"a
deeply expressive voice"
-Siobhán long The
Irish Times
"a
man of great imagination"
-Dai Jeffries Folking.com
"truly
extraordinary”
- David Kidman The Living Tradition
" an
astonishing new voice"
- Michael Quinn Songlines
"Spine-tingling"
-FRoots (on Rógaire dubh)
"Here
is an album that is as unexpected as it is delightful."
- Vic Smith The Folk Diary
(on Rógaire dubh)
   
Album
Reviews
Dubh
agus Geal - Darkness and Light

David
Kidman – The Living tradition
Dubh
Agus Geal – Darkness And Light
Private Label LMM011001
Lorcán
MacMathúna, from Cork, is an excellent young
sean-nós singer whose work I first encountered
three years ago on his intense CD Rógaire
Dubh. Here he unveils the first release of his
ambitious ongoing Northern Lights project, which
traces similarities in Irish and Scandinavian traditional
music by means of what Lorcán terms “explorations
of Gaelic-Norse folk roots”. That description
might betoken a musical approach that’s vaguely
trendy or else drily academic, but this intriguing
disc is in fact neither, instead being a brilliantly
listenable and stimulating musical experience.
In
many ways it’s a natural continuation of
what we encountered on Rógaire Dubh, where
maximum impact is gained by the compelling and
evocative vocalising of Lorcán himself and
principal collaborator Raphael De Cock, cradled
within opulent yet lucidly conceived textures that,
while often sparsely-stranded, embody a bleakness
that never lacks warmth, one which though invariably
transparent remains highly telling.
Lorcán’s
central thesis, expounded in the essay hectically
crammed onto the inside first page of the admirably
informative and voluminous accompanying booklet,
is that folk music is part of the collective consciousness
and experience rather than a single person’s
story, and this is aptly demonstrated by his open-hearted
sharing of modes and idioms familiar from traditional
Irish and Scandinavian musics, which are performed
in parallel and in empathic union on the same musical
stage, as it were. The very sequencing of the dozen
items on the disc accentuates this approach, and
the listener remains riveted throughout, while
it’s impossible to tire of the constantly
changing soundscape where the panoply of accompanying
instrumental colours (pipes, whistles, flutes,
hardanger fiddle, bouzouki, guitar, jew’s
harp, shruti box, bodhrán) is used ever-inventively
(yet often quite unobtrusively) to enhance the
texts and melodies. The sheer power of the words
and music transcends any potentially disconcerting
impact of the constant switching between sung languages
(full texts and detailed synopses are all available
in the booklet), and the overall effect is both
timeless and gently epic.
Over
The Waves (Craggie Hill) juxtaposes stories of
departure and separation by sea from two perspectives,
economically too (in under three minutes), whereas
several other tracks stretch out the mood and experimental
pairings in more extended fashion yet still don’t
overstay their welcome. The Frozen North presents
two interlocking narratives of loss, the Irish
elegy Tuireamh Mhic Finín Dhuibh and the
Norwegian ballad Dei Frealause Menn, given an eerie
supernatural demeanour by the incorporation of
overtone singing, while the dreamlike vision Aisling
Gheal is characterised by a weird stringed accompaniment
from a chatkhan (Siberian harp). The aching resignation
of Ardaí Chuain is expressed in a vocal
line of extremely poignant beauty, and further
contrast is provided by The Chickens Lip, a glorious
and vigorous melding of dance tunes, whereby a
gangar (Norwegian walking dance) flows into a jig
(the latter gleefully combining Irish lilting and
Swedish lalling) before tripping off into a jubilant
reel. Moments of repose are provided by the reflective “listening
tune” Nordlys (played as a hardingfele solo)
and the lovely lullaby that prefaces Bog Braon,
to which a brief coda-cum-bonus track (a reprise
of Nordlys) is appended, setting the seal on this
enchanting, mesmerising disc.
read
the review in The Living Tradition
Neil
McFadyen - Folkradio.com
Northern Lights – Dubh agus Geal *****
“ I
woke tonight from an ancient dream, a dream where
tales of murder, exile and oppression flowed around
my consciousness like the churning of the North
Sea. A dream where voices, centuries old and worlds
apart, enthralled me. A dream where Gaelic & Viking
music, stories and song implored me to listen,
to learn, to remember. And when I woke from the
dream, all I longed for was to return to the green
hillsides and the frozen seas, to immerse myself
again in the timeless tales”.
Regular
visitors may remember that back in July, Folk Radio
UK reported on the completion of Lorcán
Mac Mathúna‘s Northern Lights project,
promising a ‘fascinating and beautiful’ album,
Dubh agus Geal (Darkness And Light). Well, we’re
delighted to confirm that was no understatement.
In collaboration with Raphael De Cock (voice, pipes,
Siberian harp, shrutti, hardanger fiddle, jews
harp), and James Mahon (uillean pipes, whistle
flutes), Lorcán Mac Mathúna has created
an album that educates and fascinates.
Drawing
on the historic affiliations of Gaeldom and Scandanavia,
Dubh agus Geal celebrates the cultural traditions
of folklore and music, unearthing both harmonious
and contrasting associations. There are tales of
exile and emigration, such as Over the Waves, where
a young man looks forward to making his fortune
on foreign shores, while his sweetheart dreads
the inevitable separation; or Ardai Chuain, exploring
the pain of unending exile.
Each
song on the album comes from the musical and oral
traditions of Ireland, Sweden, Denmark and Norway.
Throughout, these traditions intertwine to produce
songs that traverse the geographical boundaries.
In, for instance the well known Irish celebration
of a pastoral spring, Aililiu na Gamhna, The jews
harp and bodhran instill a Nordic flavour. In Ceannabhan
Bana / Paidin O’ Rafairte, pipes and jews
harp combine in a lively session set.
Folklore
the world over is full of dark tales and in The
Frozen North, supernatural tales from Norway and
Ireland combine in an eerie, lamenting epic, where
throat singing adds a ghostly voice. In Sven In
the Rosegarden medieval voices present a murder
ballad that has parallels in many cultures, and
is hauntingly reminiscent of ‘What Put The
Blood?’ The song becomes more strident as
the question and answer session continues, with
soul stirring harmonies.
