So, in between attending services for gramma, packing up things for the trip back, hurrying through some remote "oh my gosh we need it now" work from work, and making arrangements to visit one last Dixie Gal... comes the news that dear Miss D has spent a long hard night valiantly fighting a losing battle against Jack Frost at the ol' homeplace.
Miss D, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're a true treasure.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
"Celtic" lap harps, nylon and wire. Part I
So today I finally saw one of the last people I really, really wanted to see before leaving the south for Alaska again. She and I met at a Ren Faire we were both harping at once upon a time, and have been "music buddies" ever since. Today was no different as we sat in the back of the cafe we'd met at for lunch, gabbing about all manner of lifestuff while passing my little clarsach back and forth.
So that's what I want to ramble about today, a little old-fashioned bardtalk.
The clarsach: wirestrung harp of the Gaels.
See, the instrument is an interesting creature. Now they're fairly common, but in the just-pre-internet days we were both learning in they were quite rare. Even the nylon-strung folk harps we learned on were odd ducks back then - my own teacher and all her other students were straight out the classical concert harp tradition, a different beast entirely.
A short history then. That harp you see on the Guiness bottles has a long tradition in the Gaelic cultures of the British Isles - yes, Ireland especially. Back in the days of Elizabeth I and English occupation though, the Irish proved a mite cantankerous.
The English of the time understood one thing better I think than many do today - the importance of culture and its unifying force on a people. And so as to reduce native resitance to their occupation, they deliberately set out to crush the indigeous culture. Among the casualties of Irish-ness of the period was the harping tradition. In a strategy that would later be employed against uprising Scots, traditional tunes were proscribed, and instruments destroyed.
Some few survive in museums, but their prevalence was so much reduced that by the end of the 18th century, the old Irish harping tradition was effectively dead.
For a very long time then, "harp" meant the Classical pedal harp, that gigantic beast of an instrument with pedals at the base used in orchestral performance. Beloved traditions die hard though, and eventually the harp that once through Tara's hall the soul of music shed was resurrected.. after a fashion. Those full of romantic love of the past and local pride had pictures, and some few instruments extant - but the oral culture than produced it was gone. Further, the music itself was not what it once was*.
And so the instruments that resulted from the "neo-Celtic revival" period while superficially similar to their ancestors were quite a bit different in function. Accidentals (sharps and flats) were in the music now, so levers became necessary to replace the pedals of the concert harps. The strings were now gut (or later, nylon). The construction of the soundbox was a good deal lighter. Even the way they were played was different - the fingerpads instead of the nails are used, and the style borrows heavily from the "left hand chordal accompaniment, right hand melody" of basic piano playing.
All that's really started to change over the last decade or so though. I think honestly a lot of that is due to the web - now lots of folks scattered all over the place can reproduce the old instruments near as they can, see how they respond, and share what they discover. Students coming up now can learn straight from the folks who've handled near-perfect replicas of the originals, and no longer need struggle to adapt orchestral training to traditionally-styled, but essentially modern instruments.
So that brings us to today, and the two little harps we had with us.
One is a Stoney End "Brittany" model, nylon strung, no levers.
The other is a handmade clarsach, built by a local gentleman who lives out on his farm, doing as much as possible the old way - his instruments are entirely hand-built with good old fashioned human muscle power.
More of a compare and contrast at a later date - this has gotten long enough as it is. For now, suffice it to say they play very differently.
Part I: The modern Celtic harping tradition.
Part II: Playing differences, nylon and wire.
Part III: Choosing a Celtic harp.
------------------------
* The best way of explanation here is to say - listen to a few recordings of pre-bluegrass Old Time mountain fiddlers, then listen to Copland's "Appalachian Spring." You'll hear a lot of the same melodies, but the soul of the music is just lost entirely within the atmosphere.
So that's what I want to ramble about today, a little old-fashioned bardtalk.
The clarsach: wirestrung harp of the Gaels.
See, the instrument is an interesting creature. Now they're fairly common, but in the just-pre-internet days we were both learning in they were quite rare. Even the nylon-strung folk harps we learned on were odd ducks back then - my own teacher and all her other students were straight out the classical concert harp tradition, a different beast entirely.
