The fan and I are an old fashioned couple in many ways...and bang up to date in others. It's not unusual for him to call out from the room where he is sitting at the PC that he has sent me an email, which I will then look at on my Galaxy.
Thankfully these emails aren't asking me if I'd like a cup of tea, have remembered to wash some shirts, or have had a good day: there are limits to our modernity. Generally they are links to a video, a review, a blog post or an article. Ages ago we'd had ongoing discussons about anthropology and ethnology, what they were, where they came from, what they covered, and what their academic value or standing might be. The fan went away, did some further reading, and emailed me a pile of links which, what with one thing and another, I just didn't get around to looking at until a week or two back.
In amongst the pile was an email with a link to details of a new CD: Highland Strands by Kevin Macleod. I at once trundled off to buy it (a bit of a challenge in itself: I don't know if they didn't press many copies or just sold out. Thankfully Coda could supply a copy.)
My copy arrived today and is well worth the effort to get hold of it. Kevin again plays a range of tunes, mostly Scottish, mostly pipe tunes, all on a range of stringed instruments. He returns to the Seaforth Highlanders for Fingals Weeping and The Women of the Glen, but also uses David Glen's 1882 collection. Retreats, marches, quicksteps and reels all get the string treatment, and I actually don't once regret the lack of pipes. I enjoy hearing pipe tunes from a different angle, as it were. It sheds new light on them and brings out the best in the strings.
There are new tunes, too, including some by Ian Hardie, Freeland Barbour and Allan MacDonald, among others. Kevin is also joined by other, mostly stringy, players: Freeland, John Martin of Ossian fame and Matheu Watson, to name but three, and Phil Smillie on flute. The, as ever, informative sleeve notes, include a picture of Kevin, John and Alec Finn playing at Sandy Bells two years ago. The fan, who once played there himself, looked upon this with awe and wondered how it would be to pop in for a wee dram and come across this trio. A wee dram and some of this music...a marriage made in Heaven, surely.
I ordered another Whistlebinkies album at the same time, and am giving that a first listen through as I type. It's unmistakably Whistlebinkies and sounding good so far.
Ramblings of an easily distracted learner piper
Thursday 26 March 2015
Monday 23 March 2015
Distractions
I am, as the subtitle of this blog makes clear, easily distracted from piping. There are always so many other things going on.
Yesterday I suferred a different kind of distraction when our small Irish/Scottish session had a few enthusiastic visitors... They had bongo-type drums, and wore Morris bells, and had wooden percussion frogs, whistles and a harmonica. They were transported, they said, by the music. They were amazed to discover that what we played wasn't, like, improvised. They played along with great gusto.
Good accompaniment isn't something you hear: like underwear it should just be there, doing the things it needs to do, and if you are aware of it that's normally a sign that something is wrong. (I suspect this also means that you - meaning me - tend not to appreciate good accompaniment.) When our usual bodhran player is there if I notice his playing at all it's a comforting thing (when I am playing, I mean: I listen differently when I am not playing). He gives shape to what I am playing, helps me keep time and concentrate on my playing.
An enthusiastic but, shall we say untutored, accompanist on the other hand.... I had to really struggle to remember how my tune went, which point I was at in the tune, the shape of the tune... It was very much like trying to concentrate on delivering some training while various parts of your underwear are riding up, slipping down, badly twisted, rubbing, or poking into your side (female underwear having a wide range of potential malfunctions and discomforts. This may not be such a useful analogy for the chaps.)
Still, I managed to keep going and covered up the fluffs, although I had to abandon any thought of going into a second tune. Something else I've learned, I suppose.
Yesterday I suferred a different kind of distraction when our small Irish/Scottish session had a few enthusiastic visitors... They had bongo-type drums, and wore Morris bells, and had wooden percussion frogs, whistles and a harmonica. They were transported, they said, by the music. They were amazed to discover that what we played wasn't, like, improvised. They played along with great gusto.
Good accompaniment isn't something you hear: like underwear it should just be there, doing the things it needs to do, and if you are aware of it that's normally a sign that something is wrong. (I suspect this also means that you - meaning me - tend not to appreciate good accompaniment.) When our usual bodhran player is there if I notice his playing at all it's a comforting thing (when I am playing, I mean: I listen differently when I am not playing). He gives shape to what I am playing, helps me keep time and concentrate on my playing.
An enthusiastic but, shall we say untutored, accompanist on the other hand.... I had to really struggle to remember how my tune went, which point I was at in the tune, the shape of the tune... It was very much like trying to concentrate on delivering some training while various parts of your underwear are riding up, slipping down, badly twisted, rubbing, or poking into your side (female underwear having a wide range of potential malfunctions and discomforts. This may not be such a useful analogy for the chaps.)