Life,
however, isn’t all murder, mayhem and mystery – even
in the frozen north. The Chicken’s Lip provides
a set of dance tunes embracing the combined cultures,
with hardanger and uillean pipes supporting mouth
music traditions. To compliment the dancing, there’s
music from the Nordic chill-out tradition of Lydarslått
in Nordlys, and the beautiful and uplifting Bog
Braon, a lullaby that gently skips toward a joyous
conclusion.
This
album defies reviewers, in the best possible way.
It’s a challenge to do justice to the level
of artistic and academic achievement presented.
The best possible way to appreciate the wealth
of creativity, imagination and study that’s
gone into the creation of this masterpiece is to
immerse yourself completely… lose yourself
in the music, feed your mind with the extensive
information provided in the sleeve notes. Anyone
interested in the shared influences and traditions,
musical, oral and political, of Northern Europe
and Scandinavia will find Dubh agus Geal a treasure
and a fascinating resource to return to time and
again… I’ve only just started listening,
and there’s still so much to learn.
read
the review on Folkradio.com
SIOBHÁN
LONG -The Irish Times
Dubh
agus Geal – Darkness and Light Claddagh Records
****
It’s refreshing to hear musicians explore the crosscurrents
that might have influenced (and clearly are now influencing)
traditional music, particularly when those tidal patterns
extend to Scandinavia. Sean-nós singer Lorcán
MacMathúna has a deeply expressive voice that readily
entwines itself in the syllables and rhythms of a song. His
band mates (Belgian hardanger fiddle player, piper and jewsharpist
Raphael de Cock, and piper, whistle and flute player James
Mahon) feast on both shared and complementary repertoire
here, which is at its most exotic on Sven in the Rosegarden
, based on a Swedish murder ballad. The highly charged harmonies
are at times monastic in their bare settings, while at others
the stark contrast of pipes, fiddle and voice render the
music deeply meditative. The Chicken’s Lip explores
the lilting and lalling traditions of Ireland and Sweden
to spectacular effect. A bold ride into uncharted terrain.
read
the review in The Irish Times
Tom
Keller - Folkworld.eu
The
second ‘Celtic influenced’ album takes
me by surprise. Singer Lorcan Mac Mathúna
plays together with the Belgian top musician Raphael
de Cock and uillean pipe and flute player James
Mahon. This collaboration results in a marvelous
album on which the trio re-arranged traditional
Irish and Scandinavian tunes and songs. Top quality
music in which the tradition of the music is kept
really well, without sounding out of date. Wonderful
(harmony) vocals, well arranged instrumental parts.
It’s an album which brings the ancient atmospheres
back to life in a wonderful way. Listen to Mac
Mathúna’s great vocals, which fit
perfectly with the voice of De Cock. Softly backed
by the flutes, pipes, hardanger fele and other
strings. Definitely one of the best Celtic influenced
albums from 2011.
Bart
Vanoutrive - Folkroddels.be
An
ambitious, hypothetical reconstruction of musical
cross-fertilization between the Celts and Vikings,
offering timeless haunting musical adventures ...
....These ‘music
anthropologists' brought this challenging project
to a successful conclusion. They wonderfully managed
to evoke the mystique of the dark ages, not least
by the full use of drones and sympathetic qualities
of their instrumentation in the supporting accompaniments.
This provides a number of magic, hypnotising, and
sometimes meditative experiences, while the music
stays still very accessible. There is much to discover
and enjoy. Although very archaic in design, this
music has something timeless. It presents a soul
for the listener to lose her- or himself into...."
A
translated extract from the extensive Folkroddels.be
CD review
Dai
Jeffries - Folking.com
Lorcán Mac Mathúna is best known in Ireland
as a Sean-Nós singer. He’s also a man of great
imagination and Darkness And Light (Dubh Agus Geal to give
it its Irish title) is the first result of his Northern Lights
project, exploring the links between the music of Ireland
and Scandinavia.
If
you think that’s odd, Lorcán explains
that a thousand years ago Dublin was a major Viking
ship building port and the cultural cross-fertilization
was evident as late as the 16thcentury. If you
still doubt consider ‘Sven In The Rosegarden’ and ‘I’m
Sick To My Heart’ which bear strong similarities
to British ballads. All the songs on this album
are traditional, sung in Irish, Swedish, Danish,
Norwegian and English. Lorcán is joined
by Raphael De Cock, James Mahon, Connor Lyons and
Joey Doyle in a band heavy with drones, whistles
and flutes. There are two sets of pipes, hardingfele
and Jews Harp producing a haunting, almost mediaeval
sound when coupled with the vocals of Lorcán
and Raphael.
‘ Over
The Waves’ mixes two songs, ‘Hermond
Don Idde’ and ‘Craigie Hill’,
with alternate verses in Danish and English leading
into two rather jolly tunes. ‘The Frozen
North’ again alternates verses, this time
in Norwegian and Irish, telling a story which has
parallels with ‘The Ship In Distress’ and
is the most haunting performance on the album.
Although
Dubh Agus Geal may appear at first to be a rather
scholarly and esoteric work it is also extremely
listenable. Not only do the players mix songs they
also mix dance tunes with hardanger fiddle, pipes
and lilting into something new. There is a great
deal to discover in this record and much to enjoy.
read
the review on Folking.com
FATEA
Magazine
Album:Dubh
Agus Gael - Darkness And Light Loric Colloquies
Label:Foras Na Gaeilge
" Dubh
Gael - Darkness And Light loric Colloquies" is
an album that celebrates the similarities between
Celtic and Norse music streams, though unlike the
other albums that I've heard exploring that area
this year, this one is rooted in Ireland. That
makes a lot of sense as Dublin was a major trading
city during the dark ages bringing the two cultures
together. Northern Lights are a trio of traditional
musicians drawn from other bands and projects who
have got together under the stewardship of Lorcan
Mac Mathuna to deliver an exciting and interesting
album.
