Íoslódáil (PDF) - Comhaltas Archive

TREOIR
like the fiddle and flute, to the
obscure. At the competition for lilting,
a technique of singing nonsense
syllables, similar to jazz scatting, a line
of spectators stretched out the door.
And plain old whistling sounded
surprisingly graceful when applied to
jigs and reels.
The sound of the weekend, however,
had to be the uilleann pipes
(pronounced ILL-inn), a cousin of the
bagpipes, which mix a light, reedy
pitch for rollicking melodies with a
bass drone for harmony.
It was sometimes easy for the
competitions to be overlooked. The
exuberant traditional culture sprawled
out in every direction and attracted
220,000 people. Every hotel and bed
and breakfast was full more than a week
in advance; latecomers were advised to
bring a tent and a sleeping bag.
The town square, with colourful
storefronts and two elegant stone
church steeples, bustled for days.
Clusters of musicians played impromptu
sessions everywhere, and stalls sold
compact discs, accordions, fiddles,
garden gnomes, kitsch felt hats and,
incongruously, household utensils like a
'miracle' potato peeler. Police kept all
traffic out, leaving the streets open for
people to wander in the unexpected
sunshine and incessant music.
When the competitors finished their
day's work - and many compete in
more than one discipline - they took
to the streets and the pubs. And while
4,000 musicians take part in the
recitals, 6,000 more arrive for no
reason other than to play in
spontaneous sessions. As a result
Listowel's 3S bars - nearly one for
every 100 residents - were bursting.
The standard of music is high, even if
the musical matchmaking sometimes
goes awry. In the New Kingdom Bar
on Sunday night, four accordion
players found themselves crowded
together with one bodhran player. The
bodhran (pronounced BOW-rawn, as
in 'taking a bow') is a one-sided goatskin
drum beaten with a small twoheaded
mallet in a flicking motion
from the wrist. The bar's patrons
didn't seem to mind that imbalance,
and neither did the accordion players,
turning out a flurry of jigs and reels.
A mustachioed member of the bar
staff took a break from serving drinks
to enter the musicians' circle and sing
three ballads. As he crouched on one
knee, eyes closed and the veins on his
neck bulging, people shushed their
neighbours and the bar fell into a
respectful silence.
At times the dignity of the
competitions was threatened by the
pace and inebriation of the festivities,
and families watching the last setdancing
performances in the square
occasionally had to negotiate through
crowds spilling out of the pubs.
But that contrast is essential to the
nature of the Fleadh, said Labhrcis 6
Murchu, Director of Comhaltas
Ceolt6irf Eireann (pronounced COALtuhs
kyohl-TOR-ee AIR-in), the
governing body for traditional Irish
music. The conviviality and accessibility
of the Fleadh, while unintentional,
ensured that the event and the musical
tradition behind it would not be seen
as elitist. 'They find their own level, and
they respect each other: he said of the
revellers and the competitors. 'It's an
organic thing, really. If we had tried to
influence the views of young people on
how to enjoy themselves, we would
have lost our way:
Fleadh Cheoil dates to 1951, when
musicians founded Comhaltas
Ceolt6iri Eireann, which now has
35,000 members in 400 branches
worldwide. In addition to maintaining
high musical standards through the
competition, the Fleadh is an essential
gathering point. Irish music evolved
several regional styles before mass
communication and transportation,
said Brian Prior, Comhaltas's head
organiser for the Fleadh.
The Clare and West Clare styles,
which focus on the jig and reel, are
best known because of the popular
success of local fiddle players like
Martin Hayes. But especially at a
Fleadh in County Kerry, the Clare
5
style faces its Southern rival, the
Sliabh Luachra (pronounced sleev
LUA-krra) style, a reference to the
poor quality of the land in Kerry,
Cork and Limerick. Its adherents play
more polkas and slides: songs in a
different time signature and having a
more lively feel. Because of their
proximity to Scotland, musicians in
Northwestern Donegal evolved the
Highland style, which is 'fast and
furious', Mr Prior said. 'An East Clare
man wouldn't like it:
And the Fleadh brings together more
than just different styles of music. On
Saturday afternoon an Englishman and
a man with a heavy sing-song Kerry
accent leaned against a car and
argued about violin fingerings. Every
type of Irish accent could be heard:
North Dublin, South Dublin, Cork,
Kerry, Donegal, as well as Belfast and
other parts of Northern Ireland. 'The
music belongs to all political
traditions on this Island,' said Mr 6
Murchu, who is also a senator in the
Irish Parliament. That point could be
made quite clear next year since
Comhaltas is considering a location in
Northern Ireland for the Fleadh.