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 1. Beyze Vintn
Yiddish: Avrom Reisen, English: Daniel Kahn, music: Mikhl Gelbart

Hulyet hulyet, beyze vintn, frei bahersht di velt

Brekht di tsvaygn, varft di beymer, tut vos aykh gefelt
Traybt di feygl fun di felder un faryogt zey fort
Di vos kenen vayt nisht flien, teyt zey afn ort
Rayst di lodn fun di hayzlekh, shoybn brekht aroys
Brent a likhtl ergets tunkl, lesht mit tsorn oys
Wailing, wailing winds of evil, play upon the land.
Fell the trees and break the branches by your raging hand.
Roust the birds from quiet meadows, let them seek to fly.
If a wing is weak or broken, crush them as they try.
Rend the doors off all the hinges, shatter every pane.
If in darkness shines a flicker, kill the fucking flame.
Wailing, wailing winds of evil, while your time is nigh,
Long will winter keep the light of summer from the sky.
Hulyet hulyet, beyze vintn, itst iz ayer tsayt
Lang vet doyern der vinter, zumer iz nokh vayt
...Lang vet doyern nisht der vinter, zumer iz nisht vayt

From Reisens 1901 poem, Tsum Vinter. Bundists (Jewish socialists) and Warsaw ghetto fighters sang
last line: Winter will not last much longer, summer is close by)

2. The Broken Tongue

English and music: Daniel Kahn, Yiddish with Michael Alpert

Now you who gather joyfully beneath the festive lights

And warm each other soulfully with all of your delight
Take not too much comfort in this song
For what you choose to elevate from what was cast below
Is but the tidal whimsy of the seas you do not know

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 And may well turn asunder before long
A beauteous sound, a diamond I have found,
A diamond I have found beneath the snow
Buried in the ground, neat a ruddy mound
Neat a ruddy mound where nothing grows
The guests are almost ready for the dancing to begin
Theyve come to toast the wedding between Zion and Berlin
So raise a glass up to the bride and groom
But dont confuse the Deutsch and Yiddish, nor the night and day
And if a Kaddish sounds like Kiddush, bow your head and pray
We never step upon the glass too soon
A sheyn gesang, an oytser far a klang,
An oytser far a klang, vi fun a khupe
Tsespaltn fun a shverd, bagrobn tif in drerd unter der kupe*
So weigh your fortune carefully when prophecy reveals
That decadence and revelry can undermine your zeal
And turn the prophecy upon its ear
For in the dying embers of a century of blood
Is all we must remember to avoid the coming flood
Of prophecies we all refuse to hear
For singing broken melodies to songs in broken tongues
Cannot erase the memory of bells already rung
Nor can it unring the bells we hear
So free the broken birds unto their painted colored wings
And let the broken words be burned unto the songs we sing
Till every note is new unto our ears

A beautiful song, a treasure of a sound

A treasure of a song, as from a wedding
Split by a sword, a buried in the ground
Buried in the ground, under a mound - D.K.

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 3. Yesterday Is Buried (Siz Nito Keyn Nekhtn)
from a trad. Lubovicher song, 3rd verse from S. Kaczerginski,
English: Daniel Kahn

Siz nito keyn nekhtn, snokh nito der morgen

Siz nokh do a bisele haynt. Shtert im nit mit zorgen.
Khapt arayn a shnepsl kol zman ir zent baym lebn
Imirtse hashem, af yener velt, vet men aykh nisht gebn
Yesterday is buried, mourn it on the morrow.
Here is but ephemeral bliss, ruin it not with sorrow.
Grab yourself a bottle, while you still can swallow.
You wont cop a single drop in the world to follow.
Hulyet hulyet brider, varft mit bord un poles,
Ot azoy, ot azoy tantst a yid in goles
Brothers wail and howl, let your beard be wild.
Thats the way to dance away sorrow and exile.

