SWFL Fiddler
http://www.facebook.com/ianmbarksdale
How do, Ian here. I'm a dad and I play tunes on the fiddle, banjo, mandolin and whistle. I also holler songs. I play a little guitar (actually it's normal size) to back my own hollering and the tunes I know. Originally from New Hampshire, now in Southwest Florida.
We Session three times, weekly: Sun afternoon, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, drop me a line for more information if you're in South Florida.
All of us in SW Florida are lucky enough to have played with Mr. Michael J. Connolly over the past few years. Thanks Mike for all the great sessions we've had, and here's to many more!
http://www.cceboston.org/MJConnolly.html
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: A slide is NOT a jig. Try this:
'blah dithery dump a doodle scattery idle fortunoodle'
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ciar%C3%A1n_Carson#Critical_Perspective
A Family Tale of Tyrone and Philadelphia:
"Once upon a time in Castlederg, County Tyrone, Ireland, Robert and Minnie, a young couple, left home for a better life in America. Through Ellis Island to relatives' homes in Philadelphia, they built a new life and a family. Their eldest daughter would have fours sons and a daughter. The youngest son would have a son who felt he had to play fiddle, and he would think often of them, as he played the music his Great Grandmother played on the concertina at the kitchen table. He hoped he was playing some of the same tunes, but no one knew, and all he had were faded, second-hand memories."
A Family Tale of Clare and Philadelphia:
"Once upon a time, somewhere in County Clare, Ireland, a young lad named Eamon left home for England, where his parents could find work. The Jesuits grabbed the bright young lad and schooled him. When the boy was a man he left for New York, and was a journalist who fulfilled a vital stereotype of the hard-drinking, hard-smoking Irish American newspaper-man, singing songs in pubs at the end of the day. He found his way to Philadelphia, where he settled down and had two daughters and a son. The youngest daughter had a son, who felt compelled to sing all the songs his Grandfather sang, and thought of him often."
*****
"The Pub Musician's Complaint"
Say two Acts of Contrition for the poor pub musician,
If I have a son it's one thing he won't be.
For he's to put up with trickies, chancies and shysters,
And publicans dropping ten quid of the fee,
But the worst of them all, is that drunken old know-all,
That musical expert and self-made MC.
So if you've any notion to make a commotion,
I pray now attention you'll pay unto me.
(Chorus)
So come all ye fleadh ceol boys I do things my way,
I do what I want when I sing and I play.
If this you don't like, then get up on your bike,
For it's equal to me if you go or you stay.
Now we're sitting down here and we're having a few tunes,
It's the grandest old session that I've seen in years.
But as God as my witness there be some ignorant moron,
And in no time at all he'll be all bored to tears.
With his "Won't you play this one?" and "Can't you play that one?"
"Play some piece of rock and we'll liven this place!"
But says I "You old gobshite, you wouldn't know rock,
If it jumped up and clocked you straight into your face."
Chorus
This same individual won't be there when you've started,
But he'll surely be there when you've finished your stint.
For he's already closed all the other locations,
And only comes in when he can't get more drink.
He'll exhort you to play just to keep the bar open,
He'll sing an old dirge without rhythm or rhyme.
Some nonsensical drivel that he can't remember,
Yet still he'll keep singing the same old three lines.
Chorus
Now every known creature has a female equivalent,
And this one's no different. (The insulting old cow...)
She's as drunk as a lord and singing dischorded,
And wondering why you can't accompany her now.
But myself having manners will say "I don't know it,
Besides the time's gone and we have to go home."
But what I'd like to say is: "I don't want to play it,
Now will you kindly feck off and leave me alone?"
Chorus
So come all ye good people and give us proper order,
When we play a tune or when we sing a song,
For it took dedication and it sure wasn't easy,
And no, we're not making them up as we go along.
If you think you can do it, you're welcome to try it,
We'll pack up our cases and leave you alone.
But if not then shut up and let others enjoy it,
And we'll all be contented before we go home.
Chorus
"The Pub Musician's Complaint" by Don Murphy
http://www.irishmusicreview.com/sexsca.htm
*****
Tunes in SWFL Fiddler's head: seems like a lot but it'll never be enough
Songs in SWFL Fiddler's head: too many
Proportion of SWFL Fiddler's ability to Sean Nos dance versus desire: miniscule, but now improving at my own painstaking pace thanks to http://www.seannosdance.com.
Ability of SWFL Fiddler to do some sort of shambolic Appalachian stomp mixed with Sean Nos dance after consuming a few pints when the music is really good: Fairly decent, from what I've been told. Not buying it though. It keeps taking more and more pints for me to do it...
Amount of misplaced self importance one needs to have in order to be able to refer to one's self in the third-person: Infinite.
Tunes in SWFL Fiddler's tunebook: 263