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Review: “Singing in the Dark,” by Susan McKeown

Singing in the Dark

Singing in the Dark

The defining moment of “Singing in the Dark,” Susan McKeown’s moving meditation on the relationship between deeply debilitating mental illness and soaring creativity, comes toward the end of the recording, in a musical adaptation of the Welsh poet Gwyneth Lewis’s “Angel of Depression.”

The words McKeown sings, Lewis’s words, are brutally unsentimental: “Don’t say it’s an honour to have fought with depression’s angel. It always wears the face of my loved ones as it tears the breath from my solar plexus, grinds my face in the ever-resilient dirt. Oh yes, I’m broken but my limp is the best part of me. And the way I hurt.”

When McKeown hurls herself into the word “broken,” she tears through the upper registers like a razor blade through silk. In that single harrowing moment, you can begin to see depression for what it is at its worst, a soul-destroying cancer.

This is strong stuff, in an album full of strong stuff. In “Singing in the Dark,” McKeown and her musical colleagues Frank London and Lisa Gutkin take on the daunting task of putting difficult words to music. The album celebrates the work of poets such as Anne sexton, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill and and Theodore Roethke. Lord Byron makes an appearance. So do Leonard Cohen and Chilean singer-songwriter Violetta Parra. A recording industry pitchman might describe it as a tribute to troubled souls. It is far more than that.

McKeown says she was inspired to make this album after reading Kay Jamison’s book, “Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament.” She also met with familiy members and friends of those suffering from mental illness, and she tapped into the melancholic themes that run like a dark vein through much of her native Irish music. Recording began in a studio on Ireland’s Achill island in August 2008. Thus emerged McKeown’s exploration of mental illness as the wellspring of creative genius.

The source material is indisputably rich: Take, for example, Anne Sexton’s “Her Kind,” in which the poet casts herself in the role of madwoman-witch: “A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind.” Or Roethke’s poem, “In a Dark Time,” which ponders life at the extremes but ends on a transcendent note: “A man goes far to find out what he is—Death of the self in a long, tearless night, All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.”

Most of this material is not, by nature, “hummable.” None of this would work if the music didn’t just hold together, but hold its own with the world-class poetry. This, it does—in spades.

Take, for example, “The Nameless One,” by 19th-century Irish poet James Clarence Mangan. With verses like the following, it’s hardly upbeat:

“Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble,
Deep in your bosoms: there let him dwell!
He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble,
Here and in hell.”

Amazingly, McKeown and colleagues deliver a wonderfully folky tune to accompany those words. The bouncy banjo treatment reminds me of Woody Guthrie’s “Gonna Get Through This World” on the group’s 2006 Klezmatics collaboration, “Wonder Wheel.”

“The Crazy Woman,” based on the poem by Gwendolyn Brooks, is a revelation. If you think about the opening lines of the poem, “I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I’ll wait until November I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I’ll wait until November and sing a song of gray,” you may not be able to hear a jazzy little piano lounge tune in it. McKeown and friends did, and it’s a treat.

I was wondering where I’d first heard the dolorous “In Darkness Let Me Dwell,” written by the lutenist John Dowland. It was on Sting’s 2006 CD, “Songs from the Labyrinth.” Susan McKeown’s version will easily make you forget Sting ever tried his hand at Madrigal singing.

“The Crack in the Stairs,” based on the work of Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, is a bit more challenging, both for the singer and the listener. It’s a dissonant modern piano piece written by Irish composer Elaine Agnew. Give it a chance. It fits the bleak material.

And if not that, there’s more. The Latin standard “Gracias a la Vida,” by Violetta Parra, is a pretty piece. You may remember a Joan Baez version. McKeown’s version of Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem,” is performed with soulful elegance.

That any song on the album would be sung otherwise is unthinkable. McKeown at her best is always balanced right on the edge: fragility on the one side, strength on the other. It’s perfect for material that is so emotionally weighted—and for painting a portrait of life at the extremes.

November 4, 2010 by
Music, News

A Treat of a Halloween Party Does the Trick

Father John and his fellow merry-makers.

