As Good As New

Lyrics & Liner Notes

"As Good As New" features fourteen strong songs - a mix of collected Australian ballads and dance music with some more contemporary folk and early country songs. A strong sense of place flows through the album - songs of personal attachment and loss, lyrics examining and celebrating strong attachments to a particular area; to 'home'.

The contributions by other talented musicians have added depth to this album, while retaining the trademark Us Not Them spacious quality. There is a uniting style across the album, once again uniquely Australian in character.

1. As Good As New
Words: Henry Lawson. Tune: C & J Roweth
 
Oh this is a song of the old lights,
That came to my heart like a hymn;
And this is a song for the old lights -
The lights that we thought grew dim,
That came to my heart to comfort me,
And I pass it along to you;
And here is a hand to the good old friend
Who turns up as good as new.
 
And this is a song for the camp-fire
Out west where the stars shine bright
Oh this is a song for the camp-fire
Where the old mates yarn tonight;
Where the old mates yarn of the old days,
And their numbers are all too few,
And this is a song for the good old times
That will turn up as good as new.
 
Oh this is a song for the old foe -
We have both grown wiser now,
And this is a song for the old foe,
And we're sorry we had that row;
And this is a song for the old love -
The love that we thought untrue
Oh this is a song of the dear old love
That comes back as good as new.
 
Oh this is a song for the black sheep,
For the black sheep that fled from town,
And this is a song for the brave heart,
For the brave heart that lived it down;
And this is a song for the battler,
For the battler who sees it through -
And this is a song for the broken heart
That turns up as good as new.

Ah, this is the song of the brave mate,
Be he Bushman, Scott, or Russ,
A song for the mates we will stick to -
For the mates who have stuck to us;
And this is the song for the old creed,
To do as a man should do,
'Till the Lord takes us all to a wider world,
Where we'll turn up as good as new.
 
2. Kate Kelly
We first heard this traditional ballad performed by the wonderful 'Marooan' band of the New England area of NSW and the late George Bennett of Gunnedah. This evocative account of the Kelly uprising with its Biblical references gives the story the weight it deserves.
 
Come all you Australians forget not your braves,
Bring wild forest flowers to strew o'er the graves
Of four noble outlaws who's race it is run -
Find a place in their tombs for the laurels they've won.
 
To the Bank of Australia they made their first push;
They cleared out the gold then they steered for the bush.
Black trackers and troopers they did them pursue -
But they cast out their anchors when near them they drew
 
The noble Kate Kelly, so noble of mien,
As she sits on her horse like a true born queen.
She rides through the bush with revolver in hand,
Well guarded from danger, a David she stands.
 
May the angels protect this lady so bold,
May her name be regarded in letters of gold;
Though her brothers were outlaws she loved them full dear,
And she hastened to tell them when danger was near.
 
Like true sons of Ishmael brought up in the wild,
Mid forests and mountains and rocky defiles,
These four noble fellows could not be controlled
They fought ten to one until death I am told.
One night at Glenrowan, how awful the doom,
Steve Hart and Dan Kelly were burnt in a room.
A trooper named Johnson set their house all aflame -
To burn these bold outlaws it was a great shame.
 
The daring Kate Kelly stepped out from the crowd
And for her bold brother she shouted aloud,
"Come Ned, dear brother, come fight while you can,
For the flames they have taken the life of poor Dan."
 
The daring Ned Kelly stepped out from the bush,
Well clad in steel armour his way he did push.
To gain his bold comrades it was his desire -
But the troopers soon spied him and they opened fire.
 
The bullets glanced off him as off a stone wall,
His fiendish appearance soon did them appal,
But his legs unprotected a trooper soon found
And a ball well directed brought Ned to the ground.
 
This hero was captured and stripped of his mail,
Well guarded by troopers and landed in jail,
Convicted of murder which grieved him full sore,
And his friends and relations for his life did implore.
 
3. Sofala Cuckoo
A great traditional dance tune from the 'King of Australian Fiddlers', Joe Yates (1895-1987) of Sofala, NSW.
 
4. TI Woman
A beautiful song from one of our great inspirations, the late Michael O'Rourke.
 
We were sitting in the bar of the Redlynch pub,
We were drinking a jug of beer,
Talking about those southern cities, and feeling real glad to be here.
When a big black woman sat down with us,
Said, "Boys I'll sing a song,
And maybe you'll play that old guitar, maybe you'll sing along."
She's a T.I. woman, she moves like a cloud,
She sings those island songs.
And when she sings them a tear comes to her eye,
She's been away too long,she's been away from home too long.
 
She came down to Cairns to get a job,
At home work's hard to find -
But living so far away down south, weighs heavy on her mind.
But you just have to take what's handed out,
When you're country's not your own;
So she lifted up her voice and sang "T.I. My Beautiful Home"
 
Now I'm living down in Melbourne town,
I get those tropic dreams;
Feeling up to my neck in politics, intrigues and unreal schemes.
Maybe some day soon I'll get back home,
We'll see what fortune brings,
But when the wind blows from the right direction
I can hear that woman sing.
 
