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    Comes in a gorgeous deluxe book-format packaging, including approximately 100 pages featuring lyrics to all 50 tracks, additional interlinking text, a host of beautiful pictures and illustrations throughout, as well as a comprehensive list of credits and acknowledgements. This wonderful and unique presentation, designed by Helen Temperley at www.winkinbitsy.com has been a true 'labour of love' and is a fascinating and real work of art in its own right.

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about

'Mad Martins' depicts the extraordinary lives and times of the notorious Martin brothers, William, Jonathan and John, who were born in the late Eighteenth Century in the South Tyne area of Northumberland.

Eldest brother, William was the self-styled ‘Natural Philosopher and Philosophical Conqueror of All Nations’, a doggerel poet, pamphleteer, engraver and inventor. Like his younger brothers, he aspired to be ‘Renaissance Man’ and aimed for the ‘defeat of learned humbugs’.

Jonathan Martin has gone down in history as ‘the notorious incendiary’ of York Minster. Frequent fits of rage against the clergy, including a plot to assassinate the Bishop of Oxford led to his committal to several lunatic asylums, from which he escaped twice before setting fire to York Minster in 1829, for which he was again committed to bedlam, where he later died.

Youngest brother, John, the eminent painter, engraver, town-planner and host, was, like his brother William, an 'all-rounder', devising sewage schemes for London, along with a number of other inventions but is most famous for his epic New Romantic paintings of Biblical scenes. One of these, 'Pandemonium', based on Milton's 'End Of The World, sold in 2003 for a record £1.65 million.

credits

released April 30, 2017

Performed by:

Songs: -
Gary Miller - Lead & Backing Vocals, Acoustic Guitar, standard & octave Mandolins, occasional Electric Guitar, Bouzouki, assorted traditional & invented Percussion
Iain Petrie – numerous Electric & Acoustic Guitars, Piano, Keyboards, Ukeleles, Glockenspiel, Bass, Drums, assorted traditional & invented Percussion, Backing Vocals, Harmonies, Programming, Orchestral Arrangements, etc…

Poems and spoken word pieces: -
Keith Armstrong - Voice (Poetry Recitation, Narration)
Richard Doran – Bouzouki, Dulcimer
Glenn Miller - Accordion
Mick Tyas - Mandolin
Ann Sessoms - Northumbrian Pipes
Iain Petrie - Additional Keyboards, Programming & Effects

Guest Lead Vocalists: -
Mick Tyas - Lead Vocals on 'The Dandy Horse' and ‘In The Navy’ (plus Backing Vocals on ‘The Leaping Swordsman’, ‘Shoot The Bishop!’, ‘Four Bare Walls‘, ‘Escape’, ‘A Painting For Charles’)
Marie Tucker - Lead Vocal on ‘Maria’s Testimony’
Karen Ross - Lead Vocal Duet with Gary on ‘A Thin Veneer’
Sylvia Doran - Lead Vocal on ‘Wicked Old World' (plus Backing Vocals on 'Three Mad Martins (Prophecy)')

Additional Guest Musicians: -
Jennie Beasty - Fiddle on ‘The Leaping Swordsman’, ‘Maria’s Testimony’ and ‘Shoot The Bishop!’
Trevor Kinsel - Trumpet on 'Medals'
Frank Meadley - Bodhran on 'In The Navy'
Glenn Miller - Accordion on 'Three Mad Martins (Prophecy)', ‘The Leaping Swordsman’, ‘The Dandy Horse’, ‘In The Navy’, ‘Shoot The Bishop!’
Mick Tyas - Mandolin & Percussion on 'In The Navy', Harmonica on 'A Painting For Charles'

Additional Guest Vocalists: -
Tamsin Davidson - Backing Vocals on ‘God And Air’
Anna Emmins - Backing Vocals on ‘God And Air’
Barbara Petrie (R.I.P.) - Harmony Vocals on ‘Shoot The Bishop!’

With:
'The Press-ganged and Beleaguered Crew of The Good Ship Hercules' (Richard Doran, 'Glasgow' Jimmy, Frank Meadley, Gary Miller and Iain Petrie; ably led by 'Captain' Mick Tyas) - Backing Vocals, plus various shouts, "heave-ho's", hoots, hollers and hearty howls on 'In The Navy'

Featuring:
The Albert Ness Ensemble - Orchestration on 'In My Hands'
The Lick Spittals - Horns


Title & Initial Project Concept by Keith Armstrong

Musical Direction by Gary Miller

All songs arranged by Gary Miller & Iain Petrie
All accordion tunes arranged by Glenn Miller
All mandolin, dulcimer/bouzouki tunes arranged by Richard Doran & Mick Tyas
All northumbrian pipe tunes arranged by Ann Sessoms

Recorded at 'Awake Music!' Studios in Berwick-upon-Tweed & Spittal during 2013-14, with additional 'field' recordings using the 'Awake Music!' mobile studio at The Bridge Hotel, Newcsatle-upon-Tyne on 11th December 2014.

Produced, Engineered and Mixed by Iain Petrie
Awake Music: www.awakemusic.co.uk

Mastered by Garry Boyle at Slate Room Studio, Pencaitland, April 2015
www.slateroomstudio.com

Original artwork, design & layout by Helen Temperley at Winking Bitsy:
www.winkinbitsy.com

Interlinking text written and compiled by Keith Armstrong and Gary Miller
Typesetting by Gary Miller


Selected Bibliography / Further Reading:

Adams, Max (2009), The Firebringers (later published 2010 as The Prometheans). London, Quercus.

Aylmer, G.E. & Cant, Reginald (1977). A History of York Minster. Oxford University Press.

Balston, Thomas (1945), The Life of Jonathan Martin: Incendiary of York Minster (with some account of William and Richard Martin). London, MacMillan & Co. Ltd.

Balston, Thomas (1947), John Martin. London, Duckworth.

Dickens, Charles (1866), All the Year Round: A Weekly Journal (Volume 16). London, Chapman & Hall.

Johnstone, Christopher (1974), John Martin. London, Academy Editions.

Jones, Keith & Shepherd, Richard & Hampson, Louise (2008). York Minster - A Living Legacy. Third Millenium Publishing Union.

Martin, Jonathan (1826), The Life of Jonathan Martin, of Darlington, Tanner, Written by Himself. Barnard Castle: 2nd edition.

Martin, Jonathan (1829), The Life of Jonathan Martin the Incendiary of York Minster, Written by Himself. Leeds, Robinson, Hermann & Woods: 6th edition.

Martin, Jonathan (1829), The Life of Jonathan Martin, Written by Himself. USA, Nabu Press: Print on Demand 2012.

Martin, William, (1821), William Martin's Challenge to All the World as a Philosopher & Critic, on the Principles of Perpetual Motion. Newcastle upon Tyne: 2nd edition.

Martin, William (1827). A New Philosophical Poem Book, Called The Northumberland Bard, or The Downfall of All False Philosophy. Newcastle upon Tyne, Thomas Blagburn.

Myrone, Martin, (2011), John Martin: Apocalypse. London, Tate Publishing.

Myrone, Martin (ed.), (2011), John Martin: Sketches of My Life. London, Tate Publishing.

Peacock, A.J. (ed.), York History No.2. York, J. Farr & Son.

Pendered, Mary Lucy (1923), John Martin, Painter: His Life And Times. London, Hurst & Blackett.

Feaver, W (1975), The Art of John Martin. Oxford, Clarendon Press.

Martin, William, (1832), The Defeat of Learned Humbugs and the Downfall of All False Philosophers. Wallsend.

Martin, William, (1833), A Short Outline of the Philosopher's Life from being a Child in Frocks to the Present Day after the Defeat of all Imposters, False Philosophers since the Creation. Newcastle upon Tyne.



Further information:

Mad Martins:
www.mad-martins.co.uk
www.facebook.com/themadmartins
The World of John Martin: www.wojm.org.uk/today/mad.htm

Keith Armstrong:
keithyboyarmstrong.blogspot.com
soundcloud.com/keitharmstrongpoet
www.twitter.com/jinglinggeordie

Gary Miller:
www.garymillersongs.com
www.facebook.com/garymillersongs
www.twitter.com/garymillersongs


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about

Gary Miller Scottish Borders, UK

Gary Miller first rose to prominence with internationally renowned folk-rock band The Whisky Priests (1985-2002), founded with his twin brother Glenn - “the Joe Strummer and Mick Jones of Folk Music". In 2010, following long-term illness, he released ‘Reflections on War’, his debut solo album and first CD of all new material in 10 years and returned to international touring. ... more

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Track Name: Three Mad Martins (Prophecy)
THREE MARTINS (PROPHECY)

Oh Death, come and claim me, I fear not your grasping hands,
For this wilting once fair flower of Northumberland,
With her final breath, makes this one decree;
That the glory of my sons will be a lasting legacy.

