Transient Pleasures.

Today is what a spring Sunday ought to be! It's warm, its sunny, and the crocuses are in full tilt beauty on the flat and on the hill in the neighborhood. I was spared the feeling of "I ought to be doing yard work" by having a day trip planned to Hiram College for an Irish music session anchored by fiddler Liz Carroll, who was brought in just for the event. With windows open, it was a lovely hour singing car trip down, taking just a basket of soda bread. I'd helped with the benefit that had financed this luxury, and at this event they went through my soda bread as completely as they'd done at the benefit.

The large room was filled most of the afternoon. There were musicians and former dancers I'd not seen in years who turned out. Participants and listeners came a farther than I did, from the western parts of Ohio and PA. The wide range of ages and sorts of people was astonishing. A wee girl with her fiddle was fit for an illustration of "cute." There were older gentlemen with their accordions, telling tales of folks long gone. There were several fiddlers, flutes and whistles, a couple bodhran players of some talent. I teased Bill about his sitting with his mandolin: "are you going to play that thing, or just hug it all day?" The button box player and his wife got some songs into the mix, particularly "Wild Mountain Thyme" which got good group participation. Mazur did one of his spot-on channelings of Tom McCaffrey, a recitation and a raft of quips about marriage, when the conversation turned to the Toms. Hiram college girls wandered in to listen, like a herd of spring fawns, gawky and graceful all at the same time, in that beauty of youth.
All that fun, and I still have more music to make tonight.

Friday night in the big city

Sometimes in the comfort of suburban life, I forget that we live with a big city near our doorstep, and sometimes that's the place to go play, or in this case, listen. Steve, Arron, and I went to the Beachland Ballroom to hear some Celtic flavored music last night. We arrived early, got good seats, and were amused at the commercials for other shops in the area that ran on the club's sound system. It gave me a feeling of being a part of the city life like a Charles De Lint character in Newford, out for an evening's carouse. We were excited to see Gráda and were vastly pleased at the opening band, Pitch the Peat, a locally based group with some Irish imports in the personnel. The guitar player had a fascinating style: he was often playing with a flat pick while finger picking with his last two fingers. They were wondrous good, high energy and obviously had a good following in the audience, as the place filled to standing room. The quantity of quality band originals was impressive, and held it's own as part of a great evening of music winding up for Gráda's powerhouse presentation.
Gráda - oh, they were good. Every one of 'em, including their Irish/Italian substitute (#2) fiddler who doubled on trumpet. Yah really, a trumpet. Alan's fluting was everything you could hope for. There was enough light from the neon "BAR" sign that I tried some sketching: if you can't dance, it's amazing how enjoyable it is to be penciling in the dark background to a wild set of jigs. The guitarist was a dervish, dancing and waggling his guitar around while bending notes in a lush way. His glasses kept sliding down his nose; sometimes the fiddler would shove them back up, and sometimes he'd take 'em off. I watched the bodhran player's hand turn a blur on the tuneable bodhran that reminded me of Margaret's, though a bit deeper. She sang beautifully, high energy. They too had a great number of traditional sounding songs they'd written. It was three hours of grand live music. I felt sorry for them, driving off to Nashville overnight. I'd not want to be on the road after putting out that kind of energy for a couple hours. Good thing they're a batch of young lads and lass!