Hawthorn Hunker

1) The Hawthorn Tree

Defining the Celtic sound and its emotional connections to the lore of the Hawthorn Tree.

Green grow the leaves on the Hawthorn tree.
We jangle and we wrangle
And we never can agree
(Old English Carol)

I begin my enquiry with a drawing of the Hawthorn Tree:

Hawthorn Tree Illustration

The Hawthorn Tree is a battleground/playground for:

Tension vs. Release
Awakening vs. Surrendering
Joy vs. Despair
Intimate vs. Cinematic
Real World vs. Other World
You vs. Me
Britain vs. Ireland

The Old English Carol that I have chosen to quote above brings about the safe but charged elements I am so fascinated by in all of my enquiries at present - essentially, this tree is a site where creative chaos can flourish. A site where stories flow, music erupts, fairies dance and tension is concealed.

I have been a member of family gatherings in living rooms where stories flowed, music dominated and joy has danced - though, tension was visible and tangible, as in all families. Here is a collection of images of my early jangling and wrangling - offering a sense of my Celtic roots from my Grandmother’s Dumfriesshire village home, where I acquired all of my tunes from friends and family:

Hunkering into the acoustic guitar!

Hunkering into the acoustic guitar!

Living Room Jangle & Wrangle to the finest tunes from the timeless and seminal “First Ceilidh Collection” songbook!

Living Room Jangle & Wrangle to the finest tunes from the timeless and seminal “First Ceilidh Collection” songbook!

My Grandmother’s living room was the place of my own mysterious encounters with the Celtic sound which I have been able to start self-defining and recognising in my practice as a songwriter. JRR Tolkien named its mystical and magical qualities very aptly:

JRR Tolkien on "Celtic"

Around 13 years ago, I was re-visiting Penpont with my friend Thomas Goldsworthy (whose dad Andy was and still is a famous land artist!) who was telling me about a new piece that his Dad was doing that involved shaking Hawthorn Trees. He then told me about the old myths he had heard that surrounded this important Celtic symbol. Here’s the result from his Dad’s experiment as well as some Hawthorn Tree facts:

Hawthorn Tree Facts

Hawthorn Tree Facts

(Goldsworthy, A. Hawthorn Tree Shake 2008.).

(Goldsworthy, A. Hawthorn Tree Shake 2008.).

I love the image of the human being absorbed by the tree branches - as if the human is attempting to cross a threshold from one realm to the other. This connotation is directly linked to the lore of the Hawthorn tree, whose imagery connotes a site or bridge where realities can meet. In this blog, I will be employing the metaphorical imagery connected to the lore of the Hawthorn Tree to help me explore and engage with the Celtic sound as well as the notion of ‘folk music’ which I spent a great deal of my childhood immersed in. I will explore the emotional connections using the imagery and the lore of the Hawthorn Tree to help frame my perspectives.

I will firstly offer my thoughts towards who the Celts were and their particular sound. As Phil Cunningham puts it within the BBC Documentary The World Accordion to Phil:

I’ve been asked a lot of times what I think being Celtic is.
I’m no very sure is the honest answer… for me I notice it
musically!
(Cunningham, P. 2002).

He suggests common traits within peoples’ make-up, including a sense of passion, a sense of romanticism, sense of adventure and sense of humour which binds people together. Goldsworthy’s Shaking the Hawthorn Tree also embodies these facets. I refer to the James Porter’s “Locating Celtic Music (and Song)” chapter to which presents some insight. He firstly refers to Arnold’s depiction of the make-up of the Celt: …the Celt, so eager for emotion. (Arnold 1910: 87-88) which is similar to Cunningham’s portrayal of the archetypal embodiment. Porter then refers to Harrison’s nod towards the plural notion of “Celtic Musics” which denotes a music containing multitudes, which is asserted by the inclusion of segments from René Abjean’s booklet La Musique Bretonne which suggest “Il n’y a pas une musique celtique il y a des musique celtiques.” (Abjean, R 1975). I like this multiplicity as it embraces the liberal hospitable notion of welcoming in different musical positions. To my mind, this is the solid ground that engenders Celtic Musics.

Those in power write the history, those that struggle write the songs
(Harte, F. 2010.).

