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May 2007

History

Two Revolutionary Era Irishmen Remembered

The Barry Society was well-represented.

The Barry Society was well-represented.

The doctor was concerned. The cop who pulled him over on 4th Street and told him he’d have to wait till the parade went by was reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It won’t take long.”

In fact, the parade, led by a handful of pipers from the Philadelphia Emerald Society, lasted less than 10 minutes, winding its way from Old St. Mary’s Church to the south side of Independence Hall where the statue of Commodore John Barry, father of the US Navy, stands perpetually pointing to some distant place.

But it was long enough to attract the attention of Memorial Day patriots exploring the cradle of American democracy, many of whom lingered around the statue to listen to speaker after speaker teach a history lesson about a man of heroic proportion in life who is spectacularly little known in death.

The son of an Irish farmer, John Barry captured the first ship during the American Revolution and fought its final sea battle. He couldn’t be bought: Although he went unpaid (by about $6,000) by the Continental Congress for his service, he turned down a financial offer from British Lord Howe to change sides. “Not the value or command of the whole British fleet,” Barry replied, “can lure me from the cause of my country which is liberty and freedom.”

As commander of naval operations for the new nation, he supervised the building of the American fleet.

But he wasn’t above using some cunning when ships weren’t available: On January 5, 1778, while the Delaware was occupied by the British fleet, Barry organized the famous Battle of the Kegs, in which small kegs loaded with explosives were sent floating down the river at the British ships and fired upon, exploding them and throwing the British into a panic.

That same cunning came into play on land too. In 1787, when a minority of federal convention members opposed to the new constitution decided to go into hiding to prevent the formation of a quorum, Barry organized a group called The Compellers and physically forced enough of the seceding members back to form a quorum. The vote was taken, and the constitution was finally approved.

In his private life, he and his second wife, Sarah, had no children, but happily adopted Barry’s two nephews after his sister died. He was active in the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, the Hibernian Fire Company, and the Ancient Order of Hibernians. “He was a faith-filled person,” Father Ed Brady told the congregation at Old St. Mary’s Church on 4th Street. Barry and his family are buried in the churchyard, along with half a dozen other famous Revolutionary era heroes, including Col. George Meade.

The day–which commemorated the erection of the Barry statue by the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick 100 years ago–started with a Mass and a ceremony honoring not only Barry, but his contemporary, Matthew Carey, who, like Barry, was Irish-born (a Dubliner) and a Philadelphia transplant. Carey used money loaned to him by the Marquis de Lafayette to start a newspaper in the city and later published the first Catholic Bible in the new world.

Though Carey was buried at Old St. Mary’s, his body and gravestone were relocated by his family to Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Cheltenham. Concerned about setting history aright, a local amateur Barry historian, John Barry Kelly, contacted John Houlihan of the Barry Club of Brooklyn to help bring back Carey’s memory to his not-so-final resting place. Houlihan, a native of Dublin like Carey, decided to contact the board of the Dublin Society of New York to “get the ball rolling” to erect another memorial, which was unveiled on Sunday. Irish Deputy Consul General Brendan O’Caollai, also a Dubliner, took part in the ceremony. A portrait of Carey will hang in the church, where the Founding Fathers met to pray on July 4, 1779, the third anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

And on this Memorial Day weekend, with history hanging heavy in the humid air, it repeated itself. Ten-year-old Morgan Hepburn of Phoenixville, whose great-great aunt Elise Hazel Hepburn helped dedicate the Barry statue in 1907 on the south side of Independence Hall, laid a wreath at the memorial of their common ancestor.

May 29, 2007 by
Music

Orange, Green? Does It Make A Musical Difference?

The concert title is intriguing: The Orange and the Green: A Night of Traditional Music and Song from the North of Ireland.

Is there really a difference in Irish music if it’s sung by Catholics or Protestants in Northern Ireland, I asked Gary Hastings, one of the two performers (the other is singer Brian Mullen), who’ll be demonstrating those traditions on Friday, June 1 at the Irish Center in Philadelphia.

