A cache of Celts that we somehow missed earlier, just as we’re late to celebrate Saimh!

Realta: Thing Of The Earth

(Self-Released, 10th October 2023)

Remember the buzz back when The Bothy Band came busting out the blocks, hot on the heels of the arguably more song-based Planxty, just how wild and glorious the sound? Even if you don’t, take my word for it, the Bothy’s having more electric in their wood and strings than many an amplified equivalent. And this lot clearly have the same poteen in their veins, to have you a’carousing and a’ceilidhing like a loon. From Belfast, and previously a five piece, this is album number three, with, this time, the added bonus of a singer-songwriter, Myles McCormack, who brings his classy folk infusions into the mix. Otherwise it is service unsullied, with Conor Lamb and Loïc Bléjean, each on uillean pipes and whistles, Dermot Mulholland on banjo, bouzouki and bass, Dermot Moynagh on bodràn and drums, rounded off by Deidre Galway’s guitar, piano and vocals, the latter shared with Mulholland and McCormack.

Skidoo kicks off with decidedly skittery bodhran, beat-bodhran, if you will, before the other instruments drift in, led by the pipes, it all being a skirly to and fro of rhythms. Breaking down into slower guitar and banjo, it has a brief pause, ahead of banjaxing off again. A great start. Ominous rumbling and rolling guitar and banjo, with background vocals set to hum, then beckon in a droney The Wind That Shakes The Barley, McCormack’s light vocal paired with the guest harmony. of Dervish’s Cathy Jordan. It injects life into a song too often overladen with paddywhackery, giving it new blood and energy, the arrangement casting a different sheen on the instrumentation. With a set of tunes to follow, together stabled as Johnny D’s, two, maybe three tunes that pivot on some vibrant banjo, ahead of cascading and spilling out with gumption, the beat driving it ever on. The frisson as the pipes and fiddle enter the fray is palpable, with the well known tune, The Jolly Tinker really taking it skyward. And that’s not even the best bit, the ensemble playing for last section, The Mill House, better still.

Mulroy Bay is a second song and is one of those mawkish and maudlin ballads the Irish do so well, in a world where mawkish and maudline are adjectives of praise. A song of nostalgia, it sounds like one of those rare oul songs that Andy Irvine would dig out for Planxty, and still does now, for himself. It is quietly stunning, and brings again to bear Bothy Band comparisons, remembering that they did good songs too. Twin pipes make for that peculiar spine curdle that what one set can do, two do better. More jiggery pokery next, with The Kitty Cat Slip Jigs, two tunes sparked up by whistle, with rolling piano bolstering the playing along, the clitter clatter of percussive strings and skin an endearing presence. Thing Of The Earth, the title track, is a new song, by McCormack, in turns eerie and foreboding. The double bass of Mulholland is marvellous, part plucked and part bowed, with Galway’s piano stacking up tinkles of anticipation alongside.

The Red Rock is one of those guitar-led pieces, Galway again, that starts at a slow meander, gradually slipping ever more notes into a controlled cascade, pipes and whistle jostling about each other, waiting for their moment. If it becomes quite complex, worry not, as the clarion call entry of the pipes for Up And About In The Morning cuts through any such concerns. The second pipes join, and Moynagh is business as usual on the bodhran. Swapping between pipes and whistles, it is a tonic for any ears wearying of amplified music.

Possibly the last thing you’d expect to hear in this company is vintage Dylan, but that’s what is up next, with venerable warhorse, The Time They Are A’Changing getting actually quite an attractive wash and brush up. No bells or whistles, well, not that sort, unless exemplary picking counts, it shows off the sweet swell of McCormack’s yearning vocal. It doesn’t sound either too ubuquitous or even that retro, the slap of percussion appropriately compact. A few jiggles of extra notes squeeze their way in, with a dash of syncopation at one stage. And when the twin pipes saunter in, it is rightly grand. After that you’ll be needing a bit of a lively up, that being exactly how they deliver the final track, Ormond Sound, another set of tunes that embroider the banjo and pipes together with precision, all under the guidance of Moynagh and Mulholland. In the understood and unspoken inevitability, each of the three tunes build up the momentum, feeding on the energy of the preceding bars. Top notch!

