Pam Stucky over at P as in Pterodactyl posted some shots of her trip to Inishmore, and I couldn’t help but follow suit. My trip was in June 2001 with my friends Cian and Pio. Our seaside B&B came with its own cattle, and the bean an tí (woman of the house) informed us when we checked in that there was no need to give us keys, as the house was never locked.
We spent a lovely overcast afternoon walking the length of the island to Dún Aengus. I had been to the Cliffs of Moher in the past and watched in a mixture of terror and envy as people would lie down and peer over the edge. Since the three of us were the only people at Dún Aengus that day, I decided to finally try it. I lay down and peered further and further over the edge, watching waves crash against the rock below. Probably about a minute passed until fear took over and I scrambled back toward a wider patch of solid ground. I still get chills today just thinking about it.
Later that night, we went to a quiet pub on the island where Cian and Pio had a great chat as Gaeilge with one of the island’s elders and I tried to catch a word here and there. And even though Liam Ó Maonlaí wasn't singing sean nós in the pub, this clip might give you a feel for the kind of evening we had.
Before I went to Ireland, I would listen to traditional music and imagine myself standing on a green, windswept hillside, with the sound of pipes in the distance and smoke rising out of the chimney of a charming cottage nearby. I thought of high kings at the Hill of Tara and great legendary and mythical figures: Brian Ború, Cúchulainn, Queen Medb. And I dreamed of standing at a cliff’s edge, gazing resolutely into the distance, while waves crashed into the rocks below.
Imagine my satisfaction when I went to Ireland and was able to live out all of these visions — with a few alterations, of course. There was plenty of standing on green, windswept hillsides, though it lacks a certain something without the pipes and the cozy cottage setting. It doesn’t take long before you start to feel like an idiot for being cold and windswept (and most likely rained on) when any sane person is in the pub having a pint.
I also spent one glorious summer afternoon at the Hill of Tara, seat of the ancient high kings, which turned out to be a set of otherwise unremarkable undulating hills situated next to a busy visitor’s center. And none of my fantasies had involved the swarming masses of tourists always present at the Cliffs of Moher — except for the time I went in January and the wind blew so hard, you had to be especially careful not to get too close to the edge. There’s no resolute gazing when you’re gripping a rock wall in terror. (My friend might look happy in this photo, but I’m sure he was terrified on the inside.)
All of this is the long way around to saying that having a crush on a country is a bit like having a crush on a person. The better you get to know it, the more it will disappoint and delight you in unexpected ways. The end result may be even better than what you originally dreamed of, but it is still different, and something to get used to.
Listening to Colm Mac Con Iomaire’s version of “Cúirt Bhaile Nua (The Court of New Town)” brings back all those old dreams and visions. Which I don’t think is such a bad thing after all. They represent a longing to connect with a place, or a period of time, or a people that might not really exist anymore, except in a spirit that you can still sense in intangible ways — or in tangible cultural elements that remain with us thanks to artists like Colm.
Gaeilge (Irish) is also one of those things that, to put it plainly, I love about Ireland. Colm, who is also the violinist for The Frames and The Swell Season, tells a lovely story as Gaeilge (in Irish) about the title of his solo album, The Hare’s Corner, in this video from TG4.
Finally, in the clip below, you’ll notice that Colm says that this song is typically sung unaccompanied in the sean nós (old style) tradition. So please also be sure to check out the second video as well — an amazing clip of Nora McDonagh singing “Cúirt Bhaile Nua” as Gaeilge. The two songs actually sound nothing alike, but I’m taking it on faith that they’re two versions of the same beautiful thing.
Last weekend, even though it was hot as blazes where we are, my husband and I ventured away from our air conditioning to check out a music festival downtown. Turns out it was well worth the trip, as we discovered Vishtèn, a Canadian band.
I might’ve said simply that Vishtèn plays traditional Irish music, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. Prince Edward Island and the Magdalen Islands are the places that the members of Vishtèn call home. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what this meant in terms of their influences. But as their website explains, “the sound is essentially Celtic but with a difference.” I love the fact that they don’t even try to explain what the difference is. As if they’re saying, “Just listen. You’ll see.”
All the elements of traditional Irish music are there — fiddle, guitar, accordion, penny-whistle, piano, and bodhrán — and the women in the group did some step dancing during songs. But I did notice some differences, too, though I’ve struggled to pinpoint exactly what they are. They sing in French; that’s an obvious one. But there is something else. The music seemed lighter, brighter than traditional Irish music somehow. A bit less intense than, say, the Chieftains. A bit less mournful, maybe. It made me think of sunny blues and greens, and clear, cold mornings — though this may be because I go to Canada every summer, at a crystal lake where we fish alongside herons and the air is always fresh.
Even so, Vishtèn’s music still evokes all the things that I associate with traditional Celtic music: sitting with friends in a pub in Galway on bitterly cold nights. Clutching a pint of Guinness, clouds of cigarette smoke hanging over our heads. It makes me think of wool sweaters. Rain lashing against the windows.
Come to think of it, that’s not so far from the atmosphere we found in Nova Scotia. Normal people go to the Bahamas on their honeymoon, but not my husband and me. Instead, we huddled into each other at a table in an Irish pub in Halifax, eating fish and chips and looking out at the gray, rainy October afternoon. So maybe I should let that guide my associations with Acadian music. After all, I suspect you can find more elements of Acadian culture in Nova Scotia than my lakeside village in Ontario.
In any case, it’s been interesting to learn more about the Irish/Celtic diaspora and all the people and places that have been influenced by this amazing culture. Even more important, it’s always fun to have a good set to stomp your feet to.
