Like a fine Scottish whisky from his homeland, Singer Songwriter Norman Paterson has really set the tone for an artist that only makes their mark after years in the creative barrel. Originally from the windswept islands of the Outer Hebrides and now based in Glasgow, he penned his first song at the age of 65 and now has two albums in the pipeline!
Crafting songs in the style of Scottish Folk and Country, he is inspired by artists such as John Prine, Guy Clark and Leonard Cohen. Incorporating the acoustic guitar, mandolin, banjo and accordion as they sweep through his songs, Norman is making the kind of music that stirs the ancient soul. Painting memories of a nostalgic island life, his lyrics and signature vocals are warm, authentic and deeply intoxicating.
Acknowledging himself that he is a late starter, he is one of the best examples of ‘its never too late to try’. Cascading melodies and a delightful collection of intoxicating songs, his forthcoming debut album titled Torn with a July 2023 release date will deliver on all fronts. Perfect for those moments of quiet indulgence, Norman’s songs are a glimpse into a world that few will have experienced.
Gearing up for live performances later in the year, Norman Paterson is grabbing every opportunity to take his music to the world. Hang on to his every word and discover a musician whose stories resonate with the gifts of a life well-lived
From the wind swept lonesome shores of the Outer Hebrides and his current hometown of Glasgow comes a winsome collection of finely crafted songs from Norman Paterson titled Torn. Reflecting the picturesque cluster of islands renowned for their rugged beauty, untouched landscapes, and rich Gaelic heritage, Norman reflects a sense of peace and tranquillity with his debut album.
The moment you step into this 15 track opus, you will be transported to the breath-taking vistas and memories of a time long forgotten. At 65 years of age, Norman has brought together all of his experiences to craft an album that is a testament to the faith he has placed in himself. Embarking on a journey that would be challenging enough for someone in their twenties, he has the vision and the knowledge to add a new and exciting voice to the world of Scottish folk and country music.
Blending traditional Scottish melodies and storytelling with a dash of contemporary flavours, Torn is not a rip in time but a full blown dive into what makes the Scotland’s music of Auld so rewarding. From the spoken word opening of The Pier, to the imperious majesty of the Country infused Tender, and the more toe tapping creativity of Accident or Design, Norman wraps everything in a warm embrace of unbelievable textures.
Banjos, Accordions, Guitars, perfect complimentary female harmonies, are all given the chance to breathe in the rarefied air that Norman creates. His lyrics and their phrasing hark back to the time of the poets and traditional Gaelic storytellers. With a voice that carries the weight of centuries of tradition, he weaves a tapestry of words that transports listeners to a different place and time.
An example of the old adage that ‘it’s never too late to follow your dreams’ , Torn is a gift from the older generation to age groups that will have never experienced such beauty in the modern music world. Join him on his path as he shares his music to an audience that will fall in love with an album that defines the social fabric of the islands. It is a long player that will tear no person asunder but restore their faith in humanity.
A pier
Harboring no feelings of this or that
Stands silent
A ferry appears
Women in Glasgow frocks and heels
disembark down steep steps
clutching handbags and handrails.
Husbands in Sunday suits
carry cardboard suitcases
Waves of recognition
Children held at arms distance
inspected for likeness and growth
Wary cousins measured.
Chatter from arrivals
tears from departures
Arms placed round shoulders
Backs turned against land and sea
A pier empty
No longer echoing of sounds
Stands silent
She’s leaving the island
She needs to get away
An unfamiliar voice is calling
A And getting louder every day
She fears to break the ties that bind
But the voice will not be scorned
And as she looks across the water
She is torn
The boat sails Monday morning
Before the towns awake
They drive her to the harbour
A car full of heartache
Her world surrounded by the sea
Ends on every shore
And as she looks across the water
She is torn
She boards the boat turns back to wave
To her parents on the pier
The only place she’s ever known.
