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EP Announcement
Acclaimed finger-picking guitarist, folk singer and songwriter, Jon Wilks, will release a new EP, “Live at the Albion Rooms” this autumn. The four-track collection features Wilks on acoustic guitar and vocals, and was performed live in the studio. Each song is accompanied by a short film by videographer and Wilks’s long-time collaborator, Jon Nice. The E.P. will be available as part of Hudson Records’ Hudson Club release programme.
Wilks explains the surprise genesis of the project: “In October 2023, I was booked to play at the wonderful Rosslyn Court, Margate. Who should be in the audience but Carl Barât, of The Libertines fame. We chatted. Turns out he quite likes Napoleonic ballads. He invited me to visit his residential studio – The Albion Rooms. One thing led to another, and I ended up spending a weekend there in July 2024. It features songs that I’ve recently been playing a lot in my set. Some will be relatively new to people who have seen or heard me, and some are what you might call old favourites.”
The release will also see Wilks hit the road for an autumn tour with solo dates as well as gigs with Jackie Oates and Martin Carthy.
Concert tickets can be found on my Bands In Town page.
Track list
- October Song
- Napoleon’s Farewell to Paris [Roud 1626]
- From a Lullaby Kiss
- Greek Street
Arranged and performed by Jon Wilks. Recorded, mixed and mastered by Jason Stafford at The Albion Rooms, Margate. Videos by Jon Nice, assisted by Kai Wilks.
About the songs
October Song
Jon’s arrangement of the famous Incredible String Band song. “I’ve been playing this live for about 10 years and I previously recorded it with The Grizzly Folk. It never fails to mesmerise me. The final verse is simply masterful, and is even more astounding when you learn that this is the first song that Robin Williamson ever wrote. I interviewed him about it recently and he pointed out that it’s all there in the opening lines: ‘I’ll sing you this October song, for there is no song before it.’ I’m not sure how I’d react to writing a song like this on my first attempt. I’d probably just give up. Astounding stuff.”
Napoleon’s Farewell to Paris [Roud 1626]
“I learnt this song while on tour with Martin Carthy last year. I want to underline the point that I didn’t learn it from him (for once), but perhaps because of him. While we were touring, Ridley Scott’s Napoleon movie came out, and it became the subject of car-journey conversations, which in turn led us to start listening to Napleonic ballads. Martin made the fascinating point that there are hundreds of Napoleon songs in the English traditional canon, but only one about Wellington (which was, he told me, commissioned by the man himself). English people, it seems, adored Napoleon. This song was a fairly popular broadside in the 1840s, and a version was printed by Jackson & Son on Moor Street in Birmingham around 1842. It has some of most astonishing poetry I’ve ever come across in an English traditional song. I learnt that monumental tune from the singing of Franke Harte. It’s a joy to sing. Harte himself wrote: ‘Helen Creighton collected a few fragments of this song in Nova Scotia where she said; “The Devil’s Island men are as one in agreeing that this is perhaps the best song of Napoleon they ever heard”. I must say that I am inclined to agree with them myself.’”
From a Lullaby Kiss
“I’ve recorded this before, but I wasn’t happy with the result. I’ve since played it live tonnes of times and it has kind of settled down and become a moment of tender beauty. It was written by Peter Knight and I first heard him play it at Whitchurch Folk Club only a few days before the first lockdown. I woke up the next morning with it stuck in my head and knew that I had to make it mine. It took on a certain poignance during the pandemic. It’s a wonderful piece of songwriting.”
Greek Street
“I’ve released this before, but – again – I was never convinced I got it right. I’m still not. I don’t think I ever will be. Time to let it go, though. This was recorded in The Wasteland, the bar beneath The Libertines’ HQ. I’m not sure why I chose this one again, other than that being in that Libertines world put me in mind of my young days in London again (although I’m a tad older than they are), and this is the closest I’ve ever come to paying homage to that time.”
Song lyrics
October Song (R. Williamson)
I’ll sing you this October song,
For there is no song before it.
The words and tune are none of my own,
for my joys and sorrows bore it.
Beside the sea
Of brambly briars, in the still of evening,
The birds fly out behind the sun,
and with them I’ll be leaving.
The fallen leaves that jewel the ground,
They know the art of dying,
They leave with joy their glad gold hearts,
In the scarlet shadows lying.
When hunger calls my footsteps home,
The morning follows after,
I swim the seas inside my mind,
And the pine-trees laugh green laughter.
I used to search for happiness,
And I used to follow pleasure,
But I found a door behind my mind,
And that’s the greatest treasure.
For rulers like to lay down laws,
And rebels like to break them,
And the poor priests like to walk in chains,
And God likes to forsake them.
I met a man whose name was Time,
And he said, “I must be going, “
But just how long ago that was,
I have no way of knowing.
Sometimes I want to murder time,
Sometimes when my heart’s aching,
But mostly I just stroll along,
The path that he is taking.
Napoleon’s Farewell to Paris [Trad, arr. Wilks]
Farewell you splendid citadel, metropolis called Paris,
Where Phoebus every morning shoots forth refulgent beams.