Father John and his fellow merry-makers.

My Samhain party at the Philadelphia Irish Center began with a weird proposition. A very creepy “Father John” offered to hear my confession.

I respectfully declined. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Father’s face was clear and didn’t move. Eek.

Samhain (SOW-en) is an ancient Gaelic festival that led indirectly to Halloween. So the Samhain Rambling House party was mostly an excuse for some people to dress up—everything from a Goth witch to a Cleopatra to a little Debbie Reynolds-esque sailor girl. (And let’s not forget Father John. We can’t.) For others it was a reason to dance to the music of Fintan Malone and Bob McHugh, who had their own Halloween gremlins to cope with in the form of an uncooperative sound system.

For most of us, though, it was a great excuse to get together around the bar, swap gossip and laugh too much.

Whatever … what a swell party it was!

We have photos.

October 30, 2010 by
Music

Review: “Three Colours Ginger” by Brongaene Griffin

Three Colours GingerA sun-soaked illustration of a cat casting a long violin-shaped shadow adorns the cover of “Three Colours Ginger” by Oregon fiddler Brongaene (Bronnie) Griffin. Most of the sets of tunes on the CD bear a feline-derived title: “Black Cat,” “Calico,” “Copy Cat,” and “Tortoiseshelled Chesire.” Between the musical tracks, the superb Irish fiddler Kevin Burke recites such odes to kitties as “The Cat of Cats,” “The Cats of Kilkenny” and even “The Owl and the Pussycat,” delivered in a voice like honeyed whiskey.

Whimsically themed this new recording may be, but it is also seriously good. It could hardly be otherwise. Griffin cut her teeth on old-timey tunes, at which she excelled from an early age, but she is no less a whiz on Irish fiddle. She took instruction from Burke (which should say something), and he himself appears on two tracks. The master guitarist, singer and song-writer Gerry O’Beirne produced the CD, and he plays guitar and ukulele throughout.

Some of the very best moments are those in which Griffin and O’Beirne play unaccompanied. (Check out track 3, ”In the Tap Room” and “The Foxhunter Reel;” track 5, a collection of slides, “Where’s the Cat,” “Behind the Bush in the Garden” and “The Cat Rambles to the Child’s Saucepan;” and the 10th track, “Margaret’s Waltz,” dedicated to Griffin’s sister.)

Of course, there’s a lot to like about the sets in which Griffin has plenty of company. And good company it is. Griffin is joined by some high-powered traditional talent of the Pacific Northwest, including harper Elizabeth Nicholson, fiddler Bob Soper, Jim Chapman on bouzouki, guitarist Nancy Conescu and Johnny B. Connolly on button accordion. (Burke also resides in Portland, which apparently is knee-deep in world-class traditional Irish musicians.)

I was especially fond of Nicholson’s bell-like handiwork on the opening track, Colorpointe (“The Cat in the Fiddle Case” and “The Fisher’s Hornpipe);” the second track, a set of jigs including “The Orphan” and “The Stray Away Child;” and track 8, another set of jigs fitted onto the tail-end (so to speak) of Burke’s recitation of “The Cats of Kilkenny.” Connolly and Chapman contribute a good deal of color and depth on the tracks on which they appear.

Which brings up a minor point. All of the musicians appear in more places than the credits would indicate. The best example of that little oversight is Griffin’s sixth track, O’Carolan’s “Planxty Hewlett,” a lush waltz that reminds me a little of “Ashokan Farewell,” and even Pachelbel’s Canon in D. None of the accompanists is credited on this piece.

The tune begins with a sure-handed Griffin and O’Beirne proceeding alone, but it builds in delicate, lacy layers—a second fiddle (could be Burke, could be Soper), then Connolly, and finally Nicholson. It’s my favorite number on the album, and it will bring to mind all the happy-sad moments of your life and leave you to dissolve into a puddle of weepiness. It’s a lovely, tender performance by Griffin.