4. Nakht Un Regn
Yiddish lyrics: Mani Leyb, music: Mikhl Gelbart

Ai-lu-lu-li nakht un regn, ai-lu-lu-li nakht un vint

In der nakht un in dem regn, in der nakht un in dem vint
Geyn mentshn af di vegn, nas un hungrier vi hint
Un geshlogne vi hint, un getribne vi hint#
Ai-lu-lu-li nakht un regn, ai-lu-lu-li nakht un vint, lulinke mayn kind
Un vuhin di mentshn geyn, beyz di nakht un vild der vint
Akh geveyn, akh geshrayn, in der nakht un in dem vint
Geyn zey in shvartse rayen, nas un hungrier vi hint
Un geshogne vi hint, un getribne vi hint

Ai-li-lu-li night and rain, ai-li-lu-li night and wind.

In the night and in the rain, in the night and in the wind,
Humans moving on the roadways, wet and hungry as dogs,

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 And beaten as dogs, and driven as dogs.
Ai-li-lu-li night and rain, ai-li-lu-li night and wind. Sleep my child.
And where are these humans going, bad the night and wild the wind
Marching on in black columns, even hungrier than dogs,
And beaten as dogs, and driven as dogs - D.K.
5. Migrant Chorale
Lyrics: Daniel Kahn, music with David Symons
Alien evening, dark after four,
Break out the bulbs from the Arabic store.
Shoulder the market by the canal,
Break out in tune to the migrant chorale.
Twisting of language, breaking of vows,
Translating names to what tongues will allow,
Hiding in cellars, listening through floors,
Settling debts with inherited wars.
Carrying records, town after town,
Keys to the temples they burned to the ground,
Mounting the hill for the final display,
Dragging the bones of the bodies away.
Occidental, oriental, over seven seas,
Capricorn and Cancer dance a sorry gules lied.
Crossing Morocco, dry desert plain,
Over the border and make it to Spain.
Wear for your coffin a mandarin van,
Abandoned in London on down by the strand.
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Once there were bellies of galleons to fill,
Back from the Ivory Coast for a kill,
Now there are offices crowded with tongues,
Each of them waits for their number to come.
Gaggle of ragged, frost-bitten geese,
Murder of crows at the end of a lease,
Swallows or sparrows, Gypsies or Jews,
Everyone knows when the rent will be due.
Vultures despising the swans for their pride,
Wearing their wings like a train on a bride,
Under the bridge with their heads in their
breasts,
Waiting for winter to summon them west.
Reading of horrors in papers of home,
Hearing reports over satellite phones.
Shone in the river, the town is a-fire,
Sending the pigeons over the wire.
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 6. Ballade von der Judenhure Marie Sanders

(Ballad Of The Jews Whore Marie Sanders)
German lyrics: Bertolt Brecht, music: Hanns Eisler

In Nrnberg machten sie ein Gesetz

Darber weinte manches Weib, das
Mit dem falschen Mann im Bett lag.
Das Fleisch schlgt auf in den Vorstdten
Die Trommeln schlagen mit Macht
Gott im Himmel, wenn sie etwas vorhtten
Wre es heute nacht.
...Marie Sanders, dein Geliebter
Hat zu schwarzes Haar.
Besser, du bist heute zu ihm nicht mehr
Wie du zu ihm gestern warst.
...Mutter, gib mir den Schlssel
Es ist alles halb so schlimm.
Der Mond sieht aus wie immer.
...Eines Morgens, frh um neun
Fuhr sie durch die Stadt im Hemd,
um den Hals ein Schild, das Haar geschoren.
Die Gasse johlte. Sie Blickte kalt.
Das Fleisch schlgt auf in den Vorstdten
Der Streicher* redet heute nacht.
Groer Gott, wenn wir ein Ohr htten
Wten wir, was man mit uns macht.

In Nuremberg they passed down a law.