Where Flora’s bright aurora is advancing from the orient,
With its fragrant light adorning the clear and shining streams.
Oh at eve when Centaur does retire to where the ocean gilds like fire,
And the universe stands to admire her merchandise and store.
Commanding Flora’s fragrance the fertile fields to decorate,
And to illuminate the royal Corsican upon the old French shore.
My name is Napoleon Bonaparte I’m the conqueror of all nations,
I have banished German legions and sent kings from their throne.
I have conquered dukes and earls and splendid congregations,
But now they have transported me to Saint Helena’s shore.
Like Hannibal I crossed the Alps, the burning sands and the rocky cliffs,
Over Russia’s hills through frost and snow I still the laurels wore.
Now I’m on this desert island where the rats the devil they would affright.
Still I hope to shine in armour bright throughout Europe’s land once more.
Some say the cause of my downfall was the parting with my consort,
To wed the German’s daughter which grieved my heart full sore.
But the female train I ne’er shall blame for they did never me defame,
When they saw my sword in battle flame they then did me adore.
Oh, but I severely felt the rod for meddling with the house of God,
Icons and golden images in thousands down I tore.
I then stole Malta’s golden gate, I did the works of God disgrace,
But if he grants me time and place back to him I’ll them restore.
Now I’m in the allied yoke but with fire and sword I made them smoke,
I have conquered Dutch and Danes and I surprised the Grand Seigneur.
I’ve defeated Austrians and Russians, both Portuguese and Prussians,
Like the great King Alexander or proud Caesar of yore.
But my golden eagles were torn down by Wellington’s allied armies,
And my troops all in disorder could no longer stand the field.
I was sold that very afternoon all on the eighteenth day of June,
Through lack of reinforcements I was forced then for to yield.
Exiled off the coast of Africa out in the Atlantic Ocean,
For to view the wild commotion and the flowing of the tide.
Exiled from the royal court of imperial promotion,
From the French throne of glory for to watch the billows glide.
For full three days I stood the plain, my freedom’s course for to maintain,
Many thousands there I did leave slain and covered in their gore.
I never fled without revenge nor to the allied armies cringed,
But now my sword is sheathed and Paris is no more.
From a Lullaby Kiss (P. Knight)
This day, this day is mine
It’s mine to keep until tomorrow
Whether my heart is full of joy or sorrow
Whether I pay my way or I beg, steel or borrow
One thing I know is
This day, this day is mine
This day, this day is mine
It’s mine to live without rules to bind me
I could close every door til nobody finds me
Or I could open my heart and say love come and blind me
And one thing I know is
This day, this day is mine
As I live out my life there’s a lesson I’ve learned
If you stand near the fire you’re bound to be burnt
I could say I was pushed in, that I was to blame
I was drawn by the light like a moth to the flame
I was easily led, both my heart and my head
I believed every word that those dream-pushers said
But nobody tells you the truth about lies
That they hide in the words but they live in the eyes
This life, this life is mine
From the lullaby kiss at my first awaking
It’s a life that I’ll miss when it’s time for the taking
That’s why every day must by mine for the making
And one thing I know is
This life this life is mine
Greek Street (J. Wilks)
It’s of a Soho morning
In shades of dirty grey
At 6am I stumbled
Once more into the day
The street’s in need of hosing down
To wash away the gloom
And I was 19 years of age
The time has gone so soon
‘Twas there I spied a maiden
With glitter in her hair
And it fell in shards of crimson
And it lit the morning air
She’s teetered on her platform heels
And scaffolded my mind
Me, without a hard-hat on
Just begging to be fined
And I would recommend
(And I’d write it in a song)
A night that ends on Greek Street
With the rising of the sun
To anybody young
She took her name from winter
No robin went without
And she fluttered on the petrol breeze
As neon picked her out
The soul of Cambridge Circus
A phoenix from the frost
Before I knew what had begun
I had already lost
So we took a bus to Lewisham
Where her mother had a place
And against the kitchen sideboard
Well, I kissed her on the face
And on a Swedish packing bed
I kissed her naked breast
And it wasn’t ’til the midnight moon
We stopped to take a rest
It’s strange what I remember
It’s strange what I recall
I don’t remember conversations
I don’t remember words at all
I remember trips to Brighton
Wrapped warm against the cold
I remember thinking time had stopped
And we weren’t growing old
And that’s the wonder of the transient
A sense of life alive
It’s the magic of the twilight sky
And fingers intertwined
And fingers then unravelled
And distance in the sheets
And distance in the way she gazed
Way back on down the street
So we lingered in the summer months
My winter maid and me
And in the Soho evenings
I loved her tenderly
But by the time the autumn came
Her eye began to roam
And I wandered back to Lewisham
All longing and alone
So she took her Swedish packing bed
For some other blade to game
And I tried my best to blame her
But the blame it never came
For she was but 18 years of age
And barely in her bloom
That one sweet misty morning
On old Greek Street in the gloom
The EP will soon be available to pre-order from his Bandcamp page. The EP is officially released on October 1st.