|
An
Táin

THE IRISH TIMES
The
tale of the Táin Bó Cuailgne, memorialised
in the 12th-century Book of Leinster is invigorated
by Cork singer Lorcan MacMathúna. Commissioned
by the William Kennedy Piping Festival, this
suite of 10 movements sounds primeval and its
tone is haunting. MacMathúna’s never
been afraid to venture into the unknown, as his
last project, Northern Lights, a melding of Irish
and Norse sagas attested. The primal impulse
firing Flaithrí Neff’s pipes on
the eighth movement, Caoineadh Fherdia, is the
ideal foil for Lorcán’s belly-deep
vocal patterns. But make no mistake: this is
not music for the casual listener. It demands
repeated exposure to reach beneath its surface,
such are the demands of its patterns. Skipping
directly to Scread Ceann Sualtaim, with fiddle
and bass clarinet propelling the story, offers
a relatively accessible entry to another world:
alien but intriguing. lorcanmacmathuna.com/antain
|
Rógaire
Dubh

The
Folk Diary 1.2010
Here
is an album that is as unexpected as it is
delightful. Sean-nós singing in the Irish
language is probably the oldest and certainly
the most complex and difficult of all the singing
traditions in these islands and enthusiasts
will be used to hearing the recordings that
were released in the early days of the revival
of the few surviving veterans from the various
Gaeltacht areas of the west of Ireland.
This
means that this album comes as a surprise in
a number of ways. Firstly, we are hearing a younger
man at the height of his powers showing all the
required skills in handling all the difficult
cadences, decorations, twists and turns of this
repertoire and then we are hearing much of the
singing accompanied after what was always a solo
unaccompanied tradition.
The
accompanists come from both traditional and classical
disciplines but they are innovating successfully
in finding a way to augment the singer in a way
that is compatible with this type of singing.
Not
an easy album to listen to, it will reward the
careful listener. VIC
SMITH, The Folk Diary
"This
is a beautifully packaged showcase for an astonishing
new voice."
SONGLINES 169
10th Anniversary issue.
Lorcan
Mac Mathuna
Rogaire Dubh
Copperplate COPP007
****
Deep, dark and beautiful
Lorcan Mac Mathuna's father
Seamus, himself a revered exponent of sean nos ('old style')
singing, has described the form as 'the least understood,
most complex part of Irish traditional music. It takes
a keen ear and a sharply honed sensibility to appreciate
where style and substance meet in a repertoire that is
raw, astringent, technically complex and regionally diverse.
Purists
may well insist that only two of the ten tracks
on Rogaire Dubh are strictly sean nos style,
the others being variously accompanied by Hardanger
fiddle, whistle, bodhrán, harp, cello
and pipes. But strict adherence to an a capella
delivery aside, Lorcan Mac Mathuna's self-produced
debut is a compelling collection of lowering
laments that positions him in the vanguard of
a new generation of sean nos singers.
The
rough-hewn fissures and cross-cut grain of Mac
Mathuna's peat-dark voice are employed with admirably
understated intelligence in performances, steeped
in the Munster idiom. Brooding beauty is the
order of the day, although album opener 'Na Tailliuri" delights
with its comic playfulness, and the robust title-track
is borne along with a strikingly fast-paced energy
by fiddler Caoimhin O’ Raghallaigh and
Mick O'Brien on uilleann pipes. Standout tracks
include the savagely sardonic, drone-accompanied
Irish Famine song 'Johnny Seoighe' and a wistfully
truncated 'Bean Dubh an Ghleanna' (featuring
Helen Lyons' light-as-morning-dew harp).
The
two a capella songs are also striking: 'An Buachaillin
Ban' is a bleak, dangerously sensuous tirade
against John Bull; while the 18th century elegy
'Tuireamh Mhic Finin Dhuibh' sees Mac Mathiina
illuminatingly mining some dislocating, bass-heavy
depths.
This
is a beautifully packaged showcase for an astonishing
new voice. MICHAEL
QUINN, Songlines
"This
is one of the most beautiful albums I have ever
heard. I replayed it over and over. It's on the
radio station and it will stay on there for some
time." ALEX GALLACHER, folkradio.uk
"Speaking
of getting right to the heart of the matter,
for those of you interested in great singing,
we can thoroughly recommend Lorcan MacMathuna’s ‘Rogaire
Dubh’. Lorcan sings in Irish Gaelic, but
the feel of this CD transcends language barriers." NICK
O'SULLIVAN, Dulcimer.org
Cork-born
Lorcán is
a passionate young sean-nós singer with
a confident and commanding, though sensible,
measured style which emphasises the musical quality
of the song in an often innovative way while
demonstrating both a respect for and understanding
of the texts. Sean-nós singing can be
a bit of an acquired taste, I’ll admit,
but Lorcán’s strongly individual
presentation is both intense and involving without
being austere or intimidating: deliberate: yes
but involved rather than soporific. There’s
both intimacy and an understated sensuousness
in his response (a combination which I’ve
noted in the singing of Dónal Maguire),
and on some of the songs there’s also an
approach to decoration that rather resembled
that of Robin Williamson.
Unusually
for a singer perhaps, Lorcán admits that
he has often fallen for the music of a song and
the sound of its phrases before he understood
anything else about it. The drone of a hardangeror
fiddle( Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh),
cello (Jane Hughes), or pipes (Mick O’Brien),
at once pictorial and timeless, gives a pictorial
aspect to the musical expression almost before
the meaning of the words at times. Other musicians
play harp, whistle and bodhrán but each
individual song is sparse in texture and two
of the key songs are performed “undressed
with accompaniment” as Lorcán aptly
describes it. There’s a weird sensation
caused by Lorcán’s double-tracking
some passages from the text of the eerie 18th
century elegy Tuireamh Mhic Finín Dhuibh,
only accentuatin the sheer other-worldly nature
of its melody line, which is at once epic and
highly disorientating. A bit like the parallel-chanting
of Tibetan monks, perhaps, but it sounds truly
extraordinary.
Finally,
the whole CD ends most delightfully when the
subtly mellow song Bean Dubh an Ghleanna glides
almost effortlessly into an uplifting and gently
sparkling Merry-Band-Like plathrough of the reel
Kiss The Maid Behind The Barrel. Sure enough,
there’s sometimes stridency in Lorcán’s
delivery, and it probably won’t help that
a significant majority of the disc’s tracks
are performed at a similar (slowish) pace, but
personally I’ve found this one of the most
captivating discs of sean-nós singing
I’ve encountered in recent years. DAVID
KIDMAN, The Living Tradition
SINGER Lorcan Mac Mathúna takes the style of Irish
sean nós with all the reverence it deserves, presenting
it in a form that opens doors to an ancient and rich tradition.
