Yesterday I went to the Sunday afternoon session at which I was once a dedicated regular. As is somewhat typical of the pub there were folks dining at the tables we normally set around so the start of the session was delayed a bit. It was a glorious day, Sun shinning, clear blue sky, gentle breeze, the tell tale smell of Spring in the air, you get the picture. I decided to sit on the bench outside the Pub and take out my guitar just to noodle around and perhaps sing a song or two.
I didn’t take long until a small crowd of parents and their children, who were out for a stroll on this glorious day, started to gather around. A young lass asked me if I knew any of the sing-a-long songs that she and her mother sing. Some American standards like “When The Saints Go Marching In” and the like. Well this innocent question led to a sing song amongst myself, the dozen or so children, and their parents that lasted for nearly an hour right there on the street in this quaint, albeit gentrified, village. We had a blast all singing together the likes of “In Dublin’s Fair City” and such. The initially inquisitive young lass’ mother even sang a brilliant song about a holly bush with her daughter whose name happened to be Holly. This young lass has a brilliant voice. What a treat it was for me to hear her sing.
It is because of experiences such as this that I cherish the music as I do. I pray I am blessed with many more of them.
PIPER in the streets today
Set up, and tuned, and started to play,
And away, away, away on the tide
Of his music we started; on every side
Doors and windows were opened wide,
And men left down their work and came,
And women with petticoats coloured like flame.
And little bare feet that were blue with cold,
Went dancing back to the age of gold,
And all the world went gay, went gay,
For half an hour in the street today.
Good story esjant.
While we're on pomes Here's a lovely one I copied from an Al O'Donnell record sleeve about 25 years ago.
THE BALLAD SINGER (To Al O'Donnell)
(Archie Fisher - 1968)
I watched a piper take the wind that blew around his hair
And with the supple leather
lead the hard black wood and brittle reed
A dance into the air
I watched a boy that stood with men
A whistle at his tongue
Breathe the old and smokey air into his breast
then with careful fingers
Make it young
I saw a chin rest on a fiddle
And watched the fingers dance
Letting the notes slip from the strings into the wind
that takes all things
That music leaves to chance
I heard the singer read the wind
And listened to his song
That told of all the wind had known
and when and where the wind had blown
And why he'd been so long.
Yes indeed Sunnybear, to me it is all about sharing as well and I am so grateful to be able to.
Great poems! Thanks Gary, Stewart, and Caberman. I’ve saved them as I am sure I will get many more smiles from reading them again many times down the road.
Kendra, Steve, and Avery, - I’m glad you enjoyed the story. I enjoyed the experience so much that I am considering dedicating some time to expanding my children’s song repertoire and perhaps trying to arrange a sing song and story hour at the Library.
By the way Avery it wasn’t at the Porter House.
I remember as a young teenager thinking to myself when I first heard Jerry Jeff Walker’s Mr. Bojangles how wonderful it must be to travel around making people smile. A wandering minstrel now that’s the life for me I remember saying in my youthful innocence. It is unfortunate that so many of our communities over here took, and continue to take, great steps to control, and even quell in many instances, informal street performances.
Yes. We do sometimes forget how the skills we have learned for our own pleasure can bring great joy to other people.
It's good to be open enough to recognise the moment and produce such happiness.
There is music in the glen tonight and we will never know
How the high sky, how deep the sea, and why-ever does it snow?
We only know that we can walk, and therefore we can dance.
We only know that we can talk, so singing we advance.
And there is music in the glen tonight and singing we advance.
The young ones flit and flirt and stare, the old ones might get up and dance.
The conversations just go on and on and on and on and still
There just cannot be too much laughter, here or on up in the hills.
For there is music in the glen tonight and on up in the hills.
The mountains, and the valley-sides, the forests are all filled
With wind and wood and skin's strung tight with these ancient melodies
Whose phrases fall like little bells and somehow we are free.
For there is music in the glen tonight and somehow we are free.
There is no clock, no work undone, no thousand years of tyranny.
The dark surrounds our houses, little spots of warmth and light;
The craic is high and the snow is falling for there is music in the glen tonight.
To me this is what it is all about!
To me this is what it is all about!
Yesterday I went to the Sunday afternoon session at which I was once a dedicated regular. As is somewhat typical of the pub there were folks dining at the tables we normally set around so the start of the session was delayed a bit. It was a glorious day, Sun shinning, clear blue sky, gentle breeze, the tell tale smell of Spring in the air, you get the picture. I decided to sit on the bench outside the Pub and take out my guitar just to noodle around and perhaps sing a song or two.