“It’s perceived by people both there and outside that there are two separate traditions, while really there are lots of very messy traditions,” says Hastings, who has played the flute on celebrated recordings by the Chieftains and Seamus Quinn, and shared the stage with DeDanaan. “People use music for their identity. It’s about who you are and where you come from. All traditional music has a political genre in it and Irish music is usually seen as a national thing. An Orange band is presumed to be different from a Green band. It’s not especially, but you can have the two bands playing the same tunes and thinking different words to them. And there are some tunes you don’t want to sing in the wrong place. For example, you don’t want to play ‘The Sash,’ anywhere but a Loyalist area.”

That’s the tune that starts, “Sure I’m an Ulster Orangeman,” a lyric that won’t have the bar patrons buying you a pint in Cork or Galway, but might keep your glass full at any pub in the Waterside section of Derry. “Play the wrong tune, sing the wrong lyric, in the wrong place, and you’re dead,” says Hastings.

I guess I must have been fooled by the images of Loyalist leader Ian Paisley and the Sinn Fein’s Martin McGuinness practically in each other’s arms–or, at least, sharing a laugh–as they took over the new power-sharing government of Northern Ireland a month ago. “It’s still like that?” I asked Hastings. “Aye,” he responded. “It hasn’t gone away.”

But don’t expect Friday’s concert to be freighted with politics. It’s music, says Hastings, and they’ll keep it fun and light, but informative. Hastings and Mullen, a Derry native and acclaimed singer who was Northern Ireland first full-time Irish language radio producer, are in the US to perform at the Library of Congress, which has been hosting a series of lectures by scholars and performances by well-known Northern Irish musicians and singer to build up to this summer’s Smithsonian Institution’s Folklife Festival. The festival is held every year for two weeks overlapping the Fourth of July on the National Mall in Washington, DC. This year’s theme is Northern Ireland.

I caught up with Hastings not long ago in his rectory–in his other life, he’s archdeacon at Holy Trinity Church, Church of Ireland, Westport, County Mayo –as he was preparing for a wedding.

Which came first, the flute or the ministry?

The flute. I’m an ordained flute player, not the other way around. I’m only 14 years ordained; I’ve been playing for a long time before.

How did you wind up playing the flute? Was your family musical?

Not especially. I grew up in East Belfast and music was big thing in Belfast anyway. I started on tin whistle so the flute was sort of a natural progression. I learned the Scots pipes when I was 11 or 12. When I went to university–that would have been around 1974-5–it was the start of the folk revival here in Ireland, so it was fashionable at that stage to play. Over the years, I played with different groups like De Naanan at one stage, did a CD with The Chieftains, but never intentionally. I was asked to do it for the craic. It rarely involved any worthwhile amount of money.

How do you “unintentionally” wind up playing with some of the biggest names in Irish traditional music?

I attended Coleraine University County Derry where I met Brian Mullen, Ciaran Curran from Altan, Cathal McConnel of the Boys of the Lough, and Father Seamus Quinn, who was in the same class as me at university. A wave of good musicians passed through all within a few years of each other. People used to come from all over to play tunes with us.

That must have been an incredible experience.

It was, though it was very bad for your liver.

You were teaching Irish studies when you seem to have gotten “The Call.’ How did you wind up a minister?

It wasn’t money either. Another dream shattered. It was just one of those things, a notion that I heard in my head that I knew I would have to do something about someday. Then one day it made more sense.

How’s it working out?

So far so good.

You can hear the Reverend Gary Hastings and his friend, Brian Mullen, performing at The Irish Center, Emlen and Carpenter Streets, Philadelphia, on Friday, June 1, at 8 PM. Tickets are $12, $10 for Philadelphia Ceili Group members.

May 28, 2007 by
History

Commodore Barry: More Than Just a Bridge

He stood about 6’4”, had a square jaw, and a good sense of humor. During the American revolution, Commodore John Barry was hailed by British frigates as he sailed into the West Indies. When they questioned him about the name of his ship and its captain, he quipped, “The United States ship, Alliance, saucy Jack Barry, half Irishman, half Yankee—who are you?”

