It is a strange mix of themes ranging from the American West to the ballads and jigs of Celtic ancestors that somehow seems to make sense in the musical world Jack Hardy has created. And it is a separate world to which the listener is transported; a timeless place inhabited by tinkers and cowboys, saints and sinners, elves, virgins and crones. From his extensive travels and reading he has forged an endearing non-academic approach to literature, one that is more at home in the pub than in the classroom. "He clearly seems to enjoy making his listeners think. He may dare his audience to figure out what he is saying, but he also credits them with the intelligence to do so" (Tom Nelligan, Dirty Linen, 1998).
In Europe, where Hardy has toured extensively for over 20 years, he is accepted as an ambassador for American music. In an Italian encyclopedia of rock Jack has a larger entry than many prominent rock stars.
"Nothing adventuresome is created in a vacuum," Jack says, "you get people together and the creative sparks fly." The weekly songwriters workshop which he has hosted for many years taught and nurtured countless songwriters, not the least of which are Suzanne Vega, John Gorka, Shawn Colvin, Richard Shindell and David Massengill. The Fast Folk Musical Magazine, which he founded and edited, released the first recordings of most of the artists currently headlining folk festivals. This collection of over 100 compilation albums has now been taken over by the Smithsonian.
Gregarious and outgoing when talking about his songs and songwriting in general, Jack fiercely guards the privacy of his personal life. Jack Hardy was born in Indiana, his father a musician, his mother a painter. He grew up in New York, Colorado, and Connecticut, studied opera and literature in college.
In 1998, Prime CD reissued his first ten albums in a box set as well as his eleventh album The Passing. In 1996, BCN Records released a tribute album The Songs of Jack Hardy: Of the White Goddess, a collection of his Celtic ballads (all sung by women). In 1997, Jack was the recipient of The Kate Wolf Memorial Award, given yearly to "an artist who makes a difference through his music" by the World Folk Music Association. In 2000, Prime CD has released Jack's twelfth album Omens.
Omens was recorded live to 24 track analog in two days, using the vintage recording equipment of Prime CD's Theater 99 recording studio in New York City, with no overdubs. The fourteen songs range from the uptempo Celtic "Sile na gCioch" where a tinker finds a dress on the side of the road and gives it to a young lass, to the majestic "West of Dingle" where a woman faces a choice between her lover and her fiddle; from the biting barrage of juxtaposed media images of "I Ought to Know" to the romantic ballad "Only One Sky" and back to the uptempo humorous Clancy Brother-ish "The Boney Bailiff." This album takes you on quite a musical voyage with some of Jack's best poetic imagery, but it is the sweeping beautiful melodies that carry these songs directly into your memory. The players include Jack's current touring band: Tom Duval on electric guitar and harmony (also heard on Jack's albums The Hunter and Civil Wars), Mike Laureanno on Hofner bass and harmony, Dave Anthony on Drums (also heard on Jack's album The Passing), and Kate MacLeod on fiddle. The album also features a buried bonus track containing 19 minutes of Suzanne Vega interviewing Jack on the subject of songwriting. Hardy's 16th album, Rye Grass, arrived on Great Divide in 2009. Jack Hardy passed away on March 11, 2011.
source and more infos: http://www.jackhardy.com/
The Guttersnipe
Jack Hardy Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
He's not at all behind all your middleclass ways
Cry no, i am drowning for i cannot forgive
For all wealth is measured in stacks of days
Pigeons and peons bear the laurel wreath
My head is pounding on the door of my heart
Placing reason as an icon of grief
Turned wretched as a gargoyle drenched in the dark
The guttersnipe stares with an alterboy smile
The glare of irrelevance as they taunt him and tease him
Crying from the wilderness of middleclass style
They watch his boat as it sinks into knowledge
Over those youthful dreams sunk deep in the fruit
Learning patience is no virtue, it's a vice
They were so far ahead they were known as truth
Staring at prisms of light and prisons of life
Prisons of life
Where the prison flowers shrink from lack of love
Examine that freedom, that pain in your stem
Is there no relief outside the gates of enough?