Its causing many girls to cry
Who with the wrong man have been lying.
The flesh aint cheap on the edge of town.
The drums are pounding with might.
God in Heaven, if theyre bringing something down
Itll be tonight
Marie Sanders, now your lover is too dark of hair

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 Better you are no more today what yesterday you were to him
Mother, give me the keychain, it could not be quite so bad,
The moons the same as ever
One early morn at nine in her shirt she rode through town,
Round her neck a sign, her hair was shaven,
The streets were jeering, her stare was cold
The flesh runs red on edge of town,
And Streicher* speaks out tonight.
Oh my God, if we could really hear the sound,
We would know what theyre doing to us. - D.K.

* Julius Streicher, editor of nazi anti-semitic paper Der Strmer.

Brecht also often called former painter Hitler Der Anstreicher (house painter).

7. Birch Meadow / Birkenau

Lyrics and music: Daniel Kahn

Down by the brook where the birches are thin,

The birds in the trees with their voices of tin
Sing even after the numbers begin,
As though there were nothing above but the wind.
A lamb I have been for the butcher to skin,
A witness without to the darkness within,
To every wail and to every grin,
As all of the numbers go marching on in.
A lamb with no shepherd, a brook with no sea,
A story with no one to tell it but me,
So here is the moral, for time is not long:
The world is a beast with a beautiful song.
The day it is done and the twilight is nigh,
The sun is replaced with a watchtower eye
And the clouds have been stained with an ominous dye,
Like the butcher has wiped off his knife on the sky.
The cold iron letters read Arbeit macht frei

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 And it may seem a lie but its hard to deny,
If your work is to try to forget how to cry
And your freiheit is found in a pit full of lye.
A lamb with no shepherd, a brook with no sea,
A story with no one to tell it but thee.
So tell me the moral, for time is not long,
And the world is a beast with a beautiful song.

8. Unter Di Khurves Fun Poyln

Yiddish lyrics: Itsik Manger, music: Shoul Beresovsky

Unter di khurves fun poyln, a kop mit blonder hor

Der kop un say der khurbn, beyde zenen vor
Dolye, mayne dolye, dolye dolye mayne
Iber di khurves fun poyln, falt un falt der shney
Der blonder kop fun mayn meydl tut mir mezukn vey
Der veytik zitst baym shraybtish un shraybt a langn briv
Der trer in zayne oygn, iz emesdik un tif
Iber di khurves fun poyln, flatert a foygl um
A groyser shive-foygl, er tsitert mit di fligl frum
Der groyser shive-foygl, mayn dershlogn gemid
Er trogt af zayne fligl dos dozike troyer lid

Under the ruins of Poland, a head with golden hair.

The head and also my city, both lie in ruin there.
Over the ruins of Poland the sky fills the houses with snow
The golden head of my maiden fills my head with woe.
The woe leans over the table and writes a long letter to her
The tears falling over the paper are real as the words are blurred.
Over the ruins of Poland, up in the skies of white,
A great black raven of mourning silently winging in flight
The great, black raven of mourning, how my heart lives in this bird,
He bears on his wing while flying this lowly mournful dirge - D.K.

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 9. Son Of Plenty
Lyrics and music: Daniel Kahn

I am a son of plenty who was raised against this land,

For fathers of my mothers had been wasted by its hand
Betraying here the warnings of his blood
To fly a flag of flaglessness, for if each flag was stained
With all the blood the helpless masses
Shed beneath its name, wed all salute the colors of the mud
So speak not of your righteousness for though you may be true
The tree of evil might just have its seed inside of you
Waiting for the proper time to bloom
And we the chosen children of this martyrdom must learn
That martyrs turn to murderers when tables have been turned
And history repeats its bloody tune
But though they say that history repeats what isnt learned
I feel that there is fallacy within these simple terms
For history is more than just one stream
It is the very ocean into which our rivers flow,
A myriad of motions going round us to and fro,
And we are both its dreamers and the dream
So put a song of memory upon your broken tongue
And realize the melodies of bells already rung
Are in the very bells we may now hear
So let the broken words be learned, let the song be sung
Let the painted birds return, let the bells be rung
Though not a note is new unto our ears

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 10. The Most Laementable Ballade of Edward The Young
Lyrics: Daniel Kahn, music with Michael Winograd

