They all rolled over

I  need a memory upgrade. I realise that I am, reasonably succesfully, playing my new tunes: Valery, Perth, Flanders. If I rack my brains I also play Magersfontein, although now that it's definitely a set with Vittoria it almost counts as a new tune.

Then there is Flett, maybe Father John and Whaling Song. After that I, have to think, to check my note book, to see that there is also Bee, King, Dargai, Bonnie Galloway, McIntyre's Farewell, Rowan Tree, My Home Town... Even the recent pairing of Women and Sleat gets forgotten. And that's without thinking about the eternally unfinished Miss Girdle, Braemar, Wedding or any of the other tunes that I can play, or at least used to be able to play.

My musical brain is clearly less like Spotify and more like a juke box or old fashioned CD changer with room only for a fixed, and rather small, number of tunes. It's reasonably easy to slot a new one in, but in order to do so I have to take another one out.

As you were

I haven't played for a while. As ever I have nothing much else to show for the lapse: still only on row 69 of the endless knitting project, weeds flourishing at the allotment, can't remember when I last completed a crossword, although I have been reading quite a lot of late.

Whatever the reason it's about two weeks since I last strapped on my pipes so I did so this evening with some trepidation. I worried that my new tunes might have melted in the recent heat, and that those I had polished would have tarnished.

As it turned out the first tune that came to my fingers was Flanders, which I thought I had forgotten entirely. After that everything came tumbling out: Perth, Valery, Vittoria, Flett, Dargai, Home Town, Sleat, Bonnie Galloway, Father John, Whaling Song. I had a couple of glitches in Women and Bee, which also needed a couple of goes to start it, but everything else seemed pretty much as I had left it. I even got the buzz....

Five things - songs

I used to prefer songs , as I've mentioned before. I suppose it's easier to be exposed to songs than to tunes, the repetition of chorus aids memorability, songs are maybe less challenging than tunes because we're all familiar with words.

I suppose, as well, that as a Literature student I've always been drawn to lyrics, to words. In folk, however, the songs tend to be ballads, my least favourite wodge of the poetry spectrum. They tell often unlikely stories in a simple manner: there's not a whole lot of metaphor, striking imagery, or other literary tricks. 

That said, I am reasonably intrigued by songs that have clearly changed over time, split, or merged, maybe got a little garbled along the way. I like the way that songs - stories - travel, and each place they come to changes them, so that the story suits the locality. I suppose ballads are a form of urban legend, and urban legends never tell tales of long ago in a far off land: the whole point is that this happened to my neighbour's sister's cousin. Somehow we feel that a story must be true when it has happened so near to us. Not only could it be true, but the same thing could happen to us. We want our musical stories to feel local, relevant.

If I listed all the CD tracks I skip on every playing, on repeat playings, or when I have the CD on permanent loop every last one of those tracks would be songs. They aren't all bad. Here are five I don't really tire of.

Road to Drumleman. (Ossian - Seal Song.) There is nothing like a tale of homesickness, the wonders of the old land, to bring out the Celt in me. I love the rather domestic scale of this: it's not mountains and drama he misses, but the people, and the chance of "a dram and a wee cup of tea". 

Rosie Anderson. (Smalltalk - Smalltalk) I love some of the marvellous turns of phrase in this: "I'm all in to surprise he said” and “I only brought her safely home from the dangers on the way”. Like many sad songs, it seems, it closes with a repeat of the opening, just to remind you of the pleasant days that have gone, the days when Hay Marshall loved Rosie as his life. There's also a comic note, as in all the best tragedies, with Rosie on the lookout for an officer, her "broken heart to cheer". It's rather reminiscent of Lydia Bennet.  Note, also, the Jean Redpath version (linked from the song title) has an extra  verse about Rosie's maid, and that the errant Rosie "played the loon" after a month in London, whereas Billy Ross has her languishing long enough in London ("months but barely  nine") to have "gotten a son".