Still, I managed to keep going and covered up the fluffs, although I had to abandon any thought of going into a second tune. Something else I've learned, I suppose.
Sunday 22 March 2015
A waukin-o
Just reading Elizabeth Gaskells's letters and I've come across this version of words for Aye Waukin-o, which Ossian sing on Sealsong.
"Do you know 'Jess Macfarlane'? You ought to know it, it is so pretty, and some of the words have run in my head all evening
When first she came to town
They ca'ed her Jess Macfarlane
But now she's come and gane
They ca' her the wandering darling
I writ my luve a letter
But alas! she canna read -
And I like her a' the better.
I'm rather afraid I've heard somebody say it is not a proper song; but I don't know why it should not be for all I know of it, and I am sure my two verses are charming & innocent."
Elizabeth Gaskell to John Forster, 17 May 1854.
I imagine that "not a proper song" implies some impropriety in the story the song tells, rather than being a criticism of it as a musical piece. She doesn't mention how she knows it, although her eldest daughter studied singing. Mrs Gaskell mentions an awful lot of friends and visiting, a little about writing, a lot about travel and domestic arrangments, but this is the only mention I've come across of song lyrics.
"Do you know 'Jess Macfarlane'? You ought to know it, it is so pretty, and some of the words have run in my head all evening
When first she came to town
They ca'ed her Jess Macfarlane
But now she's come and gane
They ca' her the wandering darling
I writ my luve a letter
But alas! she canna read -
And I like her a' the better.
I'm rather afraid I've heard somebody say it is not a proper song; but I don't know why it should not be for all I know of it, and I am sure my two verses are charming & innocent."
Elizabeth Gaskell to John Forster, 17 May 1854.
I imagine that "not a proper song" implies some impropriety in the story the song tells, rather than being a criticism of it as a musical piece. She doesn't mention how she knows it, although her eldest daughter studied singing. Mrs Gaskell mentions an awful lot of friends and visiting, a little about writing, a lot about travel and domestic arrangments, but this is the only mention I've come across of song lyrics.
Sunday 15 March 2015
The plot thickens
I was a little bemused by the title of "Father" John Macmillan, associating, as I do, the title with the Catholic church, because I vaguely believe, inasmuch as I think about such things at all, that the Scottish Isles are generally non-conformist. However, Wikipedia tells me that over 70% of the population of Barra is Catholic. I've also managed, without much effort at all, to track down details of Father John, Catholic priest, born 1880, died 1951; writer of songs, singer, folklorist, popular priest, and friend to Compton Mackenzie, the author.
I'm having less luck finding out about Norman Macdonald of Broadford, Skye, who may, or may not, have written the tune and named it for Father John. Nor can I find anything to shed light on why Donald Macleod dropped "Father" from the title...or why Deaf Shepherd decided to add it, whichever the case may be.
The Whistlebinkies apparently play Father John on their album, Claddagh where they attribute it to Norman Macdonald and call it Father John. I don't have this album...yet. The review in Common Stock sheds no further light. I will have to check Synergy album notes when I am in the car.
I'm having less luck finding out about Norman Macdonald of Broadford, Skye, who may, or may not, have written the tune and named it for Father John. Nor can I find anything to shed light on why Donald Macleod dropped "Father" from the title...or why Deaf Shepherd decided to add it, whichever the case may be.
The Whistlebinkies apparently play Father John on their album, Claddagh where they attribute it to Norman Macdonald and call it Father John. I don't have this album...yet. The review in Common Stock sheds no further light. I will have to check Synergy album notes when I am in the car.
You don't know until you try
There was a time when part of what I was keen to learn, and to demonstrate I had learned, was the ability to play tunes from memory. I now know that, given time, I can indeed play (a handful) of tunes from memory. So these days when I set out to learn a tune I am not setting out to play it through without dots, so much as play it evenly, with the correct timings, appropriate gracing, decent speed and so on. I don't know that this has necessarily turned into a dependence on dots, but it has certainly led to a feeling that it's taking me an awful lot longer to learn tunes by heart.
Today, rather by accident, I discovered that I know the first two parts (all I am currently playing, partly because I'm not 100% sure of the timing in the other parts, and partly because two parts are easier to learn than four) of John Macmillan. I hadn't tried because I really thought I hadn't got it in my head at all, but there it wss.
This may be down to having put Synergy in the CD player in the car, where my feeling is that I play the track over and over and generally only notice the point at which the next tune in the set kicks off and I realise that I have missed John, again. Clearly it has sunk in, from listening, and from playing, and I have not lost my ability to grasp the basics of a tune within a week or two. I'm pleased that a reasonable amount of grace notes have been sucked into my playing memory with the main dots. I now need to improve what I have learned, especially the timing in the second part of the B part, and then consider learning the next two parts, and finding it a set partner.