Yes, my family’s name will sound from pole to pole, mark my words;
My sons will shake the world up, be it a blessing or a curse:
But tonight they’re sleeping softly, farewell I must away;
Be at peace until the morning, now let the music play.

Here come the Martins, out to conquer all;
My three fine sons will triumph, with their backs against the wall:
Mad and proud and dangerous, out of sight and out of mind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins, here’s eyesight to the blind.

Firstborn William, your God-like soul it screams,
To bring improvement to the world, through your visions and your dreams.
Let them mock you, let them doubt you, let them say, “He’s round the bend!”;
But they’ll never tame the genius of the 'Lion of Wallsend’.

Blind hypocrites of the clergy, of my Jonathan be afraid,
For your sins and debts against God, will doubtless be repaid,
When my son holds the flaming 'Sword of Justice' in his hand,
And deals out vengeance and destruction, with the power of God’s command.

Here come the Martins, out to conquer all;
My three fine sons will triumph, with their backs against the wall:
Mad and proud and dangerous, out of sight and out of mind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins, here’s eyesight to the blind.

I hear the music, such beautiful music;
The trumpets of Heaven are sounding our name:
Though my body is broken, God has spoken;
God has chosen them.

Paint me a picture John, of a dramatic Biblical scene;
To reflect the turbulent nature of your emotions and your dreams:
You will wine and dine with Kings and Queens; their patronage will be yours,
And you too will tarry, on Invention’s lonely shores.

Yes, my family’s name will sound from pole to pole, mark my words;
My sons will shake the world up, be it a blessing or a curse:
But tonight they’re sleeping softly, farewell I must away;
Be at peace until the morning, now let the music play.

Here come the Martins, out to conquer all;
My three fine sons will triumph with their backs against the wall:
Mad and proud and dangerous, out of sight and out of mind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins, here’s eyesight to the blind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins, here’s eyesight to the blind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: On The Place Of My Birth
ON THE PLACE OF MY BIRTH

The beauties of my native place,
Bard-like, I must them now relate;
If my pen doth handle well, ‘twill
Turn out something that is great.

Above Thorngrafton stands Barkum-Hill
With a lofty top and proudly high
Upon its top stands a spire-like stone –
And a landmark – raises its head to catch the eye.

South of that, across the River Tyne, stands
Ridley Hall with pleasant gardens fine,
Which beautifies the lovely dale,
And makes sweet Tyne-side to shine.

Not far from that, up the water Allan,
Stands Stawart-Castle, on a rock so high,
Surrounded with pleasant woods, and waters
Clear, delights the traveller’s penetrating eye.

How delightful, in a summer’s morn, the
Feather’d songsters they loudly sing;
The blackbird and the thrush likewise,
They make the groves and valleys ring.

(Words: William Martin / Tune: 'Love is the Cause of My Mourning’ - Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: The Leaping Swordsman
THE LEAPING SWORDSMAN

I am a leaping swordsman,
A real swashbuckling champion:
I slice the air with majestic flair,
Oh, you should have been there.

Sergeant McGrigor cut a dashing figure,
But I settled him with a thrust and a snigger;
With a pout and a grin, a slash and a spin,
I made him jump right out of his skin;
Oh, you should have seen me, man!

I took on all-comers, and passed their muster,
Each one of all five a fencing instructor;
Receiving no cuts, as I cut the mustard,
To leave them feeling both flummoxed and flustered;
You really should have been there, man!

I'm a verbal fencer, a sabre dancer,
More deadly than any Polish lancer:
I'll foil the aim of any chancer;
To my rapier wit, there's just no answer.

I am the leaping swordsman,
A real swashbuckling champion:
I slice the air with majestic flair,
Oh, you should have been there!

When I bested the best,
And reduced all the rest;
Oh, you should have been there!
You should have been there.

I am a leaping swordsman,
Just like a leaping salmon:
I grace the air with majestic flair;
Oh, you should have been there!

The grenadier called for a running leap,
But my standing leap became a flying leap;
For no hole is too deep, no gradient too steep,
No gap too wide for these legs to sweep;
Oh, you should have seen me man!

Three times he ran and three times he jumped,
But my standing jump really had him stumped;
Until the challenge he'd made ended in farce,
As the third time he ended up flat on his arse;
You really should have been there, man!

I'm a spring-heel jack, a jumping jack flash,
A jack-in-the-box, a jack of all blades.
Like Jack I'm nimble, like Jack I'm quick;
My leap is long, as my gait is slick.

I am the leaping swordsman,
Just like a leaping salmon:
I grace the air with a majestic flair;
Oh, you should have been there!

When I rose to the test,
And soared and impressed;
Oh, you should have been there!
You should have been there.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: God And Air
GOD AND AIR

God the first and air the second,
Are the only two causes I have reckoned:
These two are company,
But three would be a crowd;
These are the only two causes
That should be allowed.

I am not clutching at thin air,
You caustic, sarcastic disciples;
you can attack me with your doggerel,
And confound me with your quackeries.

But nothing can sway me,
Disparage, or waylay me;
I will persevere,
I will get there in the end.

God and air, I declare, are the answer;
To the secondary cause of all things.
God and air, if you care, sir, to chance a
Glance at the laws I've prepared:
I have proudly decreed, in this childhood of speed;
That all that I need, is the air that I breathe,
And the love of God, to impel me.

Thirty-six times I tried,
And thirty six times I failed;
I tried and I failed, then I tried and I failed,
But I never gave up and at last I prevailed:
And through a dream both awful and pleasant,
At last I came to know,
At last I came to know.

It's not mechanics, combustion or gravity,
That will solve motion's perpetual flow;
Not mathematics nor a fine time-piece,
That will cause a pendulum to go.

God and air, I declare, are the answer,
To the secondary cause of all things.
God and air, if you care, sir, to chance a
Glance at the laws I've prepared:
I have proudly decreed, in this childhood of speed,
That all that I need, is the air that I breathe,
And the love of God, to impel me.

God enables the air all around us,
With an energy dark and profound;
It’s a natural effect, of the natural world,
That causes its wheels to go round.
By demonstration, pamphlet, or lecture,
I bring you this wonderful news:
You will be able to tell, God has chosen me well,
And you scientists, well; you can all go to hell!

God and air, I declare, are the answer,
To the secondary cause of all things.
God and air, if you care, sir, to chance a
Glance at the laws I've prepared:
I have proudly decreed, in this childhood of speed,
That all that I need, is the air that I breathe,
And the love of God, to impel me.

So indulge me as I enlighten you;
May I delight, and excite, yet not frighten you,
As you foolish and wise come to realise,
That here is the proof that my genius is truth,
Whilst all others tout falseness and lies.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: William Martin's Dream
WILLIAM MARTIN'S DREAM

I thought that I was walking along with my brother Richard, who is now dead, along a pleasant road. On the right side were very large trees, and one in particular near the road was very lofty; but it was all hollow, nothing remaining but the trunk and the bark. On the top were placed thirteen spires or steeples, similar to those on St. Nicholas’ Church, in Newcastle. I said to my brother, “See, what a curiosity!” It is so high that we are not on safe ground, for it cannot possibly stand.” After I had walked about a hundred yards, I lost sight of my brother, and heard a voice cry out, “The steeples are falling; take care, the Northumberland Bard.” I looked quickly back and saw the top of the centre steeple fall about 20 yards from me. I thought I saw a beautiful woman, having a towel in her hand, who said, “Mr. Martin, these fine trees should all be washed, or else they will all become decayed, like that which has fallen and is now level with the earth.” Then I awoke, and found it was a dream.


The Interpretation of the above vision:

The interpretation is from God.

The large hollow tree on the side of the road, with the thirteen steeples upon it, signifies that the churches have become decayed and corrupted;
and as it fell towards me, that signifies that the Martinian philosophy will cause all false systems to fall, and bring all to one true religion, the apostolic church of Christ.

The beautiful woman that spoke to me was God’s holy angel, who, by informing me that the other trees (the churches of the living God) should be all washed, signified to me that I should make it known to the world, being the only inspired writer till time shall be no more.

The British nation, therefore, must begin to purify its corrupted churches.

(Words: William Martin / Music: Iain Petrie)
Track Name: In Dreamtime
IN DREAMTIME

My dead brother walked with me, in dreamtime.
We passed by a hollow tree, in dreamtime:
Where thirteen steeples stand,
To fall at God’s command;
So I would understand, in dreamtime.

An angel spoke to me, in dreamtime.
She proclaimed my destiny, in dreamtime:
The Ship of Truth to guide,
Through religion’s erring tide;
For God is on my side, in dreamtime.