Just like an Irishman—answering a question with a question (and some sarcasm thrown in there for good measure).

Though to most Philadelphians, Commodore Barry is just a bridge crossing the Delaware, the man for whom the span is named was a superhero of his day. The County Wexford-born son of a subsistence farmer and an émigré to Philadelphia was tapped by the Continental Congress to launch the new nation’s Navy. “Saucy Jack Barry” (better known to others as “Big John Barry” because of his imposing height) took over the merchant ships Congress acquired in 1775 and fitted them as vessels of war. The British were better equipped and more experienced, but Barry had Irish cunning on his side. After several of his ships were lost to the enemy, Barry turned to small craft that allowed him to sneak up on the British and capture their store ships, intercepting needed supplies.

“In the middle of winter, he attacked the British in the lower Delaware with a bunch of rowboats he commandeered from various vessels,” explains John Barry Kelly, a Drexel Hill man who shares a family tree with the naval hero. “He was very daring and aggressive, unfazed by adverse odds. He once successfully fought a frigate (ironclad war ship) and ship of the line (a large, powerful battleship) simultaneously off the coast of Maine.”

While John Paul Jones (“I have not yet begun to fight”) eventually became more famous for his own daring exploits against the British in their own waters, Barry kept his eye on the U.S. East Coast, traveling from Newfoundland to the Florida Keys, engaging the enemy whenever he encountered them. “His celebrity came when brought the first captured British ship into Philadelphia harbor in 1776, the early part of the revolution, which was a source of pride to new Americans,” says Kelly, who works for Independence National Historical Park just a couple of blocks from the statue of his famous relative. (It’s on the south corner of Independence Hall.)

Barry also captured two British ships after being severely wounded in battle. (In a show a gallantry, he returned the surviving British commander’s sword. “I return it to you, Sir,” Barry said after meeting the commander in his cabin, where he was recovering from his injuries. “You have merited it, and your King ought to give you a better ship. Here is my cabin, at your service. Use it as your own.”)

“In the 18th century, he was known as top-notch mariner apart from his military activity,” says Kelly. “He set a speed record never duplicated in 18th century. By dead reckoning, he was able to traverse 237 miles in 24 hours, which had never been done. He was also quite composed in dire circumstances. For example, when taking American ministers to Europe, a terrible storm blew up, and he was able to maintain control of the ship. [Founding father] Thomas Paine commented on how well he handled the vessel. He seemed to have great ability to handle crises.” And he had plenty of them. By the time the battle for independence was won, Barry had put down three mutinies, captured more than 20 ships, and fought the last naval battle of the American Revolution aboard his frigate, Alliance, in 1783.

On Sunday, May 27, the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick (a local organization of which Barry was a member), honored this amazing Revolutionary War hero in a day-long ceremony, starting with a commemorative mass at 11:30 a.m. at Old St. Mary’s Church—Barry’s parish church and where he was buried in 1803, at the age of only 58. After a wreath-laying, representatives of the Friendly Sons, the Ancient Order of Hibernians, the Commodore Barry Club of Philadelphia (The Irish Center) and the Barry Club of Brooklyn and others processed to Independence Hall where a statue of Barry stands, his right arm pointing into the distance. A reception and luncheon followed at the Commodore Barry Club in the Mount Airy section of the city.

For those who took part, it was a great opportunity to get to know a local Irish-American hero. And they’ll never look at that bridge the same way again.Read a history of Commodore John Barry by John Barry Kelly at www.ushistory.org/people/commodorebarry.htm

May 22, 2007 by
Dance

Dancing on Air

Riverdance lead Marty Dowds

Riverdance lead Marty Dowds

The great Riverdance finale—dancers strung across the stage, shoulder to shoulder in a single line, each one ramrod straight, heels hammering into hardwood, the whole line moving as one. If you have ever danced, it’s hard to attend a performance of the high-stepping spectacle and not imagine yourself in that line, filling the concert hall with that great noise.

For just under a dozen local dancers—some of them schooled in the Irish traditional form, a few of them students of tap—the fantasy came a bit closer to reality in a small church hall on Sansom Street in Philadelphia on Saturday. Marty Dowds, lead dancer of the Riverdance Boyne touring company, led them in a demanding hour-long master class sponsored by the Tapography dance school.