The musics of the Celts has two main flavours, I would argue. One cinematic and vast (Celtic Sound), the other intimate and gentle (Folk Music). I understand the broad term folk music as a “less-is-more” acoustic performance, whose place is intimate – belonging to living rooms, dining rooms, pub snugs and community spaces. Instrumentally, vocals and acoustic guitar generally provide the main components and this is often supplemented by violin, mandolin, percussion, whistles, pipes and drones. The songs are telling of loss, longing, lust, love, lullaby and often are beautifully banal in their lyrical content – speaking of what is right in front of them, their everyday and their autobiographies. Home, identity, struggle and oppression often frame the meaning – the melody and harmony are often beautiful, fragile and emotive. My favourite folk singers who embody this definition include Pete Seeger, Karine Polwart, Inge Thomson, The Staves. A song that does this definition justice is Bill Callahan’s “Let’s Move to the Country.” This song is a great example of beauty in banality - something that is commonplace in folk music.

The notion of Celtic music, on the other hand, embodies grandeur and epicness. My initial impression on the form is that the production of the instruments is often reliant on bold reverb and rich EQing to give a cinematic, blockbuster impression perhaps inspired by the commonly perceived Celtic rugged environments. I often think that the notion of Celtic music is more instrumental in nature and relies on tradition within its performance - whether that be instrumentation, arrangements, overall timbre, etc. Bands that come to mind that symbolise this idea are the Scottish trio Talisk and Hò-Rò who rely on the fast, energetic melodic power of traditional pipes and violin to drive the music. The notion of Celtic music is often vocalised in Gaelic and gives way to a romanticised appearance of place over the reality. Appearance vs reality is a major theme that I feel is at the core of Celtic Musics and its discourse and this can be further exemplified through the lore of the Hawthorn Tree.

In the folklore specific to the Celtic Isles, the Hawthorn Tree is a gateway tree; that holds a doorway between the perceived ‘otherworld’ (appearance) and our physical realm (reality). This relates to my idea of the difference between folk music and Celtic sound, or, Appearance vs Reality. It is a tree that has been part of our society and rituals for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. According to Celtic Tree Astrology, the tree symbolises the energies of people born between May 13th - June 9th. Therefore, this is also my tree sign, as my birthday falls upon June 3rd. It is a tree of hope, love, passion, commitment and challenges. The Celtic sound itself embraces these sonic signifiers plentifully, consoling the heaviness and desperation with serious joy and frolic. The complexity of the music makes me think back to the family gatherings in my Grandmother’s Dumfriesshire village home with visible and tangible tension dominated by musical joy. To help me engage further with this initial discourse, I feel now is the time to create a song response that encapsulates these notions.

References:

2) Water Song

Inspired by some of the mythical and mystical discoveries I made in my explorations above, I was interested in devising a piece of music that used Irish and Scottish idioms, though borrowed some percussive elements from across the Celtic Nations throughout the Atlantic Arc. Simon, our lecturer, had introduced the influence of the North African musical idioms on the “Celtic Sound” at some stage in one of the classes when the discussion went off on a tangent, as all good ones do! I sought some more information about the connections to the music of the Middle East and North Africa - and why there may be an oddly familiar sensibility of these sonic signifiers to the Celts!

Charles Acton, the late music critic of the Irish Times, once wrote an extensive article on the subject:

If one has listened for hours in the desert of an evening to Bedouin Arabs
singing narrative epics with as many stanzas as a long aisling (vision poem,
in Gaelic) and then returned to Ireland and heard a fine sean-nós singer
using the same melismata and rhythm, one finds the resemblance between
the two almost uncanny. So too, if one listens to canto jondo (of Spain).
(Acton, C. 2004).

The interconnectedness fascinates me and how it was to some degree the job of the water and the oceans to carry musical idioms to new sites, enabling musical practices and experiments to be shared, borrowed, claimed and ultimately reclaimed. (This still happens today, albeit using a very digital notion of connection and waves!) Geographically, northern regions of Africa and the West of Ireland have the same threatening Atlantic in common, the same cruelly indented coasts, the same peninsular layout. This, the water, was their commonality. The Atlantic Ocean. It is a massive proposition - to negate other common signifiers that connect people to a cause (religion, ethnicity, authenticity, autobiography) and state an elemental factor as the main source that gave the sound its signifiers.