The other thing I want to learn is the origin of the word "Father" in the title as listed on the CD. I have it on dots from the session, where perhaps it was picked up from Synergy. But why is it there on the CD? They have pipers, they must know Donald Macleod, which is where I have dots from (book 1). It's not a trad tune, with origins lost and titles confused over the years: Macleod attributes it clearly to Norman Macdonald, Glasgow. A bit of research required...
Still having problems with cold/numb right hand, positioning of bellows, and still sticking with D, having not played A at all since who knows when.
Today, rather by accident, I discovered that I know the first two parts (all I am currently playing, partly because I'm not 100% sure of the timing in the other parts, and partly because two parts are easier to learn than four) of John Macmillan. I hadn't tried because I really thought I hadn't got it in my head at all, but there it wss.
This may be down to having put Synergy in the CD player in the car, where my feeling is that I play the track over and over and generally only notice the point at which the next tune in the set kicks off and I realise that I have missed John, again. Clearly it has sunk in, from listening, and from playing, and I have not lost my ability to grasp the basics of a tune within a week or two. I'm pleased that a reasonable amount of grace notes have been sucked into my playing memory with the main dots. I now need to improve what I have learned, especially the timing in the second part of the B part, and then consider learning the next two parts, and finding it a set partner.
The other thing I want to learn is the origin of the word "Father" in the title as listed on the CD. I have it on dots from the session, where perhaps it was picked up from Synergy. But why is it there on the CD? They have pipers, they must know Donald Macleod, which is where I have dots from (book 1). It's not a trad tune, with origins lost and titles confused over the years: Macleod attributes it clearly to Norman Macdonald, Glasgow. A bit of research required...
Still having problems with cold/numb right hand, positioning of bellows, and still sticking with D, having not played A at all since who knows when.
Wednesday 11 March 2015
Grocer's apostrophe
Errors, typos and general idiocy on this blog aside, I generally notice grammatical and typographical howlers. I don't go looking for them: they throw themselves at me. I can't ignore them, because to me they are as obvious as a fox in a hen coop. They distract me, and if a book or article I am reading is full of misplaced apostrophes, or misused semi-colons it spoils my enjoyment of it.
The fan has a similar ability with music. He'll listen to me play a piece - even a piece he doesn't know - and he'll tell me that the timing must be wrong, because he can hear that I'm not playing a full bar somewhere, or I've got an extra beat. Recently he listened to me playing Horsburgh Castle and said I was playing an extra phrase somewhere. I was adamant that I was not, that I was following the dots, that all was well. We listened to Seudan play it. Sounded good to me, the fan was not convinced.
I went back to the dots, he listened, pinpointed the offending two notes, I looked at the dots *again*...and sure enough, he was quite right. In the B part I've been playing the first bar of the first ending at the start of the second ending. It really does amount to two notes. I'm still not sure that I can hear the difference, but the fan is happier. I'm not sure how you learn to hear the musical equivalent of the grocer's apostrophe, but I clearly need to.
It's harder by far to pick up errors in your own writing, I think because you are focussed on content and what you *think* you've written, because writing is only expressing visually that which is already in your head. I don't know if this pertains to music, too.
The fan has a similar ability with music. He'll listen to me play a piece - even a piece he doesn't know - and he'll tell me that the timing must be wrong, because he can hear that I'm not playing a full bar somewhere, or I've got an extra beat. Recently he listened to me playing Horsburgh Castle and said I was playing an extra phrase somewhere. I was adamant that I was not, that I was following the dots, that all was well. We listened to Seudan play it. Sounded good to me, the fan was not convinced.
I went back to the dots, he listened, pinpointed the offending two notes, I looked at the dots *again*...and sure enough, he was quite right. In the B part I've been playing the first bar of the first ending at the start of the second ending. It really does amount to two notes. I'm still not sure that I can hear the difference, but the fan is happier. I'm not sure how you learn to hear the musical equivalent of the grocer's apostrophe, but I clearly need to.
It's harder by far to pick up errors in your own writing, I think because you are focussed on content and what you *think* you've written, because writing is only expressing visually that which is already in your head. I don't know if this pertains to music, too.
Monday 9 March 2015
Tipping point
I’ve been playing Miss G, over and over, round and round, with dots and without, on her own, with other tunes. I’ve been playing fast and slow. The fast is getting faster, but it’s lacking the rhythm and the gracing of the slow. It also has some nasty crossing notes.
What I haven’t yet worked out is the speed at which slows tips into fast and the grace notes vanish and the different between long and short notes becomes infinitesimal (or possibly non-existent). Nor do I know if there is a fixed point at which slow, with its rhythm and gracing, becomes fast, or whether it’s movable, so that eventually I will be fast with rhythm and gracing.
