Root, Heart & Crown
1. O Quanta Qualia – lyrics/credits
2. The Abbess – lyrics/credits
3. Copper Kettle – lyrics/credits
4. Battle Hymn – lyrics/credits
5. Above Hotevilla – lyrics/credits
6. Fall Down the Ground – lyrics/credits
7. O Leander – lyrics/credits
8. Ladybird – lyrics/credits
9. Hermetica – lyrics/credits
10. Black Lavender – lyrics/credits
11. Creeping Jenny – lyrics/credits
12. Clementine – lyrics/credits
13. Bright Morning Stars – lyrics/credits
14. Chaconne – lyrics/credits
Listen
Copper Kettle
Battle Hymn
Hermetica
All songs written by Kristin Sweetland except “O Quanta Qualia” written by Peter Abelard, 12th century, “Bright Morning Stars,” traditional, and “Chaconne,” based on an excerpt from J.S.Bach’s “Chaconne, Partita no. 2 in D minor,” arranged by Kristin Sweetland, string arrangement by Ken Whiteley.
Produced by Ken Whiteley.
Engineered by Nik Tjelios.
Recorded and Mixed at Casa Wroxton studio, Toronto, Ontario 2002.
Mastered at Music Lane Mastering, Markham, Ontario.
Published by Arbora Vita Music.
Artwork and self-portrait photography by Kristin Sweetland.
Design and layout by A Man Called Wrycraft.
Back cover photograph by Kevin Kelly.
Paintings from the “Pretiosissimum Donum Dei” Artist unknown, 17th century.
Most heartfelt thanks, hugs and kisses to Ken, for supporting and believing in me… Ellen and Ben for adopting me into your home, Nik Tjelios, Stephen Fearing, Michael Wrycraft, Ken Palmer, Katie and Masina, Miss Jenny, Maybelle the Van, Buffy and Xena, Mom, Dad and little Raven.
And of course, thanks so much to all of the incredible musicians who came to play on the album…
This album is dedicated to my wonderful grandmother, Phyllis Cooper… thank you for your love, support and inspiration.
O Quanta Qualia
Victoria, British Columbia, March 2001
I have been reading the letters of Abelard and Heloise. It must be a right of passage for any tortured romantic and I am dreaming of France and the stone walls of ancient monasteries steeped in the gold of candlelight… After a passionate love affair, accidental pregnancy and secret marriage, Heloise sequestered herself in a convent at Argenteuil. Abelard then took up residency in a monastery at St-Denis. They began a life long correspondence with each other that reflected their personal tragedy as well as an attempt to understand personal and divine love. Only in death were they finally reunited. Abelard, who was a brilliant scholar and composer, wrote a selection of hymns for Heloise during their long separation. It seems that it was only in dedication to their God that they were finally able to find peace in love together…
O quanta qualia
Sunt illa sabbata
Quae semper celebrat
Superna curia
Quae fessis requies
Quae merces fortibus
Cum erit omnia
Deus in omnibus
Translation:
Oh how many, how great are the Sabbaths
Which the celestial court celebrates eternally
Which are the rest of the weary, the reward of the strong
When god will be all things
In all things…
Kristin Sweetland: vocals, harmony vocals
George Koller: vocals, drone vocal
Ken Whiteley: drone vocal
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The Abbess
London, Ontario, February 2002
I am studying Latin by reading translations of Heloise’s letters to Abelard… I am enchanted by the beauty and power of her language. As the syllables roll off my tongue they stir deep within my cellular memory a remembrance of singing… With love, for Heloise…
Master, my father, my husband, no brother
Handmaid, your sister, your daughter, no lover
As gold is to silver, as ink is to pen
As quill is to paper, I write you again
How I remember it, when we did part
Change of my habit and change of my heart
Now there is nothing but wormwood and gall
Blood on the cross and the stones in the wall
Hallelujah hallelujah ave vera unice ave
Morning will rise and the rivers will run
But never you write me and never you come
Love, you are shapeless and restless as wind
I take a deep breath and I hold you in
Dark of the midnight I’ll never forget
Your hands on the strings I’m a marionette
Lay down low in a bed of perfume
And a dark cloud will shadow the moon
Hallelujah hallelujah ave vera unice ave
Soon we will rise in the clear of the blue
From down in the grave when they lay me beside you
Ashes to ashes and then we will fall
Farewell my loveliness, farewell my all
Hallelujah hallelujah ave vera unice ave
Hallelujah hallelujah ave vera unice ave
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Stephen Fearing: harmony vocals
George Koller: string bass
Ben Grossman: darbouka, shakers, udu
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Copper Kettle
Victoria, British Columbia, April 2001
I have been reading about alchemy, the “art of distillation,” and the 12 stages of transforming any substance into gold. This particular manuscript is called the “Pretiosissimum Donum Dei” or the “Most precious gift of God.” I am fascinated by alchemy and its profound integration of science, religion, mysticism and magic. With the archetypal personification of physical substances the alchemist becomes a writer and artist. Firstly, writing the mythology of the scientific experiment in story and then preserving it forever in the visual realm of art. Let the transformations begin…
Don’t come here love
He has thrown me away as the carrion
Now those blackened angels fly me
Up to the garden in the holy sky
Never will I fall again
Over and over the fields of a man
What is all that sweet work worth
Just to fall into the dark and sordid canyons of the earth
Light the copper kettle
Fill it up with rain
God’ll make whiskey
From the water and the grain.