With this intention set, connections identified and the curiosity to delve into the African rhythms as an entry point, I decided that I needed to work collaboratively to achieve the percussive intensity and contrast I was after in my piece of music. I contacted Glasgow based percussionist Thomas Sutherland who agreed to work with me in response to my interests and experimental thought processes.

When beginning this process with Thomas, I was inspired by Judith Weir’s A Ghoil, lig dhachaigh qu m’mathair mi (My Love, Let Me Home to My Mother), which inspired me to consider the connections and connotations between Celtic music, folklore and water. The song revolves around a girl who sings to a water-horse, or a Kelpie, an inhabitant of a loch. I was particularly drawn to the fast phased piano in the second half of the song and the imagery it brought to my mind. This particular section of the song encapsulates the sea and as described in an article I found on her practice and this particular piece:

…the flow of the water is interpreted through the use of fast-running
thirty-two-note quintuplets in arpeggio-like in the piano in the
second half.
(Koay, K. 2016.)

I felt it was important to return to Weir’s music and my curiosity around her perspectives as I began to plot my own musical output. Although her music could arguably be described as ‘not inherently Celtic’ she uses storytelling and narration in her pieces in ways that are interconnected with Celtic music and tradition: 

Weir always has a way to “tell”, “narrate” and “describe” stories
in her compositions. Although the music is abstract, it is
nevertheless accessible.
(Koay, K. 2016.)

This notion of a composition being able to hold two opposites; narration and abstraction, as well as drawing on Celtic folklore and its connections to water was my inspiration for this new piece. I wanted to make something that would hold the qualities of water whilst also remaining abstract enough for the listener to make their own narrative within the piece - it had to be accessible! I was inspired by Irish group “The Gloaming” and their wonderful song “The Rolling Wave” which connotes the dances of ocean waves as they are weathered in all kinds of directions. There is distinctively two sections to this piece - plenty of room to move and explore the different timbral directions that waves can roll:

This song has a very distinctive Arabian and North African melodic identity at the outset due to the strings playing in unison an octave apart. I liked the melodic significance of this song but I think it is very imposing. For my composition, I wanted to leave more space and let the rhythm potentially offer its own kind of meditative melodic quality.

The title for my song - Water Song - arrived through my research into its connotations and significance in Celtic folklore. What I find so fascinating is the connection between shape-shifting water creatures and the nature of water itself, which is in continuous flow and ever changing.

Using this as an inspiration and having landed on a simple title, I set about planning how I might go about mapping out the song with two opposing but complimentary sections. Below is an entry from my notebook which documents my initial thoughts on devising something towards this brief, as well as an illustration that denotes the imagery, philosophy and instruments I desired to include in this undertaking:

Initial compositional thoughts.

Initial compositional thoughts.

Water Song - Ideas coming to life.

Water Song - Ideas coming to life.

With the brief to hand and my illustration to compliment, I asked Thomas to devise a set of percussive loops that I could edit and manipulate and well as arranged phrases that were responses to the notion of the “embrace of water” and to “rebel against dominant powers.” I have never worked in this way before - to arrange from a packet of gifted percussive experiments. I have always come at composition from the harmony or the melody so this was a new challenge - a new way into the unknown! Thomas and I decided to send video messages to one another in order to discuss the various technical aspects related to the brief we had devised for one another for this particular composition. The below video offers an insight into our conversations around the rhythmic, harmonic and melodic decision making process we undertook as Water Song came to life:

Following our discussions, I set about arranging the two distinct drum sections into their “embrace” and “rebellion” spaces in the mix and arranged the rest of the track inspired by Thomas’ offerings.

Logic Pro X Session - Final Mixdown

Logic Pro X Session - Final Mixdown

This is by far a non-complicated mix. I did initially include a lot more audio but took a lot out to bring the percussion to the fore. It embraces the space and hopefully this image captures the changeable nature of the waves - from calm to rough, from embrace to rebellion, from awakening to surrendering.

