The black Skyeman

"He used to be a singer in his younger days, and a notable piper, too, but his voice was old and cracked now and the rheumatics had put an end to his piping for good a matter of seven years before. Only once had he put finger to reed since then and that was five years back when he had the argument with the black Skyeman about a tune."

"Sometimes, too, the argument would get hot enough in a friendly kind of way, and if it was about piping it would end by someone taking down the pipes and striding out to the patch of grass at the side of the shop with the whole company trooping at his heels, all except old Iain Mor himself who sat in his chair and bent an attentive ear. Every now and then someone would come in to tell the stage of the argument and demand his opinion, which he would then carry out to the men at the gable, who would pause in their arguing to listen and then be at it again. At times a whole evening would be passed in this way, the men arguing at the end of the house and only pausing now and again when someone took the pipes and stepped aside to play over a part of the tune to illustrate some technical matter, and he as like as not continuing the discussion for a bit with the bag hanging limp and the chanter held ready between his teeth."

The Albannach, Finn Mac Colla, 1932

Yes - it really does say that the chanter is between his teeth!

Old times

"The folks were a lusty race in those old times, with a song never far from the lips and feet ever itching to be at the dancing. And the fine piping there must have been! But then the dark days came, with a new kind of religion that changed the old ways, stopped the song on the lip, and let the wind out of the pipes with a squealing of drones. Then the folks began going abroad till none were left but the old people and bairns."

The Albannacb, Fionn Mac Colla, 1932

The first cause

"The First Cause or Unmoved First Mover - we must forget the infinitely subjective and question-begging term 'God', and for a thousand years! - the Ground of all Being or Creative Absolute - as some moderns are calling it, the Ultimate Reference - is in piobaireachd, as it never was in Calvinist theory..."

Fionn Mac Colla (aka Thomas MacDonald), introduction to The Albannach.

Fantasy album

This is pretty much what I played this afternoon.

Bloody Fields of Flanders/Hills of Perth
I think of this as the geography set because it has fields and hills, but it's also a homecoming, from Flanders fields to Perthshire. I really need to record this pair.

The Highland Brigade at Magersfontein/Heroes of Vittoria
The heroes set.

Women of the Glen/Sound of Sleat
Geography again - glens and sounds. Probably I should record this again, as hopefully it's in better shape than it was back in January.

John Macmillan of Barra/South Georgia Whaling Song
Always known to me as Father John's Boat Trip.

My Home Town
Because travel and being away and homecoming all imply the existence of a home.

Heroes of St Valery/Heights of Dargai/The Shores of Loch Bee/Flett from Flotta
This was a rather marathon set, the pipe equivalent of the rather indulgent guitar solo adding 20 minutes to an otherwise run of the mill tune. A heroes' homecoming set, this, from St Valery and Dargai back to the shores of a loch and a Scottish Island. To be honest it's rather too long, and I am still not sure about the Dargai/Bee/Flett combination.

Bonus track was Amazing Grace, which I suppose is a spiritual homecoming.  Clearly the album will be called No Place Like Home and the cover will feature my feet wearing ruby slippers. Now I just need to consider who I might recruit for backing...!

Don't I know you?

Pottering round this evening, spending time doing nothing much, and I've put on some music to help things along. It's Piob is Fidheall, which I haven't listened to much in a while.

I was pottering around making a cup of tea, enjoying the tunes when I heard one that I tuned into immediately, because it's one I'm playing at the moment: Hills of Perth. Which puzzled me, because I didn't think Perth was listed in the booklet. Sure enough, there is no mention of Perth, and the first tune on track 7 is down as Donnie MacQueen's. 

No further information is given about the tune in the CD booklet, other than that it was in a manuscript belonging to Duncan Currie of South Uist. Duncan is described as "an ancestor", but no clue is given to dates.

Hmm, further investigation leads me to the website of Cranford Publishing, where a listing of tunes for the CD gives the opener on track 7 as Hills of Perth aka Donnie MacQueen's. Perhaps Duncan Currie meant to indicate it was a tune he learned from Donnie, presumably before it was published by John Wilson, or, indeed, by the LBPS. No clue as to the identity of Donnie, who was presumably more formally Donald, and South Uist, judging by a quick trawl of the web, has had its share of Donald MacQueens over the years.

Slow down, you move too fast

After what feels like a piping lifetime of trying to play ever faster, I am starting to appreciate the slow. I've been hearing tunes that are played more slowly than "my" version (Shores of Loch Bee, South Georgia Whaling Song, Flett  from Flotta). I've been playing tunes that I feel need to be taken slowly (Flanders Fields). I've also been going back to tunes I feel I am, not exactly struggling with, but failing to get comfortable with (Troy's Wedding, Braemar Gathering, Sound of Sleat), despite the fact that I've been playing them, off and on, for quite some time now. 

It's possible that I may speed them up again when I'm ready, but at the moment I feel that a slower pace gives me more control. It stops me tensing fingers, rushing through bits I'm not confident on, messing up the timing. It allows me to concentrate more - or perhaps I just have to concentrate more in order to bring the speed down, and that's why the problems slip away. I'm not sure that this is going to fix things, but these are three tunes I would very much like to have settled into my session repertoire.

