The deep end is where this plucky new quartet Dàna belong, swimming proudly and wildly. Music not for paddling; immerse fully!

NO, NOT THAT ONE,

……and I’m sure they must be sick of that by now. But, listen, really, this four piece all-female instrumental unit from Scotland really do have, if not all, certainly many, many kinds of everything, and sufficient to keep them afloat against all those blind to the difference an accent can make to a letter.

The roster of such female groups in Scotland is truly a credit to the country, and the traditions that inspire their muses. We know Kinnaris Q, HEISK, RANT and probably a whole lost more. And, in the same way that none of those sound quite like each other, so these sound like none of them. Part is down to the balance between instruments, which, here, is fiddle, whistle, clarsach (Scottish harp) and electric piano. And, to be fair, it is the impact of the last, Alex Wotherspoon on piano, whose key play bounces around to provide both rhythm for and relish to the melodies.

THE RIFF SAYS YESSSS

The set opens with Ladies, Oh Ladies, starting initially on languid and long drawn out notes on fiddle and whistle, the piano adding only episodic wry tinkles and the clarsach chiming plucks. But, almost before you configure, suddenly the tune has launched into a low level canter, which then limbers up swiftly, as Wotherspoon strikes the notes with heartfelt glee. Breaking into four piece instrumental unison, an ascending, the only word for it, riff enters, taking the whole into yesssss territory, that affirmative escaping unprompted from my lips. One of the most uplifting starts to. a debut LP it is a grand and mighty sound. A banger of a tune, or rather three, the title reflecting al written by women, including the last, one from Anna Robertson, the fiddle player here.

A SENSE OF WILDNESS

Difficult first track sorted with aplomb, Ten For Len is a further set of three, all culled from the Scottish session scene, where the quartet paid their dues. A sense of wildness runs through this selection, each player sparking off the other. Eleanor Tout’s whistle is the star now in the spotlight. Two further compositions now follow, segued in as Gullane Bay. Laura Penman, who plays the clarsach, wrote Water Of Leith.

If, so far, you haven’t caught on to her part in this process, listen again; clarsach is integral to all so far, the glue in the mix that holds the ensemble together. A more delicate construct, it weaves, like the water itself does, ahead breaking through, at the Port of that name. As it segues into Ritchie’s, from Robertson, it becomes a dancing dragonfly of a melody, glistening in the sun. The interplay between piano and clarsach is gorgeous, each neatly and nearly mirroring the play of the other.

Crown Range is another Robertson write, and evokes all the hairpin peaks of this icy New Zealand road, negotiating the twists and turns with greater ease than the average 4WD. Fiddle and clarsach are here to the fore, but with whistle and piano never far behind. Blackford Hill, up next, comes in two parts, this being where Penman spent her last day at school, the day before lockdown. (Yes, I know, lockdown/school….) Part One is her own, a bittersweet celebration of friendship and company, the unknown looming rather larger ahead than in other such experiences. Part Two brings together a brace of jigs from sources outside the band, Niall Vallely and Ian Mcfarlane, if to show the immaculate taste the four prefer in their own listening. The interpretations are superb.

YEAH, RIGHT

Some folk say instrumental folk music all sounds the same, and apart that statement being daft beyond compare, suggests a failure to be able to appreciate the myriad voices within each and every instrument, different combinations always showing treasures unexpected. But, should you be missing the sound of the human voice, it’s easy. Sing along, it is easy enough. But maybe when no-one else is listening, hey?

THE EXHILARATION OF EXERTION

To cool down after all that exertion on the Edinburgh peak, Amber Warning begins with a brief interlude. This comprises sombre piano and a never eerier clarsach, samples of the other two instruments wafting in from the wings. The ice duly formed, the Amber Warning, for storm, starts in proper. A duo of tunes from further acclaimed peers, Hamish Napier and Brighde Chaimbeul, and recorded during an August gale, it feels more the eye than the body of the storm, instilled with a feeling of all hell breaking loose anytime about now. Which, following on from the tracks ahead, seems not far wrong.

The pantheon of songs and tunes about wild water swimming gets ever large, it therefore my pleasure to report that White Loch is another, or, at least, a medley they dedicate to that pastime. Three jigs celebrate the exhilaration of the cold immersion, one each from Tout and Robertson, ahead the splendidly named, and the main reason I mention it, Spodo Komodo’s Trip To Togo, a splendid hooley by Irish flautist, Tiernan Connell, of TRIP. Shaw’s, a tribute to piper, Fraser Shaw, slows things right down, a sweetly elegiac air played, mainly, as a piano and clarsach duet. As the fiddle and whistle chime in, shortly before the end, they together sound like a silver band.

POWER/STRENGTH

If Shakti sounds anything but Caledonian, pause a thought around the meaning of the word, strength and/or power, which cuts surely across any culture. Referring here to Shakti Women’s Aid, in Edinburgh, a shelter for women requiring such safety, the three tunes are instilled with hope, even if Neil Gow’s Welcome The Whisky Back might seem out of place as a title, given the spirit’s likely role in how many found themselves to need that refuge. This all now leaves only room for the parting shot. This is Scallywags, perhaps as habituees of the Scallion Inn call themselves, this being where the four women honed the band into being. The eponymous first parter is by Tout, but it is with John McSherry’s Trippin’ O’er The Bogs that it really orbits, the quartet ending in a blaze of glory, an appropriately fiery last orders.

ASSURED & ACCOMODATING

Seldom have I heard as assured and accommodating a debut long-player. From Up and Coming winners at the MG Alba Trads in 2025 to this, in only a year, is truly something to give full credit for. Dàna, in the Gaelic, means bold and audacious. I couldn’t put it better.

Here’s Scallywags at, where else, Celtic Connections:

Dàna: Website

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