Oh lonely I know you well
I know you better than I know myself
Don’t come here love
My heart is the darkest of stations
He has come to drive the train
From the pistol in my pocket to the bullet in my brain
Never will I fall again
Over and over the oceans of him
For up above the earthly air
I am the queen of the beautiful nowhere
Light the copper kettle
Fill it up with rain
God’ll make whiskey
From the water and the grain
Oh lonely I know you well
I know you better than I know myself
Bring me a bed of ashes
A shroud of gold and a crown of lapis
Let me go, let me go
Where the holy water rivers flow
For I am the fire and I am the metal
Bring me the copper kettle
Light the copper kettle
Fill it up with rain
God’ll make whiskey
From the water and the grain
Oh lonely I know you well
I know you better than I know myself
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
Ken Whiteley: electric guitar
George Koller: acoustic bass guitar
Davide Direnzo: drums
Anne Lindsay: fiddle
Ben Grossman: percussion
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Battle Hymn
Manassas, Virginia, September 2001
I have come to the battlefields at Manassas, the site of the first battle of the Civil War, July 21, 1861. I have been dreaming about these fields, and in my dreams I am a woman dressed as a drummer boy. I fly my ghostly body through the thick smoke of morning playing my drum and calling the fallen… Now above me, airplanes fly low into Dulles airport. I wander far into the forest and although I feel lost, I am saved by the roar of the I-66 which constantly reminds me which way is south. It is hot and I am losing my strength for walking, but there is a melody in my head that I sing over and over and it keeps me strong…
All gather round, it has finally begun
Over the roar of a thirty pound gun
Down through the valley we follow the road
Golden the sun on our blue velvet coats
Once, twice, three times they call
Cavalry ride and the battery roll
They say either way we’ll be heroes by dawn
Godspeed everyone
Singing Gloria… Gloria…
Under the ceiling of shot and shell
I bang the drum slowly, they rebel yell
Trumpets they blow as the Brigadier comes
We all sing the Battle Cry Freedom
Once twice three times they sound
Darker the night the more crimson the ground
Out on the hillside so many young lay
Called to an early grave
Singing Gloria… Gloria…
In thick air of morning I watch it alone
Smitten by thunderbolts, coatsleeves and bones
President said that tomorrow we’ll know
Got the wolf by the ears and we can’t let him go
In the name of our lord
Star, stripe, saber and sword
Never remember and never we learn
Towers burn
Singing Gloria… Gloria…
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Stephen Fearing: vocals
George Koller: fretless bass
Davide Direnzo: drums
Roman Borys: cello
Sarah McElcheran: trumpet
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Above Hotevilla
Hotevilla, Arizona, August, 2000
In high school I had my first dream of the southwestern desert. I woke up to find myself on the top of a freestanding stone tower pinnacle in Monument Valley. There was nothing at all for miles to be seen, no way to get down, and nothing to help me except one single piece of white paper… I made a paper airplane and flew it into the wind, over canyons, villages and finally down to the ground, landing in the middle of a strip mall parking lot… Now I am visiting the Hopi land on the earth plane. In old Oraibi I see thousand year old mud brick walls built hundreds of years before Christopher Columbus was even a twinkling… I want to talk to everyone I see but decide to stay shy and hidden… I lie down in Ezmerelda the Van with my lukewarm corner store coffee and find a postcard and a pen…
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar
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Fall Down the Ground
Poplar Beach, Ontario, July 2000
I am lonely for Vancouver Island. I close my eyes and above me stand the cedar trees, their great bodies and arms thrust up into the blue sky… Like vaulted columns of emerald and ochre they rise up through the canopy and into the heavens. They sing in me a love song for the landscape…
Farewell to the man in the black bowler hat
Who is walking away through the field
Out where the moon glow comes down like a halo
He’ll go where the land meets the sea
Down from the heavens a glittering shroud
A ring round the island a misty white cloud
All of the apples will fall from the trees
And he’ll slide between the veil and the sea
Fall down the ground
Fall down the ground