5. A Man Was Killed in the Mine Today
This is just one of many fine poems by WA poet Tom 'Crosscut' Wilson (1865-1925). Bob Rummery, also of WA, wrote this excellent tune - thanks Bob!
 
I entered the cage for the "number nine",
A trucker paused at the brace to say,
As he left the depths of the gloomy mine,
"A man was killed in the mine today!"
Then the winder sang as we rushed below,
And the plats flashed upward merrily,
And so to toil. Yet it came to me;
"'Tis a sorrowful thing for some to know."
 
There is a clatter and crash in the dusty stopes,
As the rock-drills dash at the good grey ore.
there is labour and sweat, for the company hopes
For a quote in the share-list of one point more.
There is wealth to grasp; there are divs to pay -
And what is a labourer more or less?
'Mid the din and the clamour now who would guess
That a man was killed in the mine today!
 
So the skips roll on - there's a tally to make,
For the stamps are hungry and iron-shod.
Whose lips will quiver? Whose heart could break
While there's grist for the mills of the rich man's God?
There's a ten-bob wage for the risk he ran -
The paltry risk. If he got passed out,
'Tis nothing to worry our heads about -
He opened a job for a luckier man!
 
He was only a shoveller - put it aside.
Where there's gold to win such things must be.
He gave HIS pound for the rich man's pride;
And what is a life? Yet it came to me:
There may be somebody far away,
Some soft-eyed woman whose tears would flow,
And whose cheek would pale - if she did but know
That a man was killed in the mine today!
 
6. My Home in the Valley
This song was written by Clivie Kelly, an aboriginal songwriter who grew up near Kempsey, NSW. We learned the song from a recording Clivie and his wife, Maisie Kelly.
 
My home is set in the valley, in this valley of New South Wales,
At the foot of Sugerlo mountain by the Nulla Creek's flowing stream
That winds it's way through the farmland
Where it joins up with the Macleay,
35 mile from Kempsey is this great green valley I call home.
 
I've travelled a fair bit of NSW down the south coast to Nowra I've came
But my heart was always in that valley,
In that valley that I call my home;
Where the sun rises over the mountains
Along the ridge where the sweet wattles grow,
Where the cattle moved back from that lowland
When the flood came down in July.
 
The scent of the bush all around us
Out there where the wallabies bound,
At our flat its always covered with clover
By the Nulla Creeks flowing stream,
That winds it's way through the farmland
Where it joins up with the Macleay,
Just 35 mile from Kempsey is this great green valley I call home.
 
7. Harry Axford's Schottische
This stylish traditional schottische was collected from John McKinnon of Ecklin Sth, VIC.
 
8. Moreton Bay
This traditional ballad is based on a poem by Francis 'Frank the Poet' McNamara. The tune was collected from Simon McDonald (1907-1968) of Creswick, VIC. Special thanks to Alan Musgrove and Jacko Kevans for bringing to our attention some subtle but significant lyric changes.
 
I am a native of the land of Erin;
I was early banished from my native shore.
On the ship 'Columbus' went circular sailing
And left behind me the one I adore.
Over bounding billows that were madly raging
Like a bold sea mariner my course did steer -
We were bound for Sydney, our destination,
And every day must irons wear.
 
When I arrived 'twas in Port Jackson
And I thought my days would happy be,
But I found out I was greatly mistaken;
I was taken prisoner to Moreton Bay -
Where for three long years I was beastly treated
And heavy irons on my legs I wore,
And my back from flogging grew lacerated
And oft-times painted with crimson gore.
 
Oh Moreton Bay, you'll find no equal;
Norfolk Island, or Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill or cursed Toongabbie,
And all time places in New South Wales.
 
Like the Egyptians and the ancient Hebrews
We were oppressed under Logan's yoke,
'Til a native black there, he lay in ambush
And dealt that tyrant his mortal stroke.
Let all free men be exhilarated
That all such monsters like death might find,
And when from bondage we are liberated
Our former sufferings we'll bear in mind!
 
 
10. The Sleeper Cutters' Camp
Dan Sheahan wrote "The Sleeper Cutters' Camp" at Messines, France, in June, 1917. Dan posted it to Australia, but it was banned by the Commonwealth Censor. Dan went on to write 'The Pub Without Beer'. Copyright for the words of this song is held by Josephine Sheahan, and Denis Kevans' beautiful music has brought the song back to life.
 
My sole address at present is a battle-field in France,
If it's ever going to alter, there is only just a chance,
To dodge the " Jerry" rifles and the shrapnel flying around.
I've burrowed like a bunny to a funk-hole in the ground.
The floor is just a puddle, 'cause the roof lets in the damp;
I wish I was in Aussie where the sleeper cutters camp.
 
The tea is foul and bitter, like an ancient witch's brew,
The bread is sour and scanty, and you ought to see the stew.
The "'lootenant'" that is leading is a leery kind of coot -
We always call him "Mister" so plain Bill would never suit,
I'd sell my chance of Heaven for five minutes with the scamp,
Where the red bull's chewing nut grass by the sleeper cutters' camp.
 