A short history then. That harp you see on the Guiness bottles has a long tradition in the Gaelic cultures of the British Isles - yes, Ireland especially. Back in the days of Elizabeth I and English occupation though, the Irish proved a mite cantankerous.The English of the time understood one thing better I think than many do today - the importance of culture and its unifying force on a people. And so as to reduce native resitance to their occupation, they deliberately set out to crush the indigeous culture. Among the casualties of Irish-ness of the period was the harping tradition. In a strategy that would later be employed against uprising Scots, traditional tunes were proscribed, and instruments destroyed.
Some few survive in museums, but their prevalence was so much reduced that by the end of the 18th century, the old Irish harping tradition was effectively dead.
For a very long time then, "harp" meant the Classical pedal harp, that gigantic beast of an instrument with pedals at the base used in orchestral performance. Beloved traditions die hard though, and eventually the harp that once through Tara's hall the soul of music shed was resurrected.. after a fashion. Those full of romantic love of the past and local pride had pictures, and some few instruments extant - but the oral culture than produced it was gone. Further, the music itself was not what it once was*. And so the instruments that resulted from the "neo-Celtic revival" period while superficially similar to their ancestors were quite a bit different in function. Accidentals (sharps and flats) were in the music now, so levers became necessary to replace the pedals of the concert harps. The strings were now gut (or later, nylon). The construction of the soundbox was a good deal lighter. Even the way they were played was different - the fingerpads instead of the nails are used, and the style borrows heavily from the "left hand chordal accompaniment, right hand melody" of basic piano playing.All that's really started to change over the last decade or so though. I think honestly a lot of that is due to the web - now lots of folks scattered all over the place can reproduce the old instruments near as they can, see how they respond, and share what they discover. Students coming up now can learn straight from the folks who've handled near-perfect replicas of the originals, and no longer need struggle to adapt orchestral training to traditionally-styled, but essentially modern instruments.
So that brings us to today, and the two little harps we had with us.
One is a Stoney End "Brittany" model, nylon strung, no levers.
The other is a handmade clarsach, built by a local gentleman who lives out on his farm, doing as much as possible the old way - his instruments are entirely hand-built with good old fashioned human muscle power.
More of a compare and contrast at a later date - this has gotten long enough as it is. For now, suffice it to say they play very differently.
Part I: The modern Celtic harping tradition.
Part II: Playing differences, nylon and wire.
Part III: Choosing a Celtic harp.
------------------------
* The best way of explanation here is to say - listen to a few recordings of pre-bluegrass Old Time mountain fiddlers, then listen to Copland's "Appalachian Spring." You'll hear a lot of the same melodies, but the soul of the music is just lost entirely within the atmosphere.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The cycle.
In one day...
I got to play with the young children of my adoptive brother and his family. Fairy wings and buried pirate treasure and sewing doll clothes - I got to see the world alive again in the way only the very young can see it.
Then at lunch we got word my grandmother died last night. It wasn't unexpected, but nonethless the end came sooner than I think any of us really expected. She was the last of my grandparents, and the only one I really got the chance to know in adulthood.
Life and death, screaming the contrast in the space of hours.
No profound words this time, no musings. That comes with time. For now, it's just a moment for sitting in the storm, feeling those vast tides of time and living and dying as they spin about us all.
What a month it's been.
I got to play with the young children of my adoptive brother and his family. Fairy wings and buried pirate treasure and sewing doll clothes - I got to see the world alive again in the way only the very young can see it.
Then at lunch we got word my grandmother died last night. It wasn't unexpected, but nonethless the end came sooner than I think any of us really expected. She was the last of my grandparents, and the only one I really got the chance to know in adulthood.
Life and death, screaming the contrast in the space of hours.
No profound words this time, no musings. That comes with time. For now, it's just a moment for sitting in the storm, feeling those vast tides of time and living and dying as they spin about us all.
What a month it's been.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Unicorns and Rainbows
here ya go Breda - a black velvet unicorn painting, spotted at the local used book store today -
And just so you don't feel too picked on, here's the one from my room once upon a time:
I just found it buried in a box of old books. It's got unicorns, rainbows, and cute fuzzy bunnies and such. :)
And just so you don't feel too picked on, here's the one from my room once upon a time:
I just found it buried in a box of old books. It's got unicorns, rainbows, and cute fuzzy bunnies and such. :)
Time waits for no one.
