Hearing (on Irish radio) about “America 250” (it is 250 years since the American declaration of independence) reminded me that, a couple of years ago, I wrote an article about the American reaction to the Irish declaration of independence (in 1919). It appears in the volume Irish Revolution: diplomacy & reactions. Explaining the American foreign policy attitude of the day, which was not well understood in Ireland, was a worthwhile study.

In the same book, I wrote an article about “Aonach na nGaedheal”, which was the official title of the 1922 “World Conference of the Irish Race”. Apart from attempting to organise a diaspora, this “Aonach” event encompassed Irish art exhibitions, on everything from Irish painting to drama to music. As I explained in the article, it was initiated by a nascent Irish department of foreign affairs.

The music programme in 1922 included traditional music. This did not happen at state-patronised, Irish cultural events thereafter! Therefore, it is interesting to me to see a slight “diplomatic dimension” to recent reflections on traditional music, both here and here!

I’m very conscious that, as much as I’d like to study the subject in great depth, being a political and to some extent cultural historian hitherto, it is not possible to literally “switch minds” and become a bona fide music historian at the drop of a hat! Of course, I’ve also to deal with many other issues in my life beyond historical studies, and to turn music into an object of academic study (work) rather than artistic enjoyment (relief from work) would be contrary to some ingrained personal instincts. But where folklore and history meet is potentially a fascinating subject, not just a tremendous rabbit hole to get lost in, so it may entice me to dig deep yet….

Notwithstanding the Library of Congress link above, I’ve always been inclined to think of American opinion as essentially “anti-folklore” and more given to futurology than history as a mode of thought. Hence, in 1922 (I’m pretty sure), there was often an association of Irish culture and particularly Irish music in America with the negative legend of the pied piper (a sort of “road less travelled for good reason”). On a different note, a recent discovery for me was an eloquent reflection by T.S. Eliot on folklore and history, in the name of tradition, which is really quite thought provoking. But Eliot, born in the heartlands of America, had by this time moved to England and would soon renounce his American citizenship for good. Why so, one might wonder. As I have not read a biography of Eliot I cannot give you an answer. Today, however, I can muse: “how was it that it was an American who issued such a challenge to artistic stereotypes in the name of tradition?” I knew and liked some of Eliot’s poems in yesteryear but, I must admit, I was never conscious of him as a prose writer.

I’m pretty sure that by the time Eliot died, in early January 1965 (I don’t think that made headlines in Irish newspapers, which deemed “the” great artistic casualty of the day to be Jimmy O’Dea!), most people would have associated American art criticism with the likes of Andy Warhol rather than this “former American citizen”. But as one of the greatest poets of the twentieth century, Eliot’s prose commentaries may merit further examination (irrespective of any broad criticisms in John Carey’s old “intellectuals and the masses” thesis).

A few years ago – when my spirit was in a different land of the living – I posted a couple of blogs on long-forgotten artists that I titled “A Long Forgotten Art” and “A Long Forgotten Art (2)”. Being either without or on a different wave of inspiration these days, I am tempted to blog in the negative, as in the title above.

“Long forgotten artists” is a perhaps self-explanatory phrase. I first heard the phrase in a song, which had the slightly poetic lyric: “you shot me with a cannonball of history & long forgotten art” (Golden Heart, by Mark Knopfler). I liked that. Sometimes researching history brings one face to face with creative work of yesteryear which was unknown. But “unknown to whom?” There is a question.

My maternal grandfather was known in his day for having a lot of orally-transmitted Irish instrumental airs that were unfamiliar to others. People speak of “traditional” music, but what is “tradition”? My late mother idolised Gustav Mahler for much of her life. Last night, I came across a quote, attributed to Mahler, in a remarkable traditional music album: “Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.” If fire symbols creativity, tradition is not a “long forgotten” or “past” culture. It is a “living culture”, as well as a creative one. How many living cultures are unknown, not because they are “long forgotten” (clearly, they have not been), but simply because we have never been exposed to them, or understood the creative impulse within them?

Exposing myself to “traditional music” much more frequently this past year has led me to begin to hear it with different ears. It has a history, but does it make sense to frame that history with words? It lives if it is played, not if it is written about or, indeed, only written on a page.

Being beyond words, where does it begin and where does it end? Earlier generations framed it with sheet music. Recent generations have embraced ethnomusicology as a form of analysis. But if the music is European, is this appropriate?

