Mànran’s Touring Tales part two

When a young chorister looks at the sharp symbol in the key signature of a piece of music (#) and notes its similarity to a twitter hashtag, one realises one is perhaps dealing with a brand new generation of musicians! There have been a number of moments over the last few months that have brought the existence of this newer and fresher generation to the forefront of my mind.

In February, I spent a couple of days on Islay teaching at the Fèis alongside a great team of musicians and friends. I always enjoy a trip to Islay and, as I walked up the gangway onto the ferry (suitcase, guitar, and accordion in hand) I was greatly looking forward to experiencing the delights that Bowmore has to offer – namely Duffy’s Bar and Lucci’s! While we managed to make a little bit of time to visit those essential tourist attractions, the real enjoyment of our stay on Islay was experiencing the enthusiasm of the youngsters at the Fèis. Due to the weather, we were only across for two days rather than the anticipated three; but, despite time constraints, the kids knuckled down and worked extremely hard in order to produce a show to be proud of for the parents on the Thursday night.

It was great to see a Fèis so well attended with young islanders that were so eager to learn and such great company. One wee lad took great joy in telling me his success in making drum tutor, Alasdair Murray, search for at least 10 minutes for a set of left-handed drum sticks! This kind of good-humoured nonsense was a fairly regular occurrence over the two days – but so was hard, conscientious learning.

The highlight of the week was the performance of the Fèis song during which all ages, from toddler to teenager, joined together to sing that great Islay song, Mo Ribhinn Coibhneil.

There are few things more inspiring than hearing a group of young voices enjoying singing as one. A few weeks ago, I conducted a workshop in Loch- gilphead for Coisir Òg Dhail Riata – a small choir aged 11-16 years who are really thriving under the conductor’s baton of Cheryl Naisby and the Gaelic tutorage of Christine Johnston.

Their sound is top-notch and their ardour for Gaelic song is remarkable. Their musicianship was most in evidence after the rehearsal when I sang a few songs with my guitar and the girls added their own natural harmonies. The ease with which they almost subconsciously harmonised was a real eye opener to their talents.

The enjoyment of working with a young choir is something I have been experiencing over the last couple of years down here in Glasgow. About two years ago, Kirsteen Grant (conductor of the Glasgow Islay Gaelic Choir) approached me with news that their junior section was without a conductor and, inevitably, would fold as a consequence.

This was a choir for under19s that had served as a feeder to the adult choir across many generations – and had played no small part in the development of some wonderful singers over the years. I agreed to take the helm, and to steer the choir through the National Mòd in Oban that October. Two years down the line and I am still heading along to the Gaelic School every Monday night at 6.15pm, rehearsing with those brilliant youngsters. It has become an absolute pleasure.

The choir is small in number, with significant years between the oldest and youngest members. This difference in vocal maturity makes producing a unison sound a difficult task and each chorister is, therefore, learning to listen to the person on their left, and the person on their right, and blend their own voice into the overall sound.

The young singers are meeting the challenge head on and with great progress. The senior Glasgow Islay Gaelic Choir concert in Bearsden a fortnight ago was our most together performance to date, in my opinion. Through the hard work and endeavour of its members, the choir is constant- ly showing strong evidence of improvement.

The choir numbers are down to eight after two members left us last week. Those two members leaving was a timely reminder that there are so many opportunities for school pupils to enjoy themselves outwith music and only so many hours in the day.

Music, of course, is not for everyone; and, when kids are naturally inclined towards sport or drama or whatever else, that should absolutely be encouraged. We must, however, ensure that those who are keen on music are allowed to develop their ability; and junior choirs and Fèisean are absolutely vital to this development.

I remember over the years, learning instruments and practicing my singing was often a huge pleasure and a means of escapism from the stresses of maths and science tests in school. It was at times, however, also a chore. I was, often to my detriment, and probably to the despair of my mother and father, a perfectionist, who did not take kindly to making mistakes.

At times there were tears, and sometimes I probably never wanted to see an instrument again. I am sure anyone else who has ever learnt an instrument from childhood would attest to that. But, my goodness, am I glad I stuck in? I cannot begin to put a value on the pleasure that I have taken from music over the years. I have made life-long friends, lived unforgettable tales, and, best of all, I even have a column in the Oban Times!