We've had some heavy lessons in mortality of late. We just this morning buried the little dog that's been in my family for almost fifteen years. I think it was the longest my parents have been in each other's company since well before their divorce...what? Four years ago? Finish that chore, say our goodbyes, and call up my mom's partner to hear... gramma's in the hospital getting fluid pulled out of her lungs.
Meanwhile, the cousins are getting ready to go off to their fancy colleges, old friends are scattered hither and yon, and tomorrow we get to sit down with my (dead) kid brother's best friend and his two little daughters.
It sure as heck ain't 1992.
Some things are better. Some things are worse.
But Lordy the changes time brings with it.
Meanwhile, the cousins are getting ready to go off to their fancy colleges, old friends are scattered hither and yon, and tomorrow we get to sit down with my (dead) kid brother's best friend and his two little daughters.
It sure as heck ain't 1992.
Some things are better. Some things are worse.
But Lordy the changes time brings with it.
Monday, December 22, 2008
mirror of the past
Its an interesting thing, coming back as an adult to the house you grew up in. Every wall seems to whisper memories of "Once upon a time." Here's the staircase I and my brother and I tossed each other's toys down in a fit of pique. There's the bedroom window I leaned out every Christmas Eve as far back as I can remember to cry (or later, whisper) "Merry Christmas, Santa Claus!"
Since my father's still making noises about selling the old homeplace, I've been doing a lot of sorting these past couple days. Some things get carefully packed to return to Alaska with me - the little heart pendant my first boyfriend gave me, the album signed by my favoritest fiddler ever - and of course my harp. Others get placed in boxes to give away - the fairies and pirate toys left from decorating my last office here going to a friend's children, the box of critter parts and scrap brass for the knifemaker one town over, some books for another visiting friend. Still other things laid aside to be sold or finally relinquished to the garbage man.
What's really caught my eye though is my old diaries - junior high through late college for the most part it looks like. I look at the person I was, expressed in words and drawings. Some of it is charming in a "you poor silly dear" way, others make me wince. That's the nature of youth I suppose.
It's an odd thing though to be so far removed from the "me" of another period of time that she seems almost a different person. In some cases, I can actually remember drawing that picture, writing those words... and yet when I read them, its like a stranger is doing the talking. Here and there are whispers of the person I am today, but for the most part... we are so different.
And so I wonder - would I recognize the "me" of 2029, should I be graced to live so long? Surely we change less from adulthood to middle age than we do from adolescence to grown-up life .... or do we?
Which unanswered desires of my own time will be met with the same relief I feel for some of those back then? Which of my present fascinations will be all but forgotten, and which will bloom further still over the decades?
What a curious mirror time makes.
And yo, teenage me. Two things ...
1. You get more milage from doing than complaining - lighten up!
2. Don't worry about the cat-yowls and what the neighbors will think about the racket. Pick the fiddle back up out of the closet anyway.
Oh well. Worth a try. Pity advice to oneself only goes one way. :)
Since my father's still making noises about selling the old homeplace, I've been doing a lot of sorting these past couple days. Some things get carefully packed to return to Alaska with me - the little heart pendant my first boyfriend gave me, the album signed by my favoritest fiddler ever - and of course my harp. Others get placed in boxes to give away - the fairies and pirate toys left from decorating my last office here going to a friend's children, the box of critter parts and scrap brass for the knifemaker one town over, some books for another visiting friend. Still other things laid aside to be sold or finally relinquished to the garbage man.
What's really caught my eye though is my old diaries - junior high through late college for the most part it looks like. I look at the person I was, expressed in words and drawings. Some of it is charming in a "you poor silly dear" way, others make me wince. That's the nature of youth I suppose.
It's an odd thing though to be so far removed from the "me" of another period of time that she seems almost a different person. In some cases, I can actually remember drawing that picture, writing those words... and yet when I read them, its like a stranger is doing the talking. Here and there are whispers of the person I am today, but for the most part... we are so different.
