Month: June 2012

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Welcome to West Clare

The Cliffs of Moher

We arrived safe and sound at Shannon airport last night after eighteen hours of flights, and rented a car, a process which took almost as long as the flight over here. We met Bridie, the owner of the very, very nice property where we’ll be staying for the next three days. We had dinner, beef stew and fish and chips, yum, and fresh pints of Guiness at McGann’s in Doolin. Right after dinner, a session got started with Kevin Griffin on banjo and a couple of fine fiddlers. This is a regular gig for them so we just sat outside with our pints and listened until the jetlag got the better of us. The view from the front door of our well-apointed manor is of the Aran islands, and Galway Bay to the north…but this is what we awoke to this morning. A little mist off the bog. Still, undaunted – no, actually we CAME for this, so bring it on, weather gods – we had a fry-up and then called Davy, a friend of Becky (a flute-player who lives in Mt Vernon, WA) and he very kindly agreed to meet us in his local, the Kilshanny House, for a quick pint and a few tunes. He’s a fine, fine flute and concertina player, and we had a nice hour together before he had to go home to milk the sheep or whatever. Just before he left, he told us about a session in Miltown Malbay (I’m loving this – every town has a tune or three named after it; we’re here at the Cliffs of Moher, down the road from Lisdoonvarna, etc, etc) tonight, so we’re off to that after a quick stew cooked by Rick and Morgan…

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The Cliffs of Moher and the gift from the fairies…

So we’re walking along the cliffs, taking advantage of the one sunny day, and having a jolly old time, when suddenly Morgan shouts “it’s a sign!” We turn around, and there in his hand is, I kid you not, a golden crowbar, on top of a rock wall. Well ok, not golden. Yellow paint. But still, can you believe it!?

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For those of you for whom this story makes no sense, here’s the legend of the Gold Ring, told by Seamus Ennis:

‘ “The Gold Ring” – there’s a story attached to the name. A long, long time ago – if I were there then, I wouldn’t be there now; if I were there then and now, I would have a new story or an old story, or I might have no story at all – the birds could talk, giants roamed the land, and fairy music filled the air. There was a farmer, and he was walking across the fields one night, when he heard the faint strains of music in the distance. Moving closer, he saw a fairy piper playing a fairy dance. But when the fairies sensed his presence, they scattered into the woods and vanished into the earth. The farmer went up to the place where the piper had played and there he found a tiny gold ring lying on the ground. So he put it in his pocket, carried it home, and took out his fiddle to celebrate his good fortune with a few reels. But when he put the bow across the strings, he couldn’t get a decent sound of it at all, save for the scratching of an old key in an old lock. And no matter how much he played that fiddle, not a note could he get out of it.

So the next night, he returned with the ring and his fiddle to the place where he had found the fairies, and he waited and he waited. And just as the first glimmer of dawn appeared over the eastern sky, he heard the faint rustle of soft feet on golden leaves. When he turned around, he came face to face with the fairy piper.

“I’ve come for what is mine,” says the piper. “For if truth be told, I can’t play a slide or a jig or a reel without that ring.” “You can have it and welcome,” said the farmer. “For if truth be told, I can’t play a slide or a jig or a reel with it.” And he tossed the ring back, and took out his fiddle, and played the finest reel of his life. And the fairy piper picks up the ring, and takes out his pipes, and plays the finest jig that human ears had ever heard. “Would you ever be after teaching me that tune?” asked the farmer. “I would so,” says the fairy piper, and they sat down together until the farmer had it. “And what would it be called?” asked the farmer. “The Gold Ring,” says the fairy piper, disappearing into the half-light of dawn.’

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Last Night’s Fun

Well, after a day and a half in Ireland we’ve already had some great adventures. After arriving at Shannon and driving up to our rental near Doolin we picked up our dear friend Jack Lindberg in town and headed to McGann’s Pub and had a pint and a meal and listened to a fine banjo player with a few friends. Next day we drove into Ennistymon and thence to meet a new friend named Dave Levine an ex pat who is a fine flute and concertina player. We met him at Kilshanny House pub and played some tunes and had some excellent Guinness poured by the proprietor Aidan.