Will slowly disappear
Back home the house is silent
They sit and watch the dawn
As the ferry boat gets smaller
They are torn
Our world surrounded by the sea
Ends on every shore
And as we gaze across the water
We are torn
There are two rivers in my hometown
Driving down the rain
Through the hills to the sea
Both these rivers flowed through me
The softer river hugs the town
Rolls along with a soothing sound
As a child I walked its course
I gathered its peace
It let me cross
Different rivers
Different rain
No two pathways run the same
The wilder river shuns the town
It’s waters fast
Its pull is strong
As a child I walked its course
It took my fear
It let me cross
Both these rivers played their part
In the design of my restless heart
I’m going back to where I came
Where the rivers know my name
Different rivers
Different rain
No two pathways run the same
I’m going back
To where I came
Where the rivers know my name
I’m going back
To where I came
Where the rivers know my name
I have watched a Bernera sunset
On a summer solstice night
Until the last threads of darkness
Surrendered to the light
I have felt the winter storms
Lash against the Port of Ness
Like Neptune’s ancient army
Charging merciless
Deep into the Heart of the Hebrides
I have crossed the Grimsay Causeway
Landed down on Barra Beach
Sailed across the sea to Scalpay
Where I saw the Devil’s Sheep
I’ve travelled the Golden Road
Up and down its bends and bays
Knelt inside the Rodel Church
On a late December day
Deep within the Heart of the Hebrides
I’ve watched the fishing fleet
Setting sail before the dawn
Stood amongst the fishermen
In a frozen auction mart
I have worked a kipper yard
Minded herring as they smoked
Hanging from the rafters
Above the burning oak
Deep within the Heart of the Hebrides
I have heard the weavers loom
Late into the darkest night
I have seen the single bulb
Spreading out its yellow light
I’ve stood on the Holm cliffs
Thought about the Iolaire
Trying to make some sense
Of what unfolded there
And tore the Heart out of the Hebrides
There is no colour in the moon
It just reflects the sun
The forest makes no sound
When no one is around
When I first laid my eyes on you
I’d no idea did you
But the sun and moon both knew
You’d stop me running
So I keep it on the tender
Leave it on the true
I wear it on my sleeve
Only for you
If I should lose you
In whatever shape or form
The moon would lose its colour
The forest give up its song
I have no answer
To thoughts of this kind
So, I don’t give them time
Or space in my mind
When I first laid my eyes on you
I’d no idea did you
But the sun and moon both knew
You’d stop me running
So I keep it on the tender
Leave it on the true
I wear it on my sleeve
Only for you
On the edge of the harbour looking east
East toward the light across the bay
Following a ship that’s disappearing
She lifts her tiny hand begins to wave
She looks at her mother stood beside her
And the other mothers in the line
Holding their children so tightly
As if letting go would anger the divine
Below the wind she’s singing Jesus loves me
A song she learned upon her father’s knee
while her other hand deep in her coat pocket
Clasps a silver locket and a key
With his back to the bridge, he looks homeward
Home to those gathered on the pier
He closes his eyes to freeze the moment
Filled of the those he holds dear
In a mud filled trench called Gordon Alley
By a village in the Somme
While his brothers in arms are sleeping
He’s crouched in a corner writing home.
Below the guns he’s singing Jesus loves me
A song he learned upon his father’s knee
While his other hand deep in his coat pocket
Clasps a silver locket and a key
And when the guns fell silent
On the 11th day
He heard a small bird whistling.
And he fell to his knees
And he sang out loud Jesus Love Me
A song he learned upon his father’s knee
And he thought about his wife and daughter
And kissed the silver locket and its key
The tree that bends
Toward the sun
Grows its roots down
Deep and strong
Learns to sway
With the gentle breeze
Come the winter
Weathers the storm
When the farmer goes
To plant the tree
He protects the bark
Leaves the branches free
By following this
Ancient way
The tree grows stronger
Day by day
When the farmer goes
To build a house
He’ll build from stone
Face it south
By following this
Ancient way
It becomes a home
Day by day
The tree that bends
Toward the sun
Grows its roots down
Deep and strong
And learns to sway
With the gentle breeze
Come the winter
Weathers the storm
My Grandad was a kipper man
He smelt of wood and smoke
His hands were red from kipper dye
He coughed before he spoke
Born in the Glasgow Gorbals
At the turn of the century
Shipped out to the east coast
Brought up by the sea
He spent his life in red brick kilns
Amongst the burning oak
Or standing on the quay side
With the other fisher folk
They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold
My Granny was a herring girl
She left before the war
And headed for the herring ports
Along the Scottish shore
One of 2000 island girls
Who worked in teams of three
Gutting curing packing fish
Outside on the quay
With fingers wrapped in cotton rags
Made from old flour sacks
To save her hands from the gutting knife
Salt water and the cracks
They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold
Now the herring are no more
And the gold has turned to dust
Kipper yards demolished
boats turned to rust
These days will never come again
But stories will be told
When herring girls and kipper men
Turned silver into gold
They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold
Tides They Turn
Clouds they pass
Sand runs through
the hourglass
Minutes’ walk
While years fl
Things change
In the blink of an eye
You cast a stone
You choose your way
Some roads are colours
Some roads are grey
You see her face
It melts you heart