I relied on a lot of synths and manipulated audio to bring the choreographic qualities of the rolling water to life. The drums were very carefully EQ’d so as to leave space for their own melodic qualities. A highlight in the mix for me was the extremely reverberated acoustic guitar which acts as the main pedal holding the A to good effect. I put the guitar through a chorus pedal, old practice amp and recorded the sustained sound that arose! You will hear the initial plucks of the guitar as the song begins.

Below is the final outcome of Thomas and I’s collaboration:

In unpicking this song, I think I have successfully called in the following three technicalities:

  1. Spacious, mysterious drones which give a solid foundation. Synonymous of the misty, Celtic popular music of Enya’s “Only Time” and potentially even Dougie MacLean’s more produced versions of “Caledonia.”

  2. Clear melodic vocal chant which sweeps around the mix like a wave in the water around the stereo image. Using a pentatonic melodic pattern to good effect - inspired by The Gloaming.

  3. The dual role of the drums - melody and rhythm.

To conclude, I wonder how I can make this piece of vocal melody even more synonymous to an Irish inspired melody. I leave myself with the following chart which eliminates the G# making the scale much more of idiomatically pentatonic and closer to the ancient Celtic modality rather than a classically diatonic offering that I originally made.

Water Song - Chart for future developments!

I look forward to developing this work into the future - though, will await the time when I am next safely able to make my own journey across the waves myself before I reconnect with it.

References:

3) Celtic Music: What Sells? What becomes Popular?

The artist has a lot to navigate when framing themselves and their performance practice through the business lens. In this blog post, I will be exploring two questions related to the business of Celtic Music and its consequences on the artist:

  1. What Sells?

  2. What becomes popular?

The business of Celtic Music spans across the nations which are considered part of the Celtic movement across the Atlantic Arc. Of course, these nations include Scotland, Ireland, Cornwall, Wales, Isle of Man, Brittany, Asturias and Galicia. As an audience member who has been going to Celtic Connections in Glasgow for many years, as well as The Big Burns Supper in Dumfries and Galloway, I have often found the idea of a festival as a great space to promote a craft and showcase it professionally. I enjoy the entertainment (the authentic idioms), but lust for art (a sense of integrity).

As an artist, I have a different set of sensibilities and thoughts towards the job of these festivals and what their role is in carrying the music of the Celtic Nations across the international, choppy waters. As Maryon McDonald mentions in her article "Celtic Ethnic Kinship and the problem with being English”

Each movement (Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall and The Isle of Man)
has its share of enthusiasts who are trying, with varying degrees of
militancy, to revive the respective Celtic, (…) to save it from
imminent disappearance.
(McDonald, M. 1986.).

McDonald summons the tension and the danger I have spoken of in previous posts by reflecting a militant tele-shopping style rhetoric that is in place to save the Celtic movements and their unique quirks. This got me thinking about how artists have to contextualise their offerings within this niche and I created the following illustration:

A Celtic singer questioning “What Sells?”

A Celtic singer questioning “What Sells?”

Questions about tradition, success and popularity started to arise. During my research I came across Simon McKerrell’s blog, where he shares his research on the social impact of music, connected to the role of the musician. In his blogpost ‘Is ‘Celtic’ music now the most quietly commercially successful music in Scotland?’  he speaks about how Celtic Connections 2015 attracted more than 100,000 audience members with ticket sales of more than £1.1 million. He explains how for him, this underlines two key points: 

1) ‘Celtic music’ as a genre is effectively a mass media marketing
term that has now proven itself as commercially useful as
‘World music’ in the late modern West, and, and 2) the social
networks that underlie traditional music in Scotland (and
possibly elsewhere) are in fact very quietly now fully
commodified and professionalised, despite the overt ethos of
communitarianism within folk and trad music communities
themselves.
(McKerrell, S. 2015).

He goes on to explain how the term ´Celtic´ has been ‘enthusiastically taken up by those with an interest in marketing or promoting Scottish traditional music both at home and abroad.’ This is interesting when considering what sells and what becomes popular. Terms “useful” and “proven” seem to irk towards the nastier sides of the super-capitalist beast of the mainstream music industry that artists, promoters and festivals have to please to get by.

