Three-session Weekend

It's been three years now since I moved back to the Island as a full-time resident. I miss Boston desperately but my theory is, everybody's got to have something to miss, something to long for and look forward to. For some people that place is the Vineyard; for me, it's Boston: the lights, the traffic, the noise, the pulse of the city. I especially miss the Irish music sessions that take place on every night of the week in every corner of the city and its environs. Not just the music, but the many friends I've made along the way. We're like a big family at this point.

This past weekend I had an opportunity to break away, probably the last time I'll get off the Island until fall, summers being what they are around here. As usual, I thought of a million reasons to stay at home and catch up on projects, but I know that if I don't pick myself up and make the effort to get on that boat, I could easily fall into a black hole; that safe and effortless place where many Islanders spend much of their lives. There's something about the geography, the fact that we are an island and have to make a ferry reservation to go anywhere that makes it more likely that we won't bother to go beyond our own little circle. And it is, literally, a circle. Umm, okay - a triangle.

At any rate, I'm back at home, still running behind in every area of my life, but I had a great weekend of music and people, three days in which I was nurtured and inspired on every possible level.


The ferry from Oak Bluffs, which I barely made since I mistakenly went to the Vineyard Haven terminal. Apparently I was not the only one who made this error. Welcome to May.


First stop (after a brief stopover at a birthday party for two one-year-olds in Milton), The Littlest Bar, downtown Boston. How I love a Saturday night downtown. Lovely to have a trio of lady fiddlers on World Fiddle Day (Cliodhna and Wynter pictured here, the third fiddler, not shown, was yours truly).





Terry and Mike





Boston's Customs House - a delight at night.


Sunday morning, Mass at St. Paul's, Harvard Square. The subtext of this post could easily be "Three sessions and a Mass," or, more accurately, "Mass and three sessions."








Headed down Memorial Drive. Lovely to see Bostonians out recreating on this fine Sunday in May as I was headed into town to spend the afternoon in a dark bar playing music.


Hennessey's. Not so dark after all with the big window open. I could hear the music all the way up Union Street.


Playing with the window open, watching the parade of people walk by, reminded me of playing on my porch on Main Street. When people stopped to watch and listen, it felt a little like being monkeys in a cage - or wait, maybe they were the monkeys. Some of them were quite amusing, that's for sure.





Wynter, Anto, Terry, and Mike.


Sunday afternoon at The Chatham Squire. Great to see Rose and Company. On this afternoon, these four youngsters, recently having won trophies for their playing, graced us with their talents. They will be traveling to Ireland during the summer for more competition.


Maureen! Maureen wields a mighty piano accordion.


Rose, Greg, and Peig.


Rose and Greg.

The Littlest, Hennessey's, and James' Gate

It had only been a month since my last trip to Boston, but it felt like a hundred years, so I was beyond glad to have had the opportunity to make an overnight break back to the city that feeds me.



First stop, Saturday night - The Littlest Bar. Eamon, brilliant DADGAD backer; Elias, savage fiddler; Laura, enthusiastic spectator.


Eamon, Elias, Laura, and Wynter.


Wynter and Tom.


Sunday morning at Hennessey's: Augusto, Tom, Sean, and Dan.





Tom and Sean


Augusto


Tom


Mike and Conor.


Conor


Ben


Then on to James' Gate on Sunday afternoon and a rendezvous with old friends: Frankie, here.


David and Liam.


Liam and Frankie.


Brian
Cheers! See you next time.

Saturday Night at the Littlest

Last night was one of those rare and wonderful Saturday evenings downtown. The city streets were bustling with people, out and about, enjoying each other as well the clear spring air and late afternoon light, and the session down at the Littlest featured many friends I would hope to meet up with for tunes. The pub was filled with a festive spirit (somebody had the birthday song sung to him at least three times that I could count), as well as random friends - the regulars - but also David's parents, Woody and Susie, were up from the Vineyard, and my life-long childhood friend Cooky stopped in, with Joe (Cooky and I grew up across the street from each other in Edgartown).

After the Littlest I made my way down to Quincy, to hear Sean Brennan sing at my old stomping ground, Paddy Barry's (my first session, ever, was at Paddy's - I loved that place).

It was a great session, a great performance by Sean (and loved seeing and chatting with various Henrys) and a great Saturday night - perfect in every way.

Here's a little footage: three reels. Musicians include Rosanne, Liam, David, Alex, Sally, Brendan, Maureen, Arnie, Greg, and I even managed to jump in at the end for Bucks of Oranmore (and to the people who kid me and say, "Oh, I'd love to see you photograph and play at the same time," I will say, this is not so far-fetched, folks).