Only pigeons seeking crumbs where the guttersnipe's been
The love of old ladies and disease of young maids
They make children smile as they scatter with the wind
Filth is the fever of the middleclass mind
All wrapped up in waste and wealth and in wine
Wealth and wine
Tell me of your passions, you slimy small waif
With your big toe in the water and your throat full of thirst
There is nothing to repeat of the miseries of hate
They are your wealth and your redemption for sinning
In this foul-smelling hell-hole where the guttersnipe dines
With desire rubbing bellies with disgrace and disease
Endless stairways out of the squalor to climb
With dreams void of color, forced to their knees
Forced to their knees
The radiant smile of the catholic queen
Has sent chills into believers like a dangling rope
Tied to the trunk of a century-old tree
In a forest of drunk dropping breadcrumbs for hope
Black candles, black roses, the givers of false light
The saint of prostitution and the sacrament of fright
How they drip so fast, forcing the middleclass flight
The forgers of freedom and the sorcerers of the night
Sorcerers of the night
No way to play the tunes on the stench of winter winds
Where the notes form in agony, blunt and tortured within
Others who had paid the price write back of legends
With imagery of topcoats dragged through alleys of sin
Pleasing little puppets with their thank-you-ma'am smiles
Taking trainrides to excellence, keeping journals of each smile
But always riding first class so as to not leave home
And claiming every discount 'cept the one left alone
The one that's always left alone
Sing halleluiah for the guttersnipe breaks bread
Those hands that hold the loaves in the windows of hope
All twisted and warm with the honesty of death
And yearning for mouths all hungry and cold
A moment of silence for the guttersnipe lives
Your companion in dreams refuses to smile
His wealth is the fact that he has nothing to give
As he beckons your madness to enter his trial
Enter his trial
Long into the late hours of winter afternoons
So callused and thickskinned in his cradle of cold
All shivering and shaking with his outstretched tongue
And swearing at indifference with a penicillin grin
His song is distilled from deceit and despair
The burden of destiny from sorrows and sins
Those beautiful eyes sunk in the wilderness of care
And a voice from within cries i am here
I am here
The song "The Guttersnipe" by Jack Hardy is an introspective exploration of the life of an outcast living in the margins of society. The lyrics of the song portray the guttersnipe as a symbol of the working-class who are often neglected and forgotten. The guttersnipe is celebrated in the song as a figure who lives a life true to himself, in stark contrast to the hypocritical and self-serving middle-class society. Despite the hardships and struggles of his life, the guttersnipe is portrayed as an honest and authentic individual whose life experience gives him a unique perspective on the world.
The lyrics of the song are filled with vivid imagery and strongly worded phrases that convey a sense of sadness and hopelessness. The guttersnipe’s life is contrasted with that of the middle class and their hypocritical ways. The song highlights the way society shuns and isolates those who are different, leaving them struggling to find meaning and purpose in a world that doesn't care.
Overall, "The Guttersnipe" is a powerful song that serves as a call to reflect on the social and economic inequality that exists in our society. It forces the listener to confront the harsh reality that there are those who are left behind and the celebration of their lives can be just as valuable as those who are privileged.
Line by Line Meaning
Sing halleluiah for the guttersnipe lives
Praise the guttersnipe, for he exists
He's not at all behind all your middleclass ways
He doesn't fit in with your middle class lifestyle
Cry no, i am drowning for i cannot forgive
I'm drowning in sorrow and can't bring myself to forgive
For all wealth is measured in stacks of days
The more time you have, the richer you are
Pigeons and peons bear the laurel wreath
The birds and the servants are the ones who receive glory
My head is pounding on the door of my heart
I'm in great emotional distress
Placing reason as an icon of grief
Rationality is causing me pain
Turned wretched as a gargoyle drenched in the dark
I feel miserable and ugly
Drenched in the dark
Consumed by darkness
The guttersnipe stares with an alterboy smile
The guttersnipe looks innocent and harmless
The glare of irrelevance as they taunt him and tease him
The guttersnipe is mocked and harassed for being unimportant
Crying from the wilderness of middleclass style
The guttersnipe is lamenting the lack of freedom and spontaneity in middle class lifestyle
They watch his boat as it sinks into knowledge
The guttersnipe's aspirations and dreams have been ruined by education and conformity
Over those youthful dreams sunk deep in the fruit
His dreams of youth have been destroyed
Learning patience is no virtue, it's a vice
Being patient doesn't bring any benefits
They were so far ahead they were known as truth
Their ideas were considered indisputable facts
Staring at prisms of light and prisons of life
Caught in a cycle of contemplating abstract concepts and being trapped in mundane reality
Where the prison flowers shrink from lack of love
The flowers in prison don't receive enough attention
Examine that freedom, that pain in your stem
Think about how your sense of freedom is causing you pain
Is there no relief outside the gates of enough?