One key is provided by an accompanying booklet of detailed
and often passionate notes about the style and content of
the songs.
The addition of accompaniment makes the singing more accessible,
with the meanings being enhanced by sensitive interpretations
on fiddle, cello, harp, pipes and whistle. The single cello
line underpinning the voice throughout An Clar Bog Deil adds
to its beauty and poignancy.
In the tradition of sean nós, there are two unaccompanied
songs. In one of them, Mac Mathuna's double tracking of his
voice creates an eerie and atmospheric other-worldliness.
Amhrán na Leabhar struck me, with its desolate story
of a school teacher losing all his books in a boat that sunk.
Although not easy going, this album rewards concentrated
listening. - Delyth Jenkins, Taplas,
(Welsh folk magazine)
LACKING
EVEN a basic working knowledge of Irish, it was
with some trepidation that this reviewer approached
Lorcán Mac Mathúna's collection
of sean-nós songs.
As
it turns out, I needn't have worried as one of
the main objectives of the Rógaire Dubh
project has been to make traditional Irish-language
songs more accessible to those without a good
knowledge of Irish.
MacMathúna
has gone about this in a number of ways.
On
all but two songs in this collection from Connemara
and the three Gaeltachts of Munster he has deliberately
eschewed the traditional approach of unaccompanied
singing.
Opting
instead to work with a mixture of traditional
and classical musicians - Mick O'Brien (pipes
and whistle), Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh
(fiddle, hardanger and whistle), Helen Lyons
(harp), Jane Hughes (cello) and Conor Lyons (bodhrán),
MacMathúna has succeeded in delivering
a contemporary twist to the haunting melodies
of his traditional sean-nós repertoire.
An
accompanying booklet includes translations and
notes on the social, cultural or historical context
of the songs. It also features a collection of
images, reflecting the decay and regeneration
of modern urban life and the artist's own city-dwelling
background.
Mac
Mathúna intention has not been to ignore
or subvert 'tradition'. Rather it is an attempt
to create musical interpretations which reflect
his own influences while pointing to the undeniable
fact that the very conditions that were responsible
for forming that tradition no longer prevail.
Rooted
in the traditions of the past, these songs undeniably
breath with the life of the present. As Mac Mathúna
explains: "The thing about tradition...
is that it is a living thing. It must have renewed
relevance to each generation that partakes in
it..."
No
matter what language you speak, the result is
both engaging and beautiful. DAVID GRANVILLE,
The Irish Democratic
Spectacular sleeve
notes herald the arrival of a young sean nós
singer with attitude and a sense of time and
place in equal measure. Lorcán MacMathúna
may not possess the most exceptional voice,
and at times he maintains a tenuous connection
with conventional notions of tunefulness, but
this is a singer with his ear on the prize.
He delves so deeply beneath Saileog Rua that
he scarcely remembers to come up for air, his
voice creaking and groaning with the weight
of one long-immersed in the spirit of the song.
Gorgeous cello and fiddle (from Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh
and Jane Hughes) lend depth and breadth to
a vista still in the making. An early snapshot
of a vocalist in pursuit of songs that "sing
the singer". SIOBHÁN
LONG, Irish Times
A
jolly opener.
Sounds like a wee 'fun song' but as it's in
Irish Gaelic it could be about a hanging for
all we know! But we think the voice gives it
away and it is a 'fun song'. This is another
album that challenges
the traditional
norm in that the sean-nos style is 'accompanied'
but even you diehards should be a touch tolerant
'cause the voice is excellent and the accompaniment
is well used and to good effect. Have a listen
to a master at work. Allcelticmusic.com
A
Japanese review (I think) English translation
preprinted below
."..album
seems to me one of the most interesting albums
released in 2007."
This album, as I hear it, is clearly based on the sean-nós
singing tradition of Munster, but with a very tasteful
and innovative accompaniment with most unusual arrangements
that no one has ever tried with this type of singing.
When
your ears are caught by the musical virtuosity
of Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh, playing
the hardanger fiddle (hardingfele), Mick O'Brien,
playing the pipes, or Jane Hughes, playing the
cello, you are prone to get lost in the flow
of the music itself, wondering whether what you
are hearing right now is Nordic music or classical
music; however, the singing is without a doubt
sean-nós.
It
seems I have encountered for the first time an
album with a feel of sean-nós that is
so full of love of songs and that is at the same
time so originally and deftly arranged. At any
rate, there are a good many of songs that will
keep you fascinated so that you might find yourself
listening to them over and over again.
I
happened to get hold of this album at a record
store called Custy's in Ennis, Co. Clare, by
a suggestion of a shop clerk there. After I explained
to him that I was looking for a good sean-nós
record, he encouraged me to have a listen to
it, which turned out to be an unforgettable experience.
(Before this experience I seem to recall listening
to it on a Clare FM program, though.)" MÍCHEÁL,
Tigh Mhichil
Cé nár
labhair mé leat go fóil, go raibh
míle a Mhíchíl.
In
the short time I have had Lorcán Mac Mathúna’s
CD in my possession, my feelings towards it have
already gone through a number of phases. As they
may shift again. What follows may be more an
update on a process than a summing-up. The jam
is still bubbling in the pot and is not yet ready
to set.
Two
things leapt out at me on first hearing –that
the emphasis is on the songs themselves and that
the singer is taken with some of the big songs,
of Munster and Connemara. That those songs included
some of my personal favourites – ‘An
Clár Bog Déil’, ‘Cath
Chéim an Fhia’, ‘Amhrán
na Leabhar’ and the ever-strange ‘Tuireamh
Mhic Finín Duibh’ – was an
added attraction. That the first song was a catchily
rhythmic one, ‘Na Táilliúirí’,
showed that Mac Mathúna was not confined
to the tragic note, which can become monotonous
in even the best singer.
Following
this ‘Johhny Seoighe’ creats a startling
contrast. This song of the Famine period is addressed
in bitter supplication to a Mister Joyce, reputedly
a Relieving Officer. The language of vision and
enchantment –‘Más tú an
réalt eolais…’ (‘If
you are the guiding star…’) – that
might ordinarily be addressed to a beloved or
a spear-bhean is drenched in acid and applied
to an authority figure from whome nothing can
be expected. Mac Mathúna rises fully to
the challenge, delivering a gripping, full-voiced
rendition. I am not sure that any other song
quite reaches the same height and this may account
for the mixed feelings with which I have found
myself greeting some of the other songs on the
CD.
Not
having being present at the recording, I can
only speculate as to the reason. It must be said
that this is not one of those recordings in which
all character is removed from the song by a production
(or commercial imperative) that values only sweetnes
or that reduces the elasticity of sean-nós
to a bland regularity that suits the accompanying
band
Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh’s
fiddle of Jane Hughes’ cello do not impose
themselves on the songs, instead, they pick up
on the feeling of the song and work – often
with sensitivity and imagination, sometimes eerily,
occasionally with a little too much artiness – around
the singing. Studio recordings of sean-nós
sometimes lack the dimension of connectedness
to an understanding audience that powers the
singer in a more domestic setting. (And some
singers manage better than others to convey the
large-scale concert setting.) I can’t help
feeling that, though the whole experience of
making this CD was a happy and creative one,
at some level Mac Mathúna was singing
slightly below room temperature, as it were,
or else adjusting a little too much – perhaps
not even consciously – to his accompanists.
There is fine singing throughout, but, somehow, ‘Amhrán
na Leabhar’ deosn’t quite hit the
pitch of anguish required, or some of the energy
seems to leak from the song in the lower, quieter
notes at the end of the verse.
I
will be listening to this CD again, and perhaps
changing my mind about this song or that, and
I am certainly looking forward to hearing Lorcán
Mac Mathúna again, singing with all the
unwavering commitment of his best work. BARRA Ó SÉAGHDHA,
The JMI
Iarla O’Lionaird fans will enjoy these soulful, emotional,
intense, Irish ballads, sensitively accompanied by cello,
harp, fiddle, hardanger, pipes and whistle. The combination
of the low bass melodies of sean-nós songs with the
rich resonance of the cello is spine-tingling.
FROM 3Roots magazines album review
roundup who gave the album their thumbs
up vote.
|
Live
Reviews
AN
PÍOBAIRE December 2010
An
Táin, world Premier St Patrick's COI Cathedral
Armagh
St
Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral provided
the spectacular background to the afternoon concert
appropriately called ‘Pipes in the Cathedral.’
The
highlight of this concert was the World Premier
of a commissioned piece from the Cork singer Lorcan
MacMathuna entitled ‘Tain Bo Cuailgne’,
the ‘Cattle Raid of Cooley’ one of
the great epic stories from the Ulster Cycle of
heroic tales. Armagh was a most appropriate setting
for the inaugural performance of this piece commissioned
by Armagh Pipers Club and supported by a traditional
Arts Award from An Chomhairle Ealaion/Irish Arts
Council.
The
words come directly from the Book of Leinster and
the piece follows the action of the Tain through
eight descriptive pieces sung by Lorcan MacMathuna.
The story is one of the great epics of the Scottish
and Irish Gaelic Oral tradition handed down through
the centuries and finally written down by scribes
in the first millennium. The story also survived
orally throughout Ireland and Scotland right to
the present day. This was a truly magical performance
rising to the occasion and captivating the audience.
The entire piece is controlled by MacMathuna’s
spell binding singing which ranged from low chanting
to full throated and powerful vocals that echoed
through the Cathedral. The musical accompaniment
of uilleann pipes, fiddle, saxophone and piano
accordion also included pre-recorded electronic
music. This was one of the never to be forgotten
moments of the entire festival.
PIPING
TODAY December10/January11
An
Táin, world Premier St Patrick's COI Cathedral
Armagh
After
lunch it was up to St. patrick’s cathedral
for the world premiere of Lorcán Mac Mathúna’s
An Táin. This was a musical interpretation
of the Ulster epic tale of An Táin from
the book of Leinster, which tells of the Connacht
king and queen’s war against Ulster and the
young Cú-Chulainn’s attempt to defeat
them. Lorcán put this to music and presented
it in the spectacular surroundings of the cathedral.
Lorcán
is one of the younger generation of Sean Nós
singers and he sang the eight-parted story, the
supporting musicians – Seán Óg
Mac Fhirléinn on bass clarinet, Flaithrí Neff
on Uilleann pipes/whistle, Martin Tourish on accordion,
and Owen Neff on fiddle – echoed the story
with atmospheric sounds that emphasised the moodiness
and foreboding or energy and rage as needed. Once
the initial sound balance issues were sorted, this
settled into a compelling piece that engaged and
enthralled with each twist and turn in the story.
The supporting slide show of beautifully crafted
illustrations gave visual clues for the non-Gaelic
speakers, and there was some very clever use of
loops recorded live and played back immediately
to add depth and complexity to the music. At just
shy of an hour this was a substantial piece that
deserves to be heard more.
JMI
July 2006
CAOIMHÍN Ó RAGHALLAIGH,
WITH JANE HUGHES AND LORCÁN MAC MATHÚNA
St. Brendan's
Church, Bantry, 17 March 2006.
Outside
the confines of the church of St Brendan the Navigator
in Bantry, the populace clelbrated the National
Feast with the customary mix of ballads and booze.
Inside, Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh (Hardanger
fiddle, whistles), Jane Hughes (cello) and Lorcán
Mac Mathúna (voice) produced a fascinating
alternative – distinctively Irish but without
an atom of the paddywhackery that has come to infect
the St Patricks Day celebrations.
In
front of the altar of St Brendan’s stood
a raised platform with three chairs, three music
stands and a standard lamp. The ecclesiastical
surroundings – complete with memorials to
various Earls of Bantry and an unusual square organ – heightened
the sense of anticipation. Lorcán Mac Mathúna
was first on stage, still wearing his outdoor jacket.
It was cold, very cold for the time of year, and,
while the audience had the benefit of underseat
heating which struggled to raise the ambient temperature,
the performers had no such luxury. But the cold
vanished instantly with the opening song, Tuirimh
Mhic Fhinín Dhubh. Mac Mathúna’s
performance of this unusual eighteenth-century
song was commanding. A young man with a Dublin
accent and a musical heart based deep in Múscraí,
Mac Mathúna has, on this evidence, both
the voice and the attitude to place him in the
first rank of the new wave of traditional singers.
Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh
and Jane Hughes joined him on stage for Caoineadh
na dTrí Mhuire, unaccompanied at first,
then supported by flute and, later, cello. The
effecet was beautiful and spare, the scene was
fully set for the rest of the evening. Hardanger
fiddle made its first appearance for ‘Na
Táilliúirí’ providing
a suitably playful backing even if the over-enthusiastic
interplay of cello and fiddle threatened to drown
the voice on occasion.
A
native of Norway, the Hardanger fiddle has, in
addition to the four ‘playing’ strings,
a course of five sympathetic strings that run underneath
the finger board, adding overtones and resonances
to the original sound. Ó Raghallaigh described
the plight of the hardanger fiddle player: “You
spend half your time tuning it and the other half
playing out of tune!” the Hardanger stepped
to the fore on the reels ‘The Mother & Child’ The
delight of the player communicating itself to the
audience. After the first couple of rounds, the
melody shifted out of focus but continued in the
mind of the listener, while Ó Raghallaigh
carried the rhythm and harmony duties, hinting
at the mainline, and gliding towards a clever landing.
Later, his performance of ‘The Foxchase’ – the
full monty of march, reel, and slow air and hop
jig – proved the remarkable capabilities
of both player and instrument.
The
second half opened with Callanish IV, a piece for
solo cello composed by John Scott Maxwell Geddes
in the 1970’s. The Celtic mist curled ominously
around the description. Geddes wrote the piece
after a night spent sleeping next to prehistoric
megaliths on the isle of Lewis. The reality was,
fortunately different. The atmosphere was augmented
by the dimming of the church lights and the fact
that Hughes had positioned herself at the rear
of the church, behind the audience, but the piece
created a proud ambience of its own. Hughes made
something remarkeable of Geddes’ piece, delivering
a well-judged mix of technique and epression.
And
so it continued – ‘An Rógaire
Dubh’, with voice and interwoven fiddle, ‘Aisling
Gheal’, with an inventive cello line, ‘Ag
Casadh an tSúgán’, where the
cello strayed delightfully into cheap terrain,
and ‘Cath Chéim an Fhia’, surely
the finest commemoration of an insignificant skirmish
in the history of music.
The
template created by Ó Raghallaigh, Hughes
and Mac Mathúna is sound but hardly complete.
The lack of adequate introduction to the songs,
particularly in the opening half, detracted from
the enjoyment of the audience, few of whome at
an educated guess, understood the language of the
songs. Some of the accompaniement was based too
obviously on standard music theory, more imagination,
more subtlety – and, perhaps, more rehearsal
time – would have enhanced the experience.
And, despite the patent beauty and character of
the Hardanger fiddle, some of us longed for a few
tunes on a “real” fiddle. But this
was a first outing, after all, and the ideas presented
here will develop with time.
A
performance such as this requires a responsive
audience and a sympathetic venue. In St Brendan’s
it had both. But there are audiences and venues
such as these throughout the country. All it takes
is a little imagination such as that shown by Francis
Humphrys and his team at west Cork Music. -
PAT AHERN, - The Journal of Music in Ireland.
|
Blogs
(in the order of my own preference)
The
castle and smelly brain
Tuesday
March 12 2008
I
was down in Birr for the first time in ten years
last weekend doing a show with Joey, Barry, and
Matieu. Matieu is a handy young piper from my old
school, Coláiste Eoin, and it was the first
time he played with us. He knew loads of the tunes
already though and he played some smashing stuff
so it was a good idea all round methinks.
I
wasn’t sure of the way to Birr so I planned
on asking directions around Tullamore but with
Barry in the front seat asking we didn’t
get much cooperation from the locals. “We’d
pull up and ask do you know the way…” and
he couldn’t resist saying “to the coldest
town in Ireland.” We got a fair few wry answers
to that one. One girl looked like she wanted to
help until she heard the punchline. She then told
us to take the next left and go right at the singing
bush, turn around, stand on our heads and come
back again past the red cow. Barry was actually
right by the way. Birr, although a pretty town,
is freezing, and when you spend the night in the
back of a car because the hotel rooms cost an unbelievable €140
you appreciate how cold that is.
There
is this lullaby we finish off on called “bog
braon don seanduinne.” It’s a catchy
tune that goes on and on with a nice rhythm that
Barry calls a sling jig or something like that,
and the lads and the girls -who came down after
a spur of the moment decision at about four the
morning before, that a session in Birr would be
great craic- couldn’t decide what bog braon
(pronounced bug brain) meant.
Apparently it is a very infectious condition known as smelly
brain which inevitably grows to be a huge embarrassment for
the unfortunate souls infected.
Barry informed me that Smelly Brain can only be treated with
daily injections into the brain.
Róisín said they are self administered and
cost €200 a shot
Ciara, who claimed to have the condition, said you needed
three shots a day.
Barry said that it was actually four and that that explained
Ciara’s obvious smelly brain.
Róisín said that it costs €52,000 a year
to treat smelly brain.
Joey said the injections were painful.
I said it was all very sad.
They said I had smelly brain.
During
my penultimate visit to Birr I fell off the castle,
something the crowd at the show found fascinating
and kept asking me about when I met them around
the town later that night. So I explained.
I
was down in Birr, which is in the centre of the
country (which coincidently makes it a very cold
place in the winter) with a pile of me mates, for
New Year ’s Day in 1998. There was about
20 of us and we stayed in a self catering hostel
which was right next to the walls surrounding the
castle grounds.
Now
Birr castle is famous for having this massive telescope
in the grounds which was actually the biggest telescope
in the world for 70 years after it was constructed
in 1820 and I wanted to get in there at some stage
and have a look at it. Well besides the hostel
there was this tree growing besides the castle
wall and it was just a model for climbing. It was
like a ladder for all the world and it just called
to me in some way. During the night I got separated
from everyone and after a fair few pints and a
stint wandering through the kitchen of the town’s
only nightclub I made my way back to the wall.
On the way I found a friend and convinced her to
come with me to climb the wall.
Well
the ladder-tree was a little bit short and this
convinced my friend that climbing the wall was
not a great idea. But I was not to be deterred,
I had a mission and the top of that wall had something
to do with it. So I managed to spring from the
top of the tree to the wall and after a bit of
scrambling. hauled myself up on it. It was about
30 foot in height –perhaps I shouldn’t
have been attempting acrobatic at that height but
as I think I mentioned I was on a mission- and
there was no way down.
