youngraven: (sprig)
At the moment, I'm installed in my hotel room wandering about on the Internet. Why am I not off at the feis erm...well, being at the feis? Well, on the one hand, I'm gathering as much introvert time as I'll get before I've got to surround myself with forty thousand of my closest mates. On the other hand...I'm listening to Spriggan's new CD (sure, we haven't got an old one, but what do you do?) to check there isn't anything dodgy lurking within it.

What I mean to say is that I'm having a listen to the product itself. 'Cos it's pressed and boxed and it's all of it here. In fact, most of it's stacked behind me, but what this means is that our CD, Mind the Gap, is out. We're selling them here at Irish Fest, so consider that not a subtle at all hint to go and buy one. And should it come to pass that you'll not be coming out, well you know where to find me, don't you? :D

So, at the moment, I'm listening to myself sing at me (lo, a catastrophe of pronouns - I think I'll use that phrase to describe the way I speak henceforth), and it's a bit eerie. I mean, I'm here, right? I can see my own self reflected back at me in the mirror over the desk (pauses to check - I've not disappeared, no) and yet I'm wafting out into the aether from my wee Macintosh speakers. I mean, I'm by no means a large woman, but I'm not small enough to have been shoved into a laptop.

At any rate, it looks fucking fantastic. This is actually quite a feat for me to be saying that. I laid out the cover and sleeve art myself - and I never compliment anything that I've done. I don't. Call it neurosis, call it false modesty, call it Gregory (I've got to find another joke, I'm half sick of that one). Call it superstition. I trip over that one every frigging time. There's a part of me says 'who are you to say anything that you yourself have made is grand' and another part which wails 'aaaaah, don't say that - you'll die in a fiery crash'. 'Cos the gods, saints, fairies, Goblins of Wrath!!1raaaar can't abide a cocksure mortal.

You'll have to prise my point out of that one with a fucking steel rod. :D One had a bit of a late night, one did. I think I've learnt that if I'm to be playing seisiunna when I'm effectively dead on my feet, I should at least have the good graces to do it pissed. 'Cos then I've got an excuse for the odd dodgy rhythm and the missing of my fucking bodhran. How can that be? I ask you this? Alright, so she's a smaller one than is the favoured size of the day (my one is a 14 and most players these days go for a 15), but still - hallo? Surface area! And a bodhran isn't a fucking dart board (now then, before you're tempted to Make That Joke...) - were it one, I'd understand. At any rate, there were at least three times in which I missed striking my drum altogether and another in which (and I'd broken my usual rule of not playing in on tunes I don't know if I can't lilt them to myself after the first time through) I wandered away in my head and away from the beat. Such that I 'came to' in the midst of it and had to stop.

'Ah, shite,' says I.
'HahahahahHA!!11!!11' says my bodhran maker mate whose playing trumps mine 4000505056,666054004 to one. 'I hate it when that happens to me.'
'Good morning,' I riposte.

My head wasn't immediately hacked from my shoulders, but I suppose it remains to be seen whether I'm allowed into any of the faster seisiunna tonight. :D If I drink first, it'll all be grand.

And you know, whilst I'm killing time and babbling about bodhranai... I think he's grand, truly, my bodhran maker friend. One never knows what he'll say, which always ushers in an element of chaos - but what of that, really? However, of recent he's become rather vocally against the rule that there should never be more than one bodhranai playing at once. He wants us all hammering away at our poor little goats (or kangaroos, if you would) at once. In a large seisiun, this is no worries, 'cos the people at the other end of the room will only ever hear one of us at a time at any rate. So all we need do to avoid it all becoming so much roar is to stagger ourselves throughout the room. I think last night at the height of the seisiun we'd thirty players - four of them bodhranai. That can be managed without undue rufflings of feathers. What's my point here? Hang on...right. Here's what vexes me a bit: there are times in which I'd rather listen to what the other bodhranai are doing, to what the melody players are doing ('cos I do now play something of a melody instrument, and bedamn I will do it well someday - which means I've got to actually fucking do it, dunnit?). So what does he do when I drop out and watch? He bawls at me to play in. Once at a Gilligans seisiun, I'd stepped away from the circle to chat with my parents (who'd come for the craic - likeyado), and he nearly frogmarched me back into the fray.