And so I wonder - would I recognize the "me" of 2029, should I be graced to live so long? Surely we change less from adulthood to middle age than we do from adolescence to grown-up life .... or do we?
Which unanswered desires of my own time will be met with the same relief I feel for some of those back then? Which of my present fascinations will be all but forgotten, and which will bloom further still over the decades?
What a curious mirror time makes.
And yo, teenage me. Two things ...
1. You get more milage from doing than complaining - lighten up!
2. Don't worry about the cat-yowls and what the neighbors will think about the racket. Pick the fiddle back up out of the closet anyway.
Oh well. Worth a try. Pity advice to oneself only goes one way. :)
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Song, song of the south..
So while out rambling today in the old homeplace, I stopped in at the corner music store downtown. Ironically, this was where my first fiddle - pardon - violin was purchased for me by my Dad as a birthday present ages ago. I was kind of hoping to see something in particular, but didn't really expect to. Still, I headed back to the little nook where the bowed instruments were kept.
I was very happily surprised. A scuffed matte finish attracted my eye before I even reached the back wall, nestled in amongst the shiny Chinese student violins and old German models. Could it really be?
As I reached the rack - it was!
This here is a home-made fiddle. I can't begin to date it, but surely before the cheap Chinese ones started coming in. 1930s-1950's maybe, at a wild guess? The belly is fairly flat compared to the more sharply arched ones I've played, and the f-holes are distinctly hand-cut.
"looks like someone whittled out a fiddle with a pen knife" says the seller.
"Charming" doesn't begin to describe it. It's no Cremona masterwork - the "purfling" looks drawn on with a fountain pen, the "maple striping" painted on with woodstain. The pegs, neck and scroll look factory though - I assume the builder mail ordered the tricky part once upon a time and made the soundbox himself.
Its not the in best shape - seems it had some water damage once upon a time, and the side panels have some spots where the wood's seperated.
But how's it sound, right? That's the important question.
And the answer is... GREAT. If not the sweetest fiddle I've ever played, it's certainly the nicest I've owned. The treble doesn't have the occasionally harsh tone my old German one did, and the reverberation is amazing - hearing it keep singing as you pull the bow from the strings is just incredible.
Just like the Old Time music that still echoes through these hills. It ain't polished, it ain't classy... but Lordy does it send joy straight through to your bones.
Yep, it'll be a great piece of home to take back to Alaska. Now if you'll excuse me, it calls. Time to put some more work in on "Midnight on the Water."
I was very happily surprised. A scuffed matte finish attracted my eye before I even reached the back wall, nestled in amongst the shiny Chinese student violins and old German models. Could it really be?
As I reached the rack - it was!
This here is a home-made fiddle. I can't begin to date it, but surely before the cheap Chinese ones started coming in. 1930s-1950's maybe, at a wild guess? The belly is fairly flat compared to the more sharply arched ones I've played, and the f-holes are distinctly hand-cut. "looks like someone whittled out a fiddle with a pen knife" says the seller.
"Charming" doesn't begin to describe it. It's no Cremona masterwork - the "purfling" looks drawn on with a fountain pen, the "maple striping" painted on with woodstain. The pegs, neck and scroll look factory though - I assume the builder mail ordered the tricky part once upon a time and made the soundbox himself.
Its not the in best shape - seems it had some water damage once upon a time, and the side panels have some spots where the wood's seperated.
But how's it sound, right? That's the important question.
And the answer is... GREAT. If not the sweetest fiddle I've ever played, it's certainly the nicest I've owned. The treble doesn't have the occasionally harsh tone my old German one did, and the reverberation is amazing - hearing it keep singing as you pull the bow from the strings is just incredible.
Just like the Old Time music that still echoes through these hills. It ain't polished, it ain't classy... but Lordy does it send joy straight through to your bones. Yep, it'll be a great piece of home to take back to Alaska. Now if you'll excuse me, it calls. Time to put some more work in on "Midnight on the Water."
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Please, Storyteller...
So youngest cousin has an American History test tomorrow, and it being my very favoritest subject from high school, I got to play tutor for a bit. We spanned mostly the Revolutionary period through to the end of the 18th century, mostly on the Whiskey Rebellion, the Constitutional Convention, and the Bill of Rights... followed by "Impressment and the War of 1812 in 60 seconds" as bedtime drew near for good measure.
When we hit the Convention itself though, I decided we needed the source material and dug out the ol' laptop. We went through the Bill of Rights one by one, first reading them, then discussing application. Yeah, that one's fun when you're dealing with the child of your Politically Diametrically Opposed relatives. So a couple times we had a little of "Your parents and I don't agree on this. I believe it means X, because of Y. Do your own reading on both sides and come to your own conclusions." I suspect his folks' view will win out, but at least he seems to have a good impression now of what they actually say - that puts him ahead of a goodly chunk of the country already, unfortunately.
Still and all though, it was great fun. I was surprised at how emotionally stirring it was for myself though - I was literally fighting back tears while theatrically repeating the "A republic... if you can keep it" response of Franklin's following the Convention.
He seemed to like the "where did that line come from" game, which we got into sideways from his question "why do you remember all those dates?"
The answer to which was-
"once you know the story, some dates you can't forget..." - then mimicing best I could the old recording "December 7, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy... gramma knows that one."
I definately couldn't keep my eyes dry at that, looking over to gramma's chair as her picture from back in the day came hauntingly back.
So once again, I was reminded - that's all teaching history is, really. Storytelling.
It was how the bards of old did it, as they recounted tribal memory in rhythm and verse. It was how my favorite history teachers did it. And.. I've found it's how I do it to.
What is history but one vast storybook?
And a grand tale it is that our ancestors have all woven together before us. Take a good hard look at those threads in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. Because with those, you are today weaving a part of the pattern that posterity will one day read - and recite to their own children.
Still and all though, it was great fun. I was surprised at how emotionally stirring it was for myself though - I was literally fighting back tears while theatrically repeating the "A republic... if you can keep it" response of Franklin's following the Convention.
He seemed to like the "where did that line come from" game, which we got into sideways from his question "why do you remember all those dates?"
The answer to which was-
"once you know the story, some dates you can't forget..." - then mimicing best I could the old recording "December 7, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy... gramma knows that one."
I definately couldn't keep my eyes dry at that, looking over to gramma's chair as her picture from back in the day came hauntingly back.
So once again, I was reminded - that's all teaching history is, really. Storytelling.
It was how the bards of old did it, as they recounted tribal memory in rhythm and verse. It was how my favorite history teachers did it. And.. I've found it's how I do it to.What is history but one vast storybook?
And a grand tale it is that our ancestors have all woven together before us. Take a good hard look at those threads in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. Because with those, you are today weaving a part of the pattern that posterity will one day read - and recite to their own children.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
on the road again..
Safely on the ground in Tennessee, visiting family. The bairns are nae so wee anymore, but the rest doesn't seem to have changed much in the last couple years. Strangest thing though. They say it's December, but I don't see a lick of snow anywhere. How's Rudolph gonna find anything?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
planespotting, Alaska style
Friend John has been airplane window shopping.
First, this is what a plane on an Alaskan lake looks like this time of year:
(CAP Exercise, Jan 2008)
Or for something closer to the size you were looking at:
(Private strip, Fall 2008)
note snowshoes, rifle case, and gear stowed on the wingstrut. Bugger off, TSA!
This is why boat-bottomed craft aren't real popular up here. There's a few of them sure... but not many. And most I've seen are amphibs that spend a goodly amount of time with their wheels down on dry (paved) airfields. That said, amhibs were very popular back in the day - there were (still are, I imagine) quite a few places both sides of the Canadian border without so much as a cub scratch to put down on for miles and miles.
But if Amphib is what floats your boat (heh, I made a funny), check out this turbo 206 on amphib floats sitting on Merrill last summer:
Merrill Field, Summer 2008
Same airframe, but like that CAP Beaver you run floats, wheels, or skis depending on where and when you're going. Everything has a price of course - those things made a heck of a racket all last summer trying to drag those big ol' floats into the sky.
Finally, if you're seriously thinking of dropping over a $100K into a twoseater, this seems the preferred Alaskan way of doing it:
Merrill Field, Summer 2008
You think guys go nuts tinkering with their cars down there? Wait till you meet some Alaskan cubdrivers! sheesh....
Or you could always build your own.
First, this is what a plane on an Alaskan lake looks like this time of year:
(CAP Exercise, Jan 2008)
Or for something closer to the size you were looking at:
(Private strip, Fall 2008)
note snowshoes, rifle case, and gear stowed on the wingstrut. Bugger off, TSA!
This is why boat-bottomed craft aren't real popular up here. There's a few of them sure... but not many. And most I've seen are amphibs that spend a goodly amount of time with their wheels down on dry (paved) airfields. That said, amhibs were very popular back in the day - there were (still are, I imagine) quite a few places both sides of the Canadian border without so much as a cub scratch to put down on for miles and miles.
But if Amphib is what floats your boat (heh, I made a funny), check out this turbo 206 on amphib floats sitting on Merrill last summer:
Merrill Field, Summer 2008
Same airframe, but like that CAP Beaver you run floats, wheels, or skis depending on where and when you're going. Everything has a price of course - those things made a heck of a racket all last summer trying to drag those big ol' floats into the sky.
Finally, if you're seriously thinking of dropping over a $100K into a twoseater, this seems the preferred Alaskan way of doing it:
Merrill Field, Summer 2008
You think guys go nuts tinkering with their cars down there? Wait till you meet some Alaskan cubdrivers! sheesh....
Or you could always build your own.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Meeting your imaginary friends.
Today the place you'll find a young teen all entranced in fancy might be brooding vampire boys, Hogwarts School, or a certain elf prince with a bow. When I was growing up things weren't quite so sophisticated, but were every bit as delightful. Princess Buttercup's Wesley could steal your young heart quick as a wink (As you wish), and Jareth the Goblin King carried himself with a delicious dark elegance. Navarre (swoon) and Isabeau along with the plucky Phillipe peopled a great tale, and who didn't want to just give the Storyteller's Dog a big ol' hug?
But in print... it was Harper Hall that captured me.
It was the cover that first grabbed me, I admit - sitting there on the shelf of the kid's section in the library. Ooh! A book about dragons! And music! This had to be good!
And oh did it take my young heart away. Had all the things you expect will appeal to young kids - cruel parents that "don't understand," heroic journeys of self-discovery, and a happy ending in a loving community with a sweetheart. Add a goodly helping of bardic harping, and I was smitten. So yeah, Menolly was one of my dearest "imaginary friends" growing up.
You know the ones, the characters that you just seem to latch onto as you begin to come into your own. The ones who aren't quite real-life role model, but nontheless mark a guidepost in a young life?
Menolly was that for me.
And last night I finally met her.
Or rather, I met her voice.
See, a couple years back in a fit of nostalgia I picked up Masterharper of Pern about dear Robinton. Turns out some lady from Alaska had produced a companion CD and songbook. I *had* to have these, of course.
Skip forward to last year. Move to Alaska ensues. Turns out the gal I worked with knew the gal who produced the CD - grew up with her in fact. Heck, "you remind me of her" she even says to me once.
hunh, cool.
So anyhow, last night we went to see Tania Opland and Mike Freeman perform an advent concert at one of the local churches. And it was beautiful! A little bit of music from all over, including a couple wonderful Scots tunes.
And you know what?
For just a moment, seeing those two on stage... I could almost see Menolly and Sebell twenty years later. From faces to voices, it just seemed pretty much just like I imagined as a kid.
Even turns out all those songs I ached to hear as a 14 year old? They're just about to be released.
Of course, the real Mike and Tania are loads more interesting than any novel characters. Sweet, funny, and a darling "we're all friends here" stage presence. Their music is from all over, with songs in Norwegian and Polish performed right alongside Irish jigs and the lightest touch of bluegrass. They passed the guitar back and forth, and Tania performed on fiddle, recorder, and hammered dulcimer - that last usually backing up voice of course. They're very much neat performers in their own right.
But nonetheless.. getting just a glimmer of seeing one of my childhood role models up there on the stage, stepped right out of the pages of a book?
That was just an incredible Christmas gift.
Thanks y'all. That was awesome.
But in print... it was Harper Hall that captured me.