As we were leaving David came back in to tell us that there was a Thursday night session in Miltown Malbay at Cleary’s Pub known by the locals as The Blondes. Being of brave heart we went in the door with our instruments and received a greeting from the proprietor Bridie of ” Oh Jesus , what are you? On explaining that we were told there was a session she replied “we have our own musicians”. Our blank looks got the bestter of her and we were told to put our gear over next to the kitchen.  Undaunted we ordered 5 pints and about that time the local musicians started coming in and graciously made room for us. It turned out that Jack had met Jessie the banjo player some years back. Jack couldn’t remember at first but Jessie has a fine memory and eventually they established the connection. The pub is a classic local hang out, but unique in that there re older folks; women in their Sunday dresses and gents in their nice clothes lined up along the wall on built in benches with tiny tables, all there to listen AND join in. Several of them such as Con and his wife and another well known gent all sang songs old style, unaccompanied. Great stuff, great feeling and I’d say about 40 people all wedged into a space the size of an average house living room. The feeling regarding our being there felt a bit tight until John turned around and asked me if I’d sing a song. The way he asked was this way. As his eyes looked at my guitar first, he rolled his gaze up to my eyes and said, “so you got a song in dat ting?” The gauntlet was thrown. The only song that came to mind was Peggy Gordon, which I nervously started.  By the middle of the first verse half the room was singing along. I had goose bumps along with the sweat and the song was well received.

After that things loosened up an we were deemed fine lads. We were asked to do some more songs which  we did and by the end of the evening Bridie had poured us extra pints and wanted us to stick around for another. We had to drive a few miles up the coast so declined. “Where are you driving to?” she asked, and we told her – 12 miles up the coast. “Jesus and God Almighty, you’re not going tonight are ye?!”. But the feeling of being welcome to return was apparent and we felt that we had made friends. I can’t express how warm and open the folks here become once you get to know them a bit. (Rick)

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Trip to Tom Cussen’s Clareen Banjos

Yesterday we all went to Tom Cussen’s shop in in Clarinbridge in Galway. He has a very nice business and a truly fine banjo he builds. He told us to arrive at 3:00 ish and when we got there he was working with a young woman on a banjo sale. She was there with her Dad and Grandfather who was the one buying it for her. When Tom helped her with the fitting of the strap she played part of a tune and it was clear this young woman was already a fine player at 15 and she’d only been playing it for two years. Such is the level of playing in Ireland. Tom told us as good a banjo player as he is he’d be lucky to place twelfth in any contest these days. Tom took us through his shop and showed us his operation. I was interviewing him for GAL , Guild of American Luthiers, a trade publication for stringed instrument makers and repair/restorers, and recorded the entire interview in the Roland digital recorder to send to Tim at GAL. Tom gave us a copy of his band’s CD and a few others for our show and invited us to a session on the 16th when we’ll be back in the area.

We went back to Kilshanny House to a local session and met David Levine again. It was quite laid back, too laid back and we were all tired and the pace of the session didn’t help, so after a couple of hours we took our leave and said goodbye and went home to sleep.

Today we drove down to the Beara peninsula in Kerry. The drive was long but not at all unpleasant. I drove most of the way down and got a pretty good feel for driving on the left side again. We stopped in Killarney and walked through part of the town, which is pretty good sized. Found a music store and picked up a CD at a small music shop. Went to a nice bistro and had coffee and scones with cream and raspberry jam. Yum!

We’re in Lauragh in a nice little cottage. Went down to a small pub on the bay and ordered a fresh salmon plate which was fresh and very tasty. When we finished dinner we asked the proprietress if she’d mind us playing some music and she was fine with that. We set up and started and the locals were very receptive. We knew they were pleased when the waitress brought out pints that were unasked for. Jack spoke with her at the end of the evening and she said come back tomorrow night, come back every night. One couple from Dublin who live in Manhattan were really complementary, and another couple from Mayo said that we’d go over well there as well. We’ re kind of amazed with our reception and gratified as well. A great fun evening.”

