Three little songs:
My earliest memory of music in my family home is this song.
I was the middle son of three boys. All under the age of ten. We each took turns at recording ourselves singing this song into a cassettte recorder. It was mid seventies Ireland and cassettes were cutting edge technology. The novelty of playing back the recordings to each hear how we sounded was a thrill I will treasure.
I guess it was our daddy or a school teacher, or both, who taught it, I don’t remember learning it. But I have known this song, by heart, since I could string a sentence together. True! It’s such a graphic story of an Irish harp. It still sends shivers of pride down my spine.
Next up is a guy whose ‘Best of..’ cassette was played everywhere by my father. Even in the car. It was the soundtrack to every journey. So much so that I developed an Italian/Donegal accent for a few years.
Until just now (watching this video) I believed his duet partner was a boy. My mother told us it was a little Italian shepherd boy. And we bought it! All three of us trying to outdo each other in the back seat with our Tenor talents.
The testosterone of the next song is off the scale. These guys were heroes wherever they went. Needless to say my brothers and I could sing their songs in our sleep. I think this may have been the song that taught me what a happy marriage is all about…”Upon my knee a pretty wench and on the table a jug of punch.”
Those are the songs of my childhood.
Thank you for listening
In response to daily prompt http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/20/daily-prompt-papa-loves-mambo/