It was the cover that first grabbed me, I admit - sitting there on the shelf of the kid's section in the library. Ooh! A book about dragons! And music! This had to be good! And oh did it take my young heart away. Had all the things you expect will appeal to young kids - cruel parents that "don't understand," heroic journeys of self-discovery, and a happy ending in a loving community with a sweetheart. Add a goodly helping of bardic harping, and I was smitten. So yeah, Menolly was one of my dearest "imaginary friends" growing up.
You know the ones, the characters that you just seem to latch onto as you begin to come into your own. The ones who aren't quite real-life role model, but nontheless mark a guidepost in a young life?
Menolly was that for me.
And last night I finally met her.
Or rather, I met her voice.
See, a couple years back in a fit of nostalgia I picked up Masterharper of Pern about dear Robinton. Turns out some lady from Alaska had produced a companion CD and songbook. I *had* to have these, of course.
Skip forward to last year. Move to Alaska ensues. Turns out the gal I worked with knew the gal who produced the CD - grew up with her in fact. Heck, "you remind me of her" she even says to me once.
hunh, cool.
So anyhow, last night we went to see Tania Opland and Mike Freeman perform an advent concert at one of the local churches. And it was beautiful! A little bit of music from all over, including a couple wonderful Scots tunes.
And you know what?
For just a moment, seeing those two on stage... I could almost see Menolly and Sebell twenty years later. From faces to voices, it just seemed pretty much just like I imagined as a kid.
Even turns out all those songs I ached to hear as a 14 year old? They're just about to be released. Of course, the real Mike and Tania are loads more interesting than any novel characters. Sweet, funny, and a darling "we're all friends here" stage presence. Their music is from all over, with songs in Norwegian and Polish performed right alongside Irish jigs and the lightest touch of bluegrass. They passed the guitar back and forth, and Tania performed on fiddle, recorder, and hammered dulcimer - that last usually backing up voice of course. They're very much neat performers in their own right.
But nonetheless.. getting just a glimmer of seeing one of my childhood role models up there on the stage, stepped right out of the pages of a book?
That was just an incredible Christmas gift.
Thanks y'all. That was awesome.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Enabling....
Seeing as how Brigid was so kind as to offer a thumbs up on a rifle barrel once upon a time, I reckon it's time to return the favor.
WAY TO GO BRIGID!
Fiddles ROCK.
First - a couple trinkets ya might want.
This little hanger I picked up just last weekend on a ..uh... "retail therapy" outing. My dear fiddle usually sat on top of the bookcase or leaned in a corner (never could stand to leave it in a case where I couldn't get my hands on it easy). This way though it's up off the floor and I can't drop anything on it, trip over the bow, or otherwise ding up my baby. Soooo worth it.
Second - tuners. I'm a wuss, I admit. I use the electric ones still. Nonetheless - the clip on Intellis are AWESOME - they were just about everywhere at fiddle camp last summer. Just saw one that might be even better yet though in the Shar catalog - a "3-in-1" that gives a reference tone and acts as a metronome. Best though is it sits right up on top of the scroll where you can see it easy while playing. The reason I like that is 'cause when you're prone to get lazy like me, sticking one on and watching every now and again keeps you honest about hitting the note *just* right and not a fraction off here or there. Not an every day thing, but more a "gee, I sound off today, I know the fiddle's in tune.. time to doublecheck myself" kinda thing.
Next, at risk of restating the obvious, seems trad types go way more into the "record it, listen to it over and over, learn to play by ear" than from written notes. Bother as all heck to learn how to do for those of us public school kids.. but so far what little progress I've made has been worth it. Beats the heck out of being dependent on looking for sheet music to cool tunes. Just about any MP3 player that also records is fine, though some folks get real fancy here to.
Finally... inspiration. I like the old Scots stuff and modern fusions. One really neat guy to give a listen to if you end going the trad route is John Turner from down Colonial Williamsburg way. He does some AWESOME 18th century Scots stuff, to include amazing bagpipe-sounding droning. Really cool. "The Wanderer's Lament" is what he recommended to start with.
