im putting together a couple of scottish folk mixes bc that’s what i do and im honestly curious if anyone in my country has ever been unequivocally happy about anything ever
scottish trad music genres:
Everyone I Love Is Dead
The English Have Stolen All My Sheep
You Want To Be My Boyfriend? First You Must Answer These Riddles Three
The Protestants Have Stolen All My Sheep
I Love You A Lot But You’ve Left Me And It’s Raining [fiddle solo]
The Sea Is Treacherous, Just Like The English
One Time Bonnie Prince Charlie Punched Me In The Face And It Was Awesome
The Fairies Have Stolen All My Sheep
We have of course the traditional Irish music genres to go with them:
* Everyone I Love Is An Allegorical Representation of Ireland
* The English Stole My Farm And Put Sheep On It
* You Were My Boyfriend But Now You Won’t Even Come To The Window To Look Upon Me And Our Dead Infant Child (In The Rain)
* Whack Fol Too La Roo Umptytiddly Good They’ve Stopped Listening Now Let’s Talk About Revolution
* Something In Irish, I Think It’s About Fairies, Or Maybe A Cow
oooo can I add to this? don’t forget Appalachian folk balladry, the American cousin of Scottish and Irish traditional music and just as uplifting as its Anglo-Saxon highland forbears!!!
genres include:
I Left Everyone I Love Back Home In The Holler To Be With This Guy Who Doesn’t Wear Shoes Or Have Teeth But He Plays A Mean Jug
The English Told Us Not To Move West Yet, We Ignored Them, My Entire Family Was Killed
You Were My Boyfriend But You Tied A Sack Of Rocks To My Petticoats And Threw Me In The Creek (And My Baby Too)
Mama Loves All 14 Of Us A Lot But She’s Weary Of Our Shit And Now She’s Dyin’ (Gather Round)
The McCleans Stole A Firewood Log From Our Pile So We Won’t Rest Until The Last Of Their Male Kin Is Laid In The Cold Ground
We Knew The River Would Rise But We Still Didn’t Fix The Levee
The River Rose, The Levee Broke, Everyone Died, It Was Just As We Reckoned (dulcimer twang-a-lang)
When The Rebels Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Southern Man And I Feed Their Horses My Best, When The Yankees Come A-Marchin’ I’m A Northern Man And I Feed Their Horses What The Rebels Left
The Tennessee Valley Authority Killed All My Sheep Somehow
Don’t forget that old standby “The Mine Collapsed and Everyone Died”!
I think someone needs to put in a word for the English folk tradition though:
I Met a Girl and We Went Hunting (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl and We Caught Some Birds (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl and We Found Her Lost Pet (It Was a Metaphor for Sex)
I Met a Girl By Staying At Her Parents’ House and She Made My Bed (It Was an Especially Thinly-Veiled Metaphor for Sex)
I Am a Girl and I Regret Engaging In Metaphors for Sex Because Now I’m Pregnant
I Met a Girl and Bribed Her Into Sex But She Stole My Horse and Ran Away With It
I Met a Girl At an Inn and We Had Non-Metaphorical Sex But She Stole My Stuff The Next Morning and Now I Have Syphilis
Your Fiance Died Either at Trafalgar or Waterloo, Let’s Get Married, I’m Glad You Said No Because I’m Really Him In Disguise
Lord Nelson Sure Was Awesome
The Press-Gang Dragged Off All the Important Men in My Life (And Now They Are Dead)
Farm Laborers Are The Salt of the Earth And Are Never Grindingly Poor
Begging Is a Completely Viable Career Option With Flexible Hours and Unlimited Access to Alcohol
behold mongolian folk music genres
I Went Out Riding and Noticed Mongolia
We Fought a Bunch of Guys (On Horseback)
Witness My Many Ungulates
(While On a Horse) I Met a Hot Girl Who Reminded Me of a Plant
On Three, Say What That Terrain Feature Looks Like to You (One, Two, Three, A Horse)
Witness My Many Ancestors’ Many Ungulates
I Also Enjoy Heavy Metal, Especially If It’s Made of Horseshoes
Oooorrrrweeeeuuurrrreeeeuuuuwwwwwrrrrrrrr (Is Tuvan for “Horse”)
You Might Not Know This About Me, But I Own a Horse
THE MONGOLIAN FOLK SONGS MADE IT BETTER.
now with more okinawan!