What more could I ask of that great goddess now
By oak, ash and hawthorn
By root, heart and crown
Come back my love and fall down
In dreams we will wander though cedar and alder
We go through wildflower fields
Then I’ll ask the roses, the snowdrops, the crocus
To grow in a ring round your heels
You be the eagle and I’ll be the raven
You go for the kill and we fight for the salmon
While up in the canopy angels conspire
To lift us up higher
Fall down the ground
Fall down the ground
Here where the leaves will flame red then turn brown
By oak, ash and hawthorn
By root, heart and crown
Come back my love and fall down
Farewell to the man in the black bowler hat
Who is walking away through the field
Before you cross over through camas and clover
I call with all my sorcery
Fall down the ground
Fall down the ground
What more could I ask of that great goddess now
By oak, ash and hawthorn
By root, heart and crown
Come back my love and fall down
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
George Koller: acoustic bass guitar
Davide Direnzo: drums
Anne Lindsay: fiddle
Roman Borys: cello
Ken Whiteley: piano
Ben Grossman: triangle
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O Leander
London, Ontario, February, 2002
The story of Hero and Leander is a tale of tragic love from Greek mythology. Hero was a priestess of Aphrodite and lived sequestered in a tower on the shores of what is now Turkey. Leander was her lover, and he lived across the Hellespont channel in what was then a part of Asia. Each night Leander would swim the channel to be with his love, guided only by a torch she would light in her tower. But one night there was a great tempest with winds that blew out the torchlight… Some stories say when Leander’s body washed up on shore Hero threw herself down from the tower onto the rocks beside him. Other stories say that Hero forever wandered the shores calling to her lost love, “O Leander! O Leander!” After this, the white flower that grew along the sea became known as the oleander….
Driving by, say hello
Witchita, New Mexico
Carolina, Iowa
Oglala, Omaha
Late night, radio
Arizona, Navajo
Ride away, hide away heart
O Leander O Leander
Since you left across the black waters wide
O Leander O Leander
There is none save the thunder inside
Here we go again
Colorado, Oregon
Wheat fields, graveyards
Coal mines, postcards
Indiana, Manitoba
Old Chicago, Oklahoma
Rain clouds, water runs down
O Leander O Leander
Since you left across the black waters wide
O Leander O Leander
There is none save the thunder inside
Big snow, drive slow
Homeland, Ontario
Smoke stack silhouettes
Coffee cups, cigarettes
Go south, white line
Blueridge, moonshine
Shenandoah River run wild
4 wheels, 2 lanes
Say goodbye, people change
I’ll come back somehow
Or alone I’ll always be
A sailor on the ever sea
No wind, no sail, no sound
O Leander O Leander
Light the torch in the signal tower
O Leander O Leander
Waves break foam like the whitest flower
O Leander O Leander
Since you left across the black waters wide
O Leander O Leander
There is none save the thunder inside
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
George Koller: fretless bass
Davide Direnzo: drums
Ken Whiteley: banjo, organ
Ben Grossman: tambourine
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Ladybird
Toronto, Ontario, March 2002
The winter has been long and I have begun to dream wildly of summer… The freedom of driving sans snow, the sun, the sky, the grass… I am craving the road… In the true tradition of folk music, here is love song for “Lady,” my beautiful guitar. And off we go…
Ladybird o Ladybird
Sweetest song that I ever heard
Eagle fly but not as high
As Lady and I
Hair of gold and skin of snow
Lips of rose and a wing of crow
One pinch of tobacco
And goodbye, goodbye
Forget him, forsake him
Let go girl, you’ll make it
He’ll never be able
To love you like Ladybird
Sun come up and the rooster cry
Lady’s up in the deep blue sky
Carry me upon the wind
Back home again
Wheels will turn and the winding road
Fire burns and the whistle blows
Sing in me and off we go
Away, away
Forget him, forsake him
Let go girl, you’ll make it
He’ll never be able
To love you like Ladybird
Ladybird o Ladybird Forget him,
Sweetest song that I ever heard Forsake him
Eagle fly but not as high Let go girl
As Lady and I You’ll make it
Hair of gold and skin of snow He’ll never
Lips of rose and wing of crow Be able
One pinch of Tobacco To love you
And goodbye, goodbye Like Ladybird
Kristin Sweetland: Hammertone octave 12 string
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
Ken Whitleley: acoustic guitar
