Update: We regret to inform you that the physical Songhive CD has now sold out. However, an online edition (slightly shorter due to licensing) has been made available from Bandcamp (see below)
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"Featuring some of the British folk scene’s young stars as well as more established acts...even the bees themselves are almost present, as their buzz is imitated by a shruti drone... The bees are a vehicle for optimistic action and a means for folk to be refocused to its political roots."
liner notes
Click on a track title below to find the lyrics, recording credits etc.
1. The Bee-Boy's Song – Rosie Hodgson
Words by R. Kipling, Music by P. Bellamy
Rosie Hodgson (voice); Rowan Piggott (harmony/fiddle)
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding-day,
Must tell the bees a story,
Or else they'll fly away.
Fly away - die away -
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you never grieve your bees,
Your bees will never grieve you...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
Marriage, birth and buryin',
News across the sea,
All you're sad or merry in,
You must tell the bees.
Tell 'em going in an' out,
Where the Fanners fan,
'Cause the bees are just about
As curious as a man...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
Don't you hide where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don't you hate where bees are,
Or else they'll pine away.
Pine away - dwine away -
Anything to leave you!
But if you don't deceive your bees,
Your bees'll not deceive you...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
Rosie Hodgson (voice); Rowan Piggott (harmony/fiddle)
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding-day,
Must tell the bees a story,
Or else they'll fly away.
Fly away - die away -
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you never grieve your bees,
Your bees will never grieve you...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
Marriage, birth and buryin',
News across the sea,
All you're sad or merry in,
You must tell the bees.
Tell 'em going in an' out,
Where the Fanners fan,
'Cause the bees are just about
As curious as a man...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
Don't you hide where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don't you hate where bees are,
Or else they'll pine away.
Pine away - dwine away -
Anything to leave you!
But if you don't deceive your bees,
Your bees'll not deceive you...
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
Hide from your neighbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!
2. Queen & Country – Rowan Piggott
Words & Music by R. Piggott
Rowan Piggott (voice/fiddle); Felix Miller (guitar); Rosie Hodgson, Georgia Lewis, Anna Tabbush (harmonies)
I'm a worker by nature I freely admit
And I spend all my days in the fields
At a tiring old trade which may well be unpaid,
But it brings all the farmers their yields.
When the sun has dropped down I will take to my bed
In the cell that my own toil has made
To arise again early and tend to the gardens
Of folks who are in their beds laid...
Oh for Queen and Country,
Though the latter is no thought of mine,
I work for all and sundry,
I'm a labourer come rain or shine.
Gone are the days when on jelly I dined
A bumbling old fool I've become,
And I hum as I go the old chants that I know
From our glory days spent in the sun.
Well the people are swarming for honey & milk
And that land that was promised of old,
But they don't understand that the crops are unmanned
And the colonies now all stand cold.
Where there once was a gate to palace of gold
Flanked by guards in their striped livery
You'll find corpses piled high 'cause the honey's run dry
To pay those from the mortuary...
Rowan Piggott (voice/fiddle); Felix Miller (guitar); Rosie Hodgson, Georgia Lewis, Anna Tabbush (harmonies)
I'm a worker by nature I freely admit
And I spend all my days in the fields
At a tiring old trade which may well be unpaid,
But it brings all the farmers their yields.
When the sun has dropped down I will take to my bed
In the cell that my own toil has made
To arise again early and tend to the gardens
Of folks who are in their beds laid...
Oh for Queen and Country,
Though the latter is no thought of mine,
I work for all and sundry,
I'm a labourer come rain or shine.
Gone are the days when on jelly I dined
A bumbling old fool I've become,
And I hum as I go the old chants that I know
From our glory days spent in the sun.
Well the people are swarming for honey & milk
And that land that was promised of old,
But they don't understand that the crops are unmanned
And the colonies now all stand cold.
Where there once was a gate to palace of gold
Flanked by guards in their striped livery
You'll find corpses piled high 'cause the honey's run dry
To pay those from the mortuary...