Ill give you a song about Edward The Young,

Lived in the day by the might of his tongue,
Working his words in the markets of song,
Never dividing the right from the wrong.
Edward The Young, Edward The Young,
Broke every promise he profited from.
Edward The Young, Edward The Young,
Never remaining to reap what would come.
He traveled the world on mountain and sea,
Spending his riches as soon as could be,
Eating the finest of flesh and of vine,
Drinking of many a better mans wine,
Wiping his chin on the finest of sleeves,
But never misjudging the moment to leave.
People would swear he was lucky or dumb.
Always too late would they see what hed done.
For many a year lived he in this way,
Never a landlord or bill did he pay,
Til some fateful judgment did Edward befall,
And this is the tale Ill relate to you all.
It was in the summer just after the war,
With all of the sailors returning to shore,
And Edward was neatly ensconced and ensnared,
In love and in debt of a war widows care.
Sooner or later twas sure bound to come.
This is the way that his way was undone.
Her name was Lucia, she lived in the town,
And thinking her husband was deep underground,
She opened her cupboards and opened her thighs,
That wily young Edward might eat whats inside.
Her offer he took for a good many weeks,

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 But then early one morning the hallway did creak,
And there in the dark of the bed chambers door
Stood the tall form of her man from the war.
Back from the war did his reckoning come.
Caught with another mans wife on his tongue.
My husband Rudolfo, did Lucia cry.
I thought in the trenches of France did you die.
But answer her not did the man in the door,
but turned his attention to Ed on the floor.
He said, For many a year I have fought in the war,
And after the armistice came back to shore.
Returning to tend to my false hearted wife,
I planned to resign her the rest of my life.
But now you have taken my wife in my bed,
And so I will leave you with her in my stead.
But Ill make you this promise: that ere you should leave
The side of Lucia, your manhood Ill cleave.
Seems that his race has been finally run.
All of his rambling days are now done.
And so Edward lives in her house to this day,
Working and slaving his whole life away,
No longer roaming, no longer free,
Til Edward will deadwardly finally be.
Now that his ladder has run out of rungs.
He would be pleased that his song is still sung.
My name is Lucia, the wife in that song.
You may not remember, I wasnt there long.
I spoke but a word and then nevermore
And functioned therein more or less as a whore:
Partly a lover, partly a wife,
But never allotted a brain or a life.
So much is expected, for when women are writ
By the hand of a man they arent more than a tit,
To feed on, to fight for, to bind and betray,

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 To dream of, and flee from, with nothing to say.
Typical man in a typical song.
Punished for keeping a woman too long.
If women must serve as a mere conduit
For men to relate to each other, I quit.
So finish the story of Edward alone,
Ill head off and write me a song of my own.
Lucias free, Lucias free, Out from beneath all you misogyny.
Lucias free, Lucias free, Tired of being a male fantasy.
But this is all bullshit, this womans complaint,
Writ by a man who is far from a saint.
He thought he could cleverly rewrite his wrongs
By refusing to end this ridiculous song.
Thinly disguising my own mothers son.
Now is the time when the songs really done.

11. Man Of Plenty

Lyrics: Daniel Kahn Music: traditional / Michael Winograd,
instrumental intro from repertoire of German Goldenshteyn

There once was a good old man of plenty, man of plenty he.
He built him a house on the edge of the town,
High as the tallest tree.
He built the roof of solid gold, the walls of solid clay.
and in the basement, on the floor, his wife and children lay.
O why o why, our father dear, o why o why, said they,
In such a manner must we be? O why o why, we pray?
For such a goodly man as you to hold us here this way.
But father was not even home, to an empty house spoke they.
So there they were and there they are and there theyll ever stay,
Beneath the biggest house in town whose master is away.
While all the riches of the world are locked away from all,
We sit beneath the world of light and wait for the masters call.