George Koller: electric bass
Davide Direnzo: drums
Anne Lindsay: fiddle
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Hermetica
London, Ontario, February 2002
I have been studying alchemical artwork and the rich body of images that have been etched into modern history… Hermes was the Greek messenger of the Gods and alchemists identified him with the Egyptian God Thoth or “thrice greatest.” Thoth was the god of writing and magic and worshipped, like Hermes as the “souls’ guide through the underworld.” From this union sprang Hermes Trismegistus, a mythical figure alchemists saw as their ‘Moses’. He is said to have handed down the divine commandments for the art of alchemy in the “Emerald Tablet.” It states that “Without doubt. Certain:/ the below is as the above, and the above as the below, to the perfect wonders of the One….”
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar
George Koller: bass percussion
Ben Grossman: shakers
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Black Lavender
Victoria British Columbia, June 2000
Last night I dreamt of running through exploding minefields. There were black craters and burnt shrubs as far as the eye could see… It felt like Eastern Europe and my companion and I were escaping from some kind of war camp. A gypsy woman found us and built us a ladder up to the sky. We were supposed to climb up among the branches and clouds until we were told it was safe to come down. No one ever returned for us and is likely that we stayed up there forever…
I remember, loving brother
Lives we lived before
Over mountains we did wander
O hey ya hey ya hey ya
Our dear mother our dear father
Lay them down below
Ride that glory train forever
All the while black lavender grows
Heya shaya
Heya Bar
Mi amore bravios bar
La gilabna canta
La lavanda negra cultiva
Leave now in the midnight cold
Before the riders come
Bag of bread and bag of gold
Oh hey ya hey ya hey ya
Never shall we make a sound
They will never know
Shoes upon the hollowed ground
All the while black lavender grows
Heya shaya
Heya Bar
Mi amore bravios bar
La gilabna canta
La lavanda negra cultiva
Forests deep and winding river
Winter wind and snow
Oceans rise and earth will quiver
O hey ya hey ya hey ya
Come now brother lay beside
As hearts begin to slow
Roses red and vines will hide us
All the while black lavender grows
Heya shaya
Heya Bar
Mi amore bravios bar
La gilabna canta
La lavanda negra cultiva
Chorus translation:
Oh Sister
Oh Brother
My loving wild nomadic brother
The lady singer sings a deep song
The black lavender grows
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
Stephen Fearing: acoustic guitar
George Koller: string bass
Roman Borys: cello
Ken Whiteley: accordion, tambourine
Ben Grossman: frame drum
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Creeping Jenny
Sperryville, Virginia, September 2001
All throughout the autumn forests the creeping jenny vine flames red. It winds down along the river and up among the trees blackened by forest fire. I am in the Blue Ridge Mountains visiting my darling friend Jenny. We climb up into Shenandoah Park spinning a tale of the vine that shares her name. It is a ghostly legend, explaining how and why our hearts have become bound to this landscape forever…
I will never go back
I will never go
Deep in the vines and Virginia pines
Up in the shadows of the Shenandoah
Out she comes when the night winds blows
Down from the mountain the river flows
If you look you’ll surely see
The ghost of the Creeping Jenny
The fire
Is drawing nearer
Getting wider
Getting deeper
Run faster
Or Jenny
Be the bride of the mountainside
At only six and twenty
Hear her voice in the whispering breeze
See her breath on the quivering leaves
In the ivy she makes her bed
Jenny lies down with the copperheads
Hold your ears or you’re gonna hear
Turn your head so you never see her
Those who spy in her hallowed eyes
Roam the mountain all their lives
The fire
Is drawing nearer
Getting wider
Getting deeper
Run faster
Or Jenny
Be the bride of the mountainside
At only six and twenty
Out she comes when the season’s turning
Crimson red as the mountain burning
Winds her way through the hickory broom
Little white hare in the blood of the moon
I have never seen her face
I swear I’ve never seen her face
Don’t call me cause I won’t go
Back to the shadows of the Shenandoah
The fire
Is drawing nearer
Getting wider
Getting deeper
Run faster
Or Jenny
Fall down cold in the red earth clay
We all of us must die one day
I will never go back
I will never go
Deep in the vines and Virginia pines