Invention is my goal, in dreamtime.
Philosophy my role, in dreamtime:
The future’s taking hold,
My ideas turn to gold;
Their mockery runs cold, in dreamtime.
Track Name: Inventions
INVENTIONS

How to clear the River Tyne of the sand beds, and to quay off Jarrow Slake!
The High Level Bridge from Gateshead to the Castle Garth!
How to make a railway from the Red Sea to the Levant!
How to prevent wood from taking the dry rot!
How to blow up the wreck of the Royal George!
How to make a harpoon gun!
A model of a flying machine!
A boat to go with paddles!
The Grand Desideratum!
The Perpetual Motion!
Metallic Railways!
A patent for shoes!
A life preserver!
The fan ventilators!
A tin pen!
The Mechanical Horse!
The Swan-foot paddle!
The best safety lamp, pirated by George Stephenson!

(Words: William Martin)
Track Name: The Dandy Horse
THE DANDY HORSE

If you ask it of me, “Where have you been?”;
To report on the strangest beast I’ve ever seen.
Up on the Town Moor, a travelling machine,
Defied gravity without aid of legs or steam.

Is it animal, vegetable, mineral or metal?
This is the question they want me to settle.
Well it kicked and it snorted, it sweated, it farted;
With a noise to strike fear into the fainthearted.

The horse bore a rider, who clung to his back,
In the most bizarre garb, a real dandy jack.
His efforts were turning his face a bright red;
When I spoke to him afterwards, these words he said:

“This is the Northumberland Eagle Mail,
And I am the greatest man who ever set sail,
On the Sea of Invention, and it is my intention,
To improve any idea or device you can mention;
A boat with paddles, life preserver, tin pen,
I bring divine wisdom for the good of all men”.
As I laughed at his back, I believed him of course;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse.

The horse groaned and grunted, as it fought the rough ground;
The man pushed and pulled, and sweated off pounds;
While the people threw mud, and jeered and swore;
Until their shoulders and throats were aching and raw.

The man persevered, unheeding their jibes;
As if they were the ones along for the ride:
He turned to the crowd, defying their joke;
And I bring to you now the words that he spoke:

“This is the Northumberland Eagle Mail,
And I am the greatest man, who ever set sail,
On Invention’s Great Ocean, and I have a notion,
To set the whole world in Perpetual Motion:
All others are wrong, so I must be right;
My philosophies sent by God in the night.”
As I laughed at his back, I believed him of course;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse.

Well I’d pelted and mocked, along with the rest,
This fool who’d claimed his safety lamp was the best;
But through the mud a wise glint I did spy;
There’s more to this man than at first meets the eye.
He may be no great inventor or poet,
But he’s still someone special and you people should know it:
Don’t tease him, don’t taunt him, and don’t scorn his sooth;
This man is only in search of the truth.

“This is the Northumberland Eagle Mail,
And I am the greatest man, who ever set sail,
On Invention’s deep sea, and I’m sure you’ll agree,
That God has entrusted his genius in me;
So all learned humbugs, know your station:
I’m the philosophical conqueror of all nations.”
As I laughed at his back, I believed him of course;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse;
That madman on his dandy mechanical horse.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: On Libraries
ON LIBRARIES

I compare all libraries now throughout the civilised world to great and numerous dens of vile rattle-snakes; but the snakes are not so bad as the false books – the rattle-snakes only destroy the body, but cannot injure the immortal soul, whilst the books sent forth by false philosophers cause the people to err, and those that are led by them are destroyed: then what is to become of the authors of these false works? Novels are nothing but lies, and also cause the people to err, for many are so silly-minded as to take more notice of such like nonsense than they do of God’s holy word; so they cause the people to err also. And all those men that pretend to be lecturers are infamous, for their lectures only consist of what they copy from books published by false men; for none of them are any philosophers. Such like men do a serious injury to mankind, from the king to the beggar.

(Words: William Martin / Tune: ‘Buy Broom Besoms’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: Just An Inoffensive Wife
JUST AN INOFFENSIVE WIFE

Do you take this man, William Martin?
Do you take his name, his song?
As he walks through heavenly dreamtime,
You sew on.

The mother of all true invention,
Never touched this dreamer’s life:
Misguided truths, a blinding passion;
But not for you, his humble wife.

Did he take this inoffensive woman?
Did he take your name, your song?
As you struggle in the real world,
He dreams on.

No dress coats hang on gallery walls,
No bodices of fine brocade:
The greatest work you ever stitched,
Received no artists’ accolade.

Do you take this man, William Martin?
Do you take his name, his song?
As he walks through heavenly dreamtime,
You sew on.

The world will mock creative dreamers,
The cost was high you paid the price:
Pick up the pieces, sew them together;
Just an inoffensive wife.

Did he take this inoffensive woman?
Did he take your name, your song?
When you left him with the real world,
He dreamed on.

(Lyrics: Jane Miller / Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: The Philosopher's Cure For The Cholera Morbus
CURE FOR CHOLERA

The Philosopher’s Cure for the Cholera Morbus:

Let a few heads of garlic be applied to the soles of the feet of the afflicted, and steep garlic among brandy, then add half an ounce of pepper well-mixed in a glass of the brandy; let it be taken inwardly, which will completely warm the inside. Then, to warm the outside, I order the afflicted to be laid in a good warm bed, a pair of good blankets well warmed at the fire, laid under them, and three pair of well-warmed blankets laid above them, and a rug above all; then, by the heat of the inside, occasioned by the brandy, garlic and pepper, and garlic at the soles of the feet, the heat will be great; then the warm blankets on the outside will warm the body outwardly, which will cause the blood to circulate and run; and they must also add a hot sand-bag to the soles of the feet, and the garlic to be between the feet and the hot sand-bag.”

(Words: William Martin / Tune: ‘Derwentwater’s Farewell’ - Trad. arr. Glenn Miller)
Track Name: Medals
MEDALS

Gratified to meet you, sir;
I trust God keeps you well:
I doff my cap to you, sir;
A brass-topped tortoise shell.

In God’s armour I am dressed, sir;
I think it suits me fine:
My surcoat to the neck, sir;
My medals proudly shine.

There’s one for a gun that can shoot a whale,
One for a train on metallic rails,
One for a balance tipped by a spring,
One for a carriage fit for a king,
One from a duke and one from a queen,
One for a magnificent flying machine,
One for a High Level Bridge o’er the Tyne,
And one for the praise that should have been mine.

You’ve been kind to lend an ear, sir;
Buy this pamphlet if you please:
To keep the wolves at bay, sir;
And melt winter’s cruel freeze.

Some have judged me mockingly;
There is laughter in their eyes:
But I am genuinely honoured, sir;
For these medals tell no lies.

There’s one for curing wood of its dry rot thirst,
One to show my fan ventilator was first,
One for a prophet and critic also,
One for a poet and his natural flow,
One for canals cut with flawless ease,
And one for a unique mind, if you please;
One for putting out fires at sea,
And one for the staggering genius in me.

But does a man need medals like a jockey needs a horse,
Like a mountain needs foundations, like a river needs its course,
Like a planet needs an orbit, like a lion needs its pride,
Or does it simply signify there’s nothing left inside?

For there’s more to searching than searching alone,
More to a king than a crown or throne,
More to a dog than chasing a bone,
And more to me than these medals alone.

There’s one for the left breast, one for the right,
One for my wisdom’s guiding light,
One of silver and one of gold,
One for each philosophy told,
One for each step of progress made,
One for ideas that never made the grade,
One for the learning by which snakes shall fall,
For I am the wisest man of them all.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: A Description Of Jonathan Martin
A DESCRIPTION OF WILLIAM MARTIN


We encountered the well-known figure
in his extraordinary skull-cap,
decorated with military greatcoat
closely buttoned to the throat.

Martin, with exaggerated politeness,
drew his feet together,
bent forward,
lifted his tortoise-shell hat high in the air,
and answered
"Gratified to meet you, sir!
I am the philosophical conquerer of all nations,
this is what I am!
and this is my badge”;

at the same time unbuttoning his greatcoat
he showed a medal as large as a saucer,
which was hung round his neck by a ribbon.
It was not a medal at all,
and he was manifestly crazed,
yet he had that about him
that made one treat him with respect.

A noble presence even was his,
although he was poor enough
to sell his pamphlets thus on the street,
which pamphlets were of course
only evidence of his craze.

(Words: William Bell Scott / Tune: ‘Bobby Shaftoe’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: William, You Were Really Something
WILLIAM, YOU WERE REALLY SOMETHING

Thunder and lightning attended your birth,
God’s message to you to inherit the earth:
To conquer with genius for all you were worth;
All in your dreams.

Like a lion poised to rush from his den,
And defeat all abusers of the pen,
And bring divine wisdom for the good of all men;
New ideas, new machines.

The Martinian system, a new guiding light,
To put all ignorance and false prophets to flight:
If Newton was wrong, then you must be right;
Maybe in another life.

Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the medals and the madness, your genius shone through.
Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the mockery and the sadness, was a glimpse of the real you.

Stephenson and Davy stole your dream,
Though your Safety Lamp was best it would seem:
A magnificent man in your flying machine;
Broken dreams and bones.

While your devoted wife sewed her heart out for you,
You chased your half-hidden, unsolvable truths:
So many years wasted in the season of youth;
Quickly fading away.

Her star burned out, leaving you to survive,
On a diet that barely kept you alive:
Man can’t live alone on ambition and drive,
Loneliness and pain.

Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the medals and the madness, your genius shone through.
Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the mockery and the sadness, was a glimpse of the real you.

The pamphlets you wrote, the false medals displayed,
The tortoiseshell cap in your twilight days;
Only seen by others as proof of your craze,
Yet precious to you.

Bard of skill from Bardon Mill,
Curer of all earthly ill:
Respect is due; your light shines still,
Here’s to you.

Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the medals and the madness, your genius shone through.
Oh, William, William, you were really something;
In between the mockery and the sadness, was a glimpse of the real you.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Reflections
REFLECTIONS

At the Tow-house, near Haltwhistle,
In Northumberland, where I was born,
Amongst hills and mountains, although,
Many times far from my house, and forlorn.

And strange has been my
Adventures that I have thought on;
Although singular was the inventions
That I have thought upon.

I cannot remember one half of
My inventions; they’re sown all over the land:
Now, by the power of the living God,
The new system of philosophy I can command.

Thirty-seven different inventions for the
Perpetual Motion had :-
That should make Northumberland rejoice,
And be very cheerful and glad.

To think the North of England
Hath put the whole world to the stand;
And will have to give divine light,
To all other benighted land.

(Words: William Martin / Tune: ‘The Waters of Tyne’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: On My Childhood And Youth
ON MY CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

I was born in the year 1782 in the parish of Hexham, in Northumberland, of poor but honest parents. I was tongue-tied till my sixth year, at which time the thread of my tongue was cut. I associated with none, chiefly rambling in the woods over which my father was forester. I soon acquired a habit of rising at 2 o’clock in the morning, in summer, to walk.

We left the woods and went to Hexham, to live. One night, awakening about 12 o’clock, I heard a heavy foot come to my chamber door, and three heavy groans, which terrified me; they forced the door open, and at that moment a flash of lightning illuminated the whole room, and they vanished. In the morning I told my mother what I had seen and heard, and felt something was going to happen in our family, but little did I think it foretold the death of my dear sister, who was most cruelly murdered that same week, by a neighbour, a woman.

My dear mother had instructed us in time, that there was a God to serve, and a hell to shun, and that all liars and swearers, are burnt in hell with the devil and his angels. I prayed for my sister fearing that she might have sinned. Before I could pronounce my name distinctly the Lord convinced me of sin.

The death of my sister made this country irksome to me, and God gave me my desire, by removing me to the farm of my uncle, where I was made his shepherd. The place was near the old roman wall, and suited my mind very well, as I could retreat into these solitudes, and meditate on the goodness of God. I continued here until apprenticed to a tanner, and though in a large town, I still continued my habit of retiring to the woods, to give praise to God for all his mercies.

(Words: Jonathan Martin / Tune: ‘Sir John Fenwick’s Flower Among Them All’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: In The Navy (Jonathan's Chantey & Hornpipe)
IN THE NAVY (JONATHAN’S CHANTEY & HORNPIPE)

In the navy, all at sea;
Heave away, me bonnie boys:
To the Enterprise, they press-ganged me;
Heave away, me boys.

I'm a foretop man on the Hercules;
Up aloft, me bonnie boys:
A finer vessel never sailed the seas;
Up aloft, me boys.

From the Danes we won great ships and store;
Steal away, me bonnie boys:
Such a prize as England never saw;
Steal away, me boys.

In the Bay of Biscay, I was saved;
Haul me up, me bonnie boys:
Four times from a watery grave;
Haul me up, me boys.

I got best cheer down Lisbon way;
Party on me, bonnie boys:
"Bone star bone, for you restay”;
Party on, me boys.

From Lisbon to Cadiz, in the gunner's crew;
Blast away, me bonnie boys:
What damage can those shore boys do?
Blast away, me boys.

Parson Saxe, they nicknamed me;
Pray away, me bonnie boys:
More fit for the church than a life at sea;
Pray away, me boys.

Pipe all hands to a Sunday dance;
Play away, me bonnie boys:
God's disapproval we will chance;
Play away, me boys.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: "Shoot The Bishop!"
"SHOOT THE BISHOP!"

Who has come to disturb my sleep,
These three nights?
And rouse my antipathies festering deep,
These three nights?

A heavenly visitor,
Bow in hand;
Come to deliver
God's fierce command.

First night:
He smiled sweetly;
He looked upon me kindly,
He glanced upon me tenderly,

And he said:
“Jonathan!
Shoot the Bishop!”

But I did nothing,
I said nothing;
I was embarrassed and perplexed.

Who has come to disturb my rest,
These three nights?
And put my earnestness to the test,
These three nights?

God’s holy messenger,
To set out my mission
Against the sins of the clergy,
And their lack of contrition.

Second night:
He did not smile;
He gazed upon me mournfully,
He stared upon me sorrowfully,

And he cried:
“Jonathan!
Jonathan!!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!”

I loaded my pistol,
But resolved nothing;
I was strengthened, yet unwilling.

“I passed another miserable day;
I wanted to do what was right
- I was afraid of doing what was wrong,
And another night came.”

Third night:
He was displeased;
He frowned upon me angrily,
He glared upon me dreadfully;

And he thundered:
“Jonathan!
Jonathan!!
Jonathan!!!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!”

My scruples were removed,
My purpose was now clear;
To betray the scriptures and do murder.

I talked of blood and the field of Armageddon;
It was clear that I was to be the hand,
that was “To pour out the cup of the wine
Of the fierceness of the wrath of God”.

I confided in my wife,
But to my plan she then attested;
Betraying me to the magistrate,
Who then had me arrested.

Yet, as they led me to my cell,
Sure as a doom-laden bell,
Once more the mandate fell,
As I heard the angel yell:

“Jonathan!
Jonathan!!
Jonathan!!!
Jonathan!!!!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!
Shoot the Bishop!”

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller / incorporating quotes attributed to Jonathan Martin)
Track Name: Musings On The Madhouse
MUSINGS ON THE MADHOUSE

Let my readers picture to themselves what a rational man must feel to find himself shut up for life in a madhouse, among madmen, and subject to the same treatment as if himself were insane: to have irons riveted on his legs, and his windows doubly barred: and, to make assurance doubly sure, the walls of his prison raised so high that any attempt to get over them would be certain destruction. Let them look at this, I say, and they will not wonder if a man so situate should be ready to despair: and become indeed all that his enemies wished him to be. However, praise the Lord, I kept from despair.

(Words: Jonathan Martin / Tune: ‘Bonny at Morn’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: Four Bare Walls
FOUR BARE WALLS

Four bare walls, I am not mad;
Four bare walls, my world.
The Lord will save me, have no doubt;
The Lord will find a way.

I’m on fire, I seethe with rage,
Against those who put me here:
I will see them burn;
I have faith; I have no fear.

In and out, in and out;
West Auckland, Gateshead, Bethlem:
From four bare walls, to four bare walls;
From freedom into bedlam.

God grant me just swift freedom,
God grant me wings to fly;
A phoenix from the ashes,
That smoulder in my eye.

Four bare walls, teaching me,
All your rules of Hell:
You will fall, and I will rise,
From my prison cell.

In and out, in and out;
West Auckland, Gateshead, Bethlem:
From four bare walls, to four bare walls;
From freedom into bedlam.

Four bare walls, four bare walls;
From freedom into bedlam.

Four bare walls, to four bare walls;
From freedom into bedlam.

You can chain me,
You can inflame me;
But you will never break me:
I will escape;
Again!

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Escape
ESCAPE

Again the devil thought to shut me in,
But with a sandy stone, I cut my iron chain;
With locks and bolts and bars of every kind
Fain would the devil had me all my life confined.

But by the help of God, by faith and prayer,
The devil loosed his hold, and I did break his snare.
Through the lofty garret I thrust and tore my way,
Through dust and laths and tiles into the open day.

But yet more dangers still beset me round,
Till, by God’s help, I landed on the ground.
Then, with a thankful heart, I praised the God I’d found,
And cried, “Sleep on, ye sleepers, sleep both safe and sound,
Till I escape from your enchanted ground.

These three long years now almost gone and past,
My God has saved me from your hands at last;
Therefore to Him will I give all the praise,
And thank and bless His Holy Name always.