Catch the Slip Jigs, Kittycats!:

Realta online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly twitter) / Instagram

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Hildaland: Sule Skerry

(Adhyâropa Records, 3rd November 2023)

Hildaland sounds either like a Scandi island or a one stop shop for domestic products, but is neither, being rather the name of a possibly mythical Orkney island, home of the Finfolk, and enshrouded by mists. It is also the name adopted by this duo: Louise Bichan, a proud Orcadian, and Ethan Setiawan, from Indiana. She plays fiddle, he mandolin, the mix an explosive fusion greater than the two parts. An EP came first, in 2019, entitled under their two names, with this, and the Hildaland name, their first full length recording. Both have earlier form, check out Corner House, the quartet they were each part of, but it is in duo collaboration their light most brightly shines.

The record is designed to be more Scottish than American, not that stops features from both cultures creeping in, not least as the one, arguably, drew from the other, to one degree or the other. So first off, Song For Ellice, whilst unmistakeably Celtic, has a nifty and relaxed swing more applicable to its transatlantic transformation. Setiawan is here on either octave mandolin or guitar, so it is Bichan’s fiddle that takes centre stage. Come the second track, however, and it is tinkle of Setaiawan’s mandolin that leaps out the traps, racing alongside the fiddle, the two duetting in unison. The Silver Dollar it is, a Bichan composition, and smacks very much of a racetrack celebration, all frockcoats and tipped stove-pipe hats. As it extends, Setiawan goes a little off piste, his instrument channeling the sound of a kora, notes tumbling down. Ettrick is a small town in the Scottish borders, and the name of a song, both protagonists revealing they can sing. Bichan has a honeyed alto, Setiawan with a touch more molasses in his deeper tone. It sounds more Laredo than any Ettrick I recall, but that’s fine. Lovely octave mandolin play, weaving between the soaring fiddle.

Coffee And Incense is a complex weave of instrumentation, ducking and diving so as to avoid any overt tempo. As in, you can try dancing…. The players take different paths around the basic melody, the guitar as deft as any of the mandolins employed. The Sulkie Of Sule Skerry gets a second reference this year, with Chloe Matharu referencing the same legend on her similarly named song, she preferring the Silkie spelling. As to whether it is exactly the same song, I am afraid the best I can come up with that it may well be, if with each direction taken a little different from the source. Bichan sings over rolling mandola, double tracking herself as it proceeds, just before ominous bowed double bass glowers on the horizon, brought to the party by Dan Klingsberg. There is also brooding synth drones from Sam Kisserer, which up the chill factor. Wipe away the cold sweat that all leaves you with, with bounce into Shetland Jigs, which do as they might say.

Weezy and Vera are two dogs of Setiawan’s acquaintance, from the flat above the couple’s home, which give their names to a tune he wrote to celebrate them. Other than where mentioned, most of the other material owes some nod towards trad. arr. The old timey piano comes from Neil Pearlman. It’s a bit of a tail-wagger, I would say. Fall On My Knees is further in that groove, a train song, sung by Setiawan. And not the Flying Scotsman, either, having more the feel of those runaway train fairground rides. Elk River Blues is a simple and stately air that does belie its heritage with a bit more obviousness, not that doesn’t stop the pair playing with the pace of what would otherwise be a processional.

If you feel this style of music a little too niche, it isn’t actually to much a nudge to find comparisons with Gillian Welch, which seems a great time to wheel out a cover of one her songs, a lovely version of Everything Is Free, the sensitive accompaniment matching the carefully measured delivery of guest vocalist, Sofia Gustafson-Took. When Bichan adds harmonies, for the chorus, it is pin-droppingly good. Setiawan’s mandolin is a glorious counterpoint, and could well be in my running for a cover of the year. After that you don’t want to despoil the memory, so a set of paired instrumentals do just the job, Trains/Fin’s, to end this pleasing and particular release, Pealman’s piano adding a further Orcadian feel to proceedings.