I do wonder to what extent my "slow" is actually faster than the "fast" I used to play. Speed is relative. 30mph seems reasonable from a standing stop, a little odd if you're slowing from 70mph as you come off a dual carriage way and, if you are actually travelling along that dual carriage way with traffic tearing by at 70mph, 80mph or more, positively suicidal.

Ch-ch-changes

Sunday’s session was quite different from usual. It didn’t get off to a good start: when we arrived the TV was on and a crowd sat around watching the football and providing a very vocal commentary. We sat at the other end of the pub with a drink each and waited. Eventually the match finished, and the pub emptied out, most people preferring to sit out, and we had our usual corner.

The Northumbrian piper arrived with his wife, who doesn’t play, but she settled down on a sofa by our table and we had a bit of general chitchat between tunes, which slowed the pace. A little later a new fiddle player joined us. He was a young chap, keen, really only starting to come into Irish trad, so not with a large repertoire. He’d sought us out as a change from the usual English/Morris sessions in the area, and he joined in the discussion as well as the music. With the general chat and with the youngster coming and going (he had friends elsewhere in the pub) it had more of the feel of a social evening with music, which was very relaxing.

Somehow we fell to taking it in turns to lead a set, which isn’t something we normally do, and not something I normally enjoy, but it worked well. I played My Home Town, Father John/Whaling Song (the latter rather faster than intended), and Dargai/Flett (with a micropause between the two as I weighed up the risks of plunging into Loch Bee). I twice failed to get passed the first half of the A part of Magersfontein and ended up with Women instead (I didn’t even consider trying Sleat on the end). I played a rather tatty King, partly, I felt, because I was expecting everyone to join in and no one did, and partly perhaps because I was nearing the end of a half of Woodford Wherry  having already had a half of St Austel Tribute.

The pub was empty for most of the evening, then a large and lively young crowd came in, and although they generally talked loudly through all but a song they applauded each set enthusiastically.

The same barman seems to be on duty whenever we are there. He’s rather laid back, never gives the impression of expecting us, or even really recognising us, and has a faint air of surprise about him whenever we order drinks. On Sunday he was rather chatty, and thanked us for saving him from the football, which he hadn’t been enjoying.

Sound of silence

I spent June learning one or two new tunes, but generally polishing existing tunes. I had intended to make recordings, to demonstrate progress, to spur me on. Somehow I didn't get round to it.

Today promised bright and has turned grey and damp, so rather than go to the plot for more harvesting and weedicide I got my pipes out. I think this recent flurry of activity is in part due to the knowledge that tomorrow is a session, the first since July, and I'm afraid of sounding rusty.

So, pipes - and recorder (as in, recording machine, not the instrument). I intended perhaps to do Flanders/Perth and Flanders/Valery in the hope I could decide which is the better pairing. I played this and that by way of warm up, including a reasonably tidy effort on Women/Sleat, which I didn't record because I wasn't expecting it to work. My right hand has a tendency to tense during Sleat, and my bellows tend to slip, which suggests to me that I am not yet comfortable with the tune and am hunching myself up, which, of course, makes things worse.

I had a dry run on Flanders, which I was pleased with, then hit the red button and messed the tune up three times, and several more times after that, even when I'd given up in recording. In the end, thinking I'd have nothing to show for my efforts, I recorded Magersfontein/Vittoria forgetting that it's not five minutes since I last recorded them.

I still feel that my repertoire seems to have hit some sort of steady state whereby new tunes edge out older ones. I've been humming Athol Highlanders, stumbled on the dots for Troy, which I think I had forgotten I ever knew, hardly think to play Braemar (which still needs work), actually had to check the dots before I could play Rowan Tree or Galloway.


Check this out on Chirbit

Signs and portents

I’ve got a bird feeder just outside the kitchen window. It doesn’t often get used while I am in the kitchen: our local bird population seems to be rather wary, although the robin and blackbird will eat if I stay reasonable still. The doves are a different matter. They seem to make a point of looking into the kitchen to see me. I imagine they are trying to catch my attention to encourage me to bring food out: they look at the empty tray and cock their heads at me. If I do have something to take out for them I often hear a “coo!” as I walk up to the feeder, which always sounds to me like a “here she comes!”

Once a dove could barely wait until I was out of the way and in her excitement (I always seem to assume that doves are female) she almost flew into me. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised. When I get back into the kitchen the doves will be picking over the food, throwing the larger pieces onto the floor. They will catch my eye, and I feel as though they are thanking me for their dinner.

Yesterday I picked up my pipes. I’d been humming Flanders all day and was sure I could play it. I couldn’t identify the opening note and by the time I’d got it wrong two or three times I’d lost the tune entirely, so swung into a nice rendering of Perth instead. After that I began on what I thought was St Valery. The A part went well, but the B part felt all funny and fizzled out. I struck up the A part again – and that was the moment I realised that I was playing Flanders, not Valery at all. Often when I confuse two tunes it seems a good sign that they might go together, so once I’d gone through Flanders a few times I went straight into St Valery, and that seemed to work very well. I’d been looking for a partner for St Valery, so am glad to have found one – it’s just a shame that Flanders already had a partner in Perth. I suppose they could make a threesome, but that would be a rather lengthy set. I will have to see.

And is this sudden garrulousness a sign that I was wrong to think this blog has outgrown its use? We shall see…