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 12. The Silver Window
Lyrics: Daniel Kahn from folklore via S. Ansky,
music with Alan Bern

A wealthy merchant sought the wisdom of the Baal Shem Tov

Longing to be granted entry to the holy grove
Many mountains, many cities, over land and foam
Did this man of plenty travel from his splendid home
and when he reached the dwelling of this holiest of men,
He kneeled before the Besht with gold and silver in his hand
The wise man led him to the window, showing all the world
There before the wealthy man the human scene unfurled
Poor souls floated under clothing, walking on their way,
Each a dream that dies in waking, each a night that dies in day
Then the window was a mirror, blocking out the sky,
Showing nothing to the merchant but the merchants eye
Tell me sir, the Baal Shem questioned, what the difference be
Twixt the window and the mirror into which you see?
Only silver, only silver coats the glass behind.
Though the pane may be the same the silver makes you blind
Seek the world but seek it clearly free your soul from sin
Wealth will surely but reveal your poverty within.
Break the mirror, melt the silver, give your gold away.
Let your dream begin in waking, let the night be born in day

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Rien73_Booklet_LA2.indd 14 04.08.09 11:31
 Thanks to:
Alan Bern, Michael Alpert, David Symons, Paul Brody, Fabian Schnedler, Anna Schubert, Oxident, Oberwasser,
Regenbogenfabrik, Massolit, Kahns, Zervoses, Sarah Gordon, Sarah Diehl, Khupe, Yuriy Gurzhy, Aaron Allen,
Earthwork, Angela Teistler, Jerzy Kosinski, Klaus Theweleit, David G. Roskies & German Goldenshteyn.
Daniel Kahn: Vocals, Accordion, Piano, Guitars, Ukulele, etc.;
Johannes Paul Grer: Violin;
Michael Tuttle: Contrabass;
Detlef Pegelow: Drums, Horns, Mandolin, etc.;
Bert Hildebrandt: Clarinet;
Special guest vocals by Niki Jacobs, www.nikitov.com;
Back vocals by all with Sabine Ostermann on Ed and Fabian Schnedler on The Broken Tongue
Guest players on Yesterday is Buried Brandon Seabrook: Lead Electric Guitar & Banjo;
Eric Rosenthal: Drums
Drawings by Daniel Kahn
Photo by Pierre Kamin
Design: Michael Vogt / mquadrat
contact: paintedbird@web.de www.paintedbird.net www.myspace.com/thepaintedbird
booking: angela@geheimagentur.de

Also available:

Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird

Partisans & Parasites
RIENCD 71

International mail order & internet sales:

Oriente Express www.oriente-express.de e-mail: order@oriente-express.de

phone: +49 30-89 73 56 60 fax: +49 30-84 30 61 46

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 1. Beyze Vintn (Reisen/Kahn - Gelbart) 4:45
2. The Broken Tongue (Kahn/Alpert - Kahn) 3:47
3. Yesterday Is Buried (Siz Nito Keyn Nekhtn) (trad./Kahn) 3:38
4. Nakht Un Regn (Leyb - Gelbart/Kahn) 2:25
5. Migrant Chorale (Kahn - Kahn/Symons) 6:02
6. Ballad Of The Jews Whore Marie Sanders (Brecht/Kahn - Eisler) 3:08
7. Birch Meadow/Birkenau (Kahn) 3:49
8. Unter Di Khurves Fun Poyln (Manger - Beresovsky) 5:10
9. Son Of Plenty (Kahn) 2:09
10. The Most Laementable Ballade of Edward The Young (Kahn Kahn/Winograd) 8:46
11. Man Of Plenty (Kahn trad./Kahn/Winograd) 2:54
12. The Silver Window (Kahn) 3:31
Total time: 50:07

Recorded winter to summer 2006, All-You-Can-Eat Studios, Berlin

Produced, Engineered & Mixed by Detlef Pegelow & Daniel Kahn
Mastered by Jens Schneider, Tonstudio, Berlin

73
2009 by Oriente Musik www.oriente.de e-mail: info@oriente.de
phone: +49 30-833 66 39 fax: +49 30-84 30 61 46

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