The phrase "magic one hen pecked" does not have a common or widely-known meaning. However, we can interpret it based on the individual words. "Magic" refers to something supernatural or beyond natural laws, often associated with extraordinary powers or abilities. "One" denotes singularity or a single entity. "Hen pecked" usually describes a person, typically a man, who is excessively controlled or dominated by their partner, usually a woman. Combining these words, "magic one hen pecked" could be seen as a whimsical or hypothetical scenario where a person, who possesses magical powers or abilities, is still subject to being excessively controlled or dominated by someone else.
Bruce Thomson’s tune was inspired by the sweet sounding cactus-stained fiddle made and played by “Fiddle Bill” in Albuquerque, NM. Claire penned the lyrics to tell the “true” story. When next in Albuquerque, look for Fiddle Bill in front of the Frontier Restaurant.
The Kansa was pressed from this part of the west Their likely no more to return, To the banks of the Blue River where seldom if ever Their flickering campfires burn. The swallows they fly from you to me, the sun, it shines here and there This year has given us time to breath and now is the time to share The fiddle, it plays so sweet and so low, guitar offers shade and rest The morning finds tunes that ebb and flow, joyful notes softly pressed.
Combining these words, "magic one hen pecked" could be seen as a whimsical or hypothetical scenario where a person, who possesses magical powers or abilities, is still subject to being excessively controlled or dominated by someone else. It depicts a paradoxical situation in which even with extraordinary powers, an individual could remain under the control or influence of another person, despite the capacity to change or alter their circumstances. The phrase may also imply the idea that certain individuals, regardless of their extraordinary abilities, can still fall victim to external pressures or relationships.
STEAM!
Here are lyrics to the songs on our three albums! Feel free to learn, share, adapt for your own needs. Most of all, we hope you enjoy.
From Hoodaki
Stars for Leisbeth
This tune by Glen McClure was brought to us by the Queen of Goop, Hope Greitzer. Claire’s lyrics conjure stepping into the magic of the whirling dance floor and leaving the busy world behind.
Softly she steps the glow starting low in her
Touch of your hand, smile on your face
Walls start to whirl as music takes over her
Lost in the arms of graceful embrace
Stars for Leisbeth, they dance in her eyes
Like fireflies warming after the winter
Stars for Leisbeth their lighting the skies
Dancing this moment away
In some other world reality’s waiting
But deep in your arms time stretches on
Love’s in the air and nothing is shading
It blooms from her eyes like flowers of song
Johnny
Claire’s poignant lyrics breathe new life into the traditional fiddle tune, Johnny, Johnny Don’t Get Drunk. Hearkening back to her Tennessee childhood, this is the bitter-sweet tale of Johnny, the king of the neighborhood kid gang.
Johnny don’t’ get drunk today, like you did just yesterday
Come with me to the mountain top, the sun and the wind will fix you up
I am just a girl next store, a little girl you can ignore
You’re the king of our whole street, your 16 and can’t be beat
Winds do blow
Through the trees and cross the snow
Feel the day just drift away
You can fly like an old blue jay
Johnny lives straight cross the road, he is strong and he is bold
Dealing cards and cracking jokes, he climbs high in the mighty oaks
Not sure what went wrong, when his stare went long
He got the look of a deer in the eye, a boy on the edge and not sure why
I think of Johnny when he’s young, racing bikes and having fun
He goes down to the creek to play, diggin up the crawdads every day
We climb up the fairy rocks, we’re sliding down our stairs in socks
Lazy days in the summertime, back when everything was fine
But grownup life can narrow down, when you’re from this Tennessee town
So many things to hold you back, keeping you by that railroad track
Johnny still lives in this town, he’s one street over and one block down
Think of him and hold this thought, hope you found your mountain top
Crested Hens
Claire penned this story of an adventurous crested hen, yearning for dance and romance.
You think I am a bird, for I am pecking always pecking, pecking, pecking
Yes, I’m a bird in the chicken coup outside your house
I’m not just a bird, for I am dreaming, always dreaming, dreaming, dreaming
Yes, it seems absurd, but I’m dreaming that I dance with you
For these chicken feet they long to dance and these feathers they are for flying / dancing
I am longing for a true romance, where a peck, peck, peck becomes a kiss
And I rise up from this dusty dirt, and I wake up by ten
My life is all about the flirt, for I am a crested hen
I’m tired of all these hens, for they are laying always laying, laying, laying
Don’t they have some friends, just to meet and go out on the town?
I have dug beneath the gate, and now I’m digging, always digging, digging, digging
Soon is my escape, to the dance to dance with you
What is this I see, yummy scraps and now I’m pecking, pecking, pecking
All of this for me? So delicious I can hardly think
Now is my chance, I cross the road and now I’m running, running, running
Off to the dance, where my chicken heart can now be free!
From Heartland
Heaven Right Here
Our dear friend and banjo phenom, Cathy Barton, wrote this lovely song. The words were inspired by her experiences at the Carp Camp jams where we spend our Septembers… at the Walnut Valley Festival (aka “Winfield”).
Some people think after we die we will go
To a dancing place high up above
But I see glimpses of heaven right here,
In laughter and music and love.