There are a few other faults in the credits but, really, it’s what’s inside that counts. You’re going to pay rather more attention to Griffin, who plays with confidence, poise and deep expression. (And she’s a musician with a conscience. The cat theme stems from her work in animal welfare, and a portion of the proceeds from the sale of this CD will benefit the Feral Cat Coalition of Oregon and Indigo Rescue, which rehabilitates rescued animals before they’re placed in adoptive homes.)

You’ll be impressed by the ensemble work as well. The performance of Griffin and company seems less like a recording session than the spontaneous collaboration of a group of good friends at a traditional Irish music session.

And that might be the highest compliment you can pay to any recording of Irish traditional music.

October 27, 2010 by
Music, Travel

A Virtual Session at The Corner House in County Down

Fil Campbell performing at The Corner House, Rostrevor.

Fil Campbell performing at The Corner House, Rostrevor.

The Corner House in Rostrevor, County Down, Northern Ireland, is a postage-stamp sized pub in a particularly musical corner of the Mourne Mountains—home to folk singer/activist Tommy Sands, singer Fil Campbell and her husband, percussionist Tom McFarland, and the Fiddler’s Green International Festival, held every July, the highlight of which is 20 Singers, 20 Songs, a performance by local talent. That they can find 20 local singers worth listening to in a town so small you couldn’t finish humming an entire song while driving through it is nothing short of miraculous. 

I’d like to think that it’s the magic of the Mournes. Rostrevor is snuggled between these heather-covered granite mountains that sweep dramatically down to sea and are the subject of an 19th century folk song called, “Mountains O’ Mourne,” recorded by Donegal balladeer Daniel O’Donnell, the Kingston Trio and Don McLean. The Mournes also inspired C.S. Lewis to write “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” and, on a recent visit, resurrected for me the lines of a poem called “The Fairy Folk” that I was forced to memorize in grade school: “Up the airy mountain, down the rushing glen, we daren’t go a-hunting, for fear of little men.” 
There’s definitely something mystical there. There’s also Spring Records, the Sands’ family’s independent record label and studio, which is one reason Fil Campbell (a Fermanagh native) and Tom McFarland (Belfast-born) live there. “We were always here recording anyway,” Fil told me. 
But even the natives think “there’s something in the water.” Whatever it is, it makes the Friday night session at the Corner House a rare treat. 
I brought a little of it home with me, thanks to my little Kodak HD recorder, to share with you. Come with me to the virtual session:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
And a little comedy from James, an estate agent who, when he’s not selling condos in Bulgaria, pens funny ditties.
 
 
October 20, 2010 by
Music, News, People

Haunted by the Memories of Molly-O-Ween … All Very Good Ones

Katie, our winged hostess.

Katie, our winged hostess.

Off in the back, the kids were carving and scooping out jack-o-lanterns.

On stage, kilted performer Seamus Kennedy was singing songs, telling stories (funny ones, not ghostly ones), and occasionally flashing a jack-o-lantern grin.

Oh, yes, and Elvis was in the house … about an 8-year-old version of the king who came and went before we could get his (her?) picture.

This was the very first Molly-O-Ween celebration at Molly Maguire’s pub in Lansdale, but it probably won’t be the last.

Luckily, the day dawned bright and clear and, by the time the festival began, the temperatures had warmed up. A little too warm for some of the costumes, maybe, but, hey, they’re kids, and kids put comfort aside in the name of Halloween.

Shoppers kept the Irish vendors busy, and musicians (Kennedy, Celtic Spirit and Doc Freeman) kept many of the festival-goers up and on their feet. Food and beer, too, of course, and inside the tavern, business was brisk.

We have photos from the day.

October 19, 2010 by
Music

Five Questions for Breanndán Begley

Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh and Breanndán Begley

Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh and Breanndán Begley

There is a ruggedness and a wildness to the West of Ireland. To Breanndán Begley, one of he most accomplished two-row button accordion artists in the world, it’s only natural that the music of the region should match its terrain.

West Kerry, where Begley makes his home, is also part of Ireland’s Gaeltacht—an Irish-speaking region. So if West Kerry music seems to have a slightly different flavor from, say, the music of the heartland, that ancient language wields its own influence, too, says Begley.