“Having got safely away, I took into the cornfields; the voice of the nightingale seeming to reprove me. I was rejoicing that the God in whom I trusted, had brought me out of the house of bondage, and set both soul and body at liberty. I cannot describe my sensations, on again finding myself at large in the world, and in hopes of seeing my dear friends again and finding my dream fulfilled, to convince myself and others, that it was indeed the Lord’s work; and that I would be no more left in the power of mine enemies, who hunted my soul like a partridge on the mountains.”

(Lyrics & Words: Jonathan Martin / Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: The Life Of Jonathan Martin
THE LIFE OF JONATHAN MARTIN

The Life of Jonathan Martin, of Darlington, Tanner, written by himself. Containing an account of the Extraordinary Interpositions of Divine Providence on his behalf, during a period of six years service in the Navy, including his wonderful escapes in the Action of Copenhagen, and in many affairs on the coasts of Spain, Portugal, and Egypt. Also an account of the Embarkation of the British Army after the Battle of Corruna. Likewise an account of his subsequent Conversion and Christian Experience, with Persecutions he suffered for Conscience' sake, being locked up in an asylum and ironed, describing his Miraculous Escape through the Roof of the House, having first ground off his Fetters with a sandy Stone. His singular Dreams of the Destruction of London, and the Host of Armed Men overrunning England, also of the Son of Bonaparte taking England.

Mark! my kind readers, the hand of God in a poor humble cot,
God has raised of us four brothers; my oldest he has made a Natural Philosopher, my youngest, an Historical Painter, his drawing and engravings has made Kings and Emperors to wonder. The Emperor of Russia at this time has made him a present of a diamond ring, but I, the unworthiest, God has given to me the gift of prophecy, which is the best of all, for I feel that God is with me.

(Words: Jonathan Martin / Tune: ‘Dusty Miller’ - Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: My 'Life'
MY ‘LIFE’

This is the life of Jonathan Martin, written by himself;
A finer book you'll never read, nor sit upon your shelf:
Please forgive the grammar, of this illiterate man;
For I aim to bring you closer to God's glory, if I can.

My life is here, for all to see;
Printed in ink, for all to read:
Fine copperplate engravings I include;
To illustrate the glory I've accrued.

I've one for the master,
One for the dame,
One for each little lad,
And one for the lame:
Fourteen thousand copies
I have sold to date;
Grab a copy while you can,
Before it is too late.

I tramp the fair lands
Of Darlington, York and Leeds;
Spreading forth the bounty
Of God's holy seeds.

You will notice me, if by you I should pass;
For just like our Saviour, I ride upon an ass:
My sealskin cape is lined outside with fur;
I wonder why you people mock and stare.

So come all you tramps and hawker lads,
Come all you bounders and you cads;
Come each and all, you ladies and you gents;
I present my ‘Life’, for the small sum of sixpence.

I've one for the master,
One for the dame,
One for each little lad,
And one for the lame:
Fourteen thousand copies
I have sold to date;
Grab a copy while you can,
Before it is too late.

And now to close,
I've one final thought to send;
I pray my wanderings and sorrows
Are now at an end.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: A Special Instrument (Charles Dickens on Jonathan Martin, Part 1)
A SPECIAL INSTRUMENT
(Charles Dickens on Jonathan Martin, Part 1)

His mode of expression was vehement, his language rude and unpolished -
I think it had the Northumbrian twang - he was dogmatical and peremptory,
as if he spoke with authority; indeed, if there were anything of which he was truly convinced, it was that he was a special instrument appointed by God to do great works - works too great to be committed to any but the most highly privileged exponents of the Divine will.

He once said to me in prison, "Is there any one, from the king on his throne
to the lowest of the people, who is not thinking of and speaking of Jonathan Martin; and would this be so, unless Jonathan Martin had to do what can be done by nobody but myself?”

No apprehension of consequences, no fear of punishment, ever entered into his mind except as an encouragement to carry out his designs.

"What can they do" he said, "if they do their worst? They can do nothing except to accomplish the purpose of God".

(Words: Charles Dickens / Tune: ‘La Melodie Sans Nom’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: Blood Fire And Smoke (Ballad Of The Incendiary)
BLOOD, FIRE AND SMOKE (BALLAD OF THE INCENDIARY)

"My soul’s full of glory, which inspires my tongue,
Could I meet with Angels I’d sing them a song;
I’d sing of my Jesus and tell of his charms,
And beg them to bear me to his loving arms."

With his fiery red whiskers
and eyes burning with rage,
Jonathan Martin broke out of his cage
to set York Minster ablaze.

Selling pamphlets of his life
so his dreams would always shine,
his lips to the tips of an angel’s wing,
he said he’d brought the sun.

He told the ‘Lord’s Folk’ around him,
those Citizens of Devilish Mind:
“Hell is opening to take you,
ye blind leaders of the blind.”

When half-past two o’clock struck,
he lighted up his fires
and this crazy Incendiary of Unsound Mind
ignited his wildest desires.

And it’s blood, fire and smoke,
long may you Beef-eaters choke.
You serpents and vipers of Hell, 
in flames your Minster I burn.

"Lord what a wretched land is this,
that yields us no supply.
No cheering fruits, no wholesome trees,
nor streams of living joy!
But pricking thorns through all the ground
and mortal poisons grow;
and all the rivers are found
with dangerous waters flow...

Long nights and darkness dwell below,
with scarce a twinkling ray;
but the bright world to which we go
is everlasting day."

And its blood, fire and smoke,
long may you Beef-eaters choke.
You serpents and vipers of Hell,
with flames your Minster I burn.

And its blood, fire and smoke,
long may you Beef-eaters choke.
You serpents and vipers of Hell,
with flames your Minster I burn:

with flames you Minster,
with flames your Minster,
with flames your Minster I burn.
                                                                  
(Lyrics: Keith Armstrong with words in quotations by Jonathan Martin / Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Jonathan's Departure From Maria
JONATHAN’S DEPARTURE FROM MARIA

I was therefore obliged to take leave of her upon the Saturday morning
(January 31st). Upon that occasion I had a sore contest between flesh and blood, so as to part from her. It was a hardish action, I assure you, when she asked me what was to become of her and of my child Richard. I thought she would have nailed me to the spot when she mentioned about the child; but at that moment a passage of scripture struck my ear, and it cried out like a whisper, “What thou doest, do with all thy might”. At the same time I heard another whisper in my ear, saying, “If you prefer your wife to the Lord, he that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me. Leave them all, and come with me.” And I heard a third whisper “Even thine own life.” Upon that I cried out, “O Lord God, let thy will be done.” I then got away from her, but it was like arrows passing through my heart.

(Words: Jonathan Martin / Tune: ‘The Fair Flower of Northumberland’ - Trad. arr. Glenn Miller)
Track Name: Maria's Testimony
MARIA'S TESTIMONY

My name is Maria Martin, née Hudson;
A neat little girl but quite a bit shy:
One Jonathan Martin came me a-wooing
And stole me away in the sweet bye and bye.

In the town of Boston, I was there a-lodging,
In the house of Jane Hindson, a shoemaker's wife;
It was in Boston Church, by God, in a jiffy,
Jonathan Martin made me his wife.

And if anyone doubts me, I charge them to know,
I've been loyal, committed and true;
To one who has forsaken me in his folly,
And faded away like the morning dew.

From Lincoln to York, we lodged with the Lawns,
Where he talked, sang and read, with never a frown;
Whilst planning to shake the soft beds of the clergy,
And see their great churches come rattling down.

In pursuit of this task, to bind me to silence,
He, a thief in the night, my wedding ring stole;
Grieved at his action, yet quietly forgiving;
Like a dutiful mistress confined to her role.

And all you who doubt me, I charge you to know,
I've been loyal, committed and true;
To one who does God's will with all of his might,
His own flesh and blood to butcher and hew.

In the race for his heart, I took second place;
In God's wake abandoned, both me and his child:
If a single rose can endure this cruel tempest,
In the Garden of Eden are weeds growing wild?

And if you must question me as to his doings,
What should I know and what should I say?
Whether he's guilty, of sound mind or mad;
He said, "God moves in a mysterious way”.

And all those who doubt me, I charge them to know,
I've been loyal, committed and true;
To one who claims God’s love beyond all measure,
As the altar of Abraham drips blood anew.

