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Dan Houghton is a gifted Scottish Traditional musician. He plays Scottish Highland bagpipes, smallpipes, flute guitar and bouzouki both as a soloist and as a member of Cantrip, Pipers' Den and several other well known bands.  He has had a profound impact on audiences throughout Britain, The Continent and North America. His range of talent, both on and off stage, has made him a true force to be reckoned with in the celtic music scene. Listen to his most recent work below:

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Notes on Hunting Season 9th December 2020

I remember hearing a song many years ago which I, in my juvenile innocence, assumed to concern two of the thickest people on the face of 
: Le fils du Roi...etc. Avec son beau fusil d’argent Visa le noir tua le blanc O fils du Roi tu es méchant D'avoir tué mon canard blanc Par dessous l'aile il perd son sang Et de ces yeux des diamants Et de son bec l'or et l'argent Et tous ces plumes s'en vont au vent Nous nous ferrons un lit de camp Nous coucherons tous deux dedans Et nous aurons des p’tits enfants Behind our house there was a pond Where on three ducks went swimming The King’s son went hunting With his beautiful silver rifle He took aim at the black one but killed the white O son of the king you are a bad person For having killed my white duck It bleeds from under its wing And from its eyes fall diamonds And from its beak, gold and silver And all its feathers scattered on the wind And we will make ourselves a camp bed We will lie in it together
And we will have children. Molly Bán Come all ye brave heroes who handle a gun Beware of night ramblin’ by the setting of the sun. And be aware of an accident that happened of late To young Molly Bán and sad was her fate. She was going to her uncle’s when a shower came on She went ’neath a green bush the shower to shun. With her apron ’around her he took her for a swan It’s a sob and a sigh it was Oh! Oh! Molly Bán. He quickly ran to her and saw that she was dead And it’s many’s a salt tear on her bosom he shed He went home to his father with his gun in his hand Crying father, dear father, I have shot Molly Bán. I have shot that young colleen I have taken the life Of the one I intended to take for my wife. Oh Johnny, young Johnny, do not run away Don’t you leave your own country till your trial day. Don’t you leave your own country till your trial comes on For you’ll never be convicted for the loss of a swan. The night before Molly’s funeral her ghost it did appear Saying mother, dear mother, young Johnny he’s clear. I was going to my uncle when a shower came on But tell him he’s forgiven by his own Molly Bán. The girls in this country they are all very glad Since the pride of Glen Allen, Molly Bán is now dead. The girls in this country stand them all in a row Molly Bán would shine above them like a mountain of snow. From the singing of Norman Kennedy Fowl Jimmy(?) So come all you bold sportsmen That carry a gun For I will have you go home By the light of the sun For young Jimmy was a-fowling, Was a-fowling alone When he shot his own truelove In the from of a swan. So then first he went to her, And found it was she He was shaking and tremb-e-ling, His eyes scarce could see So now you are dead, love, And your sorrows are o’er Fare thee well, my dear Polly, I shall see you no more. Then home went young Jimmy With his dog and his gun Saying: Uncle, dear Uncle, Have you heard what I’ve done? Curséd be this old gunsmith That made me this gun For I’ve shot my own true-love In the form of a swan. Then out came bold Uncle With his locks hanging grey Saying, Jimmy, dear Jimmy, Don’t you run away Don’t you leave your own count-e-rie Till the trial comes on For you ne’er shall be hanged For the crime you have done. Now the trial came on and Pretty Polly appeared Saying, Uncle, dear Uncle, Let Jimmy go clear For my apron was wrapped round me When he took me for a swan And his poor heart lay bleeding For Polly his own....
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