When reading about McKerrell’s findings and thoughts on the commodification of Celtic music in recent years I found myself driven to understand the difference between the commercial successes of Celtic music today and to compare that to older research.  On March 12th in 1995 an article named ‘Celtic Music’s ‘Extended Family’ Keeps Alive Its Proud Tradition’ was published in The New York Times. What I find so fascinating about the article is how the journalist Billy Altman describes how ‘it remains to be seen how greater mass awareness and commercial interest will affect traditional Celtic music’ - directly addressing the commercialisation of Celtic music, but before it became as commodified and comparible to “World Music” as it is today. In the article he interviews folklorists and musicians, who he invites to predict what might happen in the future - which allows for a fascinating discourse towards my questions, as well as offering an important insight and reflection on the Celtic music industry at the time. One of the people he interviews is Scottish fiddler Johnny Cunningham who ‘recognizes the music’s current market value.’ He then explains: 

Oh, yes, everyone's making their Celtic album now, and I can see
why. Anyone can take hold of the music; it's very primal
in nature… it's much more likely that the music will
affect those drawn to it rather than the other way around. Any of
us who play Celtic music can tell you: Once you play this music,
it's part of your life. It's what you are.
(Cunningham, J. 1995).

Cunningham’s description is a familiar one from my conversations with friends and colleagues who identify as Celtic musicians or fans of Celtic music. They all speak of this ‘strong connection’ and how it becomes ‘part of them.’ When does this rhetoric turn into a ‘useful’ business offering? And at what cost? It seems as if the tension between I created another illustration to document my thoughts:

The Artist's Dilemma.png

This in some ways relates to McKerrell’s argument on the commodification of Celtic music and our construction of a ‘western self’ that relies on commodified ‘other’: 

  This is also where the power of ‘Celtic music’ lies; in the
discursive and narratological ability to commodify the
white, ancient internal Other found on the fringes of Europe
as a counterpoint to the dominant capitalist identity.’
(McKerrell, S. 2015.).

It seems that it is the identity that sells, perhaps, and that there are two different routes to explore when crafting a ‘useful’ offer - authenticity or integrity. Does this not, though, take away from the very soul of this music? The artist is sacrificing the internal and intimate effects of the music in order to potentially become popular. In the thesis ‘Transnational communities through global tourism: Experiencing Celtic culture through music practice on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia’, Kathleen Elizabeth Lavengood describes how: 

Celtic music practices today are arguably more and more
a product of increased international tourism, travel, and
cultural interest, where participants are not tied to a single
region or originating from a single diasporic community.
(Lavengood, K. E. 2008.).

This description of the participants of Celtic music not being tied to a single place or community is interesting when considering Johnny Cunningham’s description of ‘how anyone can take hold of the music’ as well as McKerrell’s description of Celtic music haven ‘proven itself as commercially useful as ‘World music.’’ From my findings I could argue that the commercialisation of Celtic music is a combination of people’s ability to connect and associate with the music and its international appeals which ties in with its ‘otherness’.

My argument is interesting when considering what it is that makes people connect with music, and whether it matters if the musicians or bands have a Celtic connection or whether it is more important that they have a slot at Celtic Connections?  In order to answer my question, I return to my findings in the Lavengood’s thesis. She conducted a research at Celtic Connections where she interviewed audiences on their ability to relate to the music presented at the festival, as well as their understanding of the authenticity of the Celtic acts on stage: 

Certainly, audiences were cognisant of the implications of
commodification and music. Nevertheless, the audience
maintained a belief in the authenticity of the music due to
the emotional responses conveyed and generated by Celtic
music. The audience’s emotional responses to the music may
be delineated by their interpretations of music construction,
emotional expression, and the interplay between emotional
responses to the music and the regulation of self identity.
The tensions that arise from the changing traditions within the
music are articulated. Consequently, this offers an insight into
the ways the Celtic music consumer interprets the processes
of cultural change.
(Lavengood, K. E. 2008.).

The tension that surmounts for the artist is bold in this context. Audiences and the wider arts eco-system I would argue has much work to do to continue the sustainable process of cultural change to stop the unhealthy pressures that are seemingly apparent for the artist. Should it not be about the music and the artist’s wellbeing rather than popularity and shifting CDs? Is that too much to ask? To conclude, I reflect on Leah O’Brien Bernini’s thoughts on how as artists and audiences, we need to ground questions of commodification in less diluted waters:

I believe we require a deeper, more nuanced understanding of how
commodification affects musicians and their music, and we should
use our skills and knowledge to help artists navigate the industry.
(Bernini, L. 2019.).