Dowds, dressed in a white t-shirt and drawstring jazz pants, showed up a bit late. His cab had gotten held up in traffic. He needed a shave, and his hair hadn’t been combed. Any normal human being would take a while to come up to full speed.

Dowds was raring to go in the time it took to change from his street kicks to his big, clunky hard shoes. And in less time in that, Dowds was putting two short lines of young women through their paces.

There were a couple of brief water breaks, and then on they went. It all came together in the end, as Marty urged the two short lines into one long one. Tapography’s Dave Pershica cued up the music to that big closing number.

With Dowds out in front, the students got a chance to live the Riverdance dream—if only for a few short moments. Was it perfect? No, far from it. But judging by all the smiles, it was close enough.

May 20, 2007 by
Music

Kevin Burke and Cal Scott in Concert

Cal Scott gave the guitarists in the audience lots to think about.

Cal Scott gave the guitarists in the audience lots to think about.

It was a concert. It was a master class.

It was both of those things, and more, as famed fiddler Kevin Burke and guitarist-composer Cal Scott brought many of the tunes from their new CD—and several others besides—to the Philadelphia Irish Center Friday night.

The Center’s Fireplace Room was filled near to bursting with enthusiastic fans, who evidently came prepared to be dazzled.

Scott and Burke didn’t disappoint. Their nearly two-hour concert was an uninterrupted display of smooth virtuosity.

The concert began with “The Surround” and “The Red Stockings,” both of which constitute the opening set on their just-released recording, “The Black River.” I wasn’t sure how well those tunes, and many other tunes from the CD, would hold up. Those two guys can easily fill a room with sound. However, on most of the tunes on the CD they’re accompanied by two or three other musicians. It’s an energetic, full sound.

I needn’t have been concerned. Even on “The Long Set,” which consists of five reels back to back, it held up just fine. The set includes quite a bit of accompaniment on the CD, including some rollicking Cajun-style accordion play, particularly toward the end, but Scott and Burke played with so much energy and passion, it sounded like there were more than two instruments on stage.

The night ended with a well-deserved standing ovation. Burke rewarded loyal fans with a solo performance of “Itzikel,” a haunting tune in the Yiddish “frailach” folk dance tradition. Then Cal rejoined him for a blast of reels that once again had fans on their feet.

We offer you a few photo memories of the night.

May 12, 2007 by
Dance

Reelin’ in the Years

Niamh O’Connor is the last dancer standing.

After a dozen years of Riverdance, starting at The Point in Dublin in 1995, O’Connor—dance captain for the show’s Boyne touring company—still laces up the hard shoes night after bone-jarring night.

You can see Niamh’s fancy footwork this week as the company pounds the boards Tuesday through Sunday at the Academy of Music.

Niamh, who first started taking lessons in Dublin at the age of 4, now holds the record for the most performances of any dancer in the show. “I’ve done over 3,000 performances all over the world,” she says. “I’m well above everybody else at this stage.”

She recalls when dancers first were being recruited for the show. As a champion dancer—the racked up medals in the Leinster, All-Ireland, and World competitions—she was an obvious prospect. Of course, virtually no one could have foreseen that Riverdance would go on to become a monster hit worldwide, but for an Irish dancer, the appeal was undeniable.

“Initially we were booked for three weeks in the Point, then to London for three more weeks, then back to Dublin,” she says. “We didn’t think it would take off on such a worldwide level at all. But for any Irish dancer, to be given the opportunity to perform in a show like Riverdance, of course they’d never turn it down.”

No one had ever seen Irish dance performed in such a new and daring way. In some ways, she explains, it wasn’t much of a departure. Still, there were things to learn—things a competitive Irish dancer might not have known or appreciated.

“The steps we do are still traditional Irish steps,” she says. “The thing that was new was the performance element. Irish dancing hadn’t been professional until this time. We started using hand and head movements that would not have been in traditional Irish dancing. That would have been a whole new experience for all of us. We were used to dancing on stage in competition, though. So basically all we had to learn was performance in front of a paying audience, with different music and different costumes.”