She returns your smile
The music starts
A butterfly
flaps its wings
The movement changes
Everything
Every thought
Every sound
It spins them all
Round and round
Tides They Turn
Clouds they pass
Sand runs through
the hourglass
Minutes’ walk
While years fly
Things change
In the blink of an eye
Three old photographs
Caught my eye today
In a faded envelope
Hidden away
A girl on a motorbike
By a passing place
Striking a pose
Sun in her face
On the back is Mary Ann
March 31
In the Harris Hills
Before she left home
Three laughing chambermaids
On a sea front wall
Strong breeze in their hair
Billowing their shawls
On the back is Mary Ann
June 38
On Oban promenade
With Catherine and Kate
A mother with child
On a on bombed out street
Dressed in black
Rubble at her feet
On the back is Mary Ann
April 41
Outside whats left
Of their Clydebank home
Captured in black and white
Her spirit shines through
Oh Mary Ann
What happened to you
The girl on the motorbike
The woman on the wall
The mother with child
I wonder who
Captured it all
Three old photographs
Caught my eye today
In a faded envelope
From a lifetime away
As I lie on Flanders Field
The sound of battle fading fast
I slowly close my eyes (my love)
And I’m with you in Luskentyr
Where the sea is emerald green
And the curlew call is clear
We will walk those hills again (my love)
When the yellows on the broom
When the yellow’s on the broom (my love)
When the yellow’s on the broom
My darling will you look for
When the yellow’s on the broom
As the sun dies in the west
I feel a darkness creeping in
Until I hear your sweet voice (my love)
Telling me I’m going home
And the boat will wait for me
To sail me back across the sea
We will walk those hills again (my love)
When the yellows on the broom
When the yellow’s on the broom (my love)
When the yellow’s on the broom
My darling will you look for me
When the yellow’s on the broom
When the storm is at its strongest
The wind has knocked you down
When your hope has lost its anchor
There’s no comfort to be found
When your road begins to crumble
And you’re still so far from home
The drifts begin to deepen
The wolves come creeping in
When you’ve no one left to turn to
You’re running on you own
Raise up your head
And look around
And in the middle of the maelstrom
Deep within the blue-black light
There will be a place or person
Put there to make things right
And if you find the courage
And the trust to let them in
When the storm is at its strongest
The healing will begin
Downtown Stornoway Friday night
Autumn of 75
The bars and pubs are heaving
It feels good to be alive
Me and my pals are hanging out
In the Rendezvous Cafe
Not knowing this is the last night
It will ever be this way
There’s a clock in our town that never chimes
Stands there silent stuck in time
While all around lives unwind
Tommy’s off to college
Then he’ll head to sea
Colin starts on Monday
In a local factory
Danny’s not made any plans
Except for signing on
Me I’m scared of leaving
And scared of staying around
There’s a clock in our town that never chimes
Stands there silent stuck in time
While all around lives unwind
All things change
Stars re-arrange
Whether by
accident or design
That night was 50 years ago
But feels like yesterday
When everything was simple
Till life got in the way
Four young lads hanging out
In the Rendezvous Cafe
Not knowing it was the last night
It would ever be that way
There’s a clock in our town that never chimes
Stands there silent stuck in time
While all around lives unwind
All things change
Stars re-arrange
Whether by
accident or design
Suilisgeir built from
pebbles and concrete
stood closer to wave than village,
a strip of machair,
sandstone
walling off the inches
between the Minch and land.
Tides would spring
aligning boundaries,
lapping against doors
before neaping to
halve the distance from
The Church on the opposite shore
where the minister’s mother
would walk me.
And I spent my summers
overturning rocks,
stretching seaweed in a tightrope
as if I were trying to undermine
our home’s foundations.
allowing space for hermit crabs
to creep and crawl within
Suilisgeir now empty
each winter moving
nearer the sea
They say
It would take a foolish
man’s money to repair
the pebbles and concrete
Would I had it.
All songs written by Norman Paterson
Produced by Angus Lyon at Grans House Studio
With its rugged coastline, historic sites like Lews Castle, and a vibrant Gaelic-speaking community, Stornoway provides a glimpse into the rich heritage of the Hebrides. Its surroundings include dramatic landscapes, ancient standing stones, and pristine beaches, making it a destination for both historians and nature lovers alike.
When you grow up there, you may be blissfully unaware of the magical moments it provides but as time marches on, you can reflect on how much it added to your life. Norman Paterson is one such artist who in his later years as a musician memorialises places, friendships and experiences that resonate with him today.
Following up on his stunning acoustic album Torn, he has moved to a full electric band with his sophomore release Stornoway. Set amongst the exciting period of his youth in the 60s and 70s where life was full of the spectacular and the vibrant colours of rock music, Norman has still retained that Celtic country feel but added elements that makes the album exceptional.
Celebrating the place he called home through a mixture of pleasure and guilt, listeners are transported to a place and time where you can imagine what it was like growing up in the Western Isles. From the opening track and the heartfelt lament of Sailing Away, to the loss of a dear old friend, and the thrill and exhilaration of a night on the town as a teenager depicted by Saturday Night; the album is full of nostalgia and dreams of days gone by, comprising of 14 songs that touch the spirit.