I suppose on some level I'm flattered, but how can I nick licks (which is amusing to say quickly) off him when I'm tied up with paying attention to what I'm doing, what he's doing (so that I'll not clash), and what everybody else is doing? We've agreed to steal from each other, for feck's sake! :D

So. Agus ta se ansin. Come out to the festival and gawk at us, would yez? :D
youngraven: (sprig)
Rumour has it that there's been a rumour going round that we've been accepted to NTIF for 2008.


It isn't a rumour. We received the acceptance letter this morning. We'll post back with details as soon as they come to us.

Slán go foill,
youngraven: (Default)
...I'd rather be done with the month of March now, please. I know, I know - it's supposed the be the Bestest Month Ever!111!!1zomg*!!! for Irish musicians, And Yet.

Sure, it hasn't been as though the moon fell out of the sky and smashed half the world flat and made the other half to resort to cannibalism to survive, but it's been rather a difficult month, and I'm ready for the 'out like a lamb' part of it.

Irish Fest flattened me (and even more than I'd realised), and all that I did there was to mind instrument check-in, play at the O'Flaherty booth, and help [ profile] shaddowshoes to set up and strike his two stages. In an entire weekend, that isn't really a great deal. Only I caught plague (or whatever), didn't I? Thus I spent an entire day afterwards almost completely flat.

I'm one of the foolish sorts of people who tends to carry on with whatever I feel I should be doing regardless of how I may be feeling. Usually, I can get away with it, only not this time. In stead of expelling the invaders and utterly quelling any remaining splinter factions, I managed only to press the Plague into hiding.

It regrouped, gained strength, bought itself new uniforms and fired off a salvo that took out my forwards guard. The smiling, tie-wearing doctor at the quack shack labelled it 'bronchitis'.

But I don't smoke, sez I, which obviously fell on deaf ears, and last night I was told by a friend's son that smoking doesn't cause bronchitis. Well, I suppose I knew that, but I did think it made one more likely to suffer from it. At any rate, I'm being plied with medicine, so with any luck I'll have chased it away by Saturday night.

This has been our very first weekend in nigh unto a month that we've had no pressing obligations. So...yesterday, we went to see Michelle's daughter's film ('BITCH' - it's hystaerical), and afterwards we drove to meet with friends.

Today, after a long and pleasantly spent morning, [ profile] shaddowshoes went off to help a friend update a Macintosh, and I vowed not to do anything, really. Last night, Becky had warned me that I might be fighting this nonsense for weeks if I don't keep still for a little while, and it's got to be gone by Saturday night (which likely means I shouldn't go to seisiun this week. Grr)., it's getting late, and I'm starting to lose my point (silence, youse).

At any rate, as I was lolling about and drinking tea, I had a peek at my email - 'cos that isn't actually doing anything, now is it - and in said email was a message from a friend that I'd lost contact with more than a decade ago (and she's got an LJ).

She's married and living in Seattle now, and I'm looking forward to reconnecting.

The evening was spent at Trinity Hall, as it was Linda's birthday, and she needed to be lavished with baubles, beads, and Irish coffee.

* Yes, I actually did employ the phrase 'zomg'. What?


Oct. 19th, 2006 09:46 pm
youngraven: (Hrm...)
Nicked from [ profile] bookwench

Why yes, I could be doing something more productive. )

My how educational that wasn't. I feel as though I'm cheating the world if I don't now provide a real entry. Only...I haven't got one. I've been remarkably lacking in words and impetus in recent weeks. Considering how often I make a statement to that effect, it's a wonder I can communicate at all. I think I'll invest in a couple of sticks, and something to pound with them.


So, speaking of bodhrans, I've nearly got the dosh to buy a new one. Hence the reason (oh dear, we're anthropomorphising again. How boring) my present one is giving me so much aggro. She knows she's soon to be replaced. Poor thing. Thrown over for some highborn expensive tart. This is really only amusing to me.

So...I found out last night that we'll not hear from NTIF as to whether we made the cut till November. So the cat in the box remains neither dead nor alive. I'm glad for that, I think. It means I can still hope. The demo I sent to the board was Interesting, so we'll see, won't we. Oh, and supposedly there's a Vote for Your Favouritest Ever Irish band on the Net someplace. I wonder whether we're eligible...


youngraven: (Default)

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