I
did what every good detective film tells us to
do and started to climb down the ivy. –never
trust these country detective stories for a true
reflection on the enduring strengths of ivy. In
fact don’t ever trust ivy to do you any favours
because just when you need it to rally around and
do what it does best i.e. stick to the wall, it
lets you down.- I swung my legs over the wall and
gripped two hands full of the sturdiest ivy I could
locate and the last thing I remember was the whoosh
of gravity doing what it is best known for and
the vision of about six ivy leaves in my hand.
The
next thing I remember I could hear somebody calling
my name as I walked on this wood-lined road. My
foot felt quite awkward and I hadn’t a clue
where I was so I decided to stick to the road.
There was a big mound running along the roadside
to my right which I had managed to climb over in
my concussed state after I had landed and I didn’t
fancy trying to negotiate it to get to that voice.
The
fall was a strange sensation which I remember quite
vividly, until I banged my head on the way down
and concussion took ove,r that is. I had landed
on my right leg and tore two lateral ligaments
in my ankle, one of which tore a chip from the
bone as it came away from it. The leg was absolutely
wrecked and numb at this stage so I hobbled as
best as I could until I beheld a castle before
me. There was an arch which led to a small courtyard
which had a rope descending from the darkness above.
I presumed this was a bell so I tugged on it for
a good five minutes.
In
the middle (well actually at the end, but it’s
a figurative phrase) of this yanking a nice chap,
who seemed to be a gatekeeper came up behind me
and told me my friend was waiting for me outside
so I followed him. After he got me outside the
walls it all came back to me. You know: the name,
the place, what happened and all that.
When
I came back to the hostel I caused some stir. I
was covered in blood from head to toe and when
I washed it off I left a bath full of deep red
water. The cuts in my head were gushing blood and
my ankle started hurting after a couple of hours.
I had also hurt my back and severed two ligaments
in my right ankle. A couple of years later I had
an operation which involved splicing a tendon and
lacing it through a hole drilled in the end of
my fibula and attaching it to wherever the anterior
lateral ligament is usually attached to.
I
think that night’s madness was my only brush
with the confusing condition known as smelly brain.
Car
boots and harmoniums
Tuesday
April 22 2008
We
just finished the concert series in Cork the other
week in the Sirius arts centre in Cobh. This is
some sort of civic or customs building onnected
with the adjacent docks from the 19th century and
it is still in the same state as it must have been
when it was first built. Its commercial function
no longer exists as, since the decline of passenger
liner as a means of long distance passenger transport,
Cobh is no longer the major port it once was. These
Victorians built their fiscal and legal buildings
with a symbolic grandeur and this magnificent and
solid building is no exception. It was built to
last and impose on the commercial activity of the
port. It serves a more cultured purpose now and
those hard floors, walls, and vaulted ceilings
make for a terrific acoustics.
The room we played in was a spacious size with hard wooden
floors a large window facing on to the docks behind us and
spectacular mouldings on the ceiling. The overall effect
of the cornice mouldings was to give it a vault ceiling which
did some really magnificent things with the sound. It was
a gorgeous venue and the sound was magnificent, we took some
recordings on a zen mp3 voice recorder. The mike on these
things are pretty crap but the sound in the room was so good
that it came out pretty well –there are two on the
playlist here, an buachaillín bán / rógaire
dubh, and aisling geall.
The programme of our concerts changed a bit over the series.
One of the reasons was the addition of Matieu O' Shaughnesy
A young Uillean piper who seemed to know most of the airs
already he also played some deadly solos and sets with Joey
and Barry giving a better mix of rhythmic and lively music
to compliment the songs. He added a great element to the
overall sound which worked really well -watch out for him
in future because I'd say he will make a big name for himself.
To create a bit of interest in this concert I contacted four
local papers and asked would they like a free article from
me loosely connected with the concert but with a local interest.
They all said grand so I sent around an article on The Conneries
which they all gave a full page to (see below). It worked
alright and there was a grand crowd at the concert where
I started with the story of the Conneries and explained how
my interpretation reflected their life and the admiration
the people of East and North Cork and Waterford had for them.
With a song like this you don't need instrumental work, in
fact I think it would be impossible to add to it with an
instrumental arrangement so I sang it solo and then asked
the lads on stage.
I'm glad to say we have worked out a good direction for future
projects including a number of catchy songs with great pulse
and beats and we have a lot of material for an album in the
coming year (2009 that is).
So we stayed in Baile Caisleán an Róistigh
that night (it was a long night by the way) and woke the
next day to the bustle of a car boot sale in the next field.
It was a glorious day and everyone was keen on the idea of
a root around in the brick a brack. So that was it and off
we went.
The CBS was massive! Absolutely huge! It goes on every fortnight
and it brings in sellers and customers from all over Munster.
I spotted a smashing basin and cast my eye over it. It was
arklow pottery and about a foot and a half in diameter and
about 7 or 8 inches high. I really liked it but I didn't
know where I'd use it so I declined the seller's offer of €20.
He was determined though, bless him, and he came after me
twice with a €18 and then a €15 offer. I couldn't
refuse this and Emma was dying to get it for the house for
when we get married (did I mention Emma before?). Get it
she said and store it in a box in the attic. It made sense
to me and with this newfound mission I picked up three gorgeous
wedgewood cups with saucers for only a euro each. They were
wafer thin china, almost translucent, to delicate o handle
nearly. I got a couple of other things which I was really
pleased with and all for a single euro a pop so I was dead
pleased.
I was coming out of the main marquee where many of the stalls
were and met the boys outside who were also extremely happy
with a number of mad looking yokes in trail. Barry got an
old wreck of a clock and a child's play mat with a village
road plan design for the floor of the camper van. Matieu
got a portable television and an antique set of Golf clubs
and Joey, beaming from ear to ear, had the pick of the lot,
an electric harmonium he picked up for €85. This thing
looked the goods but we didn't know if it would work so we
were keen to get it back to the house to try it out.
We arrived back at the house long before Liam who had the
keys and started on the Harmonium. It was old school stuff,
an electromechanical thing with no electronic parts. I remember
there was an old wheelie bites wrapper lodged in behind the
foot pedal; which should tell you how long since it was used.