We are entering into the new post this pandemic and we as an industry need to navigate the newly still waters with much more care. I wish for a much less competitive popularity contest, desperate to sell out and a much more sustainable, eco-centric place which celebrates, standardises and appreciates the artist’s craft. To enable this, I urge for a radical upheaval in the language that is used to justify someone’s practice - which, albeit, is proving harder and harder due to the immense might of social media statistics which is driving audiences more than ever to whoever looks the coolest. I wonder if the conversation can ever becomes about curiosity rather than judgement, grace over popularity and community over competition - especially as Brexit looms ever closer. Is this too much to ask?

Morgan Harper Nichols - You Have Never Shamed The Waves.

Morgan Harper Nichols - You Have Never Shamed The Waves.

References:

4) Isle of Man - Re-lighting of the Manx identity by riding the digital waves!

Manx culture and language was on the brink - how did the ‘digital waves’ inspire it to not become extinguished?

I have been studying the Celtic nation The Isle of Man over the past few weeks. The Island is located in the Irish Sea at the geographical centre of the British Isles. It is estimated that it came into being around 8,500 years ago when rising sea levels caused by melting glaciers cut Britain from continental Europe. A land bridge used to exist between the Isle of Man and Cumbria before then and the island has been inhabited by humans ever since. In this blog post, I will continue to offer some water based imagery to help me surf the digital waves as I look into what inspired the arts and cultural sectors in The Isle of Man to resurrect its Celtic culture, music, dance and language - bringing it into the new.

The Isle of Man is, I would argue, slightly unlucky in the sense that it has indeed been a prominent site of Celicity, yet it lacks some of the foundations that the other nations of the movement can claim with ease. This means that it is a much bigger ask to assert its place in the movement, some may argue. This suggestion can be asserted by the late Doug Fargher (author of the Manx-English dictionary) likened the health of the language to ‘a flickering flame that could be extinguished with one blow.’ This fragility inspired creative minds on the Island to take action. This fragility can also be creatively advantageous, I would argue. The Island was a place where multitudes were mixed:

Manx folk songs are less distinctive in character than those of Ireland
or Scotland, probably because so many races have left their
impression on the Island - from the Iberians, Celts, Danes, and
Norsemen, down to the Scots and the English.
(Graves, R. 1921.).

To come back to my former point about its foundations being less recognisable and unique, The Isle of Man interestingly has no identifiable national instrument which is unlike the other Celtic Nations.

Speaking on the effect of musical instruments on the folk songs
of a nation (…) there were no traces of the harp to be found in
Manx folk music, nor were there any melodies on the pentatonic
scale, such as are found in countries where the bag-pipes are
the predominant national instrument.
(Graves, R. 1921.).

I find this particularly interesting in the business sense. The Isle of Man has to work harder to promote its culture and music through the songs and the poetic lyrical content, without the option to sell something tangible to accompany it. Is this one of the reasons why some of the Celtic sensibilities were on their way out?

It also has to be said that The Isle of Man was the battle field, as it is now the summer playground, of its surrounding nations. Each of its inhabitants over the many years have left its mark upon the character of its people, their language, their surnames, their place-names, and their ancient institutions.

There is no denying the powerful, emotive pull of the waves and the water that surrounds the Isle and how this elemental force seeped its way naturally into the lore, music and dance - regardless of race. I reflect fondly on this notion as I look back to my own composition prior to my research into The Isle of Man and how I was inspired by similar concepts. For instance, the Celtic god of the sea Manannan Mac-y-Lierr is said to protect the Island with his magical cloak of mist. The terms ‘magical’ and ‘mystical’ continue to assert JRR Tolkien perspective that the Celt and with it The Isle of Man can be a ‘magic bag into which anything may be put.’ I would firstly like to introduce an illustration by freelance artist Juan Moore, via the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company’s Map of Fantastical Folk of the Isle of Man to set the scene for some songs of the sea, before looking at how digital waves were surfed, resulting in the re-lighting of the Manx identity.

