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Music

A Farewell to Col. Phil Townsend

Cutting the cake.

Cutting the cake.

Phil Townsend grew up in Gladwyne, next door to St. Christopher’s Church, where the old Main Line Pipe Band used to practice.

He first heard the band perform at the church’s Azalea Day Fair. From that moment, he was hopelessly addicted to the bagpipes. “I’ve loved them since the very first time I heard them play,” he says. With the sounds emanating from the church hall week after week, it was perhaps inevitable that Townsend would join the band—first, at age 8, as a drummer, and then, at 10, as a piper.

From that point on, almost nothing could keep him away, as one of Phil’s favorite stories will attest:

“One night I was struggling with mathematics, and there was the pipe band playing in the church building,” he says. “I was grounded until I had completed my homework assignment. But finally it was too much for me, and I jumped out the second-floor window, fell onto a trash can—amazingly, I was unhurt—and then ran off to band practice. That should tell you the effect bagpipes have on me.”

And if you’re still not persuaded that bagpipes have a singular hold on Phil Townsend, consider this: On his wedding day—he was living in Utah and playing with the Salt Lake Scots—he married his “infinitely understanding and tolerant” sweetheart Molly in the morning and piped in a parade that afternoon, he says, “with my new bride marching alongside the band.” 

Almost 50 years after he succumbed to the siren song of the drones, he’s still devoted to this finicky instrument. He has played in and led (as pipe major) several Delaware Valley bands, including the old Clan na Gael, Washington Memorial, Philadelphia Emerald and Ulster Scottish. He has performed with countless other bands, on pipes or drums—and sometimes both. He also instructed the Lia Fail Band in Hightstown, N.J.   

Somewhere along the line, Townsend also became acquainted with a competition pipe band in Killen, County Tyrone, just across the border from Donegal in the Republic. He has piped with that band for several years—unfortunately, not including 2002, when Killen won the World Championships in its grade level (4A).

Just a few days after Independence Day in the States, Phil and Molly took up residence in Castlederg, County Tyrone. Townsend once again will pipe with Killen, and he’ll compete in the Worlds on Glasgow Green. But this time, he hopes Ireland will become his and Molly’s year-round home. For, as great as Phil’s love for the pipes, it just might be exceeded by his love of Ireland.

*  *  *  *  *

Recently, Phil’s many friends in Washington Memorial Pipe Band gathered at the band’s practice hall at Valley Forge Military Academy to wish him a fond farewell. Old mates from other bands, including Main Line and Emerald, joined in the festivities. They all clustered around a big fold-out map of Ireland to get a sense of where he and Molly are setting up house. They shared memories. They shared cake—with a tartan frosting, of course. And at the end, the band circled up and blasted through “Scotland the Brave,” “The Rowan Tree” and many of the old tunes, with Phil tapping away on snare drum.

It was also a bittersweet leave-taking in another sense. For the past 33 years, Valley Forge Military Academy has been the focal point of Col. Phil Townsend’s professional life—first, as cadet and, subsequently, as tactical officer, teacher, librarian, director of student activities and, finally, dean of the academy.

The next step in Townsend’s career will be to take his degree in library science from Villanova and apply his skills as a cataloguer at the Omagh Center for Migration Studies, part of the Ulster American Folk Park, also in Tyrone.

It has taken a bit longer than he might have hoped, but Townsend has always known that his life would lead him to Ireland. There were too many profound influences early in life to leave any doubt of that.

“My earliest experiences were with teachers from the North of Ireland, including Hughie Stewart, who founded the Main Line Pipe Band,” Phil recalls. “There was also a woman who was like my second mother, Sarah McGlade, from Castlewellan in County Down, one of the strong influences in my life. She helped raise me, you might say. The first time I went to Ireland I stayed with Sarah’s sister, Agnes Gorman, in a little town called Ballyward in County Down. That was when I was in my early 20s.”

At the time, Townsend was enrolled in the Reserve Officers Training Corps as a result of classes he had taken at VFMC, so he had to return to the United States to fulfill that obligation.

”I had always intended to return to Ireland after I had fulfilled that next obligation,” he says.

Things didn’t work out that way, of course, but now, he says, seems like a good time.

““Certainly, my plan has always been to retire there. But my decision to pull up stakes here and make that move more permanently was of a recent origin,” he says. “I realized that, now, with the economy and developments in the North, now was as good a time as any to purchase some property and a house. We’ve been going back every summer to Castlederg. My intention is to spend at least a portion of every year in Castlederg with the eventual goal of spending year-round there.”

He has children all over the map, too, and visiting them is also part of the plan.

Not long ago, he notes, moving to Castlederg might have been very nearly unthinkable. Because of the town’s close proximity to the Republic on three sides, it was the scene of many violent incidents. IRA bombers and gunmen could sail into Castlederg, do their business, and beat a quick retreat back into Donegal. Townsend notes that Castlederg is reputed to be “the most bombed small town in Northern Ireland.”

But times are changing, as Townsend notes. “For so long, and certainly throughout the ‘80s, Ireland experienced a 14-15 percent unemployment rate. It was not a very promising place to be, notwithstanding ‘The Quiet Man’ and all the stories of going back to Ireland. Now, within the last 10 to15 years, especially with peace so close at hand, there’s a lot more reason for people to stay where they are, or to go back.”

A few years ago, Phil and Molly purchased a bit of land and a duplex near the town center.

Not surprisingly, he looks forward to his new beginning.  

“We have our own driveway and a little garden in the front, and there’s a patio and a wee yard in the back,” he says. “Go out the front door of the house walk two minutes and you’ll be at a library in the center of the village. You can sit and read the newspaper in the living room and have a pipe band arbitrarily marching through town—that’s a fairly common occurrence.”

Of course, Castlederg is very close to Killen. In fact, he says, the region is “lousy with pipe bands”—10 of them within a 20-mile radius.

Heaven? Well, not for everyone, he says. But for this passionate piper, life in Castlederg might be as close to heaven as it is likely to get.

Music

Head Up to the Irish “Woodstock”

If you’re a die-hard Irish trad music lover, getting the chance to see Martin Hayes, Daithi Sproul, Billy McComiskey, Brian McNamara ,The Kane Sisters, Willie Kelly, Tony DeMarco, Randall Bays, Mike Rafferty, and Myron Bretholz, all playing on the same stage, you’d think you’d died and went to heaven. Those of you who aren’t die-hard fans but want to be, trust us, this is the concert you want to hear.

And you can see and hear all of these incredible performers—and more—on Saturday, July 21, at the Michael J. Quill Irish Cultural & Sports Centre in East Durham, NY, at The Andy McGann Traditional Irish Music Festival.

The concert marks the end of a week of arts instruction, ranging from piping with Brian McNamara and fiddling with Tony DeMarco to learning the art of oil painting from painter Vincent Crotty or Irish stone carving with Laura Travis. Tuition for the week ranges from $150 to $350, depending on how often you want to take lessons. Accommodations are extra. You can find more information on the festival, including driving directions, at www.east-durham.org/irishartsweek/index.htm .

This year, the concert has been renamed to honor a longtime teacher and Sligo-style fiddler Andy McGann, who died in 2004. “It was my first year as artistic director and Andy passed away during Arts Week,” says Paul Keating. “It was a poignant time–he was a hero to many of the people on our teaching staff. But there was a comfort factor in us all being together at the time. He was a very humble, soft-spoken guy who never sought the spotlight and I know he wouldn’t care a fig about us naming the concert after him, but he’s the man who looks over Arts Week for all of us symbolically.”

Music

The First Fireworks of Summer

Gerry O'Beirne and Rosie Shipley

Gerry O'Beirne and Rosie Shipley

You know that old saying about “the elephant in the room,” and how it usually refers to the big, bad thing that no one wants to acknowledge?

Well, Gerry O’Beirne’s “Elephant”—his pet name for a gorgeous, one-of-a-kind guitar hand-crafted by Ithaca instrument artisan Dan Hoffman—truly is a big, bad beastie. In O’Beirne’s hands, you can’t help but acknowledge its powerful presence.

He manages to wring every last ounce of musical expression out of his smudged and well-worn Martin 12-string, too.

In concert with Baltimore fiddler Rosie Shipley Saturday night at the Coatesville Cultural Center, O’Beirne coaxed all manner of unearthly sounds from those two guitars—slithery slides, deep and resonant drones, and glittering harmonics. Throughout the night, O’Beirne at various times channeled blues man Robert Johnson, classical artist Andres Segovia, Dobro master Jerry Douglas, and even one-hit zitherist (“The Third Man”) Anton Karas—sometimes, all in the same tune.
With the Elephant, O’Beirne offered a delicately nuanced interpretation of his tune, “Western Highway,” previously recorded both by Maura O’Connell and DANÚ lead singer Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh (who was to have been the headliner before she was waylaid by laryngitis). Wielding the 12-string, O’Beirne’s dazzling performance of another tune, “Long Beating Wing,” left the audience practically breathless.