Begley appears with his playing partner Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh (kwee-veen o-Rye-a-lah) in two Philly-area concerts this weekend, the first, at the Coatesville Traditional Irish Music Series Saturday night at 8, and the second Sunday night at 8 at the Philadelphia Irish Center. (Details on our calendar.) To Begley, his Gaeltacht roots are a point of pride, and he clearly exults in the sound of the popular West Kerry dance music.

We tracked him down last week as he and Ó Raghallaigh made their way along the tour route that would bring them to our front door.

Q. To a lot of people, Irish music is Irish music. For the uninitiated, what is Kerry music and how is it different?

A. First of all, musically Ireland is a very big place and Kerry just has a dialect of its own. Even within the dialects, there are variations as well. In Kerry (for example), there would be the West Kerry style, which would have its own little differences. (West Kerry music) is more for dancing, first and foremost—slides, polkas and reels, for example. The dancing would be a very important
thing. You (also) have a lot of variety in Kerry music. Airs are valued in a session.

West Kerry is a rugged place, and the music reflects that. The music in the middle of the country is very different. The ruggedness in the music is (expressed) in the ornamentation. It’s something you wouldn’t shy away from. It’s a part of the sound within the sound. It’s rugged and lively—it’s everything.

Q. Your family background is musical, as it so often is when we interview Irish traditional artists. Have you ever stopped to ponder the old “nature/nurture” argument, and which is it?

A. It’s a mixture of all those things. I feel very lucky to be able to play like I do. It’s what I do best. It’s good that the background is there but it’s not necessary to be a great player. Breeding is better than feeding, they say, but I think it’s pure luck, really.

Q. Who taught you, and how did it influence your style of play?

A. I learned Irish music the same way I learned the language. My father played and sang. it was all around the place. Kids today have the computer; we had the accordion.

I never had any formal training. I don’t read music. It’s all by ear. It’s an oral tradition; it comes from the people. You didn’t even know you were playing music. All the musicians I knew in Kerry, none of them read music.

Q. You sing as well as play. Did one evolve later than the other, or did they come about more or less concurrently?

A. We did it (sang) all the time, more or less. I find the bridge between a Gaelic speaker and a musician is bridged by the singing. When you sing you’re doing both. In my youth there was hardly any radio. The only music you heard was live. The singing was live.

I didn’t really start singing on stage until the band Beginish (one of the notable ensembles to which he has belonged; another is Boys of the Lough) was formed. We didn’t have a singer so I started singing. I really love it. I love the songs.

The older I get, the more important I think the language is. The Irish language goes back farther than anything we have. It’s a living art form. It predates any of our poetry, and I’m sure a form of Gaelic was spoken by the Newgrange people. (In singing) I’m speaking my first language. In West Kerry youre never asked to “sing” a sing. You’re asked to “say” a song.

Q. How does collaborating with other musicians, which you’ve certainly done a lot, influence your play? How does playing with Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh influence you?

A. In Boys of the Lough, I didn’t try to put my own stamp on it., (although) when it came to a solo, I’d do it exactly the way I wanted to do it myself. With Beginish, in one way it was easier because it was all Irish musicans. It was a kind of a melting pot playing with them.

I can safely sayer that I find so much freedom playing with Caoimhín. Music with him is definitely music of the moment. There’s a plan, but rarely do we ever do exactly like the plan. If you do anything else, you’re going by memory, or you’re doing an imitation of what sounded good last night. No two nights are the same, with Caoimhín and me together. It’s a great feeling playing with Caoimhín. Do I get bored? Never! Tired? Maybe.

October 15, 2010 by
Music, People

Luka Bloom Debuts His Latest CD in the US Next Week

Irish folk-rocker Luka Bloom will appear at the Sellersville Theatre.

Irish folk-rocker Luka Bloom will appear at the Sellersville Theatre.

Luka Bloom has a pretty good plan for his current east coast tour of the U.S. He’s timed it to coincide with the turning of the leaves from summer’s green to their full burst of autumnal glory. The Irish singer-songwriter, who spent a good number of years living in New York, knows his fall foliage.