Moore, J. 2020. Celtic God of the Sea - Isle of Man

Moore, J. 2020. Celtic God of the Sea - Isle of Man

Lots of songs were devised in response to the sea and its danger, mystery and might. Here is one of my favourites that I found during my research called “Sea Invocation” - a song of the sea sung by those sending well wishes to those out in its midst, chiefly fisherman’s wives praying for their husbands safe return:

Here is another that has fascinated me named “Three Little Boats” this time complete with a traditional Manx dance which I would argue certainly connotes and denotes some of anecdotal norse aesthetics. Musically, it is safely set in the minor pentatonic idiom, which is interesting when paired to what seems like a celebratory and somewhat joyous choreography:

As you can see, there is certainly a strong sense of traditional Manx music and dance inspired by the magic of the sea waters which has been preserved… somewhat. Rosaleen Graves confirms this feeling of the “somewhat” which I alluded to, describing the one reason for the people forgetting the music:

Their traditional airs are sung almost like plainsong, the rhythm
being disguised by long-drawn-out notes and pauses to
emphasise points in the story being sung. (…) The result,
however, of this manner of singing, in which the tune is
subservient to the words, is that once the words are
forgotten, the tune is lost also.
(Graves, R. 1921.).

Of course, we cannot forget the might of the British who insipidly cast a shadow on The Isle of Man’s traditional language and song - often discouraging youths from it in the school context where I would argue a great deal of learning about culture and identity can be gleaned. The documentation of songs in contrast to other Celtic Nations is not so easily traceable. There is certainly plenty of detritus which was washed up and had to be re-contextualised to suit the context as Chloë Woolley explains in her thesis:

As displayed in the Gill and Clague manuscripts, the original words,
for whatever reasons, were rarely collected, so there was little
reference for the lyricists, apart from song texts previously printed
in Manx Society Publications. Instead, typical ‘Manx national
features’ became the thematic content, and references to
place-names, Manx surnames, customs and heroes common to
the Isle of Man were used throughout. Therefore, the context of a
traditional song was often transformed to enhance the ‘national’
element of the songbook. For instance, the lyrics for “King of the
Sea”, a song about herring, one of the main industries in the Isle
of Man during the 18th century, were set to two variant melodies
(major and minor versions) which were originally about a
speckled heifer.
(Woolley, C. 2003.).

Woolley’s notion that the ‘context had to transform’ is a fascinating and current one - it has certainly been followed through in more recent times, resulting in the re-lighting of the Manx language for instance and its inherent identity through the riding of the digital waves! Manx as a language was officially declared extinct by UNESCO in 2009, though my illustration below gives way to some of the ways in which the language was able to be saved, remembered and revitalised:

Surfing the Tech Waves!

Surfing the Tech Waves!

It is through the voice of the youth that a culture, brave enough to step out onto the metaphorical choppy seas, that a language and a movement, if you will, can grow through music and the arts. I am able to recognise this excitement and momentum in some of the young artists of The Isle of Man today, such as Mera Royle manages with this beautiful rendition of Arrane Ghelby - a traditional Manx harp tune:

This piece also has a significantly sonic link to the sea. In this video’s information section online, Culture Vannin shared that Sophia Morrison first published the tune of 'Arrane Ghelby,' in the journal ‘Mannin’ in 1913, where she reported the story told to her by Mr. T. Quane, of Dalby:

"In the long ago a curiously shaped boat would be seen at the close of a summer evening coming from Bradda towards Dalby. In the boat sat an old man with long white hair, who rowed until off Niarbyl Point; there he rested on his oars and sang this melody, which runs up and down the minor scale with the lilt of the waves. And as the thing became known, the people would come and stay on the shore to listen to his music, for it was very sweet to them; but his boat was far off, and no words could be distinguished. When the old man had made an end of the song, he rowed south-westward till he was seen no more. And no one knew whence he came, nor whither he went, nor who he was, but the people of Dalby knew his song and taught it to their children’s children."

Just as the water in the sea weathers through changes, I have no doubt this is an exciting moment for The Isle of Man and other perceived minorities, to grasp the mantle and embrace the tides to continue to expand its vision for a contemporary, Celtic identity! This, coupled with the imagery of the sea water, could be very intriguing grounds for further research - with the opportunity to bring in stories, old and new, into livings rooms where the family can rejoice in their identities - much like mine.

References