O’Beirne managed to top even those fireworks with virtuoso performances on, of all things, a ukulele. Don Ho must have been spinning in his grave. Tiny bubbles, my arse.

With all of this praise for Gerry O’Beirne, you might wonder whether Rosie Shipley was even in the room. No need to wonder. This one-time student of master fiddler Brendan Mulvilhill did her old teacher proud.

Shipley plays with power, poise and no small measure of daring. With O’Beirne at her side, she’s an unstoppable and potently creative force. One example: Shipley’s up-tempo interpretation of Carolan’s Concerto, traditionally performed in a pretty, subdued baroque style.

As a teen, Shipley studied at the Gaelic College of Celtic Arts and Crafts in Nova Scotia. (Where, she adds, she also wove tartans and made out with boys in kilts.) Thank goodness for the Scots influence, because she treated the audience to a couple of lovely strathspeys, which you don’t often hear in traditional Irish performances.

Likewise, Shipley and O’Beirne drew on non-Irish influences to close out the night with a set of tunes from the American South: “There Ain’t No Whiskey in This Town” and “Cluck Old Hen.” On the latter, the fiddle strings were smokin’. (And O’Beirne’s uke rang out like a banjo.)

Did we miss Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh? Of course, but in another way the loss was also our good fortune as these two superb musicians ably and satisfyingly filled the breach.

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.

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.

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.

Dance, Music

Dancing for Donncha

When Donncha O Muineachain died of a heart attack in 2005, he had, by all accounts, one of the biggest funerals ever seen in Portmarnock, Dublin. Hundreds and hundreds of people turned out to say goodbye to a man who was known more for his sideline than his profession. A career civil servant, O Muineachain helped rescue Irish ceili and set dancing from quaint obscurity.
In the 1970s and ‘80s, long before Riverdance triggered a resurgence of interest in Irish music, dancing, and culture, O Muineachain and his Coiste Rince Comhaltais dancers appeared on Irish television and did a successful US tour where they not only performed but taught local dancers the age-old steps to the Caledonian Two Hand, the Plain Break, and the Connemara–the Celtic equivalent of ballroom or barn dancing, depending on your perspective. One of those stops was the MacSwiney Club in Jenkintown, where ceili and set dancing continues regularly today.

In March many of the McSwiney and Irish Center regulars joined dancers around the world to honor O Muineachain by dancing for charity–in this case, the Samaritan Hospice in Marlton, NJ. O Muineachain regularly held charity dances for Irish organizations, including the Society of St. Vincent de Paul and St. Francis’ Hospice. They took over the dance floor at the Irish Center in Mt. Airy under the tutelage of local dance instructors Jim Ryan and Eileen Pyle.
“Donncha came here pretty regularly starting in the 80s,” says Ryan. “He was one of several teachers who came over to teach us the steps. I didn’t start dancing until the 90s and it was really a thrill to learn from a master.”

Along with having a few grin-producing whirls around the dance floor, the dancers raised $575 for the Samaritan Hospice. “We hope to make this an annual affair, donating the proceeds to various charities,” says Cass Tinney, who teaches set dancing at the Irish Center.

Music

Maeve Donnelly and Tony McManus in Concert

Maeve Donnelly and Tony McManus. (Photo by Jeff Meade)

Maeve Donnelly and Tony McManus. (Photo by Jeff Meade)

I’m pretty sure I smelled smoke. I think it was coming from the sizzling strings of Maeve Donnelly and Tony McManus.

The sprightly virtuoso fiddler from Quin, County Clare, accompanied by the guitar master from Paisley, Renfrewshire, Scotland, didn’t set off the sprinkler system at the Coatesville Cultural Society, but it was touch and go there for a while. They played Saturday night to a packed house (now, that’s what we like to see), bringing a big smile to the face of Frank Dalton of the Coatesville Traditional Irish Music Series, which sponsored the show.

Maeve and Tony treated the audience to close to two hours of light-speed reels and jet-powered jigs—and one or two non-traditional tunes. (One particular highlight was Tony’s solo performance of two lovely gavottes from Brittany.)

Maeve’s solo set was no less dazzling. She performed her set of tunes—including a Junior Crehan hornpipe, “Her Golden Hair Flowed down Her Back” —on a fiddle with a non-traditional tuning. (“Out of tuning,” she called it.)

There were times when I heard Maeve do things that I didn’t think you could do on a fiddle. I swear I saw her levitate.

Or maybe it was just me.

Judge for yourself. Check out our videos and Gwyneth MacArthur’s photos.