“Writing about music is like dancing about economics” is an old American expression. It makes little sense to do so, particularly when its content is without words. Lorcán Mac Mathúna’s CD album An Bhuatais can be acquired in a book format, with remarkable essays in it on everything from G.M. Hopkins’ Christian poetry to the symbolism of the Achilles-Hector and Táin myths. As he deals with songs with lyrics, such a use of words is excusable. It is inspired even (as, indeed, is much of the music itself). I am used to “writing about history”. But if, as currently tempted, I am to begin writing about “musical history” a degree of inspiration will be required that, at present, escapes me. Perhaps I will require “a new muse”! Or else, just a much greater sensitivity to how cyclical musical processes can be – and not just historical “processes” – within the proverbial “traditional arts”. Witness this reiteration of music collected in pre-famine Ireland but unknown to all prior to 1963 and unpublished until 1998, but seemingly alive and well “today”.

A weird melancholy is in the air, on the eve of a particular day, and five LPs are calling to me to be heard. So, in honour of St. Patrick’s Day, here is an honorary mention of five LPs that echo something that can sometimes seem to me to be more Eriu than Eriu.

1. Ceoltoiri Chulann, “Playboy of the Western World” (Gael Linn, 1963)

Irish folk music is usually heard only as dance music. But in this film soundtrack, Sean O Riada arranged airs to be played by a traditional group with a sense of dynamics akin to a chamber music ensemble. Thought provoking. Haunting. Still impressive. A “one off”, even if a later group (including some of the players on this record) occasionally attempted (I think unsuccessfully) to capture something similar without the actual chief who arranged this record. It is all about the dynamics.

2. Alan Stivell, “Renaissance” (Dreyfus, 1972) / ”Beyond Words” (Dreyfus, 2002).

The first, with Irish airs, is the famous one (of these two instrumental solo albums) but I’ll pick the second one. Stivell, a Breton, maybe overplays the idea of being the high priest/druid of all things Celtic (possibly the result of flirting with rock occasionally), but on “Beyond Words” he gets sonorities on the wire-strung harp that could well be the DNA of everything Eriu-ish. If you ever get bitten by the wire-strung harp bug, other players out there include Rudiger Oppermann (Germany), who is almost as “out there” as Stivell (or perhaps even more so without being Celtic-inspired), and then there’s the strictly trad. heads: Ann Heymann and Patrick Ball (USA) and Siobhan Armstrong and Paul Dooley (Ireland). The late Derek Bell may have been the first in Ireland (in recent times) to look back to “the” truly Irish harp, although Stivell was there before him, thanks to his dad having built him a wire-strung harp in the 1950s. Janet Harbison’s charity album “Prayer” is one where “the (modern) Irish harp” almost sounds like “the” (wire-strung) Irish harp. Hmm….and yet it was hymnal music rather than insane banshee music. How is this possible? Electricity and recording studios can do wonders, as Andreas Vollenweider might say.

3. Moving Hearts, “The Storm” (Tara, 1985).

Asking if this record is truly Irish (folk) music is a bit like asking if Dave Gruisin’s GRP Record Label was truly a jazz label. Maybe not. To me, this seems to be the quintessential Donal Lunny recording, rather than what the recording artists were known for, but it is another “one off” type of record. An independently produced Irish “traditional” record that sounds like the “smoother” end of 1980s jazz fusion. Bizarre, but noteworthy. Not all pop-Irish music of the period was inspired by Clannad’s soundtrack to Robin of Sherwood.

4. John Feeley, “E-Motion” (Black Box, 1997).

In the 1980s, Feeley arranged and recorded Irish traditional airs for classical guitar, often well. This record is eight world premieres of Irish classical guitar compositions and, if I remember right, the Voyage of Maeldun and the Shannon Suite were the standout ones. There’s no Celtic DNA playing on the nervous system on this record, but it is Irish and I have a fondness for classical guitar, which can also serve as the easiest introduction to classical music of every era and style because if you like the sound of a guitar a guitar can still only ever be a guitar.

5. Catriona McKay, “Catriona McKay” (Glimster, 2002).

Ok, so she’s Scottish, not Irish, but there’s Irish tunes here and this, her first, self-produced, recording haunts me just a little, not so much for the harp-fiddle duos (her claim to fame with Chris Stout) or for having the first recording of her most popular tune (The Swan), but because this was the first record I heard that featured a “new” style of doing Irish/Scottish airs that I found ear-catching: using a double-bass for comping and soloing with the traditional performers. It fills the music out well. Recently deceased jazzman Chick Corea once did a duet with bassist Stanley Clarke called “The Hilltop” that inexplicably sounded Irish to me (on a record called “My Spanish Heart”: was it Gayle Moran’s influence?). McKay’s record here is “hilltop” territory, not just because the first tune is called the Hill of Tara and the last is named after an Irish castle that does not exist, except perhaps in some Uladh dreams.

Additional note: having mentioned a few great harpists, I’ll add that Vincenzo Zitello’s album “Metamorphose” is a recent great discovery: an hour of music with the great tone of the old Irish harp. All original music and all good. Not being a creature of i-tunes, it is such a pity to me that it is available only as a digital download.