My travel schedule this week allowed me to stop at Stuart and Laura's session at The Tinker's Son on Wednesday night, which makes for a long trip back to Boston, but well worth it. It's always a pleasure to see and play with Stuart, but I did miss Laura (who was reportedly off tending to her students at a school concert). The music was brilliant, I might add, a different sub-set of tunes - new to me, anyway - the tunes, as always, being determined by the ever-changing configuration of musicians and instruments, which on this night included, in addition to the folks I perceived to be the regulars (my brilliant conclusion, based on my attending a total of two times): two Kevins, one on pipes and flute, the other on box, and Rose Clancy on fiddle. I first met Rose and piper/flutist Kevin back at Paddy Barry's, what now feels like many sessions ago, but was actually only last winter/spring, so it was fun to see them again. I love this aspect of the music, the "small world" feeling. I miss Paddy's - kind of a wild and woolly place; loud, with a preponderance of stumbling drunks, but that was half the fun. After all, Paddy's was my first intro to the Irish Seisiun. In some ways, Paddy's will always be my foundation, the standard upon which I measure every other session.
All shot with G12/RAW/manual/f2.8@3o/ISO 3200. I've reached my limit with this low-light/noisy style of photography and will soon be making some changes...
I post the videos, below, not with the idea that I am any kind of videographer (but I would love to learn this medium, not that I need another project in my life - ha ha), but more as an aid to learning the tunes.
Kevin Quinn, Rose Clancy, Stuart Peak, and North American bodhran champ, Peter Smith. With the old pews and the stained glass, it's a little like being in a church-pub, which is as good a combination as any, I suppose. Besides, the playing of music with friends is surely as good as any religion.
I had been wanting to get down to Laura and Stuart's session in Norwell for a while, so a nudge from Laura, coupled with my diminished travel schedule this week, was enough to divert me from my usual Wednesdays at Tommy Doyle's routine. A rumor that David might be in attendance was also a motivating factor.
I don't mind driving, and actually enjoy the adventure of looking for new places. I had certainly heard of Norwell, and have driven past the Norwell/Hanover exit on Rt. 3 many times, but had never actually been there, so I was not sure what to expect. As far as I knew, Norwell was some small town, of no particular note, tucked into the hinterlands south of Boston. I was pleasantly surprised to find the exit (15/Rt. 53) come up much more quickly than I had anticipated, and figured the rest of the drive would be a piece of cake - which turned out to be not exactly the truth. Most people in 2011 would have Google-mapped the directions prior to leaving home, but I guess I'm stuck back in the twentieth-century because my style is more along the lines of: 1. Drive until I get to a sign for Norwell; 2. Keep driving until I come to Main Street; 3. Continue on until I see something that looks like there might be Irish music going on inside.
Okay, it didn't turn out to be exactly that easy - the center of Norwell was not immediately obvious and did require some searching and patience and trust on my part: searching that involved one wrong turn and a little back-tracking, patience to just keep driving down what seemed like a road to nowhere with a dearth of signage, and trust that I would eventually end up in Norwell and that its Main Street would figure prominently in the geography - which all did happen, eventually (yeah, yeah, yeah - I've got a couple of maps in the front pocket of my car, but that would have taken all the fun out). The fact that there were no numbers displayed on the buildings did not make my search any easier (I just love the small-town mentality that assumes you live there and know where you are), but when something - my inner GPS that is often right-on - told me to pull over at the Dunkin' Donuts to inquire as to what number Main Street we were at and the young lady at the counter said, "707," it was definitely one of those "bingo" moments, as that was the exact number I was looking for (I tried this method for finding my d-i-l's apartment in the East Village once, figuring I'd just turn left off of Rt. 95 someplace. It didn't work so well that time, however.).
Lovely session with some of my favorite people - Laura, Stuart, Eric, and David - and made a few new friends as well, including Paul, Peter, Judy, Jack, Stephen, and a banjo player whose name I missed.
As I have come to expect from the Irish pub, The Tinker's Son was quite dark (and why, oh why, do all sessions seem to be relegated to that cold corner next to the door?), so the photography was challenging, to say the least. The G12's Low-Light setting did come through for me (though I so much prefer being able to shoot in RAW/manual - I definitely see either a 5D MarkII or 7D in my future) - though these over-processed JPGs do leave a bit to be desired. But who knows, maybe this style will be the Polaroids (now collector's items) of the future.
Anyway, this was a sweet little pub - great music and treasured friends in a homey atmosphere - let's just call it craic, shall we - and now I know where Norwell is. Hey, I've even been there.
Boys of Ballysdore/Swallowtail/Trim the Velvet (reels).
Pipe on the Hob/Rose in the Heather/Sixpenny Money (jigs).
Ivory Flute/Humours of Ballyloughlin/Choice Wife (a/k/a An Phis Fhliuch)(jigs/slip jig).
Ran out of memory on this one - damn!
Still catching up with myself. Here are a few favorites from my birthday party down on the Vineyard back in October. This was an amazing and wonderful weekend - there will be more of these Vineyard Sessions to come. Stay tuned.
Liam
David, Seanny.
David, Liam, Sean
Laura, Stuart.
My favorite photo from the weekend: Sean, Laura, Liam, Eric, and David.
Post-session session, Stuart and Mark.
My house was built on land that was farmed by my great-grandparents. The original farmhouse, next door and shown above, was my great-grandparents', Charles and Mary Isadora Lawlor Shurtleff's home, and is where my grandmother grew up, and where my mother spent summers as a little girl - playing games with her cousins in the glow of kerosene lantern light. Mary Shurtleff''s parents were Mary and James Lawlor, both born and died in Naas, County Kildare, Ireland, really my only biological connection to Ireland. On some level, this party was a nod to the Lawlors. Isn't DNA grand? Who really understands why we follow the paths that we do? Coincidentally, Charles Shurtleff and I share the same birthday, October 22.