If another war is starting, I'll hang out with the " jibs",
Not much in being a hero, with a bayonet 'tween your ribs.
Hard fighting for the Froggies, pushing Huns across the Rhine,
They can take Alsace and Flanders and Normandy for mine!
All I'm needin' is a pozzie where the ground is not too damp,
'Neath azure skies of Aussie, just a sleeper cutters' camp.
 
Here, sitting in a dug-out, a rifle on my knees,
I fancy I am back there, once again, among the trees,
With long lost friends I'm chatting, by the camp-fire's ruddy glow,
Where we boiled the old black billy, in the days of long ago,
The signal comes to "Fall-in", I can hear the Diggers tramp.
Farewell, perhaps forever, to the sleeper cutters' camp.
 
11. Hey Rain!
A fine North QLD song written by Bill Scott.
 
Hey Rain, rain coming down on the cane,
On the roofs of the town.
 
Rain in my hair, rain in my face - muddy old Innisvale's a muddy wet place, hey rain, hey rain.
 
Bloke from the west nearly died of fright 'cause the river rose thirty-five feet last night, hey rain, hey rain.
 
Johnson River crocodile living in me fridge, and a bloody great tree on the Jubilee Bridge, hey rain, hey rain.
 
Rain in my beer, rain in my grub, and they've just fitted anchors to the Garradunga Pub, hey rain, hey rain.
 
Wet season skies have sprung a leak from Flying Fish point to the Millstream Creek, hey rain, hey rain.
 
Wet season sky so black and big, and an old flying fox in a Moreton Bay fig, hey rain, hey rain.
 
It's the worst wet season we've ever had; I'd swim down to Tully - but it's just as bloody bad, hey rain, hey rain.
 
12. The Black Cat Piddled in the White Cat's Eye / Ali's Quickstep / Going to The Barn Dance Tonight
'Black Cat' comes from the unique aboriginal musical tradition of Cape Barren Island TAS, and in particular the fiddle playing of the late Les Brown. The Darwin string band tradition which thrived in the 1920-30's has provided 'Ali's Quickstep' and 'Going to the Barn Dance Tonight' (authors unknown). Both pieces were collected from Val McGinniss (1910-1988) of Darwin, NT.
 
13. Molly Baun Lavery
We learned this cautionary traditional ballad from the un-accompanied singing of Sally Sloane (1894-1982) of Lithgow, NSW.
 
Come all you young fellows that follow the gun,
Beware of going a-shooting by the late setting sun.
It might happen to anyone, as it happened to me,
To shoot your own true love in under a tree.
 
She was going to her uncle, when the shower it came on;
She went under a bush, the rain for to shun.
With her apron all around her, I took her for a swan,
And I levelled my gun and I shot Molly Baun.
 
I ran to her uncle in haste and great fear,
Saying, "Uncle, dear uncle, I've shot Molly dear.
With her apron all around her, I took her for a swan,
But oh, alas, it was my own Molly Baun."
 
I shot my own true love, alas, I'm undone,
While she was in the shade by the setting of the sun.
If I thought she was there, I'd caress her tenderly,
And soon I'd get married to my own Molly dear.
 
My curse on you, Toby, that lent me your gun,
To go out a-shooting by the late setting sun.
I rubbed her fair temples, and found she was dead,
A fountain of tears for my Molly I shed.

Up came my aged father, and his locks they were grey,
"Stay in your own country and don't run away.
Stay in your own country 'til the trial it comes on,
And I'll see you're set free by the laws of the land."
 
All the maids of this country they will all be glad
When they hear the sad news that my Molly is dead.
Take them all in their hundreds, set them all in a row,
Molly Baun she'll shine like a mountain of snow.
 
14. Time for a Laugh and a Song
This song from the late Harry Robertson is drawn from his experience as a whaler obliged to travel to freezing outposts.
 
In the dark of the morning, when day seldom comes
And night time's as long as it's dark -
Where your world is a cluster of huts upon ice
And the climate is cruel and it's stark.
 
Long months on an island and nowhere to go,
And loneliness filling your head -
So you put on a front - let a joke take the brunt,
While some stay alive - but they're dead.
 
Then it's time for a drop of the juice from the still
Then it's time for a laugh and a song -
You sing and you fight and you drink through the night
'Til the last of the home brew is gone.
 
Some people are different - take Pat or take Jim
The pair of them couldn't agree;
For Pat he would slaughter the truth with a tale
The funny side Jim couldn't see.
 
On islands - in cities - you'll find it's the same
Where thinking has somehow gone wrong -
Where the man with a lot will behave like a clot
And the man who is broke sings a song.
Email Us Not Them
 

Us Not Them & Friends (2003)

The CD features:
Lindsay Martin (violin),
Jim McWhinnie (Bodhran)
and Mike Martin
(Tenor Guitar, Concertina, Button Accordion).

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