Everybody who knows me is familiar with the precarious pile of books and magazines next to my chair in the living room that’s always in danger of being knocked down during Bolt’s daily enthusiastic greeting of the mailman. The Believer, The Sun, Tin House, The Paris Review, and The Oxford American comprise the foundation of the stack, followed by a few hardcover books for structural integrity and topped off by a colorful assortment of paperbacks. Of course these aren’t the only books in the house. There’s a stack under my desk, two shelves full in my office closet and a bedroom framed by bookshelves housing most of the read “keepers.” I know it’s crazy, but every once in a while I get antsy at the thought of running out of time to read them all. Of course the current health pandemic has allowed me to make a significant dent in my “reading to-do list”—even as more books arrive as gifts from folks who know how much I love to read, but not how much I have to read. I used to reserve Saturday and Sunday mornings for reading. Now I begin every day with a magazine or chapters from the latest book that's managed to migrate to the top of the stack. Obviously my preference would be the old Saturday-Sunday schedule, but reality has imposed a different one and I’m in no position to argue with it.
I recently dove into a book my friend Terry sent me around St. Patrick’s Day, and I haven’t been able to put it down. The Immortal Irishman by Timothy Egan (soon to be a film directed by John Cusack), tells the story of Thomas Meagher, a rabble-rousing young Irish rebel who rose to fame as a brilliant orator during the Great Famine of the 1840s, was banished to Tasmania for his seditious rhetoric and defiant actions, and eventually wound up in America leading the Irish Brigade in many of the fiercest battles of the Civil War. Every page brings unique insight and perspective into Irish history; including this chilling and profoundly sad account pertaining to the instrument that became the country’s national symbol:
“The melodies of this nation and its favorite instrument were a particular target of English hatred. At one point, your fingernails could be removed if you were caught playing the harp. The Irish married to the sounds that came from that instrument, and they grieved in some of the same keys. But the indigenous music came to be seen as subversive—too nationalistic too connected to the old stories. In 1603 it was proclaimed that “all manor of bards and harpers” were to be “exterminated by martial law.” That same year, a few months before her death, it was said in Ireland that Queen Elizabeth had ordered her troops to “hang the harpers, wherever found, and destroy their instruments.” The Virgin Queen allowed Shakespeare and Marlowe to reach great heights during her long reign, but Elizabeth had not a thimble of tolerance for a people she considered primitive. To encourage the elimination of one musical aspect of that culture, the government paid a bounty to anyone who turned in outlaws of the harp. The musicians were easy to round up, many of them were blind, music their only refuge and source of income.
What had the Irish done to deserve these cruelties? They had refused to become English.”
What had the Irish done to deserve these cruelties? They had refused to become English.”
As March comes to an end, and with it my 2020 spotlight on Irish music, this paragraph from Egan’s book reminded me of a relatively obscure jewel in my record collection and a song from her first album. Emer Kenny is a classically trained harpist who mixes ethereal electronica with haunting vocals and the Gaelic harp. Emer’s music is deeply rooted in the traditions of her Irish homeland and heritage, but also expresses a unique modern pop sensibility too. Her first album, released in 1997, is a perfect balance of both worlds; featuring traditional songs in her native tongue that she and her husband John Murphy have given a modern arrangement, and contemporary songs in English featuring traditional instrumentation. I’d like to share one of each with you today.
The first song, “Amhrán na Leabhar” (Song of the Books) requires a little backstory. In addition to traditional music, under British rule the Irish language was forced into decline and children were taught English. However, illegal “hedge schools” sprung up around the country where children were taught through the Irish language. A ship carrying books to one of these schools sunk off the Kerry coast and its entire cargo was lost. According to Kenny, “This lonely and desolate song is a lament reflecting the despair of those times.” The second song is an unlikely and lovely rendition of “Golden Brown” by The Stranglers that is truly indicative of Emer Kenny’s magic touch and perfect for the final days of the Happy Medium Song of the Day’s Irish showcase.
PS. The Bandcamp link below takes you to a free download of Emer's latest album, Ghosts.
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
PS. The Bandcamp link below takes you to a free download of Emer's latest album, Ghosts.
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)