The pictures Norman paints are extraordinary, textured and tugging at the heartstrings to impel you to want to visit its wind-swept shores. Spiritual and blessed with a backdrop that is unique, Stornoway is a remarkable statement on what life was like over half a century ago. Innocent yet full of energy whilst exploring what it means to have existed on the edge of the open Atlantic, Norman Paterson has discovered a way to write his own songs into the narrative of the town.
Critics always say that the second album can be the most difficult to make because the ideas of the first can sometimes use up all a musician’s creative forces. This is not the case for Norman Paterson. He has expanded his reach and added more to his sound, and for that, Stornoway, The Outer Hebrides and Scotland should be forever grateful.
Village and port located in Northern Scotland where the ferry to Stornoway leaves from
An iconic and well loved Stornoway guiter player and singer.
Popular Saturday evening cartoon based on the Peter Sellers film.
Popular Stornoway pubs
Popular Stornoway landlords and landladies
Popular Stornoway Café run by the Andrew an xxx xxx Cabrelli
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
The Suilven leaves the harbour
And turns itself around
I am facing west
but I am eastward bound
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
Every time I leave
I leave some part behind
And it don’t get easier
No matter how many times
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
The Island sits silent
As the boat goes sailing by
Passing all my memories
Under a tear-filled sky
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
And I don’t feel much like talking
To anyone right now
The first thing I remember
Is standing in a crowd
Outside our local tv store
Staring at a black and white
Flickering from dark to light
Watching a man step on the moon
La la la la
La la la la
The next thing I remember
Is sitting on a wall
Across from the Rendezvous Café
We hear the sound of pipes and drums
Marching through the town
We jump up and C pretend to play.
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
One of us who looked the part
kinda cool kinda smart
Knew someone who’d get us rum
We hid between the fishing nets
Trawler Rum and cigarettes
The burning taste lingered on our tongues.
La la la la
La la la la
We found music drink and girls
Late night radio
We all sang Maggie May
I’d walk Kathleen home from school
I could always make her laugh
Somewhere I still have her photograph.
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Summers came and summers went
I remember all the time we spent
Just hanging out downtown
We were never on our own
We had pals from all around
Nothing ever seemed to bring us down
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
What became of the Renden
The Lido and YM
I turned around & they were gone
But my memory still is strong
What became of the Juke Box
Where we played our favourite songs
With our fingers on the glass
Searching for the one we heard last
Can I have that last ham roll
And a frothy cup of coffee Andrew please
And see that Caramel log
It’s been waiting there for me
I promise I’ll not smoke
No that not a joke
Just you wait and see
And has herself been in
You know who I am talking about
Can I go back again back to the Ren Den
The way it was
D And sit with all my friends
On the tables at the end one last time
Laugh and joke about the days
Long forgotten memories of the past
With a word for those who’ve gone
But who presence linger on in us all
Can I have that last ham roll
And a frothy cup of coffee Andrew please
And see that Caramel log
It’s been waiting there for me
I promise I’ll not smoke
No that not a joke
Just you wait and see
And has herself been in
You know who I am talking about
Last night I dreamt that dream
The one where we’re back home
On the pure white sands at Luskintyre
You’d made corn beef sandwiches
A flask of Lipton tea
And you wore a new dress just for me
Laughing like a little girl
You ran down to the sea
Screaming as the water
Reached your knees
I caught you with my camera
the waves up to your waste
A summer smile
Lighting up your face
And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands
We lay our blankets on the ground
And towel dried our feet
Lay down In the gentle Harris heat
Then we watched the sun set
With its yellows, blues and reds
Woven by a million coloured threads
And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands
And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands
500 miles of open road
And 50 miles of sea
I close my eyes
I’m going home
I feel my spirits rise
With every passing mile
I close my eyes
I’m going home
CHORUS
Where old friends will stop me on the street
Smile and say you’re looking well
Hows your Ma keeping these day
And it’s good to see you back home again
I see the whitewashed walls of Ullapool
And the yellow on Loch Broom
I close my eyes
I’m going home
The sun set over Arnish Point
And the lights across the Braighe
I close my eyes
I’m going home
Where old friends will stop me on the street
Smile and say you’re looking well
Hows your Ma keeping these day
And its good to see you back home again
And if only it were that simple
And if only I could find a way
And if not for a hundred thousand reason
I’d be on my way home today
I’m sorry for your loss
We were pals back in the day
And I’m sorry we lost touch
When I moved away
But I’m glad we met up
On that sunny Saturday
Shared a pot tea
yarned the years away
I wish we’d done it more
We lived not far away
But I guess that’s what happens when
We think there’s plenty days
Plenty days.
Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days
We do what we can
Live from day to day
So many little things
We quietly push away
Thinking there’ll be time
For us to show face
Until we realise
We’re running out of days
Plenty days. Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days
Plenty days. Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days
Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
When all the country buses
Would come from miles around
Off would pour the passengers
Onto Cromwell Street
And if you had a sweetheart
That’s where you’d meet
Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
When Jack bossed the Neptune
and Dolaig ruled the Crown
Chico ran the Charlton
Sandy poured the drams
In the lounge in the County
Which had a certain charm
Back then the town was hoachin
From the Caber to the Star
We were happy standing
Four deep at the bar
Perhaps we saw the best of her
Perhaps that’s still to come
But nothings ever bettered
Stornoway downtown
Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
Hanging out with your pals
From the Lido to the YM
Checking out the blones
Checking out the coves
Then off to the town hall
To dance to the Karltoans
Back then the town was hoachin
From the Caber to the Star
We were happy standing
Four deep at the bar
Perhaps we saw the best of her
Perhaps that’s still to come
But nothings ever bettered
Stornoway downtown
My island home
From a distant past
A Lifetime memories
Built to last
Friendships forged
During night less days
My island home
With its island ways
It was our time
we were its stars
When Kenny Fags
played his red guitar
And Caesar sang
Tonight will be fine
And we danced
Till morning time
My island home
With its eightsome reels
Songs sung with
A country feel
Dance hall floors
In a smokey haze
My island home
With its island ways
It was our time
we were its stars
When Kenny Fags
played his red guitar
And Caesar sang
Tonight will be fine
And we danced
Till morning time
When I was young
And summers long and warm
And everyone I loved was still alive
We’d take a boat
And sail across the sea
To Lochmaddy where my mother was born
In a stone built house
Sitting on the shore
Where the lighthouse lamp lit up my bedroom wall
And there we’d stay
All summer long
My brother my grandmother and me
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young
We’d spend our day
Playing by the sea
Learning how to fish and how to swim
We’d look for crabs
In the rocky pools
Until it came the time to head back home
And she’d have baked a cake
In her peat fired stove
And had it ready iced there for tea
And when it got dark
She’d light the Tilley lamp
Beneath it’s golden glow she’d read to me
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young
And now we’re old
But memories still clear
Of her stone-built house sitting on the shore
Of Tilley lamps
And the peat fire glow
And endless summer days spent long ago
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young
In the autumn of 69
When I turned 13
I caught my last Stickleback
On the banks of the River Glen
Across from the YM
I just didn’t know it then
Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
I wish we’d let them go
Cause they F never.
Saw their own world again
That year we learned to dance
In Campbell’s PE class
Lined up across the Assembly Hall
I grabbed an arm she grabbed mine
We tried to waltz around in time
But all we really did was a sideways walk
Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
I wish we’d let them go
Cause they never
Saw their own world again
Ain’t it funny those tricks
Our memory plays
Some days we loose
Others never fade away
In the Summer of 73
When I turned 17
I went to my last school dance
My last Crush Hall hug
My last cloakroom snog
Had my last fag in the bogs
Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
wish we’d let them go
Cause they never
Saw their own world again
Standing in the airport and I’m watching the sky
While all around people are waiting to fly
To so many places all over the world
Some leaving loved ones
Some heading home
The terminal billboard with its shimmering lights
Show the flight I want ain’t leaving tonight
So I make my way back
To where I came
And early tomorrow
I’ll try once again
When I close my eyes I’m on the cliffs at Dal Mhor
I feel the North Atlantic
I hear its angry roar
I see the ocean breakers crash onto the shore.
When I close my eyes
I’m home once more
Memories of leaving fly round my head.
Places and faces Things left unsaid
It’s been such a long time since I made it home
I’ve lived in this city
And I’m still unknown
Then the terminal billboard whispers in my ear
the flight you’re waiting for
has always been here
When I close my eyes I’m on the cliffs at Dal Mhor
I feel the North Atlantic
I hear its angry roar
I see the ocean breakers crash onto the shore.
When I close my eyes
I’m home once more
There’s a cottage on the shore
Two steps up to the front door
Days I wish that I could have again
Smokey flames from a peat fire stove
Tilley lamp with a golden glow
Days I wish that I could have again
When a clock was just an ornament
Sitting idly on a shelf
And time was something we had plenty of
When childish laughter filled the air
And everyone I loved was there
Days I wish that I could have again
Summers filled with endless days
Secret places where we played
Days I wish that I could have again
We built castles in the sand
We picked berries with our hands
Days I wish that I could have again
When a clock was just an ornament
Sitting idly on a shelf
And time was something we had plenty of
When childish laughter filled the air
And everyone I loved was there
Days I wish that I could have again
Its Saturday night
Just had my tea
Coupons been busted
No holiday for me
Pink Panther is over
Here comes Brucie
But it’s the weekend
And I’ve places to be
The Playhouse is calling
So is the YM
There’s a bottle of Strongbow
In KD’s with my name
I’m wearing my wranglers
Platform’s on my feet
And a jacket from Grattans
I’m paying up each week
But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
No matter what happens
that tonight will be fine
There’s a new girl in town
Her dads runs the Crown
She’s awful pretty
Maybe she’ll be around
The YM is jumping
The Smiths are on the door
They know we’re all steaming
They’ve seen it before
But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
No matter what happens
that tonight will be fine
But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
No matter what happens
that tonight will be fine
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
The Suilven leaves the harbour
And turns itself around
I am facing west
but I am eastward bound
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
Every time I leave
I leave some part behind
And it don’t get easier
No matter how many times
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown
The Island sits silent
As the boat goes sailing by
Passing all my memories
Under a tear-filled sky
I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
And I don’t feel much like talking
To anyone right now
All songs written by Norman Paterson
Produced by Keith Morrison and Willie Campbell and recorded, mixed and mastered at The Wee Studio, Dell, The Isle of Lewis
Norman Paterson’s latest release, “Loved”, delivers a heartfelt dive into Celtic folk and blues traditions, capturing the very essence of Scottish romance and storytelling in his third album released in just over a year. Paterson’s music transports listeners through a journey brimming with wistful charm and a passionate spirit.
Drawing inspiration from cherished memories, Scottish folklore, and his own deep-rooted affection for his wife—a woman he lovingly describes as moving to the beat of a unique drum—Paterson masterfully blends tales of past and present, firmly anchoring his passion for life in every melody. “Loved” is a testament to his enduring devotion to his craft and proof that no matter how old you are, brilliance will always shine.
The album, made up of 12 finely crafted tracks, is delicately nuanced and intelligent, reflecting Norman’s remarkable skill as a songwriter. His collaborations with an impressive lineup of musicians bring depth to each composition, allowing him to fully explore the traditions of folk music. Guitar and mandolin by Anna Massie, pedal steel contributions from Alan Train, percussion by Ian Sandilands, accordion played by Angus Lyon, and vocal harmonies by Ruby Shah and Susie Wall collectively paint a rich narrative.
From the opening notes of “Abandoned Homes,” inspired by a striking photograph from visual artist John Mahors, listeners are invited into a world imbued with longing and nostalgia. This track sets the tone, guiding listeners through a landscape of misty hillsides and rugged shores, places where stories are etched into every stone and breeze. “The Crofter,” gently reflects on simpler times with heartfelt sentimentality, offering a glimpse into lives lived close to the land and sea.
The album’s mood undulates languidly like a brook, evoking a range of emotions that chatter in the moonlight. In songs like “The Mapmaker” and “The Night of the Loraire,” Paterson delves into themes of melancholy and tragedy, allowing listeners to feel the weight of dedicated hard work, loss and sorrow. Yet, in the sweetness of “Lullaby,” there is an equally quiet place for peace to take a bow.
“Loved” is more than a collection of songs; it’s a living, breathing testimony of stories. Norman shares snapshots of afternoons spent at the cinema watching cowboy films and recounting tender moments shared with loved ones. Despite its title “It Ain’t Like Scotland,” the album is very much a Scottish love affair with home and all it embodies. Each song builds upon the last and resonates with listeners on both a personal and universal level.
In “Loved”, Norman Paterson extends the boundaries of traditional folk music, infusing each melody with a simplicity that is both seductive and generous. His ability to capture and convey the essence of Scottish life speaks directly to the soul. With every track, he shares not just music, but the gift of a life richly lived and beautifully remembered.
“Loved “is an album that leaves a lasting impression, filled with a tenderness and sincerity that is impossible to forget. Experience the magic of Scotland, the enduring power of love, and the art of storytelling with Norman Paterson.
Loved will be available on all streaming platforms DD/MM/YYYY
For more information, press inquiries, or to schedule an interview with Norman Paterson, please contact:
He worked the land He fished the sea
In the night he wove the tweed
Knew things you’d not find in books
Put back more than he took
And lived the honest life of the crofter
He did not live a life of comfort
Ruled by calendars and clocks
He understood the seasons
Respected all the reasons
And lived the honest life of the crofter
He raised his family on the sheep and the tweed
Cast his nets where the sea ran deep
Watched his brother move away
While he knew he must stay.
And protect the honest way of the crofter
He spoke only of what he knew
Gave respected where it was due
Looked out for all his neighbours
Help them in their labours
For that was the way of the crofter
Twice each Sunday he’d climb the hill
Like his father did before
Stand with good book in hand
Lead the line across the land
For he lived the honest life of the crofter.
He saw how things began to change
Understood they always would
He’d think about the old day
Remembering the old ways
When he lived the honest life of the crofter.