3. The Honeybee – The Rheingans Sisters
Music by A. Rheingans
Rowan Rheingans (fiddle); Anna Rheingans (fiddle)
Rowan Rheingans (fiddle); Anna Rheingans (fiddle)
4. Queen's Dream of Lost Fields – Nick Burbridge
Words & Music by N. Burbridge
Nick Burbridge (voice); Rowan Piggott (harmony/shruti); Rosie Hodgson (harmony)
So immense yet intricate,
Fiercely wrought, still delicate,
All parts sensed as separate
In one sphere conjoin;
For each phase and season wait
That in turn regenerate
The pure instinct to create
From current, film and comb.
Pods erupt and waters break,
Quick shapes spring, sharp breaths take,
Revelling in all they make
Spun round a radiant sun
Come listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long...
Through shrouds that cover mound and field
By shade distinct and scent revealed
New blooms shoot and spread to yield,
Secrets to unfold
Borne where carriers float and fly
Dispersed between the earth and sky
Fragments of pure industry
Thrust into their hold
Through a dance inspiriting,
Giving up and gathering,
Limb and fibre, seed and wing,
Figures fuse and mould.
Oh, listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
But what brute force looms over briar and bower,
And drives a bitter course to lodge in shaft and tower;
Armed with the curse of thought, bent to take power,
Break fruit from branch and cut root from flower?
While it obscures, yet it grows clear
How element and fabric tear,
Streams are poisoned at the core
By sheer recklessness
At each cusp where cells should tie
And fine lines of balance lie
What cannot connect must die
In a drear wilderness
Forms so lovingly evolved,
By warm, hard rain are dissolved,
Hub and hive and swarm resolved
Into mere emptiness
Now listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
No efflorescence can escape
The scarred scene of this rape
For the fuse that gives it shape
It cannot defend
Nor the gut cut by its sting
Resist the withering
That wreaks on each living thing
Wounds it cannot mend
So at last the tainted dart
Penetrates into the heart
Of the nest it breaks apart
And I meet my end
Oh, listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
Nick Burbridge (voice); Rowan Piggott (harmony/shruti); Rosie Hodgson (harmony)
So immense yet intricate,
Fiercely wrought, still delicate,
All parts sensed as separate
In one sphere conjoin;
For each phase and season wait
That in turn regenerate
The pure instinct to create
From current, film and comb.
Pods erupt and waters break,
Quick shapes spring, sharp breaths take,
Revelling in all they make
Spun round a radiant sun
Come listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long...
Through shrouds that cover mound and field
By shade distinct and scent revealed
New blooms shoot and spread to yield,
Secrets to unfold
Borne where carriers float and fly
Dispersed between the earth and sky
Fragments of pure industry
Thrust into their hold
Through a dance inspiriting,
Giving up and gathering,
Limb and fibre, seed and wing,
Figures fuse and mould.
Oh, listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
But what brute force looms over briar and bower,
And drives a bitter course to lodge in shaft and tower;
Armed with the curse of thought, bent to take power,
Break fruit from branch and cut root from flower?
While it obscures, yet it grows clear
How element and fabric tear,
Streams are poisoned at the core
By sheer recklessness
At each cusp where cells should tie
And fine lines of balance lie
What cannot connect must die
In a drear wilderness
Forms so lovingly evolved,
By warm, hard rain are dissolved,
Hub and hive and swarm resolved
Into mere emptiness
Now listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
No efflorescence can escape
The scarred scene of this rape
For the fuse that gives it shape
It cannot defend
Nor the gut cut by its sting
Resist the withering
That wreaks on each living thing
Wounds it cannot mend
So at last the tainted dart
Penetrates into the heart
Of the nest it breaks apart
And I meet my end
Oh, listen to my song
Our time here isn’t long
5. The Frisky Drone / The Diligent Worker – Ray Chandler
Music by R. Chandler
Ray Chandler (concertina); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
Ray Chandler (concertina); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
6. The Bee Wassail – Georgia Lewis
Words by R. Piggott, Music by G. Lewis / F. Miller
Georgia Lewis (voice); Felix Miller (guitar); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
When dusty is the cider still
And the apple tree's in blossom
Workers fly to the house on the hill
To collect their sacs of pollen.
These tiny creatures toil away
In tree, in bush, in briar
They give us fruit & comb & grain
And drone in joyful choir.