The electric part was just a fan which pumped the bellows.
Apart from that it was the same as a manual mini organ only
it had reeds instead of pipes.
We were on the path outside the house and dying to get the
thing in operation so we plugged it into an extension lead
that was lying around. It worked like a charm –it had
a couple of worn pads which meant that at least one of the
reeds leaked a little but it was fully operational.
We had a little session on the doorstep where I sang an Buachail
Caol Dubh and Johnny Seoighe while Joey played. It was deadly.
And just the sound I was thinking of for An Buachail Caol
Dubh. –If you don't know the story behind that song
you should ask because it is brilliantly devised and fascinating
psychological portrait of an addict.
I had to stay another night to appear as the guest in the
cork singers circle -which I really enjoyed by the way- but
the lads collected my sister and cousin in Cork city and
drove up to Dublin that day. They had session around the
Harmonium in the back of the camper van all the way to Dublin.
Good craic heh!
The controversy in Cobh
Just before the Famine an incident culminated in the town
of Cobh which captured the attention of the population of
the surrounding area. In the previous decade the Connery
brothers, living the lives of highway men became a local
legend as they harassed the local landlords and constabulary
of West Waterford and the surrounding counties, and they
were finally being sent from Cobh to the penal colony of
Botany Bay in New South Wales.
The Connerys had a farm in the foothills of the Comeragh
mountains and two of the brothers, Séamus and Seán,
earned a supplementary income as foresters on the estates
of Holmes, the local landlord. However the two lads were
accused of stealing firewood from the estates and were replaced
in their post by their accuser, Maurice Hacket. Shortly afterwards
they were charged with the attempted murder of Hacket and
brought before the district court where they were completely
stitched up. Although the witness for the prosecution was
jailed for perjury, the eldest Connery, Séamus, was
transported to Botany Bay in 1831.
The remaining Connerys began to get increasingly spiteful
attention the from the local law officer and by 1835 they
were involved in an eviction row. They were sentenced to
seven years in Botany Bay, but as they were being transported
to Cobh they escaped from custody and took to the hills where
they lived a Dick Turpin style existence for nine months.
They were caught again in Waterford while looking for passage
to America and escaped once again from the towns goal. This
time they made good their chances and from their base in
the Comeragh mountains trormented the authorities for two
years. They were caught again at this stage and sent from
Cobh to New South Wales in March 1838.
The song "Na Connerys" contains all the admiration
the people had for the Connerys. It doesn't have the defeated
air you get in many post-famine songs but is strong and proud.
The songs opening line, "Malicious Cummeen [the false
witness] I pray you hardship and the curse of Christ" says
it all. It has a defiant and hopeful air which shows the
admiration the people had for the Connerys and their reluctance
to accept their lot. But it is turned inside out in the last
line with the stark realisation that the Connerys fate –transportation
to the far side of the globe- is final and tragically irreversible.
Inspirations
of impressionist jazz
Monday, June 15, 2009
It was whilst I was in Belgium recently that I began talking
to a young Jazz percussionist named Cederic Didier. I
had just heard him playing with a friend of mine who
was experimenting with some sort of eclectic sound. Ced.
was placing the occasional rat tail on cymbals and thonking
bells and bead strings with a wooden milk skimmers whilst
he scratched the skin of a snare drum with a chicken
claw.
Not as weird as it sounds by the way and it complimented
the thesis of this condensed eclecticism with due sympathy.
The delicate hand you might say is the one that gives most;
when it falls with a guided understanding.
I figured he must have an interesting understanding –or
comprehension if that suits you better- of music as he was
obviously picking his way through uncharted territory, but
he had the mental approach to approach this terrain and make
his way in empathy with his surrounds, so I decided to have
a conversation.
It turned into a waxing about jazz, jazz fads, modern impressionist
jazz, and finding a space to glitter within a mosaic of grooves
and rhythms.
To be brief: impressionist jazz is a collective improvisation
where every component is conscious of how their part affects
the texture of the collective sound; but still does not play
by the rules of a unified sound purpose. The music is allowed
to develop more freely, and textures within a given piece
may vary from minute to minute. The Improvisation element
takes place "in the moment", in response to the
needs of the situation.
The most significant characteristic –and to me the
most theoretically fascinating- is that everyone seems to
play on their own. There are no rules regarding tempo and
signature, every man to himself is the rule. Also there is
no leader at any one moment –a classical characteristic
of jazz where you have someone taking a solo stretch whilst
everyone else retires to the background of the consonance
and just provides a continuation of the tempo- but, as a
listener, you let your focus wander from player to player
and pick out individual grooves within the overall mosaic.
Well I liked the idea of what was being described especially
the idea of two differing tempos or signatures being complimentary
to each other. I mean it seems to break the rules of music
that you can have a confusion of developments blending into
complimentary progression. Needless to say I liked the idea
- theory anyway.
More recently I asked Maitiú Ó Casaide to help
me try out recording on my computer. I got a cheepo LIDL
mixer and I borrowed a few mikes, so with free audacity software
I had a studio set up for less than 70 snots. We started
doing a few songs that we did together at a wedding last
year and everything was motoring well. The last one we did
was Rí an Domhnaigh, a song which I hadn’t sang
with Maitiú’s accompaniment before but I had
a couple of ideas inspired by my impressionist Jazz conversation.
I sang and after Maitiú heard it a few times he started
top play a sort of broken wandering cord. We were looking
for something with a completely different timing but which
could support the vocal melodically.
The result was just beautiful in my opinion. The vocal keeps
to a constant timing signature and pretty much to a constant
tempo. The fiddle (Maitiú is better known for his
piping which is very good but his fiddling is fairly ok as
well) starts as a background counterpoint which barely alters
the focus of your ear, but as the piece goes along you can
switch focus between the two different melodic lines.
You would be focussed on one instrument exclusively and then
the two beats, which are moving at different pace, allign
again temporarily and you get this lovely accord which shifts
out of phase again. And your mind wanders with either part
only to be shifted into the path of the other at times to
dwell in its musical streams.
If you’d like to have a listen go to my myspace and
listen to the track called Rí an Domhnaigh. I’d
like to hear what you think – opinions have differed,
ranging from: confusing to obsorbing.
|
|