An abandoned old cottage stands by an overgrown track
A broken-down van sits propped up on blocks round the back
A red iron roof dissolving and turning to rust
Where brick built walls crumble and return to dust
And I still don’t know
Why they left that day
If I leave a light on
Maybe they’ll come back to stay
Abandoned Homes
Abandoned Hearts
When you close that door
They fall apart
Little by little
Day by day
They lose hope and fade away
A Classic Car calendar hangs on the sitting room wall
While a clock with no hands tells no time to no one at all.
A battered old suitcase destined to travel no more
Rests next to a box of 78’s by the door
And I still don’t know
Why they left that day
If I leave a light on
Maybe they’ll come back to stay
Abandoned Homes
Abandoned Hearts
When you close that door
They fall apart
Little by little
Day by day
They lose hope and fade away
A memory awoke in me
Of a long-forgot September day
From somewhere in my faded past
Two brothers running down to the sea
laughing without care or fear
Sea salt on a sun kissed face
Waves rolling in coming up to their waist.
Resting on the sand for the long walk home
When a memory awakes from slumber
It can reach right up and pull you under
Or it can make you softly smile
Stop and linger for a while
In rich remembered reels of yesterday
If this memory serves me well
The weather broke the next day
And all my childhood summer things
Were safely packed and stored away
As way leads onto way
And sun surrenders to rain
Despite our talk of next year
We never walked that road again
When a memory awakes from slumber
It can reach right up and pull you under
Or it can make you softly smile
Stop and linger for a while
In rich remembered reels of yesterday
Don’t come home without Murdo
Mor MacLean was heard to cry
As her daughter left the village
To meet her brother off the Iolaire
The Iolaire set sail from Kyle
New Years Eve 1918
Bringing home to the Hebrides
Her survivors of the War
The ship was overcrowded.
Her crew unprepared
The captain did not know
The safest course to steer
On the blackest of nights
Came the fiercest of gales
Just a mile from the harbour
Came the cruellest twist of fate
At 5 to 2 in the morning
The Iolaire struck the Beasts
In less than 90 minutes
she sank below the sea
201 men perished
20 yards from the shore
Ten men gone for every yard.
And a knock for every door
Meanwhile across the island
Food was being prepared
For fathers sons and brothers
That never would be shared
Mary MacKenzie woke in the night
Disturbed by a distant noise
She saw a car stopped in the road
And recognised every voice
Then came the sound of wailing
As the news began to spread
The Iolaire had gone down
Most on board feared dead
John MacAskill 19 from Sandwick
Was swept overboard
He was found next to the graveyard
Half a mile from his parents’ door
Donald Macleod swam to shore
Saw his brother was not there
Returned to try and find him
Both washed up on the sand
In villages across the island
Similar stories you would hear
As the horror of the night
Passed from mouth to ear
A deep sorrow fell on the island
Once the funerals were all done
And for many generations
Iolaire would not pass a tongue
There now hang 100 portraits
And a rope taken ashore
By John Finlay MacLeod
That will stretch for evermore.
Don’t come home without Murdo
Mor MacLean was heard to cry
As her daughter left the village
To meet her brother off the Iolaire
On the night we first met
with no fear of regret
I fell Tumbling
I fell Tumbling
Head over heels
Cause that’s how it feels
When you’re stumbling
Tumbling and stumbling
Just a look and a glance
A chance of romance
Left me mumbling
Bumbling and mumbling
From my castle on high
The night you caught my eye
I fell tumbling
I fell tumbling
The band played a slow waltz
despite all my faults
I was gliding
Sliding and gliding
In rhythm and rhyme
¾ time
We were dancing
Spinning and dancing
When the band packed away
We decided to stay
In the moonlight
The ivory moonlight
And watched as the night
let its silver blue light
Come tumbling
Come tumbling
There were no cowboys in Coll
Tolsta never saw a train
Stornoway had no sidewalks
No Indians rode our plains
But come the Saturday matinee
In flickering black and white
We’d ride our pale palomino’s
Firing caps from our colt 45’s
Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away
There was no Manor Park Posse
Sandwick had no saloon
Springfield had no Sheriff
No stagecoach rolled into town
We never circled the wagons
Or spoke with forked tongue
We saw no main street shoot outs
Or rootin tootin around
Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away
As soon as the movie was over
We’d all hit the trail
To warn the engine driver
The outlaws were on his tail
And when we reached the Glen River
We’d climb to the top of the ridge
Then all shout Geronimo
And tumble down to the bridge
So take me back Gary Copper
Take me back John Wanye
Back to the days before colour
When cowboys rode the range
Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away
Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away
I met this old man years ago
Who read maps like they were books
With watery eyes and preachers’ hands
And a gentle long lost look
He’d run his fingers along the rivers
The mountains and contours
Reliving all his journeys
The straight lines and detours
He worked his life in Canada
A map maker to trade
And had a copy safely stored
Of each map he ever made
One time while I was there
He took one down
Pointed to a place
This village back in 54
Was the first time I saw her face
And here’s where we honeymooned
In September that same year
In a little West Coast Guest House
We found which wasn’t dear
Then with a slow and half bent finger
He traced for me his life
As he took me on his journey
Mapping Canada with his wife
As it got dark he fell asleep
And I slipped out the door
But sadly due to circumstance
I never saw him any more
He worked his life in Canada
A map maker to trade
And had a copy safely stored
Of each map he ever made
Now and then he’d take one out
Settle in his fireside chair
Pour himself a memory
And his wife would soon be there
Pour himself a memory
And his wife would take him home.