We'll gather in the orchard grass
And feed the trees with song
We'll wassail with our bowls and bells
In all our buzzing throng.
When winter's cold leaves frozen mould
And we flock around our fires
We'll toast the bees and the apple trees
Full filled with heart's desires.
Georgia Lewis (voice); Felix Miller (guitar); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
When dusty is the cider still
And the apple tree's in blossom
Workers fly to the house on the hill
To collect their sacs of pollen.
These tiny creatures toil away
In tree, in bush, in briar
They give us fruit & comb & grain
And drone in joyful choir.
We'll gather in the orchard grass
And feed the trees with song
We'll wassail with our bowls and bells
In all our buzzing throng.
When winter's cold leaves frozen mould
And we flock around our fires
We'll toast the bees and the apple trees
Full filled with heart's desires.
7. Soul Wake Dirge – Rowan Piggott
Words by R. Piggott, Music based on Lyke Wake Dirge (trad)
Rowan Piggott (voice/fiddle); Rosie Hodgson (voice); Evan Carson (bodhran/percussion)
Two brothers in the north country
Sat down to rest beside a wall
The eldest slept, the youngest wept
As rain began to fall...
A humble bee disturbed him then
Some shelter from the damp it sought
And winging to a hidey hole
A melody it brought.
The young man he took up his staff
And with it blocked the creature's lair
But could not rouse his brother then
As if he was not there.
"Wake up, oh brother, rest no more
This is no time for joke or jest!"
And turning to his willow wand
He snatched it from the nest.
At once the bumbling bee flew out
And on the eldest did alight
Who from the deepest slumber then
Woke up in dreadful fright.
"Oh brother dear tell unto me
What did you dream about?"
"I dreamt you shut me in a tomb
And would not let me out..."
Rowan Piggott (voice/fiddle); Rosie Hodgson (voice); Evan Carson (bodhran/percussion)
Two brothers in the north country
Sat down to rest beside a wall
The eldest slept, the youngest wept
As rain began to fall...
A humble bee disturbed him then
Some shelter from the damp it sought
And winging to a hidey hole
A melody it brought.
The young man he took up his staff
And with it blocked the creature's lair
But could not rouse his brother then
As if he was not there.
"Wake up, oh brother, rest no more
This is no time for joke or jest!"
And turning to his willow wand
He snatched it from the nest.
At once the bumbling bee flew out
And on the eldest did alight
Who from the deepest slumber then
Woke up in dreadful fright.
"Oh brother dear tell unto me
What did you dream about?"
"I dreamt you shut me in a tomb
And would not let me out..."
8. Dark Honey – Nancy Kerr
Words & Music by N. Kerr
Nancy Kerr (voice/fiddle); Andy Cutting (melodeon); Martin Simpson (banjo)
One summer's evening and the kids run free,
All the bees were swarming in the cemetery
And they sucked that sweetness their natures crave
From the flowers that grew on every grave.
And you tell your children, life finds a way
You can reap dark honey from the dying day
We've a little sweetness to soothe our stings
And the slightest suffering winter brings.
Some other children, some distant home
They fear the humming of a different drone
Some sugar's flowing from every pore
Some hunger's growing on the spoils of war.
On the Bank of England, some city bee
She builds a hive of slavery
And her sweet survival in the midst of man
Is to make dark honey from a cola can.
When man has driven a drone of bees
From all the fields and cemeteries
He'll miss that richness his nature craves
For no flowers will grow upon our graves
Nancy Kerr (voice/fiddle); Andy Cutting (melodeon); Martin Simpson (banjo)
One summer's evening and the kids run free,
All the bees were swarming in the cemetery
And they sucked that sweetness their natures crave
From the flowers that grew on every grave.
And you tell your children, life finds a way
You can reap dark honey from the dying day
We've a little sweetness to soothe our stings
And the slightest suffering winter brings.
Some other children, some distant home
They fear the humming of a different drone
Some sugar's flowing from every pore
Some hunger's growing on the spoils of war.
On the Bank of England, some city bee
She builds a hive of slavery
And her sweet survival in the midst of man
Is to make dark honey from a cola can.