I didn’t take long until a small crowd of parents and their children, who were out for a stroll on this glorious day, started to gather around. A young lass asked me if I knew any of the sing-a-long songs that she and her mother sing. Some American standards like “When The Saints Go Marching In” and the like. Well this innocent question led to a sing song amongst myself, the dozen or so children, and their parents that lasted for nearly an hour right there on the street in this quaint, albeit gentrified, village. We had a blast all singing together the likes of “In Dublin’s Fair City” and such. The initially inquisitive young lass’ mother even sang a brilliant song about a holly bush with her daughter whose name happened to be Holly. This young lass has a brilliant voice. What a treat it was for me to hear her sing.
It is because of experiences such as this that I cherish the music as I do. I pray I am blessed with many more of them.
Peace,
Ed
# Posted on April 3rd 2006 by ejsant
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
what a nice story...it is indeed about sharing, isn't it?
# Posted on April 3rd 2006 by Sunnybear
Reminds me of a Great Poem
PIPER in the streets today
Set up, and tuned, and started to play,
And away, away, away on the tide
Of his music we started; on every side
Doors and windows were opened wide,
And men left down their work and came,
And women with petticoats coloured like flame.
And little bare feet that were blue with cold,
Went dancing back to the age of gold,
And all the world went gay, went gay,
For half an hour in the street today.
Seamus O'Sullivan
# Posted on April 3rd 2006 by feardearg
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
I love it when that happens! Thanks for sharing and bringing a smile to my day!
# Posted on April 3rd 2006 by musicfan
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Nice story Ed. Was this at the Porter House?
I got to get out to more of these NJ sessions. Problem is, they are all on Sunday.
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by Why Bother?
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.
The Fiddler of Dooney
By William Butler Yeats
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by Stewart
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Wonderful!
Thanks, all.
stv
http://cdbaby.com/Culchies
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by stv culchie
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Good story esjant.
While we're on pomes Here's a lovely one I copied from an Al O'Donnell record sleeve about 25 years ago.
THE BALLAD SINGER (To Al O'Donnell)
(Archie Fisher - 1968)
I watched a piper take the wind that blew around his hair
And with the supple leather
lead the hard black wood and brittle reed
A dance into the air
I watched a boy that stood with men
A whistle at his tongue
Breathe the old and smokey air into his breast
then with careful fingers
Make it young
I saw a chin rest on a fiddle
And watched the fingers dance
Letting the notes slip from the strings into the wind
that takes all things
That music leaves to chance
I heard the singer read the wind
And listened to his song
That told of all the wind had known
and when and where the wind had blown
And why he'd been so long.
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by cabers
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Yes indeed Sunnybear, to me it is all about sharing as well and I am so grateful to be able to.
Great poems! Thanks Gary, Stewart, and Caberman. I’ve saved them as I am sure I will get many more smiles from reading them again many times down the road.
Kendra, Steve, and Avery, - I’m glad you enjoyed the story. I enjoyed the experience so much that I am considering dedicating some time to expanding my children’s song repertoire and perhaps trying to arrange a sing song and story hour at the Library.
By the way Avery it wasn’t at the Porter House.
I remember as a young teenager thinking to myself when I first heard Jerry Jeff Walker’s Mr. Bojangles how wonderful it must be to travel around making people smile. A wandering minstrel now that’s the life for me I remember saying in my youthful innocence. It is unfortunate that so many of our communities over here took, and continue to take, great steps to control, and even quell in many instances, informal street performances.
Here’s to the next sunny day!
Peace,
Ed
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by ejsant
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Great story Ed. Impromptu/ spontaneous sessions can be a joy. It's amazing the talent out there. It sure warms the heart.
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by Strathfoyle
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Yes. We do sometimes forget how the skills we have learned for our own pleasure can bring great joy to other people.
It's good to be open enough to recognise the moment and produce such happiness.
# Posted on April 4th 2006 by Guernsey Pete
Re: To me this is what it is all about!
Music in the Glen (joHn Kennedy)
There is music in the glen tonight and we will never know
How the high sky, how deep the sea, and why-ever does it snow?
We only know that we can walk, and therefore we can dance.
We only know that we can talk, so singing we advance.
And there is music in the glen tonight and singing we advance.
The young ones flit and flirt and stare, the old ones might get up and dance.
The conversations just go on and on and on and on and still
There just cannot be too much laughter, here or on up in the hills.
For there is music in the glen tonight and on up in the hills.
The mountains, and the valley-sides, the forests are all filled
With wind and wood and skin's strung tight with these ancient melodies
Whose phrases fall like little bells and somehow we are free.
For there is music in the glen tonight and somehow we are free.
There is no clock, no work undone, no thousand years of tyranny.
The dark surrounds our houses, little spots of warmth and light;
The craic is high and the snow is falling for there is music in the glen tonight.
# Posted on April 5th 2006 by Stewart