The man who was born Kevin Barry Moore, and re-purposed himself as Luka Bloom when he launched his career in the States in 1987, was en route from Maine to Vermont when we talked on the phone about his tour (it’s a brief two and a half weeks), his latest CD (“Dreams in America”)and his nephew Donnacha Rynne’s recently published book (it was his idea).

Although a short one, his tour includes a stop at The Sellersville Theatre on October 7. “I’ve always had great shows in the Philadelphia area,” he said. “I’ve played at The World Café, The Tin Angel, The Chestnut Cabaret. I’m really looking forward to this one.”

He’s bringing with him some old songs that have been reinvented for his latest CD, “Dreams in America.”

“It’s really a celebration of twenty years of writing songs and recording them. I’m not a huge fan of nostalgia,” Bloom acknowledged. “I think it’s highly overrated. But it’s okay to take a look back and reflect. It’s like hitting the pause button.”

The songs on the album, eleven of them including the new incarnations of “The Acoustic Motorbike,” “Bridge of Sorrow” and “Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself,” represent Bloom’s determination to “live in the nowness of life,” a thought borrowed from his wheelchair-bound nephew.

“This gave me the chance to go back and revisit where I was when I originally wrote the songs. I didn’t necessarily want to re-record the ones that became popular. In some cases, I loved the song but not the original recording. They’re more stripped down, raw versions on this album. I recorded it in my living room in Ireland last December.”

And Bloom felt it was time to include a song new for him as well: the traditional “Lord Franklin.” A very beautiful, simple interpretation, he sings it as a tribute to a late friend of his, Micheal O’Domhnaill, whose rendition he considers “the definitive one.”

Two live tracks, “I Hear Her, Like Lorelei” and “Love is a Monsoon,” recorded in the National Concert Hall in Dublin in August 2009, round out the CD that Bloom ultimately wants to be a thank you to “the places and people who opened their hearts and minds to the songs of a Kildareman…The period of 1987 to 1991 was an unbelievably exciting one. Things took off for me in America, particularly in New York. It’s a very nice exercise to reflect back on that time and be grateful.”

There’s another current project that is close to Bloom’s heart: the publication of his nephew’s book “Being Donnacha” (read the story in this week’s irishphiladelphia). Donnacha, born with cerebral palsy, and later diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, is a source of inspiration to Bloom. In fact, he wrote a song, “Doing the Best I Can” for him (the lyrics are included in the book).

“It’s a very important book, there are so many levels to it. It will be beneficial to so many people to hear his voice; he gives a voice to people who haven’t been heard. People who are themselves disabled, their families and their carers will all find it meaningful.”

“Donnacha lives constantly in the nowness of life. He gives a voice to living with a disability that needs to be heard. He has tough days but his strengths have always been very apparent. And something about writing this book has given him fresh strength to go on.”

“There’s something very poignant in seeing the first American article about Donnacha’s book published in Philadelphia. A very dear friend of the family, Lester Conner, lived most of his life in Philadelphia. He died about five years ago. He was a professor at Chestnut Hill College for a number of years, a great literary giant and highly academic man who was an expert on W.B. Yeats. He published “A Yeats Dictionary.” My sister Anne met him back in 1967 when he lectured at Trinity College, and he became godfather to her oldest son. He would visit every year, and Donnacha was very important to him. He would have loved to have seen Donnacha’s book.”

“It’s an important bit of serendipity.”

Visit Luka’s website for more information on his CD and his upcoming concerts: http://www.lukabloom.com/

October 2, 2010 by
Music, People

Kevin Crawford’s Summer Song

Kevin Crawford, visiting sunny Sea Isle.

Kevin Crawford, visiting sunny Sea Isle.

Add another tune to the “Jersey Shore Sound” songbook—and no, Bruce Springsteen didn’t write it.

It’s called the “Shore House Reel,” and it comes from a surprising source: virtuoso flutist Kevin Crawford of Lúnasa. You can hear it on the band’s most recent recording, “Lá Nua.” It’s the peppy little number at the very end, and it is an homage to none other than Sea Isle City.