We Must Plant the Crops, Let’s Get Drunk!
We Must Harvest the Crops, Let’s Get Drunk!
There’s No Crops Right Now, Let’s Get Drunk!
Sex On the Beach Is Awesome, War Is Bad
There Are Ghosts in the Trees
The Japanese Exploit Us (And the Americans Do Too)
I Love the Sea, This Island Is Beautiful, War Is Still Bad
Hey, There’s an Old Man, Let’s Get Drunk!
Respect Your Parents Or You Will Be Lost at Sea Forever
As the daughter of a folksinger and spouse of a folklorist, I love this SO MUCH. Here’s some from the sub-sub-genre of French folk songs of the Midwest…
I Am A Brawny-Armed Lumberjack Who Loves a Town Girl, Oh No!
Oh Fuck, I Slept With a Fur Trapper, What Shall I Tell Maman?
Hauling Logs, Rolling Logs, Driving Logs, All Day, What Ho!
Like Hell You’re Marrying That Good for Nothing Bambocheur!
Fetch My Gold Ring That Fell Into the Sea! Now!
I Met A Sailor While A-Strolling, And Now We Are In Love!
I Want to Kiss the Sailor I Met A-Strolling, But I’m Afraid My Father Will Find Out!
Oh Fuck, I Kissed the Sailor I Met A-Strolling And Now We Are Doomed!
Some Italian Folk Music Genres
A Spider Has Bitten Me And If I Do Not Dance I Will Die, Alas
I Am A Very Fancy Man With A Very Fancy Hat
The Cable Car Is A Thinly-Veiled Metaphor For Your Feminine Torture, O Woman
Rome Is The Very Best Place And Every Other Place Is Just Awful
I Love You, But You Are Married
I Love You, But You Are Fickle (Why Did You Dance With The Baker’s Son, Thou Vixen?)
I Love You, But You Left Me All Alone On This Romantic Wind-Swept Hillside, Which Is Actually Very Pretty, But Not As Pretty As You, Foul Temptress
Rome Is Still The Best Place And Every Other Place Can Go Right To Hell
Seriously Once You Have Been To Rome You Will Just Be Sick At The Thought Of Being Anywhere Else, You Will Pine Away And Die
I Love You, But You Are Dead (Or Maybe You Just Went To Live In A Slightly Prettier Place)
Rome, Rome, O Rome, Ah Rome, Rome Rome Rome, Have I Mentioned That I Love Rome?
Venetian Special Genres:
Women Are Like The Ocean: Salty And Full Of Drowned Sailors
Women Are Like The Ocean: I Cannot Figure Them Out At All
I Saw You One Time At A Party And I Have Designs Upon Your Feminine Virtue
I Love You, But You Are Married To The Ocean (For Some Reason)
I thought I would add some Dutch ones, because I saw no one had added any: – That Girl Is A Prostitute (But At Least She Goes To Church)
– That Incompetent Sailor Is Actually A Girl, But She Will Have Sex With You If You Don’t Kick Her Off The Boat
– Someone Of Any Occupation Is Doing Something, But Unfortunately They Are Now Dead
– Fuck You Spain (Haha, We Sunk Your Boat And Stole Your Silver)
– Fuck You England
– We Might Be Small, But We Will Fight You
– Life Isn’t So Bad, If You Just Go Outside
– Fuck You Winter
– Look At That Guy (Wild Racism)
– We Like Going To Other Countries (More Wild Racism)
– Drinking Is Fun
– Drinking Makes Me Long For Sea
– God Is My Dad
– My Province Is Great And Full Of Nature
Some nice Russian folk songs:
There Was A War And Everyone is Dead, There’s Also a Symbolic Bird
There is Going to Be a War And Everyone Will Die, There’s Also a Sybmolic Bird
The Dyeing Is Happening Right Now, There’s Also a Symbolic Bird
I Had a Dream About Us Dying (No Birds Involved)
Alas You Are Dead
I’m a Bird, I Drink Vodka
Fuck It’s Cold
Frost Do Not Freeze Me Do Not Freeze My Horse Do Not Freeze My Wife Please I Have Children
And my personal favourite:
Ayy Lmao This Guys Head Just Got Shot Off, We Are Going to Die Hahaha
I just couldn’t miss an opportunity to provide you a comprehensive summary of Ukrainian folk music genres.