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Lauragh, co Kerry

We left Co Clare and drove down to Lauragh, co Kerry, pausing on the way in Killarny to look around an Irish music shop, where Jack, Don and I bought travel whistles…Sheila O’Sullivan, the lovely lady who owns the property we’re renting here suggested a bar in Tousist for dinner, so we drove over there and found a lovely fishing village with a pub. Ordered pints of Murpheys and salmon and chips, which was all beyond delicious, then asked the landlady if we could play a few tunes. She consented, so we did our thing, and soon the place was hopping. Free pints followed, and when Jack asked if we could come back tomorrow, she said ‘Come back any night. come back every night!’ Good times!

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Adventures in The South and a Trip to Dursey

What I suspected turns out to be true. The fact that we haven’t all lived together and the possibility that there could be issues hasn’t really shown. We’ve been able to make adjustments and catch each other without any ill will. All in all we’re able to negotiate through and around one another with respect and humor. We’ve had some hysterical moments, especially with Jack. Jack is one of the funniest men I know and he’s proven so with all of us. We’ve laughed so hard that we’re left nearly breathless. We drove today down to the end of the penninsula and looked at the island of Dursey across a fairly small channel from the mainland. A truly desolate spot with currents raging through the channel in at least three directions. It creeped me out imagining how long you’d last if you fell in. Not long! The drive down was difficult for me and I decided that the small roads were going to be James’ domain. The lanes are so narrow and the locals drive them with such speed that I don’t feel competent to negotiate them. Anyway Dursey has all of six residents and the only way across is via a small cable car. Some people like isolation and I assume the residents of Dursey are amongst them. Bridget’s family are the Healys who were from Dursey but who now live mostly around Castletownbere. We had a nice late breakfast in Castletown earlier since we had come in with no food. Don and I had oatmeal with fruit and honey and it was just what was needed. We’ve noticed that the cost of living is really rather high here. Being tied to the Euro was helpful when things were going well, but now that the economy isn’t doing well it’s got things in a real funk. Morgan saw a real estate listing that showed a nice cottage that had been originally listed for 230,000 Euro that had been dropped to 90 K!! We drove on to Allihies a lovely little village that overlooks a bay that looks north across to Kerry. We went there because we saw a poster in Castletown announcing the Michael Dwyer traditional music festival. We stepped into a nice pub, O’Neills by name, ordered 5 pints of Murphy’s and started talking to a nice woman named Deirdre who filled us in on the festival. Very welcoming and it turns out that her great aunt was Julia Clifford and her cousin is Billy Clifford both were/ are legendary whistle and flute players. We’ll be going over to the festival this weekend and checking it out. There are sessions happening so we’ll see what happens. Deirdre was telling us that the unemployment rate is as bad now as in the 1930’s and that there was a nice place just behind the pub that someone was trying to sell for 200K that was marked down to 60K. Tough times indeed.

 

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You can see why they left

This is Dursey island, whence come the Healeys, Bridget’s paternal grandmother’s family. It is separated for the mainland but a roiling boiling sea with three crossed tides. You can get there by cable car, should you wish to, but frankly, now that the Brits aren’t taxing the bejesus out of every man and his dog, the attractions have waned.

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Hammy Hamilton and the piping cheesemaker aka Hammy and Cheese