We'll Go No More A-Roving/the Wise Maid

The audio was recorded last Saturday night, November 12, 2011 at the Littlest Bar, Boston, Massachusetts - one of the best sessions I've ever been to - and the photos are a compilation of some of the favorites I've taken in the past year and a half, in various sessions in Boston and on Martha's Vineyard.



Sunday November 20 - I discovered today that the first tune is called The Jolly Beggar Man.

There was a jolly beggarman
Came tripping o'er the plain
He came unto a farmer's door
A lodging for to gain
The farmer's daughter she came down
And viewed him cheek and chin
She says "He is a handsome man
I pray you take him in"

We'll go no more a roving
A roving in the night
We'll go no more a roving
Let the moon shine so bright
We'll go no more a roving

He would not lie within the barn
Nor yet within the byre
But he would in the corner lie
Down by the kitchen fire
O then the beggar's bed was made
Of good clean sheets and hay
And down beside the kitchen fire
The jolly beggar lay

We'll go no more a roving
A roving in the night
We'll go no more a roving
Let the moon shine so bright
We'll go no more a roving

The farmer's daughter she got up
To bolt the kitchen door
And there she saw the beggar
Standing naked on the floor
He took the daughter in his arms
And to the bed he ran
Kind sir, she says, be easy now
You'll waken our goodman

We'll go no more a roving
A roving in the night
We'll go no more a roving
Let the moon shine so bright
We'll go no more a roving

Now you are no beggar
You are some gentleman
For you have stolen my maidenhead
And I am quite undone
I am no lord, I am no squire
Of beggars I be one
And beggars they be robbers all
So you're quite undone

We'll go no more a roving
A roving in the night
We'll go no more a roving
Let the moon shine so bright
We'll go no more a roving

The Littlest Bar, Saturday Night

I love a Saturday night out downtown. It's always so festive, a mood that hits me the minute I step onto the C-Line train, with young people in abundance, either traveling in groups - laughing, the way they do - or couples, forced up close to each other, which is handy for flirting and smooching; everyone all dressed up (how do girls these days walk in those shoes!) and out for a night of fun and frivolity. I think the median age on the train last night must have been twenty-five.

There's something so free-wheeling about walking out my door, fiddle in hand, and simply hopping onto the T. I don't even have to take my back-pack off to swipe my card - since it's in the outer-most pocket all I have to do is lean my back onto the sensor, and I'm in. And since I decided to travel light tonight - no bouzouki - there was an extra spring in my step. When I think about my years with all those kids, cats, dogs, and parakeets - ha! I love this!

And I do love that walk from Park Street to the bar. While it's not exactly unsafe, there is something a bit edgy about it. And on some level, while walking through the dark canyons of downtown Boston with my fiddle, I am thinking about my father, walking the streets of Manhattan all those years ago with his violin. Some things, we just can't escape (and why would we want to)?

The Littlest Bar, down on Broad Street, within sight of Rowe's Wharf and around the corner from the old Customs House, is a delight. Typically, the little corner inside where the session is held is jam-packed with players, but last night there were only four of us (as close to my previously described childhood kitchen table as I've seen): Brendan Bulger - an amazing fiddler of some reknown, whose session this is - a guitarist from Davis Square by the name of Jeremy, a flute player (and fire-fighter from Norwood) named Joe, and Yours Truly. It was an honor and a privilege to be among this fine ensemble. Brendan was most polite and accommodating - without being condescending - and even bought a round in honor of my new grandson. I've said it before - I love the rollicking, full-throttle session, but the opportunity to be a part of this foursome in a non-pressurized setting, with time to get to know each other a bit - it was all delightful. And to think that I am now able to pretty much hold my own on a fair number of tunes and am able, some of the time, anyway, to play along with such high caliber musicians as these; well, all I can say is, there is a precise moment - and it happens at every session - when I am sailing along into my first tune of the evening, settling in to the heart of the music - it's a moment that can only be compared - I would imagine - to the way a drug addict feels the instant he feels the effects of the drug in his vein, as in,"ahhh...yes...everything...is...now...okay..."

A funny part of the evening was when Brendan got up to greet a drop-dead gorgeous woman who had walked over from the bar, seeking him out. It crossed my mind, "I wonder if Brendan's wife minds his being pestered by beautiful women in the bar..." and then I found out it was his wife. Lovely.

Another great moment was Brendan's borrowing - and loving - my bow. I'll never wash my hands again.

As usual, the video is a rather dark offering, which I don't mind - I even kind of like the style, and especially appreciate its being a tool for learning the music. But I really look forward to that 5DMKII that is looming closer and closer.

It figures that they would play something I know - the second tune, The Kesh Jig - while I was strapped to the camera.