Artist's Statement: For every songwriter, each song comes from a special place. Some songs tell a story, inspired from long ago. For me, a transplant from Kentucky to Philadelphia, who has fallen in love with this historical city, that is the case for some of my music. Some songs may come from the here, the now, the within. The moments of living which we all share - the pain or joy, triumph or despair, challenge or whimsy. These songs may be more 'personal' - for me at least that is the case. Whatever their inspiration, through word and note, I wish to share my music, my experiences, with the listener. Of course, the listener can receive it in any way they want. I just hope the music stirs a response - Marion Halliday.
bourbon and men
Inspired by two subjects near and dear to the heart of Marion and her Trickster Sisters.
By Marion Halliday 2016 - all rights reserved.
V1 - I like my bourbon like I like my men -Strong, not too neat, some rocks thrown in.
I like when things burn and make me sweat, And hard livin’ with no regrets.
Ref: Oh my aching head -Why’s that bottle in my bed?
I like the things that aren’t good for me - I like you and Kentucky whiskey.
V2 - I like wild storms when wind shake my house The thrill of wondering will this work out?
Kinda how it feels when I’m loving you - Not quite sure what you're gonna do.
V3-I like the quiet in the dark of night with only thoughts to hold me tight.
I liked you better when you went away- Why it hurts still, can't hardly say.
BOY ON LEMON HILL
Irish-y ditty inspired by a lovely spot near Marion's home in Fairmount Park area of Philadelphia.
By Marion Halliday 2015 - all rights reserved.
V1-There’s a boy up on Lemon Hill, if I cant catch him, nobody will.
A little bit sassy, little bit sweet, tastiest morsel you ever did meet. Six foot two and hair so dark - Its no wonder he would break my heart.
Cho: Hey dilly, dilly, and a derry derry oh, hey dilly, dilly and a derry derry oh
V2 -That brawny lad, by the name of Will, lived in a house on top of Lemon Hill. I followed him home and gave him a kiss but Molly Bloom wasn’t happy with this. A little bit brassy and long in the tooth. What she couldn’t win was mine to lose.
V3- Well I caught me the boy up on Lemon Hill. He spent all my money now I cant pay a bill. Alll he’s given me is a babe to raise and a heartache to last all of my days. So I gave him the boot back to Molly Bloom and now that pair can sing this tune.
Marion's Kentucky hometown of Louisville and neighboring Bullitt County have been ravaged by the heroin and meth epidemic decimating rural America. Marion's home state is unfortunately in the top five in the country in terms of overdose deaths. As with many things, there is not one simple cause to point to, but in the song, Marion describes the development of major highways and the change to the agrarian culture as a contributing factor - three major US interstates (I-65, I-64, and I-71) all converge in the Louisville area and with it bring easy access/transport for the drug trade.
By Marion Halliday 2016-all rights reserved
V 1 - The grass grows blue in the town where I was born.
In Autumn we'd cut patterns taking hayrides in the corn.
We'd hang tobacco from the beams in my daddy's farm.
The men would drink their whiskey by the fire when work was done- Oh Bullitt County, Oh Bullitt County - where you gone
V 2 - The caves that I played in as a kid up in the knobs,
Sheltered slaves on their way to freedom from the South,
But change has seeped through the town like water on limestone.
Its slowly carved away the good our lives were built on.
Oh Bullitt County, Oh Bullitt County-where you gone?
BR: So they built a super-highway, runs right thru our town.
From the Gulf coast to the Great Lakes -its a thousand miles long.
Progress can bring problems, no matter what they say, - the bluegrass can turn to brown and the corn fields rot away.
V 3 - The Jesusp brothers were the first to plant that deadly crop - In the woods by the Armory they started out with pot.
Now they're cooking up a storm behind my daddy's barn
and the kids are cutting school to cut some meth
and Bullitt County's gone. .Its gone, its gone . . .
V 4 - Cicadas hum in the night as we stare into the fire
Nothing much to say- we're all so God-awful tired.
We admire our handiwork in the chemical and smoke
But no one plays in the caves or cuts patterns in the corn
anymore . . . no more.