Sep. 21st, 2004 09:01 am
Celtic Fest Report: Feast for the ears
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muckefuckSo I know that by now some of you must be thinking, "Hey, Da, at this Celtic Fest thing, did they like, y'know, play any music or anything?"
OMFG DID THEY PLAY MUSIC!
In fact, I think poor![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu would've enjoyed it much more if he had recognised it for what it is: A music fest with some shit to buy, not a festival of Celtic culture with bands. He was all set to buy a kilt(!) but there were none available in his traditional clan tartan and he wasn't willing to have one shipped from Edinburgh, so left disappointed while the rest of us headed to the music shell for the headliners.
Top billing went to Mary Black, whom the MC was sure was the one everyone was waiting for, but whom none of us had heard of before. We didn't stick around for her, since the Asturians were up first and they were the ones we were really interested in. When I first saw the name Llan de Cubel, the double l fooled me into thinking it might be Welsh. We had a lot of discussions about how a bunch of Spaniards managed to insinuate themselves into Celtic Fest. Galicia's claim to Celtic nationhood is already tenuous at best and Asturias' (or, if you're our MC, "Asturia's") is one more removed from that; sure, if you go back far enough, they're all Celtiberians, but if that's your criteria, why not invite some fadistas and Les Négresse Vertes while you're at it?
Nevertheless, they certainly have a sound we recognise as "Celtic"--and not just because they have a piper. They may call it a "tambor", for instance, but to my amateur eyes it looks just like a bodhrán. Playing this drum--and all percussion--was a gorgeous middle-aged bear who, days after the fact, I discover had the whimsically appropriate name of "Fonsu". He also served as their spokesman and he was deadpan hilarious; if only for his excursus into the merits of Cabrales he will never be forgotten. (The photos on their site hardly do him justice; you have to imagine him with neatly combed hair, a button down shirt, and a denim vest to glimpse the full impact of his irresistable daddydom.)
Wait, I was going to talk about music, wasn't I? Unfortunately, that's one area where my insufficient descriptive vocabularly exhibits total inadequacy. They were good, real good, and with a variety of styles, as well--everything from slow ballads to sea chanteys. I came to appreciate this most during the next act a thirty-or-so piece band from Brittany. Turns out that the reason for their frightening moniker--Roñsed-Mor Kevrenn-Alré--is that they were apparently formed from parts of two groups, the 35-member Bagad Roñsed-Mor ("The Seahorses") and the 30-piece band Kevrenn-Alré (from Alré in Morbihan).
The latter apparently performs with a 20-member dance ensemble and it was a shame none of them could be there last weekend, since the music they played was essentially dance music that no one danced to. The first time I heard a Breton bagad, it made perfect sense that this was the kind of music the hard-dancing korred (Breton fairy folk) were supposed to have at their midnight revels. It's noisy, uptempo, major-key fun with lots of call-and-response between various musicians. The downside is that, not unlike electronic dance music, it can be a little monochrome to listen to when you're not dancing. We left after a couple numbers when another handsome daddybear (not apparently a member of the band) came out in street clothes and engaged in a dry lecture on the origins of Brittany.
The range and depth of talent on display impressed us all. At any given time from midday until evening, there were at least a half-dozen live music acts performing at all times. An entire tent was devoted to music of the uillean pipes, an Irish instrument most Americans couldn't even recognise; eight different pipers played there over the course of two days. Performances were everywhere. We caught a bit of the Muck Brothers' show just from wandering on the midway and were tempted to linger. Earlier in the day, a Scottish pipe band made a circuit starting and ending at Al Bundy Fountain. At times, I felt like a puppy in a new yard and couldn't figure out where to direct my attention.
OMFG DID THEY PLAY MUSIC!
In fact, I think poor
monshu would've enjoyed it much more if he had recognised it for what it is: A music fest with some shit to buy, not a festival of Celtic culture with bands. He was all set to buy a kilt(!) but there were none available in his traditional clan tartan and he wasn't willing to have one shipped from Edinburgh, so left disappointed while the rest of us headed to the music shell for the headliners.Top billing went to Mary Black, whom the MC was sure was the one everyone was waiting for, but whom none of us had heard of before. We didn't stick around for her, since the Asturians were up first and they were the ones we were really interested in. When I first saw the name Llan de Cubel, the double l fooled me into thinking it might be Welsh. We had a lot of discussions about how a bunch of Spaniards managed to insinuate themselves into Celtic Fest. Galicia's claim to Celtic nationhood is already tenuous at best and Asturias' (or, if you're our MC, "Asturia's") is one more removed from that; sure, if you go back far enough, they're all Celtiberians, but if that's your criteria, why not invite some fadistas and Les Négresse Vertes while you're at it?
Nevertheless, they certainly have a sound we recognise as "Celtic"--and not just because they have a piper. They may call it a "tambor", for instance, but to my amateur eyes it looks just like a bodhrán. Playing this drum--and all percussion--was a gorgeous middle-aged bear who, days after the fact, I discover had the whimsically appropriate name of "Fonsu". He also served as their spokesman and he was deadpan hilarious; if only for his excursus into the merits of Cabrales he will never be forgotten. (The photos on their site hardly do him justice; you have to imagine him with neatly combed hair, a button down shirt, and a denim vest to glimpse the full impact of his irresistable daddydom.)
Wait, I was going to talk about music, wasn't I? Unfortunately, that's one area where my insufficient descriptive vocabularly exhibits total inadequacy. They were good, real good, and with a variety of styles, as well--everything from slow ballads to sea chanteys. I came to appreciate this most during the next act a thirty-or-so piece band from Brittany. Turns out that the reason for their frightening moniker--Roñsed-Mor Kevrenn-Alré--is that they were apparently formed from parts of two groups, the 35-member Bagad Roñsed-Mor ("The Seahorses") and the 30-piece band Kevrenn-Alré (from Alré in Morbihan).
The latter apparently performs with a 20-member dance ensemble and it was a shame none of them could be there last weekend, since the music they played was essentially dance music that no one danced to. The first time I heard a Breton bagad, it made perfect sense that this was the kind of music the hard-dancing korred (Breton fairy folk) were supposed to have at their midnight revels. It's noisy, uptempo, major-key fun with lots of call-and-response between various musicians. The downside is that, not unlike electronic dance music, it can be a little monochrome to listen to when you're not dancing. We left after a couple numbers when another handsome daddybear (not apparently a member of the band) came out in street clothes and engaged in a dry lecture on the origins of Brittany.
The range and depth of talent on display impressed us all. At any given time from midday until evening, there were at least a half-dozen live music acts performing at all times. An entire tent was devoted to music of the uillean pipes, an Irish instrument most Americans couldn't even recognise; eight different pipers played there over the course of two days. Performances were everywhere. We caught a bit of the Muck Brothers' show just from wandering on the midway and were tempted to linger. Earlier in the day, a Scottish pipe band made a circuit starting and ending at Al Bundy Fountain. At times, I felt like a puppy in a new yard and couldn't figure out where to direct my attention.
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(2)uillean pipes, an Irish instrument most Americans couldn't even recognise ...
REALLY? Do they live in caves or something?
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