#sean nos

[eibhlinniccolla]

I’ve been getting really into various unaccompanied forms of singing, such as Appalachian Ballad Singing, English/Scottish border ballads, lilting, puirt-á-beul/waulking songs, seán-nós, turlutte, and more. I’ve become enamored with it and I’m more convinced than ever that everyone who can, especially the musically inclined, should learn to make music with nothing but their voice and body. There’s so much great traditional music out there, and it feels so human

[dianasson]

Dancing with my dear friend Maggie at the Irish Session in Blue, Portland ME. A very magical night. ✨👞👞

[Video description: two people are dancing in a bar atop a black stage. One is wearing purple trousers and a mauve (maybe?) blouse. The other, a black and gray sweater and black pants. They dance low to the ground, arms mostly at their sides, but moving, and they're making percussive sounds with their shoes. There's an Irish reel being played by a band at a table, which the camera pivots to at the end of the video. There's a candle, phone, and water bottle in the foreground. End description.]

[timothyreal]

Líadan - Amhrán Mhuínse / The Song of Muínis

If I were three leagues out at sea or on mountains far from home,  Without any living thing near me but the green fern and the heather, The snow being blown down on me, and the wind snatching it off again, And I were to be talking to my fair Taimín and I would not find the night long.

Dear Virgin Mary, what will I do, this winter is coming on cold. And, dear Virgin Mary, what will this house do and all that are in it? Wasn't it young, my darling, that you went, during a grand time, At a time when the cuckoo was playing a tune and every green leaf was growing? 

If I have my children home with me the night that I will die,  They will wake me in mighty style three nights and three days; There will be fine clay pipes and kegs that are full, And there will be three mountainy women to keen me when I'm laid out. 

And cut my coffin out for me, from the choicest brightest boards; And if Seán Hynes is in Muínis, let it be made by his hand. Let my cap and my ribbon be inside in it, and be placed stylishly on my head, And Big Paudeen will take me to Muínis for rough will be the day. 

And as I go west by Inse Ghainimh, let the flag be on the mast. Oh, do not bury me in Leitir Calaidh, for it's not where my people are, But bring me west to Muínis, to the place where I will be mourned aloud; The lights will be on the dunes, and I will not be lonely there.

[shadesofmauve]

Sean Nos Northwest festival

Just got home from the last session of the sean nos festival weekend, and perhaps its the ciders and whiskey talking, but what a magical thing. Pretty much exactly what i hoped for when i wanted to play fiddle as a kid - people pick up an instrument or open their mouths and music comes out, and you play and the dancers get up and step to your tune, and you’re all part of the same big thing. And people around me were speaking *Irish* to each other, which isn’t even the norm in Ireland, so that’s a special thing to be around.

I’m pretty tickled to have been technically part of the faculty rather (and as well as?) than a student, I admit. I played for three dance classes and learned a lot about how (sean nos) dancers approach dance and music, and had the (unexpected) privilege of playing for Shannon*, one of the dance instructors, at the concert last night.

Oh and also i have useful things to work on in my singing, and an adorable new song to learn, and the feeling of a crowded pub falling silent tho listen to you or another singer is magical. But i think i already used the word magical. I’ve been at the pub for like five hours and there were some ciders and a whiskey and craic and all and oh shit i have to work tomorrow and have no clean laundry, opps. But what a GOOD weekend.

*no one had last names until you have to write them a check.

[celticthunderappreciation-blog]

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The wonderful Eabha! Sean nos is such a pure style. So beautiful!

Source: @eabhamcmahoncelticwoman

[dianasson]

More Midsummer! 

Dancing at sunset on the shore, the urban-sized St John's bonfire (you should have seen the bone though, really), the Midsummer sunrise, and the Midsummer harvest.

🔥🌞👞🌼🌿

Thanks again

@demytron

 (on instagram) for taking so many photos! Those tagged with his name were taken/edited by him!

...

[Image descriptions:

(1) Me bending over a wide plank of plywood on a beach, wiping sand off the surface. My crown is barely visible in my curls as the setting sun behind me turns me into a silhouette. A beam of sunlight crosses over my wrist. The sand water rocks and trees are all visible under the sparse blue sky.

