The generator was very loud near
some of the venues—
all those fish and chips that had to be fried!
I sang “The Hunter’s Death,” from Brian Miller's Phillips collection—
His powder so complete
Was strewed from head to feet,
That the varmints could not eat
His body there.
All those young-girl set dancers outside in their curly red wigs,
a Queen Maeve of Connacht every one of them.
Socks in the Frying Pan was playing part of the time on the main stage.
We’d eat beans out of the can,
Fry our socks in the frying pan
If there wasn’t any women in the world.
Robin and Jess were both pleased with our set.
I think our workshop was informative and well-organized,
even though I wouldn’t want to try to prove
that all of our songs were Irish—
several songs about exploitative mining, interestingly—
hardscrabble songs of human deprivation:
Irish is a state of mind.
all those fish and chips that had to be fried!
I sang “The Hunter’s Death,” from Brian Miller's Phillips collection—
His powder so complete
Was strewed from head to feet,
That the varmints could not eat
His body there.
All those young-girl set dancers outside in their curly red wigs,
a Queen Maeve of Connacht every one of them.
Socks in the Frying Pan was playing part of the time on the main stage.
We’d eat beans out of the can,
Fry our socks in the frying pan
If there wasn’t any women in the world.
Robin and Jess were both pleased with our set.
I think our workshop was informative and well-organized,
even though I wouldn’t want to try to prove
that all of our songs were Irish—
several songs about exploitative mining, interestingly—
hardscrabble songs of human deprivation:
Irish is a state of mind.
Long Version
The generator was very loud near some of the venues
(but it didn’t bother me, fairs are supposed to be like that:
all those fish and chips that must be fried!)—
right away yesterday morning at the traditional sing,
led by Brian Miller,
(I sang “The Hunter’s Death,” from the Phillips collection—
His powder so complete
Was strewed from head to feet,
That the varmints could not eat
His body there—
discovered by Brian),
with Dáithi Sproule, Scott Bartell, etc., a lot of young people
(all those young-girl set dancers outside in their curly red wigs,
a Queen Maeve of Connacht every one of them!)—
the Center for Irish Music where Brian and Norah Rendell
and Dáithi and Laura MacKenzie and so many others teach,
providing many well-practiced, sound groups
formed of children and teenagers,
such as the CIM Advanced Youth Ensemble, who played
in the Triscéil Tea Room
just after we went on on Friday.
So I played two workshop sets yesterday
back-to-back—
or, I should say,
we played—Dunquin
and the Murie-Wenstrom Family Singers.
I played mando, banjo, and fiddle.
I wasn’t perfect,
but we were OK.
Message from Sherry Ladig, “I think we did great. It was really hard
for me to hear you because of that generator behind you.”
Socks in the Frying Pan was playing part of the time on the main stage.
One of my gaffes in the Dunquin set was trying
to get their name into “If There Wasn’t Any Women in the World”:
We’d eat beans out of the can,
Fry our socks in the frying pan—
but I blew it.
Oh well.
I wonder what words Sherry sang.
Robin and Jess were both
pleased with our set.or, I should say,
we played—Dunquin
and the Murie-Wenstrom Family Singers.
I played mando, banjo, and fiddle.
I wasn’t perfect,
but we were OK.
Message from Sherry Ladig, “I think we did great. It was really hard
for me to hear you because of that generator behind you.”
Socks in the Frying Pan was playing part of the time on the main stage.
One of my gaffes in the Dunquin set was trying
to get their name into “If There Wasn’t Any Women in the World”:
We’d eat beans out of the can,
Fry our socks in the frying pan—
but I blew it.
Oh well.
I wonder what words Sherry sang.
Large, attentive audience—a great day at the Fair.
Jess was nearly flawless
on “Rocks of Bawn,” “Banks of Newfoundland,” “Peg and Awl,”
“Watercress-O,” and “Fire in the Hole.”
I had a bit of a load,
with “Pat Do This,” “John O’Halloran" by Sean McCarthy, “Pat McGuire,”
and “Buddy Won’t You Roll Down the Line” from Uncle Dave Macon.
Robin was spot-on
on “4-Loom Weaver” and the Ewan MacColl song, “Terror Time.”
I think our workshop was informative and well-organized,
even though I wouldn’t want to try to prove
that all of our songs were Irish—
several songs about exploitative mining, interestingly—
hardscrabble songs of human desperation:
Irish is a state of mind.
Jess was nearly flawless
on “Rocks of Bawn,” “Banks of Newfoundland,” “Peg and Awl,”
“Watercress-O,” and “Fire in the Hole.”
I had a bit of a load,
with “Pat Do This,” “John O’Halloran" by Sean McCarthy, “Pat McGuire,”
and “Buddy Won’t You Roll Down the Line” from Uncle Dave Macon.
Robin was spot-on
on “4-Loom Weaver” and the Ewan MacColl song, “Terror Time.”
I think our workshop was informative and well-organized,
even though I wouldn’t want to try to prove
that all of our songs were Irish—
several songs about exploitative mining, interestingly—
hardscrabble songs of human desperation:
Irish is a state of mind.
