Fame

Well now! I mentioned that Mom and I played at an art gallery last Friday. Lately there has been an effort to get various Tehachapi arts and artists online, and in that interest, a lady showed up with a video camera to add us to the collection. In short, here we are:



Footnote: I messed up. I was supposed to repeat "Arran Boat Song" and, with the camera staring at me couldn't for the life of me remember how it went; thus that little hiccup is where Mom was playing what she was supposed to play and I was moving on to where I wasn't supposed to be yet. (I am sorely tempted here to catalogue all of the faults the fiddler committed, but I think we'll just let it go at that.)

In case anyone would like to find music for or recordings of the tunes, again the first is "Arran Boat Song," the second "Braighe Loch Iall"(also called "Braes of Locheil" or "Hills of Locheil") and the third "St. Kilda Wedding."

"Braighe Loch Iall" is, for one thing, the beautiful title song on Rachel Walker's first CD, among the songs, ironically, which you can't sample on the linked page (but the ones you can hear are lovely). I got the idea for speeding it up (though not quite as frenetically I did in execution!) from Alasdair Fraser's Portrait of a Scottish Fiddler (part of the set which comprises Track 3. I would say "Alas, unfortunately the clip only gives you the beginning of the slow air," but it happens to be my favorite slow air, so I shall refrain from lamenting). It is, again, Mr. Fraser (this time with cellist Natalie Haas) who included an impeccable "St. Kilda Wedding" on Fire and Grace (Track 4. . .and this time, you actually can hear a clip "St. Kilda Wedding"!).

P/M Donald MacLeod

After a Friday evening playing music in an art gallery with my Mom and a Saturday at the Highland Games, I realized that I am rather dependant on the compositions of Pipe Major Donald MacLeod (and also, therefore, that I have yet another musical hero from the Hebrides). One of my favorite strathspeys on the fiddle is (surprise!) "The Fiddler"; the hornpipe "Crossing the Minch" is a staple for both fiddle and pipes. My current competition reel is "Fiona MacLeod," and one of TMPD's best sets includes "The Banjo Breakdown," which, if it wasn't composed entirely by MacLeod, owes its last two parts to him. Here is a review of an intriguing CD (I haven't heard it) of MacLeod's music, which includes a bit of biographical information. The Wikipedia entry is shorter, biographically speaking, but rather charming. To be remembered as one of the "merriest" of pipers would be a grand thing indeed.

[Edit] Okay, I didn't design this post intentionally to coincide with the Donald MacLeod Memorial competition, but as things turn out, that just happened days ago. The winner, Alan Bevan, who has carried off many a solo prize, is also a member of the Simon Fraser University Pipe Band.

Fun and (Highland) Games

Yesterday was the long-awaited Bakersfield Highland Games. I must confess, not even the excitement of attending my first games for the year could assuage that awful pre-dawn moment when I knew I had to get out of bed, but it was all uphill from there. It really could not have been a more perfect day. Tehachapi Mountain Pipes and Drums was the host band, which, to speak for the band, was a lot of work and, to speak for myself (a minor go-fer), fun. The host band, as one of our members acertained, is the one that buys the pizza, but the great minds among us also organized the piping competition, spent two days helping with the general set-up (can anyone explain what is so easy about an EZ-Up tent?) for the games, and picked out another round of the infamous bobble-head trophies: (Below: another angle of the bobble-heads' spiffy parade formation)
(Below: Setting up the real pipers for massed bands at the noon opening ceremonies. Massed bands=sort of like Russian roulette with the bagpipes. That is to say, if you are short and in the back, you have a fifty-fifty chance of guessing correctly whether the drum major signaled to end the tune at the end, or to repeat the whole thing. Not that I would know. Yes, I will listen with a good deal more attention the next time the instructions are given pre-attack.)

The weather was superb; a bit hot in the sun, to be sure (and there was plenty of sun) but a perfect day for a chat in the shade. Somebody across the street from the band tents had an orange tree in blossom in their yard, and the spicy-sweet smell alone was worth the drive.

As far as general reporting goes, that is about it. The piping and ensuing camraderie was so delightful that I saw less of the games in general than I ever have, opting to stick around the band tents most of the time. I even missed browsing through the book vendors' tent for the first time I remember (though I am sure my pocketbook is the better for it). I vastly enjoyed the solo competition; I recently switched to Balance Tone reeds for my drones and they have made a world of difference in the way the pipes handle. Murphy's Law did kick in and no matter how nicely I had the pipes going while I was warming up, the drones were out of tune when it actually came time to knuckle down and play for the judge, but playing-wise, they still felt awfully nice.

Way Down in the Delta

Hoping to get Life in General ironed out, I took a trip to Sacramento this week. As far as being the ultimate answer to all of life's problems. . .well, it wasn't, but I had a very good time up there and the drive up brought me through the delta country in the springtime. The latter advantage dragged me into two detours.

The first of these was off of Highway 99; I think it was just a little south of Lodi, but it was the wild mustard--acres and acres of it--that caught my eye, rather than any geographical fact. I headed east from the highway and tried to find a place where I might both park and get a comprehensive shot of the fields. Well, the rule on that road seems to be that you can't have both. All of the biggest views were fleeting, visible only from a moving car on a fairly busy road. A side road provided a shoulder to park on, but comparatively limited views. Not that this should be taken as a complaint per se. What it lacked in expansive landscapes it made up in incidental charm: redwing blackbirds chattering among the weeds in a ditch, cascades of blackberry brambles, and a strong, coast-like wind, just cold enough to make you feel alive. A few days later, on my way back south I took Highway 5 and was, once again, lured off the main road, this time near Hood. Here the fields lacked the golden ostentation of mustard, but they were very wide and very green, broken only by the levees, or by equally green groves of trees. I drove through Hood and along the top of the levee beyond it until I remembered that I was supposed to be back in Tehachapi for a 7:00 rehersal that night and I was, instead of getting myself there, backtracking towards Sacramento. All the same, I stopped before I had quite reached 5 again and took a few quick shots of a herd of cattle in one of the impossibly green fields. Picture miles of field like that, a wind with a distant flavour of almost-forgotten snow blowing out of a wide blue sky, and you will gather that it was difficult to merge back onto the highway.

Snow Grows on Trees

A series of cherry blossoms that my Dad captured last month in the San Joaquin Valley:

[Last July] Some industrious person had built a driftwood shed on the beach at Cambria--complete with a flag at the peak of the roof (that doesn't show up well in this picture). Mostly, this is just a picture of a grand morning: fog on the sea, damp sand between your toes, the tang of salt on your lips, the slow march of the surf woven with the cries of seagulls far away. About as perfect as life gets.

April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.

--Mark Twain