(2) From roughly the same angle though without the visible sun, i am dancing in black dance shoes with metal bottoms on top of the board.

(3) A close up of the same

(4) Me silhouetted again sitting and looking out at the water as the sun sets behind me crossing a beam of light across the scene.

(5) A small bonfire in otherwise darkness. The flames are licking the wood and a fleshy shape hints at the giant bone inside the basin.

(6) An oranger higher contrast photo of the same fire.

(7) A silent video of the same fire burning, the logs are clearly farther along.

(8) The sun shines through patterned glass diamonds in a window.

(8) A bronze coffee table is covered over with large leaves and a few wildflowers atop paper towels. A pale patterned rug is visible beneath the table.

End descriptions.]

[misneachsblr]

Maidin Luain Cincíse

“Maidin Luain Cinchíse” is one of my favourite Irish songs. It was written by the Munster poet Mícheál Óg Ó Longáin (1766-1837). Earlier Irish poets tended to be supporters of Jacobitism; however, Ó Longáin was a staunch republican, and even served as a messenger in the United Irishmen. The song, which laments the failure of the 1798 uprising, likely draws from his own personal experiences. Ó Longáin’s disappointment at the failure of his home province to rise is also expressed. I feel that this closeness to the writer is what makes the song so powerful.

“Maidin Luain Cincíse” means “Whit Monday Morning”, and refers to the Monday after Pentecost Sunday (usually referred to in England and Ireland as “Whit Sunday” or “Whitsun”). If I’m correct, I believe this would have fallen on May 28th in 1798. On that day in Wexford, the rebels successfully captured the garrison town of Enniscorthy. I’m not sure why this date is mentioned, as the song is lamenting defeat rather than victory. The language used seems to describe a rural rather than urban battle, too. I don’t know where Ó Longáin fought during the rebellion, and this would be key to understanding the exact situation he references. If anyone could help me check the date, or find the exact battle described, I would be most grateful! The mention of Whit Monday may also contrast the active state of the rebellion with that of Munster. The only major rebel action in Munster did not occur until the Battle of the Big Cross, on June 19th.

This version, sung by Aoife Granville (a folklore lecturer at my university) is the one I’ll translate. It’s considerably shorter than the texts I’ve found elsewhere. In places, different words are substituted. I think its arrangement is beautiful. It has an expressive quality that other versions I’ve found lack.

Maidin Luain Cincíse, labhair an síofra sa ghleann.

Do bhailíodar na cága chun ábhacht a dhéanamh ann

Do chruinníomar na dtimpeall, ‘s do lasamar ár dtinte

‘S do thógamar ceo draíochta go haoibhinn os a gcionn.

 Cá bhfuilid na Muimhnigh nó an fíor go mairid beo,

Ná cruinníd siad ‘nár dtimpeall is cabhrú linn sa ngleo?

Mar is deacair poirt do stríocadh ná clann búir do dhíbirt

Ónár mbailte dúchais dílis bhí ár sinsir riamh fadó...

 Pentecost Monday morning, the síofra spoke in the valley.

The jackdaws assembled, to make their fun there.

We gathered around, and we lit our fires

And we took a magic mist,  blissful, overhead.

 Where are the Munstermen, or the living image,

Won’t they come into our midst and help us in the fight?

For it’s difficult to strike port, or drive out the boorish clan,

From the sweet, native towns our ancestors held long ago.

 A particularly sad verse, not in this version:

Beir scéala suas chun Mumhan uainn, a rún ghil ‘s a stór,

Agus inis an scéal faoi chumha dóibh go bhfuil an sciúirse ‘nár gcomhair;

Mar is mó leanbh fireann fionn geal agus ainnir mhilis mhúinte

Agus ógfhear cliste lúfar san úir uainn ag feo.

 Bear a story from us up to Munster, bright darling, treasure,

And tell the lonely tale to them that the scourge is among us

For there are many fair bright manly lads, and sweet schooled maidens,

And agile clever young men, rotting in the earth.

[fabricdragondesigns]