(Lyrics: Gary Miller / Tune: 'Easy and Slow’ - Trad. arr. Gary Miller)
Track Name: A Description Of Jonathan Martin
A DESCRIPTION OF JONATHAN MARTIN
(from his 'Wanted' poster of February 1829)

He is a rather stout man, about five feet six inches high, with light hair cut close, coming to a point in the centre of the forehead, and high above the temples, and has large bushy red whiskers: he is between forty and fifty years of age; and of singular manners. He usually wears a single-breasted blue coat, with a stand-up collar, and buttons covered with the same cloth; a black cloth waistcoat, and blue cloth trousers; half-boots laced up in front, and a glazed broad-brimmed low-crowned hat. Sometimes he wears a double-breasted blue coat, with yellow buttons. When travelling he wears a large black leather cape coming down to his elbows, with two pockets within the cape; across the back of the leather cape there is a square piece of dark-coloured fur, extending from one shoulder point to the other. At other times he wears a drab-coloured greatcoat, with a large cape and shortish skirts. When seen at York last Sunday, he had on the double-breasted blue coat, a common hat, and his greatcoat.

(Words: anon. / Tune: ‘The Keel Row’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: At The Assizes
AT THE ASSIZES

Hark! how the watchman cries;
Oh, attend unto that sound:
Hark! the judge struggling through the crowd;
They'll have the poor man down.

And hark! the incessant tumult,
Rising with each pounding beat;
Of the arrivals of spectators,
And their struggles to get seats.

Hark at me, at the assizes!
I fear no bill and no surprises:
Hark at them, in all their guises!
They size me up, their tension rises.

A lady asks if I am sorry;
To her I say, no, not at all:
It may make them repent their ways;
If not, then they shall surely fall.

A gentleman asks if I am afraid;
To him I say, no, not at all:
As I stand here in the dock,
And laugh across the crowded hall.

Hark at me, with my brave heart!
I've made more noise than Bonaparte:
I stand assured, proud legs apart,
And wait for the old judge to start.

He asks if I wish for my trial to be removed,
To the County Assizes if I should approve;
From a city jury's prejudice,
Due to public restlessness:
But I am ready with my answer,
I fear not what is to come;
"I don't care where I am tried, sir;
The Lord's will be done.”

The clerk asks, will I pay the costs?
To him I say unflinchingly;
"I's a poor man, I's no money,
I's a poor man, yet I's willing.”

The judge asks if I am guilty
I say; “It was not me, my Lord;
But my God did it,
and on that I give my word.”

Now hark at me, outside the court!
The hissing crowd must have their sport:
I bow and smile in mild retort;
Next week to trial I shall be brought.

So, I say;
“Bring it on!
Bring it on!
Bring it on!

Bring it on!
Bring it on!
Bring it on!
Bring it on!
Bring it on!
Bring it on!”

(Lyrics: Gary Miller and adapted by Gary Miller from the words of Jonathan Martin / Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Madhouse Martin
MADHOUSE MARTIN

There’s a great fire in God’s House, it’s burning from within;
That I am sent to put a torch to this vile den of raging sin:
The clergy ignored my warnings and epistles at each turn,
So here’s fuel to their fire; burn, York Minster, burn.

One hundred pounds was offered for my apprehension there,
So I with grace of God to Hexham did repair;
But I was caught and I was taken, and now I stand here, accused;
My faith remains unshaken, my liberty abused.

I’ve been a tanner, a sailor, a rover, and a dreamer;
A despiser of the clergy and a bold pamphleteer:
God is my witness; God is in my dreams;
Let God be my judge, not you unholy fiends.

I’m mad as a hatter and the clergy’s getting fatter;
Arson my arse, I’ll burn you up the bum:
I’m Jonathan Martin, Madhouse Martin;
God grant me the strength to blow you all to Kingdom Come.

The clergy have departed, from the path the saints once trod;
That I deemed it just for them to feel the mighty wrath of God:
Their faith they have laid waste, their yearning souls to sell;
That I deemed it just to let them taste the burning coals of Hell.

You can lock me up in bedlam and throw away the key,
But there’s no asylum built can hold this bold incendiary:
I have this burning dream, to raze London to the ground;
With an armed host and God’s blessing, to London I’d be bound.

My heart is an inferno and my belly is a-flame;
Too fierce to be quenched, by the salt sea in my veins:
When the walls are closing in, God will still remember me;
Confined but judged not guilty, due to insanity.

I’ve been a tanner, a sailor, a rover, and a dreamer;
A despiser of the clergy and a bold pamphleteer:
God is my witness; God is in my dreams;
Let God be my judge, not you unholy fiends.

I’m mad as a hatter and the clergy’s getting fatter;
Arson my arse, I’ll burn you up the bum:
I’m Jonathan Martin, Madhouse Martin;
God grant me the strength, to blow you all to Kingdom Come;
God grant me the strength, to blow you all to Kingdom Come;
God grant me strength.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: A Painting For Charles
A PAINTING FOR CHARLES

I offer you my deepest thanks, Charles,
For visiting me in my prison cell;
I have fallen on hard times in this bleak house,
But you know my story well.

I present to you my painting, Charles,
Of the vision that induced me
To set fire to that house of sin;
It is a fine imagining of what I did see.

“That’s the sword, I am the Hand;
That’s the Cloud, that God command:
This is the sword I saw, in a vision at noonday;
This is the cloud I saw, on the Minster.”

It is drawn in Indian ink, Charles,
I hope it meets your great expectations:
Though rude, I do not find it crude,
For it charges all my deep vexations.

That’s the head of God the Father, Charles,
Expressing a terrible majesty;
This is the mouth, issuing a divine command;
These are the eyes, burning fiercely.

“That’s the sword, I am the Hand;
That’s the Cloud, that God command:
This is the sword I saw, in a vision at noonday;
This is the cloud I saw, on the Minster.”

“I was nobody and am now more talked about than anybody.
Who is there in the land who is not occupied
with the name and the deeds of Jonathan Martin?
His name was known to nobody; it is now known to everybody.
The King is now speaking about me.”

For I took a novel approach, Charles,
And artfully dodged the Devil’s chimes;
And even as his thralls encroach,
I will strike a blow against their crimes.

“That’s the sword, I am the Hand;
That’s the Cloud, that God command:
This is the sword I saw, in a vision at noonday;
This is the cloud I saw, on the Minster.”

“That’s the sword, I am the Hand;
That’s the Cloud, that God command:
This is the sword I saw, in a vision at noonday;
This is the cloud I saw, on the Minster.”

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller - with words in quotations by Jonathan Martin)
Track Name: On A Visit To Bedlam (Charles Dickens on Jonathan Martin, Part 2)
ON A VISIT TO BEDLAM
(Charles Dickens on Jonathan Martin, Part 2)

I visited Jonathan Martin after he was removed to Bedlam. He remembered what had taken place at York, and said, all that he had ever done, or thought of doing was as nothing to that which he was now commissioned to do. “Not since men were upon the earth” had anything so dreadful been seen or heard as the deed he was about to accomplish. It was to bring about all the denunciations contained in the sixteenth chapter of Revelations. I asked him what he meant to do. He answered, “You must wait till you will see.” I reported to the authorities that he was contemplating something terrible, and required to be specially watched. Shortly afterwards, Jonathan Martin died.

(Words: Charles Dickens / Tune: ‘Soul Cake’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: John's Song
JOHN’S SONG

Beautiful boy, 
beautiful man,
asleep in a cradle,
a cradle of time.

Beautiful baby,
beautiful being,
held in a painting,
held in a frame.

Beautiful bird,
beautiful spirit,
caught on the hills,
wings of the light.

Beautiful island,
beautiful desert,
feasting on wonder,
wonderful fear.

Beautiful John,
beautiful Martin,
inventor of dreams,
beautiful dreams.

(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: 'Felton Lonnen’ - Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: Picture The Scriptures
PICTURE THE SCRIPTURES

How will history paint me, John Martin?
What did I accomplish, what did I achieve?
I did it my way, I broke the rules;
Time will judge my worth and deeds.

I was drawn to art from an early age,
When dark was fear and God was rage:
I drew with whatever came to hand,
On brick, on wood, on dirt, on sand.

Picture the Scriptures and Milton scenes,
Visions from God assaulting my dreams;
To tunes of thunder my paintbrush screams,
And a cast of thousands sings.

My father took his part to place
My bonnie hands with Boniface:
Seven days a week, my swift hands sped;
Through enamel veins, my paintbrush bled.

New Romantic, Old Testament;
A combination Heaven sent:
Epic grandeur, Biblical scale,
Nature’s vastness, floods and flame.

Picture the Scriptures and Milton scenes,
Visions from God assaulting my dreams;
To tunes of thunder my paintbrush screams,
And a cast of thousands sings.

With the people’s welfare in my heart,
Calling me beyond my art;
In Invention’s depths, my toes to dip:
Railway, harbour, lighthouse, ship.

Historical landscape painter bold,
To Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold:
Arise, Sir John, lead your right royal dance,
Through Belgium, Russia, Prussia and France.

So many obstacles in my path,
To ‘The Last Day of Judgement’ and ‘The Great Day of His Wrath’;
But ‘The Plains of Heaven’ are calling me,
With peace and beauty, wild and free.