Is there no way to find happiness without material possessions?
Only pigeons seeking crumbs where the guttersnipe's been
The only ones enjoying themselves are those living off of scraps
The love of old ladies and disease of young maids
The attention of older women and promiscuous young women
They make children smile as they scatter with the wind
The free spirits bring joy to children as they roam aimlessly
Filth is the fever of the middleclass mind
Middle class people are obsessed with acquiring material possessions
All wrapped up in waste and wealth and in wine
Obsessed with luxury and indulgence
Tell me of your passions, you slimy small waif
Tell me about the things you're passionate about, you untrustworthy child
With your big toe in the water and your throat full of thirst
You're curious yet unsatisfied
There is nothing to repeat of the miseries of hate
There's no use dwelling on past hatred
They are your wealth and your redemption for sinning
They're the only thing you have to show for your 'sins'
In this foul-smelling hell-hole where the guttersnipe dines
The place where the guttersnipe eats is disgusting and unpleasant
With desire rubbing bellies with disgrace and disease
The guttersnipe is consumed by desire and has fallen ill
Endless stairways out of the squalor to climb
There are many ways to escape the gutter
With dreams void of color, forced to their knees
Their dreams are lacklustre and they're forced to submit
The radiant smile of the catholic queen
The joyful smile of the religious leader
Has sent chills into believers like a dangling rope
They are frightened by her powerful presence
Tied to the trunk of a century-old tree
Like a rope tied to a tree that's been there for 100 years
In a forest of drunk dropping breadcrumbs for hope
In a setting of intoxicated people who are in denial of their problems
Black candles, black roses, the givers of false light
The symbols of dark and evil that give false hope
The saint of prostitution and the sacrament of fright
The figure that represents promiscuity and fear
How they drip so fast, forcing the middleclass flight
The symbols make people leave the middle class lifestyle quickly
The forgers of freedom and the sorcerers of the night
Those who create illusions of freedom and magic
No way to play the tunes on the stench of winter winds
It's impossible to create something beautiful in a cold, unpleasant environment
Where the notes form in agony, blunt and tortured within
The musical notes are born from pain and struggle
Others who had paid the price write back of legends
Those who have suffered before me have written legendary stories
With imagery of topcoats dragged through alleys of sin
Describing topcoats being soiled in sinful places
Pleasing little puppets with their thank-you-ma'am smiles
Making people happy with insincere gratitude
Taking trainrides to excellence, keeping journals of each smile
Going places and recording every happy moment
But always riding first class so as to not leave home
Traveling in luxury to avoid confronting the hardships of leaving home
And claiming every discount 'cept the one left alone
Trying to get the best deal on everything, except for the one thing they really want
Sing halleluiah for the guttersnipe breaks bread
Celebrate the guttersnipe who shares his food
Those hands that hold the loaves in the windows of hope
The hands that give food to those in need
All twisted and warm with the honesty of death
Their hands are gnarled but their intentions are pure
And yearning for mouths all hungry and cold
Desiring to help those who are hungry and cold
A moment of silence for the guttersnipe lives
A brief pause to remember the guttersnipe's existence
Your companion in dreams refuses to smile
Your dream companion won't be happy
His wealth is the fact that he has nothing to give
He has no possessions, but that makes him feel rich
As he beckons your madness to enter his trial
Encouraging you to embrace your insanity and join him in his struggles
Long into the late hours of winter afternoons
Late into cold winter afternoons
So callused and thickskinned in his cradle of cold
Toughened by the harsh conditions of his environment
All shivering and shaking with his outstretched tongue
Cold and shaking, with an outstretched tongue indicating hunger
And swearing at indifference with a penicillin grin
Showing contempt for apathy with a sarcastic smile
His song is distilled from deceit and despair
His music is born from lies and hopelessness
The burden of destiny from sorrows and sins
Carrying the weight of destiny, shaped by past mistakes
Those beautiful eyes sunk in the wilderness of care
The eyes look worn and haggard from caring so much
And a voice from within cries i am here
A voice of desperation cries out that they exist
Contributed by Aiden F. Suggest a correction in the comments below.