Here’s that Selkie/Silkie to chill ya’:

Hildaland online: Website / Facebook / Instagram

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The Unprepared: Caught Off Guard

(Dark Companion Records, 28th August 2023)

Whoever said the Celts were restricted to the usual culprit countries was wrong, as this tale of an Englishman, a Frenchman and an Italian defiantly confirms. OK, irrespective of their origins, it is the music of the Celts that these three have immersed themselves in, with two of them trained, and meeting, at Limerick University’s Irish Music and Dance degree, the third a graduate of Galasgow’s Royal Conservatoire of Music’s Traditional Music course. Two we have met before, in fiddle player, David Lombardi, of The Routes Quartet, and box player, Sam Mabbett, of The Canny Band, with the new to us being Jean Damel, a guitarist, whose gift is his unusual tuning of DADADE. (No, me neither, but see what your ears can catch.)

This Is How It Starts is how it starts, with Mabbett’s accordion firing of on all cylinders, bolstered by the rhythmic accompaniment of his bandmates, the guitar strumming and the fiddle slotting in beside the box. A tune in three parts it is hard to believe there are no more than three in the band, such is the sense of party. I don’t think there was even much in the way of overdubbing either, the album captured over two tense days in the studio, thrashing the largely traditionally drawn tunes to the floor. Seven8 follows, perhaps referring to the metre, three further tunes that start with intricately picked guitar, before his colleagues start to swoop. The guitar reveals itself to be playing the same tune, something not immediately apparent, which is quite marvellous. As it morphs, tune to tune, the intrinsic melodicism and attention to detail is maintained, avoiding the temptation of Damel to resort to merely frantic strumming, he continuing to add further levels of nuance. The Pitcher is more of a unison piece, a medley that feels to betray the continental constituents of the band, until it ricochets into hurley central. The first tune sounds familiar, and is, Golden Legs, from Chicago fiddler, Liz Carroll. Which is the last I will pretend to know, more pleasure being gained from the flow of sounds than the history of the material.

Possums are slow, I think, and the pair of airs held together by that name starts slow and graceful, a sense of yearning evoked by Lombardi’s keening fiddle. It speeds up for the second part, one of those stop-start constructions that accordion and fiddle celebrate so well. The First Jigs, I guess are, being the first so far, two from the tradition and one self-write. You know the difference between a jig and a reel,don’t you? Or, more to the point, does it, as a listener, matter that much, is my usual answer, and I certainly always need prompting, which’ll get me a demerit from the ceildh police. (A: If you are playing or dancing, it does matter.) These three jigs are just dandy, I need to add, and had me, um, jigging in my seat.

Back across La Manche for The Baretto’s Negroni, at least in style, although the actual tune names suggest they arrived on the continent with Prince Charles Edward Stuart, on his post-Bannockburn rout. (Another memo to the ceilidh police, I know.) There is something that is just so inherently courtly about how some of these sound, when put together in this combination. So much so that the spoken 1,2,3,4 that follows them comes as a shock. Having had the first jigs, no surprise that these are The First Reels, and certainly the pace has been upped and some, so much so that the triad is done and dusted in under three minutes. Not that, up next, The Mayotte’s Set offers much respite, that given away by a further 1,2, 3, 4. This is a mix of, this time, four tunes, with a couple of which, at least, carrying a whiff of recognition. See if you do.

As you may surmise, if you hadn’t anyway, my enjoyment tends more to the aural than academic, but I feel I have to reveal a tremendous resource, helpful to those with cack hands and two left feet, like me, when struggling with all instrumental recordings like this. So, if I may, please may I make mention of the.session.org , a tremendous site for lovers of Irish music, and of Celtic musics generally. This gives extensive back stories to most of the tunes here, and, indeed, of any from equivalent recordings elsewhere. So, as I traverse to the first of the last two tracks, 2J2R, again I know it is made up of three tunes, from various sources, this time in a more sedate swaggering lope, so as not to exhaust. O, until the pell mell of syncopation that characterise the second and third bits! Finally, The Trip To Quebec closes this exciting and enjoyable album, a concoction that manages to encapsulate much of the mood of the album before, if under five minutes, not that I will accommodate anyone taking this short cut. Go for the whole, as someone once said, it’s grand!

Here’s The Pitcher:

The Unprepared online: Website / Facebook / Instagram.

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