Our third day in Kerry (yesterday was an interesting day, but mostly for me because I wanted to drive to Dursey Island, whence come Bridget’s paternal grandmother’s family, the Healys; more on that anon) started with a long walk for Morgan and I up to a stone circle about two miles away, then a drive toCúil Aodha, charmingly pronounced ‘coolea’, to meet Hammy Hamilton, a maker of very fine flutes. Jack has an old English flute that needs some repairs, and Hammy does repairs as well. We had a great time chatting with him about different kinds of wood and so forth, and then drove back to Luraugh to make dinner. We stopped in Kenmare to buy victuals, and it turns out the Poor Claires came from there. It’s also famous for lace and very touristy. Anyway, on the way home we noticed a yellow sign that said ‘cheese’, so we bounced down a very, very narrow, lane over hill and dale to find a small farm where a bearded, tie-died t-shirt wearing chap from Lancashire (think Wallace) who sold us a very fine blue cheese, his Bearra blue, and some Gouda style cheese. We mentioned that we are musicians, and he revealed that he has a full set of C pipes by a famous maker who lives in France (anyone?) that he wants to sell. Not too sure about a C set, and I’m not sure which child I’d sell to afford to pay for them. Still, serendipity or what? Then back to O’Sullivan’s for a few tunes and free pints courtesy of Helen Moriarty, the landlady. This time only the locals were there, a table of six older chaps playing a marathon game of whist and an old guy at the bar practicing being a rock. They didn’t pay any attention to the music until we sang a couple of songs, which were greeted with ‘lovely job, lads’ and ‘mighty!’ You get the impression that most folk barely tolerate the dance tunes, as a sort of necessary evil between songs. Mind you, at one point I suggested that we all take turns starting polkas until we ran out, which was actually less fun than you mighty imagine, but the locals did tap their feet along to that…So about those Healeys: You can see why they left Dursey, a godforsaken rock at the end of peninsula connected to the mainland now by a cablecar, and separated from it by a quarter-mile channel of boiling sea that seemed to be flowing in three directions. It would easily take an hour to row across that, and then as Jack pointed out, you’d be on Dursey! I’m hard pushed to imagine what in God’s name people would find there other than complete isolation from the rest of humanity. On our walk, Morgan and I passed the local post office in Lauragh and I wanted to buy a few postcards. Outside the PO was a van which said ‘Sean Healey, construction’ so I found the guy and asked him if he was Sean Healey. He goes, ‘No, he’s not here,’ so we started talking and I explained about the Healeys who had moved to the states, and so forth. After a while, he relaxed and admitted to being Sean himself, grand-nephew of Kathleen Healey or whatever. I figure he must have been wondering who was asking… (James)

Today was a fun day. Don and I made oatmeal for breakfast and enjoyed that. Jack called Hammy Hamilton and we took off later in the early afternoon and visited him. He lives in a little village called Cooley and has a really modest shop. His work is really beautiful and he was very kind to let us interrupt his schedule for a visit. On the way over we took a winding small road up over some hills that led to Hammy’s and passed the highest pub in Ireland. It’s called Top Of Coom but unfortunately it had burned down a couple of weeks back. A real shame it was the only pub in the area. Hammy told us that it started from a pillow that caught fire near the fireplace and somehow got into the wall and took off. Turns out that was a true disaster in several ways. To wit, the proprietors were full swing into a renovation and upgrade, it was the only pub close by the residents of Cooley ( Hammy’s village ) and several others and it was a well known musical venue. There are some famous recordings that were made there. Hammy’s shop is a very minimal space with three lathes and a mill with which he makes his tooling and a small clean room where he does all his finish work, keys and ring work. Billets of Blackwood and Mopani that were partially bored and turned as well as squared billets were lined about on shelves and on the floor. He’s a really open and generous man. He and Jack discussed the little F flute that Jack brought to see if Hammy could restore it. We chatted a bit and sensed that we were cutting into Hammy’s work schedule so said goodbye and drove back over the hill and back to Lauragh where we are staying. On the way back we turned off on a side road that was marked with a sign that said FARM CHEESE. It turned out to be several kilometers of winding single lane, or boreen, that ended in front of a decent cottage with absolutely no indications that we were in the right place! James and Don went looking and Morgan, Jack and I pulled ourselves out of the car when Morgan called us saying we would want to see this. Up some steps we climbed and into a nice sun room and there on a table were some beautiful wheels of cheese. Peter is the name of the gentlemen and it turned out he was originally from Lincolnshire, England and had been living in Ireland for decades. He’s a great guy with a wonderful sense of humor a ready smile and some outstanding cheese. He had a Gouda style and an unbelievably silky blue that he calls Bearra Blue. He’s a small producer about 1000 kilo’s a year, he’d made more in the past, but scaled down some. After questioning us about what we did and finding out that we were here for the music he mentioned to James that he had a full set of pipes in C that he was considering selling since he hadn’t played them in years. I wouldn’t say that sparks were coming off of James, but damn near. James is going to go and check them out possibly with the idea of buying them if they’re affordable. (Rick)