She’s the one in the backrow
Pulling a funny face
Climbing over the playground wall
Dirty knees and an untied lace
She’s the one splashed out in red
When everyone’s in grey
Who never takes the easy road
when she sees a better way
While everyone is falling
She is learning how to fly
She’s my daisy in December
My snowdrop in July
She’s the one with the smile
That lights up every room
Dances in her petticoat
On a Tuesday afternoon
She’s the one they cannot change
No matter how they try
And when your world’s come crashing down
She’s the one still standing b
While everyone is falling
She is learning how to fly
She’s my daisy in December
My snowdrop in July
Drinking Hurricanes on Bourbon Street
French Quarter Downtown New Orlean
Listening to lazy Louisiana blues
In the hotel Ragtime Rendevous
Part of me thought I will confess
This aint whisky this aint Inverness
These aint fiddles accordions or guitars
This aint jumping like the Gellions’ Bar
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could
Walking down 5th heading for Times Square
Giant faced billboards everywhere
Pavements thick with billowing steam
Big yellow taxis in a constant strea,
Part of me thought as I looked around
This aint Glasgow this aint my town
And where is the Duke
With the cone on his head
I wish I was walking through Glasgow instead
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could
Lying on a beach in Frenchman’s Cove
Reggae band playing One Love
The sun was shining the weather sweet
I felt I’d moved to Sunshine Street
Part of me thought as the sun rose higher
These aint the sands at Luskentyre
There aint miles of turquoise sea
Or Hebridean tranquillity
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could
I was ten summers old
When he first lowered me down
1000 feet below
Waves fought the rocks
Sea spray upon my face
His rope tied round my waist
My father standing strong
Bound to one another
I can hear them still
Their cries lie
On the hill
Gannet Fulmar and the Gull
Seabirds of St Kilda
Remembering
St Kilda
As if I ever would forget
I could barely stand up straight
Working at a terrible rate
Passing to my father’s hand
Fruits of the air
And though I was but a kid
I knew the work we did
Would see the village through
Maybe one last winter
The pull upon the rope
The slippery sliding slope
The words my father spoke
Stood with me forever
Remembering
St Kilda
And the cliffs of Connacher
1000 years away
Is where I lie today
Far from the crags and cliffs
We climbed that day
We faced the wind and sea
My father the rope and me
I knew what I must do
For St Kilda
Remembering
St Kilda
And the Cliffs of Connacher
Remembering
St Kilda
As if I ever would forget
Big Red was a painter
In our town
He painted houses all around
And he loved homers
Lockins and all nighters
And village hall dances
And we all knew him
And were scared off him until we knew him
And its got me to thinking
And its got me to thinking
Was he the Last of the Stornoway C Coves
Big Red was a Teddy Bear
In our town
He loved to go dancing on his own
Come Saturday night you’d find him
Standing tall on the last bus home
Growling at everyone
Shouting at no one
Words I’d not understand
And it could have been poetry
It might have been poetry
For all we knew
And it got me to thinking
It got me to thinking
Was he the Last of the Stornoway Coves
Big Red was a legend
In our town
One of our own no longer around
And we all had our stories
So many stories
Of this gentleman
And it got me to thinking
And it got me to thinking
And it got me to thinking
Does anyone know anyone anymore
Does anyone know anyone anymore
Than from a distance
Than from a distance
Than from a distance
Than from a distance
Go to sleep my little angel
Go to sleep my little one
As I cradle your soft head
And we walk round your room
May you sleep until the sun rise
Sees off the yellow moon
Don’t you rush now to grow up
Cause that happens all too soon
I don’t know what lies before you
As you sleep safe in your bed
But know I’ll be there for you
And whatever lies ahead
And I feel your baby breath
As I lay you gently down
May your dreams be of rainbows
And pink fluffy clouds
May the sun in every sunrise
Put a smile upon your face
And may that smile stay with you
For all your days
I don’t know what lies before you
As you sleep safe in your bed
But know I’ll be there for you
And whatever lies ahead