Crawford came to know one of our favorite shore towns courtesy of Bob McLaughlin (brother of Jim McLaughin, board member of the Irish American Business Chamber & Network), who lives outside Chicago. McLaughlin owns a shore house about a block from the beach. Crawford started staying there as a guest a few years ago.

“”I got to know Bob first and foremost because he’s an up-and-coming flute player. He came to flute camp at the Swannanoa Gathering in North Carolina about five years ago,” recalls Crawford. “He was in my class and we hung out together for about a week. we just got to be good friends.”

A couple of years into the relationship, McLaughlin mentioned that he had a beach house and wondered if Crawford might want to use it from time to time when he was touring in the States. Crawford jumped at the chance for a place to charge his creative batteries.

“It’s been very good, actually,” he says. “I come in periodically. I’ve been fortunate to have the odd four- or five-day stint down there. A few years ago, myself and Cillian (Vallely, Lúnasa’s uilleann piper) recorded our (2009) duet album “On Common Ground” at Maja Studios in Philadelphia. We just commuted in and out of sea Isle. We’d get up in the morning and go for a run along the boardwalk, go for a swim, and then head into Philadelphia. And then back to Sea Isle again. It was good to get out of the city.”

Crawford lives in County Clare—which boasts a few stunning shore towns of its own—but he says he doesn’t think of Clare in the same way. Touring and living out of a suitcase can be exhausting. For Crawford, Sea Isle offers a respite. For a few days at least, he can settle in and blend into a community and make it his own. “I go on lots of trips abroad with the band, but you never really feel like you’ve seen the place or been part of things for any period of time. It all worked out perfectly for this trip. We had a few days in New York City, and it was fairly mental. We were staying downtown amid all the hustle and bustle. Then we went down to the shore. It was chalk and cheese. After a few days there, I felt fully fit and ready to go.”

Jim McLaughlin understands why the shore—and the house—are so appealing. “I think he likes the feeling that this is Bob’s plce. Bob and he have become like brothers. If Kevin ever needed bail money theres no doubt who the call would go to. He feels like it’s an extension of home.”

Just like Philadelphians who annually migrate to a particular shore town, Crawford has come to know Sea Isle pretty well. He says he’s become a big fan of local eateries, including Braca’s, Mike’s Seafood Market and O’Donnell’s Pour House. “I usually kind of steer clear of Irish pubs,” he confesses, “but I’ve been there a couple of times, and it was brilliant.”

(Jim McLaughlin notes that Kevin has also become a major fan of Wawa.)

It was during one of those recent “chill out” visits to Sea Isle that the idea came to him for a tune in honor of his adopted South Jersey resort town. He had been thinking of naming a tune for Sea Isle for some time, but had no firm plans. It wasn’t as if, he says, “I went up to my music room and say, ‘I’m gonna write a tune for Bob.'” It came to him one night out when he and Cillian were out on the deck.

“You could hear the waves crashing one block over from us. It was a really serene vibe when we were there. I said to Cillian that it would be nice if we had a track (on the upcoming CD) that was a little more laid back. So we started rearranging things for different instruments. We wound up recording the tunes (there are two other reels in the set, “Inverness County Reel” and “The Beauty Spot”) on lower pitched pipes. It just made it sound not as mad and as upbeat. It just reminded us of the calmness of Sea Isle.”

Some writers going for “calm” might have opted for a slow air. Crawford penned a reel because, he says, Bob McLaughlin loves reels. “I know from teaching Bob at workshops that there are certain tunes he likes, that he’s attracted to. I wanted a tune that Bob would like. It’s made for him.”

Crawford hints that this won’t be the last composition in honor of his gracious hosts. “The McLaughlins have just been so good to us, they’re a great family, really love their Irish heritage,” says Crawford. “I’m sure there will be more tunes.”

Lúnasa appears in concert this week—Wednesday, October 6, 2010 at 7:30 p.m.—at Calvary United Methodist Church, 801 South 48th Street (at Baltimore Avenue), in West Philadelphia.

September 29, 2010 by