Niamh must have figured out how to meet the new challenges. Twelve years on, she’s still on her toes. In fact, she has performed all over the world, with performances in Scandinavia, Japan, New Zealand, Australia, China, and throughout Europe and North America. As dance captain, she is responsible for scheduling and running rehearsals and for breaking in new dancers.

Her responsibilities don’t end there. She’s on stage, too, for every performance. It’s nothing like easy, dancing well past the point where many would have the stamina to carry on. But, she explains, “I really do look after myself, taking a lot of rest when I should. We have a cardiovascular workout every night before the show. And after every show, I go into ice buckets up to my knees.”

So much for the glamour of the stage.

Now, as Riverdance once again sweeps into Philadelphia, Niamh remains very much engaged in the show. The show has evolved, of course—new costumes new numbers, new sets and lighting changes. But the show remains fundamentally the same exhausting and exhilarating experience it has always been. That killer finale remains, too—and, she says, it still draws a roaring standing ovation, show after show.

Not too hard to take, clearly. And Niamh is prepared to take it for a while longer still. She is studying advanced interior design with the Regency Academy of Fine Arts in the U.K. because she knows that, even for a marathoner like herself, Riverdance must someday end. But for now and for the foreseeable future, Riverdance is her life. “As long as I’m physically able to dance I will,” she says. “I love performing. It’s my job.”

May 11, 2007 by
People

Meet the New Mary from Dungloe

Meagan McGough

The new Mary of Dungloe, Meagan McGough, takes some time with her family: grandfather Ed Brennan, grandmother Dolores Brennan, and her mother, Barbara McGough.

The latest Philadelphia Mary from Dungloe knows how to get to Carnegie Hall. Meagan McGough performed there for five years and discovered, as the old joke goes, the secret is to “practice, practice, practice.”

From the time she was 10 till she was 15, this award-winning Irish step dancer and her parents, John and Barbara, traveled to the Bronx every Sunday after church–four hours up, four hours back from their home in Downingtown– where she would rehearse the routine she performed in an annual show with the late Irish tenor Frank Patterson.

Ranked third nationally among US step dancers, Meagan, who performs with the DeNogla School in Verona, NJ, came in third place at the All-Ireland Championships two years ago–on her 18th birthday. “It’s always the beginning of July so I’m always dancing on my birthday, which is July 6” she laughs. “I guess it’s good luck.”

But her luck hasn’t always been “of the Irish.” She excels in an art form where you break bones almost as often as a linebacker. Meagan has fractured her foot three times since she started dancing at the age of 5. “It’s always been my left foot too,” she says with a wince. “I even danced at the world championships with a broken foot. I just kept wrapping it and taking Vioxx. I broke it the week before the competition and I figured the ticket was booked, the hotel was paid for, and I was going to go. I made it to the last eight bars of the song and didn’t stop but I definitely made a mistake. At World you have to be flawless, the best of the best. Afterwards, I put a cast on my foot.”

Which tells you a lot about Meagan McGough. Challenge? Bring it on! A marketing major at Fordham University, Meagan took a summer job last year that’s sent her in another career direction, one not for the faint of heart. “I got a call over Easter break from an oral surgeon at last year from The Main Line Oral and Facial Surgery Center in Exton,” she explains. “I thought I was going in to interview for a receptionists’ job. I always had interest in the sciences and those gory things, and thought this is so cool. “

It got cooler. They didn’t want her to be their receptionist. They wanted to offer her a surgical assistant internship. She wouldn’t be answering the phones. She’d be assisting in oral surgery–doing suction, helping with IVs, suturing, administering medication. “I thought I’d be wearing suits every day,” she laughs. “Instead, I was wearing scrubs and masks. I loved it. In fact the experience inspired me to go on the medical track at Fordham and go to medical school one day.”