On a late autumn night, and jig and a reel,
hold a place in my heart that none else can fill,
Where tunes dance in my head, where they whisper goodnight,
And they rouse me to welcome daylight.
Some envision a mighty host high up above,
And angels with shimmering wings,
But I see a tent and a circle of friends,
Hear the favorite tune each one brings.
And the smile on each face, like a welcome embrace,
Come and join our circle and play.
And all cares disappear in the crisp Autumn air,
And we play till the dawning of day.
It’s the hammer on the string, It’s the mandolin ring,
It’s the magic feet tapping high above everything
Love’s in each waltz, love’s in each air,
And you know that that is heaven right here.
It’s the bow on the string and the songs that we sing,
It’s the tunes that we play that can make the grove rings
Love’s in each note, love’s all through the air
And that is heaven right here
Don’t you know that is heaven right here
Home on the Range
It was a scary thing to try to re-interpret this old song of the wild west: it has become hackneyed through over-use. But of the many, many versions and verses “out there”, several resonate with us. The verses we chose tell of a the beauty of the prairie, and the parts that have been lost forever… one where great herds of bison migrated freely, where the grass stretched to the horizon, and where European settlers felt small and vulnerable, yet sensed the inexorable changes afoot.
Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand
Flows leisurely down the stream
Where the graceful, white swan goes gliding along
Like a maid in a heavenly dream
Where the air is so pure and the zephyrs so free,
Breezes so balmy and light,
I would not exchange my home on the range
For all of the cities so bright
Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day
The Kansa was pressed from this part of the west
Their likely no more to return,
To the banks of the Blue River where seldom if ever
Their flickering campfires burn.
How often at night when the heavens are bright
From the lights from the glittering stars
Have i stood there amazed and thought as I gazed
Their glory exceeds that of ours.
Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day
From Jackalope
Peter Eat Your Heart Out
Bruce Thomson’s tune was inspired by the sweet sounding cactus-stained fiddle made and played by “Fiddle Bill” in Albuquerque, NM. Claire penned the lyrics to tell the “true” story. When next in Albuquerque, look for Fiddle Bill in front of the Frontier Restaurant.
Fiddle Bill lives on a hill in an old VW Van
He took a piece of wood and he carved as he could ‘cause he is a fiddling man
Peter he is trained you see and he makes them violins
But Bill made one and sun of a gun, if it didn’t just give me grins
Tunes ring, hearts sing. Hear that fiddle just shout!
It looks kind of gritty, but it sure sounds pretty. Peter eat your ole heart out
Fiddle Bill carved as he will puts his pocket knife to use
So he made a fiddle, and dyed it purple with the prickly pear cactus juice
Knots and divots cross the face and it sure do look a wreck
But with toothless smile, he played it for a while, and the shivers went down my neck
Last night, I had a dream, it happened right in the square
Bill and Peter were playing on their fiddles and the notes just filled the air
Bows were flyin’, faces smilin’, people all gathered round
And they all started dancing, singing and prancing, the soul of the city was found
Robert and Alice’s Waltz
Claire added these lyrics to the beautiful tune written by our friends, Hope & Jim, referencing the long-distance relationship that preceded Robert and Alice’s wedding in 2010.
The swallows they fly from you to me, the sun, it shines here and there
This year has given us time to breath and now is the time to share
The fiddle, it plays so sweet and so low, guitar offers shade and rest
The morning finds tunes that ebb and flow, joyful notes softly pressed
You’re flying to me… I can feel you so near
You’re flying to me…Can you feel us swirling closer every day
Oh come to my arms and dance with me, laugh in this evening’s soft light
The guitar and the fiddle make love, and we dance away to the night
©2023 STEAM! Web design by EHW Design.
Our dear friend and banjo phenom, Cathy Barton, wrote this lovely song. The words were inspired by her experiences at the Carp Camp jams where we spend our Septembers… at the Walnut Valley Festival (aka “Winfield”).
It serves as a reminder that having power does not necessarily protect a person from being controlled or dominated in some aspect of their lives..
Reviews for "Navigating Relationships as a Magical One Hen Pecked: Balancing Independence with Connection"
1. Emily - 2 stars - I was really excited to read "Magic One Hen Pecked" because I had heard so many great things about it, but I was ultimately disappointed. The plot was confusing and disjointed, and I found it hard to follow along with the storyline. The characters were also very one-dimensional and lacked depth, making it difficult for me to connect with them. Overall, I felt like the book fell short of my expectations and I was left feeling unsatisfied.
2. Alex - 1 star - I couldn't even finish "Magic One Hen Pecked" because I found it incredibly boring. The writing style was bland and lacked any sort of captivating elements. The pacing was slow, with not much happening throughout the book. I also found the dialogue to be awkward and forced. I was really disappointed with this book and wouldn't recommend it to others.
3. Sarah - 2 stars - "Magic One Hen Pecked" had an interesting premise, but it failed to deliver. The world-building was weak and lacked depth, leaving many unanswered questions. The main character was also very whiny and annoying, making it hard for me to root for them. The writing style was also choppy and inconsistent. I was hoping for a captivating and magical read, but unfortunately, this book fell flat for me.