"On Top of Old Smoky" is a traditional folk song and a well-known ballad of the United States which, as recorded by The Weavers, reached the pop music charts in 1951.
- On top of Old Smoky, all covered with snow
- I lost my true lover, for courtin' too slow...
Old Smoky may be a high mountain somewhere in the Ozarks or the central Appalachians, as the tune bears the stylistic hallmarks of the Scottish and Irish people who settled the region. Possibilities include Clingmans Dome, named "Smoky Dome" by local Scots-Irish inhabitants, but exactly which mountain it is may be lost to antiquity.
It is unclear when, where and by whom the song was first recorded. Pete Seeger modified a version that he learned in the Appalachians, writing new words and banjo music. He said that he thought that "certain verses go back to Elizabethan times." The sheet music for the song credited Seeger for "New words and music arrangement". The liner notes identify an early recording as the first, saying, "It was first recorded by George Reneau, "The Blind Musician of the Smoky Mountains," for Vocalion (Vo 15366) in 1925."
A popular recording done by The Weavers, using Seeger's arrangement, was made on February 21, 1951. It was released by Decca Records as catalog number 27515. It reached #2 on the Billboard chart and #1 on the Cash Box chart, and sold over a million copies. The song also became one of Burl Ives' signature songs, with his recording reaching #10 on the Billboard chart in 1951.
Most versions use the same melody and rhythm as "Down in the Valley", another traditional American folk song. One notable exception is a version By Dave Van Ronk on his album, The Mayor of McDougal Street: Rarities 1957-1969. This version sounds much more Celtic in nature, with more vocal ornamentation and a looser rhythmic structure.
Read more about On Top Of Old Smoky: Use in Popular Culture, Use in Classical Music
Famous quotes containing the words top and/or smoky:
“In all her products, Nature only develops her simplest germs. One would say that it was no great stretch of invention to create birds. The hawk which now takes his flight over the top of the wood was at first, perchance, only a leaf which fluttered in its aisles. From rustling leaves she came in the course of ages to the loftier flight and clear carol of the bird.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“We are wearied of our huts
And the smoky smell of our garments.
We are sick with desire of the sun
And the grass on the mountains.”
—Unknown. The Grass on the Mountain (l. 11–14)