Out of all the youngsters I have worked with recently, I would hazard a guess that a fair percentage of them will eventually seek other opportunities and satisfactions in life, and their music will play second fiddle, if you’ll pardon the pun, to their career options or their other hobbies. Let us hope, however, that some percentage of them make music their life. If they do, I guarantee they will make great happiness for both themselves and others for many years to come. That’s another week completed on our German Irish Heartbeat tour and I have to say it’s flown by.

We started the week in Eisleben (the birthplace of Martin Luther) and a sold- out show in the local theatre. This is a town we’d visited and had a ball in two years previously and it certainly did not disappoint this time around.

We were once again staying in a hotel two doors up the road from Luther’s gebursthaus (birth-house), just the other side of a distinctly un-Lutheran cocktail bar. On our last visit, this had been the scene of that tour’s biggest hò-rò gheallaidh as Scottish and Irish tunes blasted long into the night with legendary Irish accordion virtuoso Dermot Byrne leading the charge.

Keen to emulate past glories, we knuckled- down to the task in hand and set about enjoying a couple of post-gig Piña Coladas over a few tunes and songs with the rest of the touring party. If we were struggling to keep up with the heroics of our younger selves, timely reinforcement arrived when Gary Innes received some fantastic news from home: he’d become an uncle for the second time! Cue bubbles, tears of joy and celebratory tunes till well past the usual closing time of a cocktail bar in a provincial German town on a Monday night.

‘See you next year but not before!,’ cried the clearly exhausted barman (delighted with the unexpected windfall but quite glad to see the back of Celtic musicians for a while) as we made the short but increasingly hazy walk back to the hotel.

One of the downsides of the touring life is that you quite often miss out on important moments in the lives of your family and friends but, thankfully, modern technology does help to keep you that little bit closer to home and ensures you can give the celebrations a good shot when the moment dictates.

Next stop was Cuxhaven in the Northwest of the country. Between 1900 and 1969, this was where millions of emigrants would have taken their last steps on European soil before setting-sail for a new life in North America. Our gig here took place in the Hamburg American Line’s former ocean-liner terminal: a complex of large, vaulted halls situated beside a now disused railway line on the docks. It was as though the walls were still ringing with the desperate hopes, dreams and trepidations of those leaving their homelands – a truly memorable concert and venue.

The week then took a turn for the arduous as we began a series of gigs literally zig-zagging daily across the full width of the country – a real treat if you’ve got a penchant for motorways or you’re into lorry-spotting but otherwise a bit dull. We would always try to avoid this kind of 6-hour-plus journey on a gig- day but sometimes things don’t quite fall into the order you’d like them too and there’s nothing for it but to buckle-up and get on with it.

The boys have developed a variety of coping mechanisms for these long days on the road. Gary can often be found watching a film on his tablet; Mark likes to catch up with any football highlights he may have missed; Ross is more likely to be found listening to his favoured album of the moment; Craig floats between watching films and trying to wind me up; I like to write articles for the Oban Times; and Ryan is the number one man you want to have sitting beside whoever’s driving to keep the chat going, unless he falls asleep! If the Corkman wanders off to his favoured corner of the Land of Nod then even a pipe chanter blasted directly into his ear-hole won’t retrieve him – believe us: we’ve tried.

Friday was a big day for Ryan and his fellow Irish folk on the tour (the Bernie Pháid Band & the Armagh Rhymers): St. Patrick’s Day.

We celebrated the day with a concert in Wilhelmshaven – back once more in the Northwest - and tried to get into the spirit of the thing as best we could, bedecked all in green including a fetching luminous green vest I presented to Ryan just before the gig. Fair play to him: he took to it with very little external encouragement and was soon proclaiming himself ‘The Hardest Man in Ireland’. Let’s hope he doesn’t have to back-up that boast anytime soon.

Now, before signing off on last week’s column, I left you on the bombshell that St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, may have had his roots in Lochaber. I’ve been known to appropriate famous persons and achievements for Lochaber in the past but this one may even have a grain of truth in it. One theory has it that the young St. Patrick (“Pat” as he was known then) was born and raised in Banavie around 389 AD, his father being a tax collector for the Romans who had invaded the West Highlands at that time. Of course, no one on the tour believes a word of this – perhaps I lost them when I suggested that the shed in the garden of our old house in Banavie may have been St. Pat’s former residence… Furthermore, after a brief bit of googling, it transpires that - far from being a bombshell - the news of St. Patrick’s Lochaber roots had previously been published amongst these very pages back in 1948! Must try harder next week. Onwards to Bavaria!