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I listen to this every morning to remind myself what a wonderful world we live in.

THE POLITICALLY INCORRECT LYRICS NOTWITHSTANDING IM SPEECHLESS TO DESCRIBE THE GREATNESS OF THESE 2 GUYS. VERY AMERICAN. AND AT LEAST 30 TO 40 YEARS AHEAD OF THEIR TIME. COLLINS NEEDED HARLAN JUST LIKE LENNON NEEDED MCCARTNEY. 😅😅

Nice!

Lovely pink hmv label.

Above average fidelity, a good band and a nice medley selection.

They sang that song at my great grandfather's funeral.

So beautiful ❤ 💯💘

😚😚😚😚

Really scarce Ohio label. I have found only 2 in 50+ years of collecting.

So we can’t wear polyester 100% or polyester and cotton mixed ?

Thank you for posting this. I bought the sheet music on a whim and had no idea what tempo to play

Thank you Tim!

im supposed to memorise this poem and recite it solo in front of the whole class, but I have no idea how to do that without sounding funny...

what a beautiful label , and a very nice rendition ..many thanks for sharing

this poem predicts what's going to happen very shortly in our upside-down clown world.

This is a beautiful song Henry 🎵 burr love you ❤

Well, that explains it.

I wonder if Paramount got in any trouble for using that label design, copying Victors' wing label

While I only collect lateral 78's,I have accumulated perhaps 2000 of the Edison DD's from collections that I have purchased. I would guess that only about 6 of these are Electrics. They are quite scarce as they were only recorded in 1929.

War of tanks

Lovely. Thanks Tim Gracyk💚

What a great electric!

I bring greetings from The Four Lads. :)

Nothing like the Malcolm McClaren and the World Famous Supreme Team's version.

I really love this style of music, Cheers.

If i lose ok at least I tried

❤beautiful song 🎵 these are the best never mashed.

I drive a Model A and can relate to this song. 😊

I enjoyed this. Thanks for putting it on.

Love this 🎵 Irving kaufman did a cracking job with this song too... Beautiful thanks ❤

One of my favourite 🎵 beautiful thanks ❤❤ tiny tim did a version of this so did Nick Lucus ❤❤

I’ve only heard the Ada jones version, thanks!

Very cool 👍

Thank you for posting this slice of music history.

Modern vinyl 78. Sounds good to me.

The Captain never disappoints

Great sound quality for a acoustic recording.

Too true. We Brits can’t handle “extreme” temperatures, hot or cold

Rip mom been so long since I heard your voice 💔

e Highwayman BY ALFRED NOYES PART ONE The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh. And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked. His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say- “One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.” He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. PART TWO He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon; And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching- Marching-marching- King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead. But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed. Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest. They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast! “Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say- Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest. Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast. She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still. Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light. Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death. He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high. Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat; When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. . . . And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard. He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred. He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

This is a treasure

Love the Smithsonian Folkways catalog of old otherwise musical traditions.. great music, don't see much of that anymore coming out of the industry

Blap blap and it smells like a musket

Talk like an idiot and he not come at noon

Excelente arreglo, por el inmenso genio Alberto Socarrás. Un arreglo "mambeado", que bien puede ser antecedente de lo que diez años después Pérez Prado adopta.

im here from Two and a half men

I have this by Fred Douglas on the 'Cinch' label. Thought it was long forgotten, but if Billy Murray sang it, it would have been more popular than I'd had thought. Thanks for lyrics, one or two words weren't clear on my copy.

Interesting!

Ada jones is my favourite all time . ❤ her and len made some wonderful sketchers together ❤️ them god bless miss jones

I love how in the description you went from « this aria is usually sung by a Baritone [during Caruso’s days?] » in one paragraph to « it was meant for a lighter [Tenor] voice » in another 😂😂😂.