~ I Married To A Man And Moved Far From My Home But I Want Fucking Back On My Fucking Land To My Parents And A Guy Whom I Actually Planned To Marry Before My Society’s Patriarchal Structure Destroyed My Life
~ A Guy Whom I Loved Loved Me And Also A Some Other Bitch So I Poisoned Him So That Nobody Gets Him
~ This Is My Land And I Love It Very Much, Period
~ I Made A Traditional Kupala Wreath And Released It On Water To Find My Love, No Sexual Hits Involved
~ I Have A Veeery Deeeeep Well In My Garden, And Also A Veeery Curly-Wurly Cabbage, And Also A Veeery Sweeeet Carrot Growing There, Come On Guys Check It Out, Oh, And There Are Totally No Sexual Hints
~ Graphic Descriptions Of Lesbian Sex
~ Everybody Is Dead After A Battle But There Is One Particular Cossack Whom I Am Especially Obligated To Mourn About Because He Is A Representative Of Our Entire Nation’s Young People
~ The Couple Cannot Be Together Because Of Various Reasons And Everybody Cries
~
The Couple Cannot Be Together Because Of Various Reasons And Everybody Cries And It’s Compared To Some Sad Shit Happening In Nature
~ Let’s Kill All People Who Threaten Ukraine Hahaha Yay!
~Let’s Kill All People Who Threaten Ukraine And Involve Some Couple Who Cannot Be Together Because Of Various Reasons And Everybody Cries
Adding these well-known Cajun hits
~ I have a boat and have procured many crawfish do you love me?
~ I sure do love crawfish, boats, the bayou, and also dancing
~ My girlfriend can cook, and is therefore superior your girlfriend, who cannot
~ my girlfriend cannot cook and is therefore inferior to all other girlfriends
~ I saw you over a pile of crawfish and knew I was in love (on the bayou)
~ a list of regional dishes set to the tune of kitchen utensils
Sadly I’ve never listened to many Malaysian folk songs because they were never my parents’ speed but I’d like to contribute:
– Where the hell is your goat, sir? x8 and my love looks like a peeled egg
– There’s an old parrot on the windowsill x4 and my grandma only has 2 teeth left
– Check out that hot girl over yonder, now pick the fruit (it’s really a poem about manners), check out this hot girl, now let’s ripen a different fruit while sailing (it’s about gratitude)
– We’re now singing about water spinach by the marsh and more foodstuff to be eaten
– LET’S GO HOME x9
– We’re singing about a river now and boy it can beat out the seasons
– This is our mountain and it’s super tall and blue!
❤
❤
❤
– The frog is sitting by the well, croak croak, and now he fell in and DIED, croaked croaked
– I’m soaking in the pond because my joints hurts, I hope the harvest turns out well; nope, it’s all weeds and my love broke my heart
me, an aged monarch lounging on my fur-strewn throne, gesturing for my servant to bring me my monacle: Bring them here! Bring them here, I say. Let me look at them.
guards: *drag the unwitting blog before me*
me, peering intently at the new blog and poking them with my scepter: Is this a real person? Hmm? What have you to say for yourself? What are your fandoms? Your interests? Speak up, these old ears aren’t what they used to be.
guards, tentatively: they do seem to be a real person, sire. We found them in possession of several memes and a fandom rant.
me, subsiding back into my sumptuous furs and waving them away: most extraordinary. It has been an age since there was a real person, but just as well, the dungeons have been overflowing with those tacky pornbots. This newcomer may remain in my domain. Make them welcome. And fetch me a quill! I feel a ficlet coming on…
And this is how The End is stopped. Not by the gods or goddesses, the other races than man, no. It is Tumblr. As a mass running after a now confused and tail tucking Fenrir, whining softly as the crowd chants “PUPPER! PUPPER! PUPPER!”