Father John is definitely slow, and almost fully graced. I’ve hummed it once or twice, but generally struggle to bring it to mid at all. Not sure why. It’s a lovely tune, both to listen to and to play. I need to dig out Synergy and do some serious listening.
Tuesday 3 March 2015
Compliments to Duncan Chisholm
Yesterday the fan and I went to see Duncan Chisholm. Duncan brought a couple of his pals along. One was Jarlath Henderson (although the person behind me confidently told *his* pals that it was Ross Henderson...) The other was Matheu Watson. I'm not one to get excited about guitarists, but Matheu is a thoughtful accompanist. I know his work from James Duncan Mackenzie's CD. I nearly saw him once before as he was due to be at our local folk club with Emma Sweeney but he'd gone down with a bug and wasn't able to be there.
It was good to have another chance to see Jarlath in acton. He's a lovely piper. Sadly we heard less from him than the others. Some sets he sat out, some he only had a bar or two on whistle. It can't be easy sitting still under hot stage lights, listening for your cue for two bars, and it wasn't surprising when he started to yawn. Still, I think the evening would have been the less without his presence.
The Strathglass trilogy - and I think all of the music came from that - isn't really live gig, foot-tapping stuff (many of the rhythms are so complex that it feels next to impossible to tap along). It's thoughtful, quiet and dreamy music. Still, it was good to be able to see Duncan play. I think you understand someone's music differently when you've not just heard them but seen them too. Hearing tunes from all three albums in a different order from usual made me hear some of them afresh. Duncan also told some of the stories behind the tunes, and it was good to hear those as the sleeve notes on the albums are skimpy.
At the interval I screwed up my courage and went to speak to Duncan, who was, as is the way in our folk club, selling his CDs at a small table. I explained that I wasn't buying as I already own the set...but could I ask a question? He had talked about his sense of belonging to a place where his ancestors had lived for 800 years, about tbe trilogy expresing that place, about the Scottishness of it...and yet he had Irish pipes. Why? He said that it is very much because he loves the sound of Irish pipes, and also in part to do with the greater range of the instrument. I did suggest that Allan MacDonald, a set of small pipes and a wee smidgen of pibroch might have been a not unattractive addition to the trilogy...and he said yes, but he really did like Irish pipes. We shook hands and I left him selling CDs.
So now I know. In some ways I can't blame him. Irish pipes are lovely, and who wouldn't want an excuse to play music with Jarlath? But it seems very strange to me to use an instrument from another country to evoke your own country. I enjoyed the evening out, hearing the music, and speaking to Duncan, who did seem to be a really nice chap. I will be listening to the triology again soon. But as I listen and dream of Scotland I will cherish that vision of Duncan's fiddle lifting up its voice with Allan MacDonald's smallpipes in a reimagining of pibroch to recreate the heart and soul of the Scottish landscape.
It was good to have another chance to see Jarlath in acton. He's a lovely piper. Sadly we heard less from him than the others. Some sets he sat out, some he only had a bar or two on whistle. It can't be easy sitting still under hot stage lights, listening for your cue for two bars, and it wasn't surprising when he started to yawn. Still, I think the evening would have been the less without his presence.
The Strathglass trilogy - and I think all of the music came from that - isn't really live gig, foot-tapping stuff (many of the rhythms are so complex that it feels next to impossible to tap along). It's thoughtful, quiet and dreamy music. Still, it was good to be able to see Duncan play. I think you understand someone's music differently when you've not just heard them but seen them too. Hearing tunes from all three albums in a different order from usual made me hear some of them afresh. Duncan also told some of the stories behind the tunes, and it was good to hear those as the sleeve notes on the albums are skimpy.
At the interval I screwed up my courage and went to speak to Duncan, who was, as is the way in our folk club, selling his CDs at a small table. I explained that I wasn't buying as I already own the set...but could I ask a question? He had talked about his sense of belonging to a place where his ancestors had lived for 800 years, about tbe trilogy expresing that place, about the Scottishness of it...and yet he had Irish pipes. Why? He said that it is very much because he loves the sound of Irish pipes, and also in part to do with the greater range of the instrument. I did suggest that Allan MacDonald, a set of small pipes and a wee smidgen of pibroch might have been a not unattractive addition to the trilogy...and he said yes, but he really did like Irish pipes. We shook hands and I left him selling CDs.
So now I know. In some ways I can't blame him. Irish pipes are lovely, and who wouldn't want an excuse to play music with Jarlath? But it seems very strange to me to use an instrument from another country to evoke your own country. I enjoyed the evening out, hearing the music, and speaking to Duncan, who did seem to be a really nice chap. I will be listening to the triology again soon. But as I listen and dream of Scotland I will cherish that vision of Duncan's fiddle lifting up its voice with Allan MacDonald's smallpipes in a reimagining of pibroch to recreate the heart and soul of the Scottish landscape.
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