Up in the shadows of the Shenandoah
Out she comes when the night winds blows
Down from the mountain as the river flows
If you look you’ll surely see
The ghost of the Creeping Jenny
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
Ken Whiteley: acoustic guitar, banjo, string bass
Anne Lindsay: fiddle
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Clementine
Savannah, Georgia, November 1999
I have been sleeping in a bamboo screen house hut in the middle of the Georgia swamplands. Spanish moss falls down from the bald cypress trees, so soft and gentle in the dim morning light. I have rowed a small raft into the middle of a snapping turtle pond for the sunrise… I have been thinking of “O My Darlin’ Clementine” and other songs from my childhood I used to sing to wake myself up in the morning. I remember being so completely traumatized by poor Clementine and the tragedy of her watery grave. I am not sure that I have ever quite recovered…
Dead in the river that runs
From the quicksilver moon to the slow Georgia sun
Alone she lay cold she lay bare
The girl with the Spanish moss hair
It’s a curious scene that happened between
A hazel eyed maiden a quick southern stream
Where red bellied loon and sycamore twine
Her body fell into the brine
Clementine, Clementine
You were a darling, a daughter of mine
I’ll dream you a raven released by the dawn
But where have you gone
Down came her father all tired from the fields
To wash his brown hands by the water
There where the river rolls out to the sea
Lay still his child in the reeds
Oh my darling, oh my darling
He wept thick salt tears ’till the dim light of morning
So deep his sorrow
Their fate so entwined
His body fell into the brine
Clementine, Clementine
You were a darling a daughter of mine
There where the river runs up to the sky
We’ll meet in the sweet by and by
Dead in the river that runs
From the quicksilver moon to the slow Georgia sun
Alone she lay cold she lay bare
The girl with the Spanish moss hair
Clementine, Clementine
You were a darling a daughter of mine
Go as you are, stay as you are
And rise up your hand to the bright morning star
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals George Koller: string bass Ken Whiteley: mandolin
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Bright Morning Stars
Lyons, Colorado, August 2000
I am lying in a hammock at the Rocky Mountain Folk Festival swaying above the swift St. Vrain River… I think this must be heaven. The stars are out, the moon is high and I am watching Emmylou Harris sing “From Boulder to Birmingham” on the main stage. In the sound of Emmylou’s voice I hear all of the reasons I have been drawn to this musical path. I hear the sounds of my childhood and the traditional songs I learned from her when I was young. Beyond the struggles of trying to survive as an ‘artist’ in this world, it is in these moments that I know it is all truly worth it indeed…
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Day is a breaking in my soul
Where are our dear mothers
Where are our dear mothers
They are down in the valley praying
Day is a breaking in their souls
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Day is a breaking in my soul
Where are our dear fathers
Where are our dear fathers
They have gone to heaven a shouting
Day is a breaking in their souls
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Bright Morning Stars are rising
Day is a breaking in my soul
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar, vocals
Stephen Fearing: harmony vocals
Rebecca Campbell: harmony vocals
George Koller: fretless bass
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Chaconne
Victoria, British Columbia, March 2000
I am writing a screenplay for a short film called “The Bloodfruit Tree.” It is a fairytale about a girl named White Rose and her deep and profound sorrow. Her sorrow is as deep as the ocean and high as the highest mountain, for she has known no mother, no father and no sweet love… One night Death comes for White Rose and he wants to claim her as his bride. When she refuses he gives her one last chance… She must take four seeds and eat one each night before bed. She will have four dreams and if in the end she is still full of such great sorrow, then he will take her as his bride… She dreams one night in each of the elements and awakes to find herself transformed altogether… In recording the soundtrack for the film I was introduced to Bach’s “Chaconne” from Partita no. 2 in D minor. I am forever changed…
Kristin Sweetland: acoustic guitar
Anne Lindsay: violin
Roman Borys: cello