But she didn’t want to give up her marketing major. So she went to the dean of the business school and worked out a plan that allows her to pursue her business degree with a minor in science. “Instead of taking the liberal arts or fun courses in addition to the business classes, I’m on the premedical track which is more challenging than the core courses. When I’m a senior I’ll have most of the prerequisites I need for medical school, though I may have to take summer classes.”

There’s a method to this madness. She thinks her marketing skills will marry well with her medical skills if she’s able to work with Operation Smile, a nonprofit, volunteer organization that provides medical treatment to children in Third World countries born with facial deformities, like cleft lips, that often leave them ostracized in their communities. Its secondary mission: to raise awareness–and money. Irish actress Roma Downey is the international spokesperson for the organization. “I’m going to be interning again this summer and with that extra experience I can apply to work with them next year,” says Meagan.

And in the middle of all this, she’ll be competing in Ireland at the end of July into early August in the International Mary from Dungloe pageant in Donegal. She hadn’t even considered entering the local competition, which is sponsored by the Donegal Association of Philadelphia. The free trip to Ireland? She’s been traveling to Ireland since she was very young, mainly with her maternal grandparents, Ed and Dolores Brennan of New Jersey, who paid for her step dancing lessons and chaperoned her to international competitions. In fact, it wouldn’t have occurred to her to enter if a Donegal Association member hadn’t approached her on St. Patrick’s Day, after she’d done an impromptu “Irish dance battle” with a six-year-old boy during her family celebration at The Plough and the Stars in Philadelphia. (No doubt dazzled by this redhead with flawless skin and sparkling dark eyes who can dance the heck out of a jig.)

“Grace Flanagan, the sister of Theresa Flanagan Murtagh who is the president of the Donegal Association, came up to me and asked me if I’d be interested in entering,” says Meagan. “So my Dad and I went down to the Irish Center and I applied. I really didn’t expect to win. They were all incredible girls. But I’m really excited. I’ve never done a pageant before and even though I’ve been to Ireland so many times, I’m excited about experiencing a whole different aspect of the culture. When you’re dancing in competition, any spare time you have you’re practicing. ”

It won’t be her only trip either. She’ll be competing at the 38th World Irish Championship in Belfast over Easter break in 2008, but for the last time. (The World Championships come to Philadelphia the following year.) “After this World, I’m hanging up my shoes,” she says. “I’m getting certified as a teacher, and as successful as I’ve been as a dancer, I think I’ll be an excellent coach. In fact, I might even be a better coach.”

She’s already the mentor of a younger dancer whose dream was to place in the Irish nationals. “I worked hard with her and she placed 35th, which is a huge deal for her,” says Meagan. “I’m finding it more rewarding to work with kids and see them grow as individuals and see them win. I’ve learned to love the spotlight. Now I’m learning to love the behind the scenes stuff. But this is my last year in the spotlight.” She grins. “I guess I’m going out with a bang.”

Check out Meagan’s competition at the recent Mary from Dungloe Pageant held at the Irish Center.

May 10, 2007 by
Music

Making Music With a Smile In It

Fiddler Kevin Burke—veteran of the Bothy Band, the Celtic Fiddle Festival and Patrick Street—and guitarist-composer Cal Scott never set out to record a CD. Still, it probably was inevitable that these two creative musical minds eventually would crank out something like their new release, “Across the Black River.”

It all started when Burke—a London boy transplanted to Dublin, and now living in Portland, Oregon—paired up with Scott, a resident of the nearby town of Tigard, on a score for a PBS documentary.

“When I first met Cal, he was working on a documentary about the political strife in Northern Ireland,” Burke explains. “He asked me, could I give him some advice on what type of music might be suitable. He knew I was living in town, he knew about me from some other musicians, so he called me up and I said, “Sure,” and we worked on that for a while. When it was over, Cal said, ‘I’d love to learn a bit more about this kind of music and play a bit more. Would you be interested in getting together?’ I said, ‘Sure, I‘d love to.’”

And for a long time, that’s how the relationship went. Burke would drop his kids off at school, and then spend the day at Scott’s studio. The two hit it off, and before long they were swapping ideas the way some guys trade fish stories.

It was all very informal and unstructured.