Picture the Scriptures and Milton scenes,
Visions from God assaulting my dreams;
To tunes of thunder my paintbrush screams,
And a cast of thousands sings.

How will history paint me, John Martin?
What did I accomplish, what did I achieve?

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: The Plains Of Heaven
THE PLAINS OF HEAVEN

The Plains of Heaven
are strewn with colour in profusion.
Angels are scattered across the belly of clouds;
their wings trembling with dew.

And you famous sons of history are as nothing
in this triumph of our Lord,
can only resign yourselves to his wisdom,
stripped naked of your vanities.

Across these Plains the sunlight streams,
rippling on the very First Day and every day.
I will paint it all like a rainbowful of butterflies
and bury my brush in these Plains of Heaven.

(Keith Armstrong)
Track Name: Lightning Strikes
LIGHTNING STRIKES

Lightning strikes upon my paint,
lightning strikes upon my soul.
It strikes,
it strikes.

Lightning fires up my blood,
lightning fires in my hearth.
It fires,
it fires.

Strikes and fires,
strikes and fires.

Lightning strikes inside my studio,
lightning strikes against my window.
It strikes,
it strikes.

Lightning fires in the wood,
lightning fires in the water.
It fires,
it fires.

Strikes and fires,
strikes and fires.

Strikes my paintings,
fires my paintings,
cuts across my life.

Cuts, strikes and fires,
cuts, strikes and fires!

(Keith Armstrong)
Track Name: Searching For The Waters Of Oblivion
SEARCHING FOR THE WATERS OF OBLIVION

A lone figure climbs,
A tiny speck clings,
Like a minute mote of dust
Clinging to the air on which it floats.

And I am that figure,
Insignificant and alone;
I am as nothing,
Against nature’s huge army.

I cling and climb,
I climb and cling.

I climb and cling,
I cling and climb.

Cling onto my canvas,
Climb into my scene,
Cling onto my visions,
Climb into my dreams;
I’m searching for the Waters of Oblivion;
Searching for the Waters of Oblivion.

Storm clouds blazing,
Above mountains ranging,
Peak after peak,
In a landscape bleak.

All is lonely,
All is vast;
I act out the role
For which I’ve been cast.

I cling and climb,
I climb and cling.

I climb and cling,
I cling and climb.

Climb into my canvas,
Cling onto my scene,
Climb into my visions,
Cling onto my dreams;
I’m searching for the Waters of Oblivion;
Searching for the Waters of Oblivion.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: That's Me!
THAT’S ME!


In Haydon Bridge I must say
living was a scrape.
Still, we survived
by some minor miracle,
some practical miracle.

Looking down on those days,
I know what they taught me - 
to believe
in some little miracles,
some little miraculous miracles.

Miracles, medals, rings and sweet snuff boxes!
Martin! Friend of Kings and Queens!
That’s Me!
Mate of Tsar Nicholas and Louis Philippe,
of Frederick of Prussia, Leo of Belgium.
That’s Me!
Hysterical painter to sweet Charlotte of Wales.
Miracles, medals, rings and sweet snuff boxes!
Martin! Friend of Kings and Queens!
That’s Me! That’s Me! Thats Me!

All the way from Haydon Bridge to Hampstead Heath,
this miracle boy has left his mark,
flashed his lightning,
ignited minds,
built up many a fine collection.

You can’t take it away from me,
I’m on Palatial Road,
with keys to many doors and trap doors,
to miracle openings
and miracle plans.

Miracles, medals, rings and sweet snuff boxes!
Martin! Friend of Kings and Queens!
That’s Me!
Mate of Tsar Nicholas and Louis Philippe,
of Frederick of Prussia, Leo of Belgium.
That’s Me!
Hysterical painter to sweet Charlotte of Wales.
Miracles, medals, rings and sweet snuff boxes!
Martin! Friend of Kings and Queens!
That’s Me! That’s Me! That’s Me!


(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: ‘Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be?’ - Trad. arr. Richard Doran & Mick Tyas)
Track Name: I Saw The Signs
I SAW THE SIGNS

I was a thirteenth child,
put out to nurse,
afraid of ghosts and goblins.

I drew on doors and school walls.
I sketched in sand on the riverbank.
I grew, and grew famous.

I slipped off to the City.
I saw the signs
and painted them,
all ways.

In London with Boniface,
I mixed paints with Lords.
I raged and thundered
warnings in my work.

I became a Radical,
hissing at anthems;
a snake of a painter
in oils, in awe.

And all the while
remained a child
alive on Barcombe Fell:

a child of Science,
a child of Reason
ahead of my time,
head filled with wonder,
wondrous dreams.

I died a beautiful man
on the Isle of Man,
on the Plains of Heaven:

a tranquil death,
last glorious breath,
hands still in the madding dawn.

(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: ‘Tweedside' Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: In My Hands
IN MY HANDS

In my hands, Eve will find
That Adam sins for all mankind.
In my hands, wrath will come,
And Sadak will search for oblivion.

In my hands, Joshua will
Command the sun to stand still.
And in my hands, Satan presides
Over his fallen angel brides.

God is in my hands,
His world is at my fingertips:
In my dreams, he commands;
His all-consuming hand,
It grips and grips and grips.

In my hands, the Israelites’
Vengeance falls on Belshazzar’s heights;
And by the writing on the walls,
Darius climbs while Belshazzar falls.

God is in my hands,
His world is at my fingertips:
In my dreams, he commands;
His all-consuming hand,
It grips and grips and grips.

In my hands, Ninevah cowers
Beneath Babel’s screeching towers;
While Babylon starts to crack,
All around Daniel dressed in black.

In Hanging Gardens, anthems ring,
And my praises angels sing;
For long after I am gone,
My inspiration will live on.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: The Paint And The Pain
THE PAINT AND THE PAIN

Artists’ hands were yours from birth,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
From East Land Ends, to the ends of the earth,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
And though you made your name,
Oh, the bitter fame.

Storms on your canvas reflecting our lives,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Sacrifice plunders where creativity strives,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
And oh, the cruel cost,
As I read to you from Paradise Lost.

To be the one to bear your heart,
Through thick paint and thin,
Not for me but for your art,
Your passion all-a-flame;
Burning paint and pain.

Upside down they nailed your art,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Crucified your bleeding heart,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
Your draughtsman’s plans, which came to nought;
So many dreams so dearly bought.

Three children buried in their graves,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Lost beneath life’s cruel waves,
Oh the mad and the sane:
And through those hungry years,
I tasted paint through bitter tears.

To be the one to bear your heart,
Through thick paint and thin,
Not for me but for your art,
Your passion all-a-flame;
Burning paint and pain.

Forty-five years,
I shared your visions and your schemes;
Forty-five years,
Fighting for your dreams.

Now you’re gone, there’s nothing left,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
No princely gift, nor godly rest,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
To place you now among the greats,
Then mine was a humble fate:

To have been the one to play her part,
Through thick paint and thin;
To have been the one to break her heart,
For the mad and the sane,
And the paint and the pain.

Oh, the paint and the pain;
The paint and the pain.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Drainage Scheme
DRAINAGE SCHEME

As I float between madness and sanity,
I have a dream you may call vanity;
To improve the lot of poor humanity,
In the name of all things sanitary.

With my plans for irrigation,
I’ll keep up constant agitation;
I won’t relax my determination,
To make Britain a healthier nation.

Out with the shit and in with the pure,
All my time and means I devote to procure
Clean water for both rich and poor,
And turn all the sewage into manure.

I seek no wealth nor personal crown,
I’ll purify the Thames, wash London Town;
My proposal is sound, don’t mock, don’t frown;
I’ll do away with all things brown.

Out with the shit and in with the pure,
All my time and means I devote to procure
Clean water for both rich and poor,
And turn all the sewage into manure.

So when your bowels blast or your bladder screams,
Jump to the task and think of me;
Then raise a glass of clear and clean,
To John Martin and his drainage scheme.

Out with the shit and in with the pure,
All my time and means I devote to procure
Clean water for both rich and poor,
And turn all the sewage into manure,
Turn all the sewage into manure,
Turn all the sewage into manure.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Facing-Both-Ways
FACING-BOTH-WAYS

And I have dwelt
In remote caverns of the Past,
sketching the wild Imagination,
my dreams rioting
in scenes of absolute terror.

I have sung the songs of other days,
alone and guideless,
searching for creation
In the one thousand windings of a vast Metropolis.

I have gazed in wonder at the power of earthquakes,
electrified cities in thunder and lightning.
I have crafted a canvas on the face of the Universe,
sought invention on Hampstead Heath.

He carved a niche in History,
painted Mystery,
played with Chemistry,
Facing-Both-Ways,
Facing-Both-Ways.

I have thirsted for knowledge, drunk in libraries,
read the scriptures, the stars and the sea.
I have sunk in the ruins of underground cities
and worshipped biblical kings.

