take gradual steps to meet their end in the Clyde–first horse, then hat, then cane; first feet, then knees, then chin.  It’s my judgment that Rusby does an excellent job of drawing us in gradually as well.  Ominous music at the start and a musical rushing of Clyde Water at the end.  Rusby has a clear affinity for this material, as we’ll discuss a bit more, shortly.

River Clyde

American (or Quasi-American) Re-arrangements


In the last post, I presented Anais Mitchell’s live solo performance from Newcastle.  Here’s another one of her live performances of the song.  This time with Jefferson Hamer, singing some harmony vocals and playing bass.  The instrumental arrangement takes more of a Daniel Lanois-like approach.  The audio quality in the clip is good with a small bit of background talk, but it’s audience-level video; you might just want to stick with the audio.

Another excellent (Celtic) American performance comes from the band The Three Jacks.  Their version, recorded in 2007, rocks; and it fuses the song with an Elizabethan dance tune (see below).


“Drowned Lovers/The Indian Queen,” by The Three Jacks (Spotify)


They write of the song:


Under the title “The Mother’s Malison” (i.e. “Mother’s Curse”) or “Clyde Water” this Scottish tale of two cruel mothers and their drowned children is found (three variants) in Child’s seminal collection of early English and Scottish ballads. It is covered infrequently by folk performers (I first heard – and loved – the Nic Jones version). This version is much “rockier” than anything we have heard from anyone else.

The instrumental is another Stamates-suggested Elizabethan dance tune from the Playford Collection named “The Indian Queen” – from a play which tells a tale of lost love and of an Indian princess who loses her life by drowning. Apt, we thought . . .

The Three Jacks (and two “Jills”)

“Rose in April”


As I mentioned above, Kate Rusby is well-steeped in traditional balladry.  On that same debut album, Hourglass, she offered a cruel parent ballad of her own devising–and there’s no ambiguity that this is a murder ballad, no matter how achingly sweet it is.

The audio on the above clip is a bit distorted to my ears, so you would likely be better off with iTunes, or something like that.  Spotify is still not an option.  The lyrics are on the YouTube page for the clip. and can also be found here.  Spotify does include a cover version by Jon Boden (who, incidentally, also covers “Clyde Water”):


“Rose in April,” by Jon Boden (Spotify)


As an invented ballad (rather than a “reportage” ballad), “Rose in April” dispenses with much of the context normally found in other ballads, and indeed dispenses with proper names altogether.  All that matters are the characters of daughter, mother, father, and lover.  Willie’s anxiety and ardor regarding May Margaret is replaced with “Rose’s” (if we can apply that name to her for the time being) anxiety that her chances of fulfillment and happiness will too quickly slip away.


You may remember that Pat parsed out how the confrontation between Lord Barnard and Matty Groves evaded the legal definition of murder.  Here there is no such concern for an honorable duel, and the father kills both lovers while they lie defenseless.


The ballad is akin to “Drowned Lovers,” though, in the thwarted lovers finding comfort in being together eternally.  It is this factor, I think, that makes them both ballads for the young–the tragedy is mitigated somehow  through the consolation they find, and in Rusby’s version of “Drowned Lovers,” through the festive arrangement at the end.  Although, as we’ll see in the next post, being united in death doesn’t always mitigate the tragedy.


What’s missing, and what is often present in other murder ballads, is the reckoning the killers must face, internally or externally.  The song is really only concerned with the moral universe of the youthful lovers–and they ultimately have no regret.  Perhaps they have the good fortune of finding something that was true for them.  Although, it is a little hard to say, as no one appears to ask Rose’s lover his thoughts on the matter.


As you’ve likely noticed in many of my posts, I’m interested not only in these songs as literary artifacts, but in the ongoing question of why people would choose to write them, or sing them once somebody else had done so–which is, I suppose, closely attached to why one might elect to listen to the song.  What “work” does the song do for the singer or the listener?  Is it merely cathartic, and for whom?


The other question I’d be grateful to get your thoughts on is:  “How did Kate do?”  Do you find her composition in keeping with the genre we’re exploring?  Do you think it will hold up over time?  If you didn’t know its source, would you be able to tell that it was written in the late 20th Century?  


Next up:  More cruel deceptions and more cruel parents, and one surprise ending.