Cruel Lowland Maid. (Caladh Nua - Next Stop). This is a bit of a cheat because it’s the tune I love, all boppy and uplifting, despite the grim tale of murder, with a cheerful "whoop!" at the end to underline the hanging of the cruel lowland maid. 

Bonnie Earl of Moray. (Jock Tamson's Bairns - Rare). Another where the tune is almost the main draw, the lovely Swedish tune that the Bairns use for it, the interesting arrangement with the song surrounded by tune. And again the conceit of coming back at the end to the beginning, although here not reminding us of good times before the tragedy, but just underlining again the woefulness of the situation. This, of course, is the song that gave the world the Mondegreen.

Little Musgrave. (Billy Ross - Shore Street). I've heard Fairport sing Little Matty Groves unplugged. In their hands it's a rock anthem with a twist each time ("How do you like my brand new curtains, that I got in Ikea last week?" was one memorable lyric variation). It's different each time, and it's lots of fun. Little Musgrave is an Appalachian version, a sweet and sorry tale. There seems to be lots of other verions of this, and much discussion about its history. It's an English song, though, no links to Scotland at all, it seems.

Andy Murray's Compliments to Centre Court

If I was going to write a tune it would be a nice three-parter in honour of the fact that someone managed to get some stuff on his to do list done this weekend.

I only managed 20 minutes piping while waiting for dinner to move from one stage to the next of cooking. I also piled through a mountain of ironing, got some washing done, laid down a path in the fruit cage, planted out brassicas and tagetes and watched some other British sporting success.

You win some

The fan was a bit late home this evening, and, as often seems to happen when he's late, I was able to leave early. Still, it gave me a bit of piping time, unhurried by dinner on the hob.

All my tunes were there, including Flanders. Bellows were awkward again, so that I have to shrug them round my body as I play. I don't seem to be leaning my wrist on them, but I get tingling and numbness in the little finger of my right hand. I also feel as though my piles are slipping down, and in fact they sometimes do slip and then stock and drones press uncomfortably on my front.

Despite this I got the buzz this evening, and the chanter felt alive under my fingers. It doesn't seem to affect, or be affected by, how I play, but it does gladden my heart.

Andy has been winning some. Hope he can avoid losing some.

The Djokovic moment

I meant to play yesterday but somehow didn't find the time. I played today before we went out, Dargai, Flett, Flanders, Perth (which is going through a tendency to muddle the opening of the A and B parts), St Valery.

I got to the session and was asked about the pipes, so explained, failed twice to get past the second bar of Dargai and played a messy version of Flett. Then I sat down and failed to get past the A part of Flanders, cravenly citing concerns with my drones...and this was before anyone else turned up.

I couldn't think of any tunes, the fan offered The King, but I lost track of it, twice, and crashed out. I kept thinking how badly I'd been playing, which made me bad-tempered. Later I tried Home Town, but my bellows weren't right, and I was pumping too much, which bothered me. I felt a little better having got to the end. I suppose it's like being two sets down and suddenly taking a set: a chance to focus on the set you took, the things you can do. But the things I apparently couldn't do niggled away.

Later on - it wasn't easy to get in between the two fiddle players - I played Father Macmillan and Whaling Song, which was too fast, mostly because I felt as thought my bellows were slipping down and wanted to get to the end before I lost them. Then another abortive attempt at Flanders, which I blamed on the fan's backing distracting me. The crosser I got with myself the worse I played, the worse I played the crosser I got.

My other Djokovic moment was wondering whether a month needs to be a calendar month. I've been trying to catch up at the plot this weekend and wonder whether June just isn't the right time to focus on something else. On the other hand knitting and some domestic issues have also taken up my time since early May. May itself would be no good as we are sometimes away at half term, April can be complicated by Easter, we often take holiday at the end of July...

I just need more days in the week...

And one for luck

I played this evening. I can hardly believe it's July. It's cool, damp and grey. The onions at the plot are rotting in the ground, half the strawberries have turned to mush. There's been so little play at Wimbledon that they are pondering play on the middle Sunday. I'd pipe more, only my hands are too cold.