He carved a niche in History,
painted Mystery,
played with Chemistry,
Facing-Both-Ways,
Facing-Both-Ways.

(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: 'Come To The Kye With Me’ - Trad arr: Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: A Thin Veneer
A THIN VENEER

Dark days are upon me, cruel fate has brought me here,
I’ve been plundered, plagiarised, deceived by those of lesser peer;
The injustice pierced my heart like a burning spear;
My reputation tarnished by their thin veneer,
By their thin veneer, their thin veneer;
My reputation tarnished by their thin veneer.

I’ve seen money slipping through my hands like water through a weir,
For I lent my riches freely to friends that I held dear;
Fleeced by family and by many a-grasping buccaneer,
Sneering through the false smiles of a thin veneer,
Of a thin veneer, a thin veneer;
Sneering through the false smiles of a thin veneer.

Through the business of life, I lacked the will to steer,
My mind locked onto paths from which l refused to veer;
Blaming those I loved most through despondency and fear,
Whilst trying to hide the cracks with a thin veneer,
With a thin veneer, a thin veneer;
Tying to hide the cracks with a thin veneer.

I never dreamt that I would sink to a level so austere,
Feeling ruined, crushed, dishonoured with each rejection and arrear;
Teetering on the brink of a precipice so sheer,
Whilst masking my depression through a thin veneer,
Through a thin veneer, a thin veneer;
Masking my depression through a thin veneer.

Now my strong spirit will rise and the dark cloud will disappear,
Like Canute I will turn the tide of fortune drawing near;
It’s my Coronation Day and it has never seemed so clear,
Each wall that stands before me is a thin veneer,
Is a thin veneer, a thin veneer;
Each wall that stands before me is a thin veneer.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: A Letter From John Martin
A LETTER FROM JOHN MARTIN

Dear Public, I, John Martin, write to you now from the Isle of Man wherefrom I shall soon depart you, to these Plains of Heaven. In this bed of death I am sinking and yet I feel my very end will be both tranquil and beautiful. I would wish you all such a peaceful end.

My friends, I have tried my best to serve you and to serve my good wife, Susan, who has born me six fine children. We have slaved together throughout thick paint and thin. We have encountered joy and suffering. Joy in my success in bringing my visions to you men and women of high esteem throughout the world. Suffering in the deaths of three of our young children, in the suicide of my nephew Richard and other family pains.

Through all this I have endeavoured to round and ground myself. To fulfil the bounds of my curiosities, dreams and imaginings; to explore the depths of biblical and classical histories and to burn on in my invention to improve the lot of poor humanity.

Obstacles have forever greeted me. Only Time will judge my true worth. My life has been a flawed Arch of Triumph. The bricks and mortar of my architectural dreams may crumble to mere rubble yet my spirit will burn like lightning around the World.

My public, my hands are shaking to a halt. I can paint no more but I urge you all to take-up my brush and, where I left off, continue the journey, until we are all at peace. Never forget that I dreamed only to find love, that and reverence for all living things and the spheres.

Adieu, adieu.

Your most humble and obedient servant,
John Martin,
Historical Painter and
Man of Great Invention.

(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: ‘Merrily Danced The Quaker’s Wife’ - Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)
Track Name: Wicked Old World
WICKED OLD WORLD

I held you dearly in my arms,
When you needed me so;
I guided you through the gates of Hell,
And never let you go.

I was your one true guiding light,
Through the lonely path you trod;
Your daily hope, your nightly peace;
Your rock, your staff, your rod.

It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life;
Oh, how I miss you so:
It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life;
Why did you have to go?

Between dust mountains and green fields,
We shared a happy life;
I was your intellectual muse,
Your dear devoted wife.

In my perfect charming vocal style,
I read to you each day;
I rocked the cradle constantly,
And stitched my life away.

It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life;
But I still love you so:
It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life;
Where did those good times go?

You brought Deluge and Expulsion,
You crossed the Bridge of Chaos;
You wrought Creation and Destruction,
Through all our earthly loss.

Our social evenings were the toast
Of the elite of London Town,
But all that chess and song and poetry
Wore your resources down.

I was homemaker and helpmate,
While you flew wild and free;
History will remember you,
But who will remember me?

It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life;
This pain it hurts me so:
It’s a wicked old world,
It’s a wicked old life:
Now it’s my time to go.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: The Most Original Genius Of His Age (Edward Bulwer-Lytton on John Martin)
THE MOST ORIGINAL GENIUS OF HIS AGE
(Edward Bulwer-Lytton on John Martin)


Martin, the greatest, the most lofty, the most permanent, the most original genius of his age. I see in him… the presence of a spirit which is not of the world, the divine intoxication of a great soul lapped in majestic and unearthly dreams. He has taken a range, if not wholly new, at least rarely traversed in the vast air of religious contemplation; he has gone back into the drear antique; he has made the Old Testament, with its stern traditionary grandeur, its solemn shadows and ancestral terrors, his own element.

… Vastness is his sphere, yet has not lost nor circumfused his genius in its space; he has chained and wielded and measured it at his will; he has transfused its character into narrow limits; he has compassed the Infinite itself with mathematical precision… Alone and guileless he has penetrated the remotest caverns of the past, and gazed at the primeval shapes of the gone world."

(Words: Edward Bulwer-Lytton / Tune: ‘A.U. Hinny Bird’ - Trad. arr. Glenn Miller)
Track Name: Pandemonium
PANDEMONIUM

You’ve been creating Pandemonium again, John;
It’s just gone under the hammer for 1.65 million.
Well, what do you think of that?
The art world has doffed its hat;
It’s a far cry from the 180 guineas
It first sold for long ago.

You’ve been creating Pandemonium again, John;
You’ve sprung triumphantly into the new Millennium,
You’re a star attraction,
You’re at the forefront of the action;
Does it give you satisfaction,
Wherever you may be?

It’s Pandemonium,
Shout it from the hills of Tynedale;
Haydon Bridge is back on the map again:
It’s Pandemonium,
A world record for a Martin sale;
Paradise Lost is found again:
It’s Pandemonium.

Though the message might seem somewhat cryptic,
The landscape is apocalyptic,
But it’s not the end of the world;
Your stunning vision of it has been hurled,
With your reputation now unfurled
Into newfound prominence.

You’re rich John, well isn’t that real flash?
Are you up in Heaven spending all that cash,
Celebrating with Susan your newfound wealth,
From a winning hand posthumously dealt,
Toasting your good fortune and your health,
While we raise a glass down here?

It’s Pandemonium,
Shout it from the hills of Tynedale;
Haydon Bridge is back on the map again:
It’s Pandemonium,
A world record for a Martin sale,
Paradise Lost has been regained:
It’s Pandemonium.

In the darkness you have dreamed
The images that Milton screamed,
A fitting nightmare you have deemed
To reproduce just as it seemed.

It’s Pandemonium,
Shout it from the hills of Tynedale;
Haydon Bridge is back on the map again:
It’s Pandemonium,
A world record for a Martin sale;
Paradise Lost is found again:
It’s Pandemonium,
Shout it from the hills of Tynedale;
Haydon Bridge is back on the map again:
It’s Pandemonium,
A world record for a Martin sale;
Paradise Lost has been reclaimed:
It’s Pandemonium;
It’s Pandemonium.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: Three Mad Martins (Epitaph)
THREE MAD MARTINS (EPITAPH)

William Martin, Renaissance Man extreme;
Jonathan Martin, bold incendiary;
John Martin, lord of epic imagery;
Three Mad Martins, with their place in history.

These were the Martins, out to conquer all;
Endeavouring to triumph with their backs against the wall:
Mad and proud and dangerous, out of sight and out of mind;
Three cheers for three mad Martins, and all their glorious kind.

(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)
Track Name: At Anchor
AT ANCHOR


Birds hurl themselves at the leaping Tyne;
I catch them through the evening window.
It is cold for the time. 
My throat is stuffy with poems left unsaid.
Weary troubadour I am, 
swimming with visions of ancient European tours.
Now I have landed, with my seagull wings, in Haydon Bridge
to honour a famous son.
I am lodged in the Anchor Hotel,
another lonely night of a whirlwind life:
lorries howl around me
and I can hear a village trembling
in the blinding dark.
Restlessly at anchor,
I cannot sleep for the ghost of John Martin
lighting up my room
with dynamic visions
and the thunderous clatter of his wild dreams.
Stuck in the rut of my own poetry,
I force myself to sleep,
bobbing by the river,
under the fantastic sky.
The community lights shine on my imagination,
and the screams of swifts
make a life worthwhile.

(Words: Keith Armstrong / Tune: 'How Can Thou Gang Away and Leave Me?’ - Trad. arr. Ann Sessoms)