Michael Mullen does some awesome stuff, especially "Baladi" recorded with Tempest once upon a time, which is a kinda gypsy sounding tune. Heather Alexander (another redhead, you'd like her) did some neat stuff, especially "Faery Queen" (playfully referred to as "The Devil Went Down to Limerick.") She's since retired... kinda. But the Heir has the same sparkle of the bow and recorded his own version.
Edging farther out there, some folks are doing amazing stuff putting more Classical stuff in a rock context- Bond, Fuse, and Paul Datah come immediately to mind.
In Old Time, one of the teachers last summer was Brian Christiansen - there's some absolutely amazing bow expressiveness in "Midnight on the Water."
Yay Brigid!
Can't wait to hear ya!
WAY TO GO BRIGID!
Fiddles ROCK.
First - a couple trinkets ya might want.
This little hanger I picked up just last weekend on a ..uh... "retail therapy" outing. My dear fiddle usually sat on top of the bookcase or leaned in a corner (never could stand to leave it in a case where I couldn't get my hands on it easy). This way though it's up off the floor and I can't drop anything on it, trip over the bow, or otherwise ding up my baby. Soooo worth it.Second - tuners. I'm a wuss, I admit. I use the electric ones still. Nonetheless - the clip on Intellis are AWESOME - they were just about everywhere at fiddle camp last summer. Just saw one that might be even better yet though in the Shar catalog - a "3-in-1" that gives a reference tone and acts as a metronome. Best though is it sits right up on top of the scroll where you can see it easy while playing. The reason I like that is 'cause when you're prone to get lazy like me, sticking one on and watching every now and again keeps you honest about hitting the note *just* right and not a fraction off here or there. Not an every day thing, but more a "gee, I sound off today, I know the fiddle's in tune.. time to doublecheck myself" kinda thing.
Next, at risk of restating the obvious, seems trad types go way more into the "record it, listen to it over and over, learn to play by ear" than from written notes. Bother as all heck to learn how to do for those of us public school kids.. but so far what little progress I've made has been worth it. Beats the heck out of being dependent on looking for sheet music to cool tunes. Just about any MP3 player that also records is fine, though some folks get real fancy here to.
Finally... inspiration. I like the old Scots stuff and modern fusions. One really neat guy to give a listen to if you end going the trad route is John Turner from down Colonial Williamsburg way. He does some AWESOME 18th century Scots stuff, to include amazing bagpipe-sounding droning. Really cool. "The Wanderer's Lament" is what he recommended to start with.
Michael Mullen does some awesome stuff, especially "Baladi" recorded with Tempest once upon a time, which is a kinda gypsy sounding tune. Heather Alexander (another redhead, you'd like her) did some neat stuff, especially "Faery Queen" (playfully referred to as "The Devil Went Down to Limerick.") She's since retired... kinda. But the Heir has the same sparkle of the bow and recorded his own version.
Edging farther out there, some folks are doing amazing stuff putting more Classical stuff in a rock context- Bond, Fuse, and Paul Datah come immediately to mind.
In Old Time, one of the teachers last summer was Brian Christiansen - there's some absolutely amazing bow expressiveness in "Midnight on the Water."
Yay Brigid!
Can't wait to hear ya!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
wrapping up the past.
It was a decent goodbye.
As decent as saying goodbye forever to the man you've come to love can ever be, I mean. The intensity of the tears and anguish and walking around hollow as a gutted doe were for the most part in the past, so all that was left this time was the quiet, soulful parting. A sad smile and chaste kiss here, an indulgent chuckle and gentle touch there.. I love yous exchanged in word and deed ... then one last embrace for the sake of what might have been.
Yeah, as goodbyes go, it was.. well it was about as good as could be hoped.
I'll miss you Hunter. Godspeed.
As decent as saying goodbye forever to the man you've come to love can ever be, I mean. The intensity of the tears and anguish and walking around hollow as a gutted doe were for the most part in the past, so all that was left this time was the quiet, soulful parting. A sad smile and chaste kiss here, an indulgent chuckle and gentle touch there.. I love yous exchanged in word and deed ... then one last embrace for the sake of what might have been.
Yeah, as goodbyes go, it was.. well it was about as good as could be hoped.
I'll miss you Hunter. Godspeed.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
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