When man has driven a drone of bees
From all the fields and cemeteries
He'll miss that richness his nature craves
For no flowers will grow upon our graves
9. Honeybee Slipjig – Duo Keryda
Music by V. Broderick
Sara Evans (harp); Damien Papin (double bass); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
Sara Evans (harp); Damien Papin (double bass); Rowan Piggott (fiddle)
10. We Must Away – Rosie Hodgson
Words & Music by R. Hodgson
Rosie Hodgson (voice); Philippe Barnes (guitar/flute); Rowan Piggott (fiddle/double bass)
Go my son, down you run
Down to meadows to lay them low
We've six good fields that do not yield
Except to the lassie whose heart you hold.
We must strive, reap and scythe
Plough up the meadows our corn to sow
Then the lass with the bees, I'll buy her as you please
When our fields and our pockets are filled with gold.
We must away, do not delay
Leave them the price to pay for their fields of gold.
We are betrayed and to their shame
For how often have they heard it told.
Raw or wrought she can't be bought
Your money will hold for her no charm
Your golden seas will starve her bees
And she'll suffer no man to do them harm.
Don't be fooled she can be ruled
I'll offer her a price that her greed can't bear
Sapphires blue, emeralds too
And a fine gold comb for her long blonde hair.
Sapphires blue thrive in June
When cornflowers bloom in emerald fields
And golden comb, she'll make her own
From her drones that roam both down & weald.
She has no need your bribes to heed
The apian queen on her golden throne
And you'd be wise to let her bide
Or cry for her honey when she has flown.
Rosie Hodgson (voice); Philippe Barnes (guitar/flute); Rowan Piggott (fiddle/double bass)
Go my son, down you run
Down to meadows to lay them low
We've six good fields that do not yield
Except to the lassie whose heart you hold.
We must strive, reap and scythe
Plough up the meadows our corn to sow
Then the lass with the bees, I'll buy her as you please
When our fields and our pockets are filled with gold.
We must away, do not delay
Leave them the price to pay for their fields of gold.
We are betrayed and to their shame
For how often have they heard it told.
Raw or wrought she can't be bought
Your money will hold for her no charm
Your golden seas will starve her bees
And she'll suffer no man to do them harm.
Don't be fooled she can be ruled
I'll offer her a price that her greed can't bear
Sapphires blue, emeralds too
And a fine gold comb for her long blonde hair.
Sapphires blue thrive in June
When cornflowers bloom in emerald fields
And golden comb, she'll make her own
From her drones that roam both down & weald.
She has no need your bribes to heed
The apian queen on her golden throne
And you'd be wise to let her bide
Or cry for her honey when she has flown.
11. The Keeper's Lament – The Hivemind Choir
Words by R. Piggott, Music by B. Ord
We sing you of our master
As wise as he was old
All family happenings
To his bees he told.
But now he's a-bounden
Bounden by the cold
Our mistress mourning
His death knell told.
She must to the garden
The high queen to implore
As it is written
All among the beelore
So dress the hives in black
As in the days of yore
Then as we mun singen:
Keep once more
Fly not hence and keep once more...
Now knock upon the hives
As we march along the way
Set them on the coffin
On his funeral day
Our master has retired
To rest under the clay
But with an offering
His bees may stay
We'll raise our voices now
Our high hymns to intone
Joined in our keening
By fierce apiaran drone
So dress the hives in black
As in the days of yore
Then as we mun singen:
Keep once more
Fly not hence and keep once more...
We sing you of our master
As wise as he was old
All family happenings
To his bees he told.
But now he's a-bounden
Bounden by the cold
Our mistress mourning
His death knell told.
She must to the garden
The high queen to implore
As it is written
All among the beelore
So dress the hives in black
As in the days of yore
Then as we mun singen:
Keep once more
Fly not hence and keep once more...
Now knock upon the hives
As we march along the way
Set them on the coffin
On his funeral day
Our master has retired
To rest under the clay
But with an offering
His bees may stay
We'll raise our voices now
Our high hymns to intone
Joined in our keening
By fierce apiaran drone
So dress the hives in black
As in the days of yore
Then as we mun singen:
Keep once more
Fly not hence and keep once more...
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