“Cal says, ‘Maybe the best way for us to go about this is for you to just sit there and play something—anything—just play for five or 10 minutes, and I’ll record it,” Burke recalls, “so instead of you having to play over and over again, you can just go away and I’ll just listen to the recording and come up with a few ideas, and then you can come back and I can show you what I’ve done.’”
So Burke cranked out a few reels played by the late, great Sligo fiddler Michael Coleman—tunes like “The Wind That Shakes the Barley,” “Seán sa Cheo,” “The Boys of the Lough” and “Paddy Ryan’s Dream.”

“So I sat and played for five or 10 minutes,” Burke says, “and then I went away. When I came back he had all these great ideas. Some of them were fantastic, and some of them were less fantastic … and some of them were a bit odd. So we just kind of talked about it. I was responding to some of his ideas, and he was responding to some of mine. Before long we had this journey.”

The journey went on for a long time before either man conceived of the notion of releasing a CD. But when they did, those Coleman reels, and one other non-Coleman tune—“The Reel of Rio”—would occupy a place of prominence.

Only it doesn’t quite sound the same as it did when Burke played it the first time. There’s the start, for one. Scott’s introduction sounds a bit like Texas swing. It’s anything but.

“There’s been a kind of a flirtation with that style of guitar backup with Irish music from the ’20s and ‘30s,” Burke explains. “Some of the older recordings have accompanists that sometimes give you the idea, that’s what they’d be playing most of the time, that swing-jazz style. I was talking to Cal about how it might be suitable to start this set of reels because all the tunes in that set, except one, were recorded by Michael Coleman back in the ‘20s. What I wanted to do was play a bunch of classic tunes but give each of them a new twist and at the some time make reference to some of other people’s twists on Michael Coleman’s music. But, since he had such a big impact from the ‘20s on, it just seemed suitable to have the rhythm hark back to the ‘20s as well. With Cal’s background, it was very easy for him to say, ‘Oh, yeah, you mean something like this?’ and he’d just lay it out there. And I’d say, ‘Yeah, that’d be a great way to start.’ And it’s a bit nostalgic. It makes you smile. There’s a smile in it, you know? It’s not silly, though. It’s not supposed to be a comedy. It is slightly amusing, but hopefully there’s a lot of affection there, too, that comes across.”

Together, Burke and Scott were able to create a set that clearly hearkens back to its Irish traditional roots, but with a fresh new approach. “It was my idea,” Burke says, “but Cal’s execution that made it work.”

The two took some liberties with an American tune as well—bluegrass scion Bill Monroe’s famous “Evening Prayer Blues.” Burke had been playing is solo in his performances. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it came up short. He recorded it for Scott, but still wasn’t happy with the sound. So once again, Burke and Scott put their heads together and came up with a few new twists.

“The first time I heard it (the tune), it was Bill Monroe playing it with a band, and it felt very much like a bluegrass tune,” says Burke. “But it’s called ‘Evening Prayer Blues,’ and even though Monroe played it much faster than I played it, even though it was fairly fast in his original version, I really got this hymnal aspect from it. It struck me as a very gentle, private and almost spiritual piece of music. So I took that hymn idea and slowed it down and tried to make it more poignant and thoughtful—the idea of pondering about your spirituality. But I also wanted some reference to the fact that it was Bill Monroe and that it was a bluegrass tune without me trying to sound as if I’m a bluegrass player. So again, Cal’s execution of these ideas is great. He’s a great mandolin player so he made a little reference in there to the bluegrass sound, and he helped me put a second fiddle line on it that would be more typical of a bluegrass reference. And I asked him, what about playing bouzouki instead of guitar? That would still be in keeping with both genres, the Irish and the American, but it would move it slightly away from the bluegrass sound just a little more. That’s how it grew.”

Most of the rest of the tunes on the CD take a similar approach, with reverence for the source material, but tweaking here and there. The result is a CD with—much like the long set of reels—a bit of a smile in it.

You can share the smiles this Friday at 8 when Burke and Scott swing by the Irish Center for a concert, sponsored by the Philadelphia Ceili Group.

May 4, 2007 by