youngraven: (Default)
 My friend Mark is re-releasing his bodhrán CD. I highly recommend it if you fancy learning to play.
Click me:
kck.st/wk3PNJ
youngraven: (whack-fol-lol-de-ra)
A list of lessons learnt in Bishop Street

I'm not a grand street performer. I mean, I can do it, sure, but I neither excel, triumph, nor shimmer. It's quite simple, really. On a stage, I've got my place and the audience have got their place. In a street, everything is tossed together. Gone are the barriers that protect me from you and you from me (and these are important, oh yes, lest the stars fall and creation as we know it ends).

If I'm silent, and I allow my bodhrán to speak for me, things are a bit more settled. She's far more eloquent than I could be; I swop my words round and rarely make any sort of sense, I think. Ah well, what do you do? (Erm...learn to speak proper English. Fah. That's for people with attention spans. Ooh, aeroplane.) Erm...and see what that little vignette's cost me. I've no idea where I am.

Bishop Street is enchanting. Truly. And the Finest Latte Ever can be found at the Nodding Dog. For that alone, I'd go back to it. I'm actually planning my next foray out, although I may leave Caitrín (my bodhrán seems to like that name best) home.

Carolling and sean-nos are uneasy companions. If I'd given myself a good month longer, sure, it would have been...something. I think. The Irish songs, they went well enough (for a one unused, now, to singing without a mic - [livejournal.com profile] shaddowshoes did offer to bring a small system, only we were moving round a bit); the carols fell gracelessly onto their faces. I'd have been less concerned about it had I been amongst the usual sort of rabble out to a street fair - only these were a cultured lot. It didn't work. The carolling bit didn't work. The repertoire was ill-suited, there wasn't enough time spent in preparing for it; If I do something of this nature again, I'll have spent the year in advance searching for carol sort of things that don't need tarting up with harps and shamrocks. 'Cos argh. The instrumental Exmoose fare went over a bit better. For instance, we shoved 'Jingle Bells' into a set with two other tunes, which worked brilliantly. Why? 'Cos it's got an A and a B part (unlike some other carols which haven't got turns in at all), and it's a polka. Place it amongst two other Irish polkas and it's a seamless fit.

After all these years spent in making this not a truth, and as much as I'm loathe to admit it, I'm still ill at ease with my own voice. To stop the ridicule that I'm convinced would be mine if I expanded the horizons a bit, I've shackled myself I think. Hrm...it's needful to mention here that I often employ phrases such as 'I think' as 'filler' speech - rather than to imply any sort of doubt or uncertainty. I really need to come with a translator. I've got quite the barrier against the idea that I should strive to excel in ways that can't be quickly shoved under the rug. That sort of bright and shininess (or shite and brinyness - whichever you choose) should be reserved for those people who are so innately fantastic that others drop to their knees and whisper 'thou art god' at the mere sight of them. I am, of course, taking the piss out of myself.

For fuck's sake. Somebody's dangled a bauble in front of my eyes, and now I'm lost. In short, I need to stop bawlling and do something about it. This isn't a big rock for me to for ever be rolling up a hill. Right.

As unlikely as this may seem, a fiddle, a guitar and a bodhrán can actually compete with a brass band. It's simple, really. We all of us play in seisiunna - we're used to ignoring what the rest of the world is getting up to round us. Whether anybody else in the street could hear us, I couldn't tell you. I could hear us, and thus it was grand.

So, I wrote the bit at the middle after I'd written the bit at the end. I think this means I've done with this one - make of it all that you can, eh? :D
youngraven: (whack-fol-lol-de-ra)
There's somebody I'd like you to meet... )
So. There's where that stands.
youngraven: (Oops)

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?!1!

I turned my back on her for a moment, and she scarpered. I'm sure she had assistance, as bodhráns (being inanimate objects) haven't got legs.

So.

So, I'll be lurking about in pawn shops near to Gilligan's with the hopes that the bloody moronic crack fiend thieving amadan poor unfortunate soul who saw fit to borrow her decided that she'd be happier at one of them.

:(

Profile

youngraven: (Default)
youngraven

April 2013

S M T W T F S
 123456
789 10111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
282930    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 04:22 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios