Return to Ennistimon

Did you hear the one about the Yank, the Brit, the Russkie and the two Paddy's in the car on their way to a session? If you had, I wish you would've told me how it'd end.

Actually, it was quite grand, but the ride up to Ennistimon was definitely one of those moments where you just have to sit back and smile and take a look at your situation and wonder if you could ever have imagined yourself right there and right then. That it was dusk on yet another beautiful night here weather-wise (my apologies to all those back home--apparently I brought all the good weather here with me!) just added to the moment.

Bill had a gig tonight at the Falls Hotel in Ennistimon. Tania--a classically trained pianist from Russia--was taking her electronic keyboard along. We were picked up at Bill's place by--no joke here--Richard Gere (name may be spelled differently), a Welshman via England, only transplanted to Ireland 6 years ago. A few miles up the road in Quilty, we picked up Martin, an accordion player. We all crammed in, with Richard's guitar, Martin's two accordions, Tania's electric keyboard and Bill's assortment of flutes and whistles. Keep in mind that cars in Ireland are typically pretty small. This particular car was typical.

I was excited to re-visit the town of arguably my most memorable night on my last trip. Keeping in mind my interactions with some of the local colorful characters, I made sure to transfer my wallet to my front pocket for safe keeping. Ha. I needn't have bothered.

Today is Good Friday, the only day of the year (Christmas apparently being only partially compliant these days) when pubs are closed across Ireland. Hotels such as The Falls were apparently able to keep their pubs open, but only for guests (and musicians, and musicians' guests). The local characters like Jerry, Jimmy and Jamesy would likely never be allowed inside The Falls on a normal occasion, and certainly wouldn't have been able to take of the drink tonight, so there wouldn't have been much point.

Driving into town, I got a quick glimpse at the quiet, darkened town and tried to stitch together my current impressions with my recollections. Franco's Fast Food was still there. I spotted the Chinese take-out place, though I think it may have changed names. The Carraig is now The Fisherman's Roost or something like that and looks to be cleaned up a bit, from the outside anyways. I wonder if its still 'The Hatchet' to the locals.

Of course, Cooley's House was still there. It was smaller than the grand memories it holds for me, but it was good to see it again. Bill mentioned that it's been sold in the past year or so, for some ungodly amount of money. I wonder if Joan still works there, or if she's kicking it in style in the Carribbean these days.

Inside The Falls, the bar--The Dylan Thomas Bar, no less--was fairly full, but not packed. It was a pretty typical classy hotel bar. In other words...nice, but not overly dripping with character. As settings for traditional music go, it was 'meh', but if the tunes are good, the setting is not so important. And the tunes (and a few songs, compliments of Richard) were just fine.

As everyone I knew in the place was playing and there were no empty tables nearby anyway, I pulled up a chair next to Bill and just had a good listen for a while. About an hour in, a fellow rolled up with a bodhran. Now either my sense of rhythm is even more terrible than I thought, or this guy's was worse. I think I'm starting to see where the hate for bodhrans comes from.

After I was pretty sure that no matter what I did, I couldn't be any worse, I asked him if he'd mind if I took a spin with it at some point. He tried to hand it over to me right away, but they were in the middle of a set of hornpipes--not my percussive forte--so I declined. The next jig that came up though, he again thrust it at me, and I somewhat reluctantly took and with that, popped my session cherry for the trip. After a few tunes on the drum, Martin asked if I had anything I'd like to play on the whistle, and Bill handed over his Chris Abell D in blackwood--probably the finest whistle I've ever laid my hands on. (Although I must say, based on first impressions, I prefer my Glen Schultz Thin Weasel. Give me a bit more time to get used to the Abell and I might change my mind, though).

I gave the old college try to the Castle Ceili Band hornpipe set--Scully Casey's into Humours of Tullycrine--that we learned in class. I kept the pace nice and slow, and only butchered that one spot that I always butcher, so I came away satisfied. Apparently it wasn't too terrible as they pressed me for another and Martin backed me on The Silver Spear. They tried for another, but I needed some time to try and come up with something else that I really had down pat enough to try and do well. Unfortunately, it never came back around to me as the session was wrapping up, though I'd decided on a few slides that I enjoy playing, and figured since they'd likely be letting me solo it anyways, no one would mind a few Kerry tunes in Clare that night.

Either way, it had to figure that my first chance to play in public on this trip would be in the very town where two years ago I was corralled on stage for an awful, drunken rendition of Star of the County Down on my harmonica.

I'll have to make it back again on a Saturday night though before I leave, just to take in the Folk Songs and Ballads at Cooley's House once more.