Better yet: Fenrir escapes his chains and lopes forward to destroy the earth, and is met by a crowd of people. An army, Fenrir thinks, and bares his teeth in a ferocious snarl and charges toward them.
They cheer.
Wait … cheer?
Fenrir slows, confused. He smells no fear, senses no rage. This is … a very strange army.
The first hand—weaponless!—reaches for him; he tenses, ready to tear the offending limb to shreds, and lets out a high little yippy whine when it pats him about the ears.
Immediately the noise is reproduced by some four or five of the nearest humans; he smells excitement; more hands are patting him.
It’s nice.
The humans crowd around him, patting him and scritching him and shuffling around to give others a chance. Voices coo, and make puppy noises, and someone catches just the right spot and he cocks his leg and scratches himself, drawing a multitude of oohs and ahhs and cheers and squees.
At some point, his hunger awakens at the scent of burnt flesh; a human has brought him what he later learns is a hot dog; he swallows it in one bite, to more cheering, and looks around hopefully for more.
It is not long before more is bought: steaks and Big Macs and bacon; it seems like much of the group has brought him a snack of some kind and was hoping for a chance to give it to him.
The End of the World is supposed to be at hand, but Fenrir does not care. His hunger sated, his battle-lust swept away by a tide of gently petting hands, he rolls over, careful not to crush his many companions, and takes a nap.
“Who’s a good boy?” they ask him, over and over.
Is this some psychological warfare, he wonders, designed to undermine his confidence and remind him that he is nothing more than a monster who needs to be chained?
“Who’s a good boy, huh, huh?” “Who’s my good boy?” “
And then one of them answers the question for him.
“You are!”
‘Me?’ he thinks. But if there was any doubt, she confirms it.
“You are, yes you are.”
Fenrir’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he grins. ‘I’m a good boy!’
I bet you Shitty goes to every Harvard hockey game and cheers super loud, but the team quickly realize he went to Samwell, was instrumental in kicking their asses for four years running, and is actually chirping them nonstop.
Of course, when Samwell comes to town to play Shitty brings out his YO MARRY ME JACK ZIMMERMANN sign, which makes Holster bellow, “He doesn’t even go here!”
Samples of Shitty cheering at Harvard games:
(when Harvard gets possession of the puck) “That way! You wanna go that way!”
“Good job goalie. You collected WAY more pucks than the other guy!
“A PASS! YOU GUYS COMPLETED A FUCKING PASS! I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU!“
i’m aware that i would still have problems in my life if i were a 19th century pioneer wife and braden holtby were my strong soldier husband whom I have presumed dead but who is in fact wounded and trekking home to me on foot – problems including but not limited to, like, cholera, and the failures of Reconstruction and Ouidad Heat & Humidity Gel not yet being invented – BUT, i’m just saying, there would be compensations, such as when i see the wild-haired, heavily bearded figure in disreputable clothes wandering into our kitchen garden and i rush onto the porch with the shotgun my strong Union soldier husband Braden Holtby taught me to use and I call fiercely DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!! but then the ravaged figure looks up, and our gazes meet, and my body seems to recognize him although my mind has not yet caught up and the shotgun slips (safely) from my suddenly weak grip and I rush – tears springing to my eyes, apron strings flying – into his still-powerful arms, that part, for example, would be nice.
#when someone*s description of their imagined 19th century fantastical romance with a hockey player is somehow more riveting than any actual romance ever
all the reviews for atomic blonde are like “its an empty aesthetic film where charlize theron just dresses up in nice clothes, kicks the shit out of dudes, and has random sex scenes with women” as if that wasn’t my dream action movie
Wow that sounds ~totally messed up~! I’ve never seen an empty aesthetic film where a man just dresses up in nice clothes, kicks the shit out of dudes, and has random sex scenes with women. Not once, in the history of cinema, has there been a movie like that starring a man.
just moving along like everyone else 