Ildaite Sound, Episode ii. Adiós, Adieu to girlish days!

 

Ildaite Sound, new radio show

Earlier the week was the inaugural episode of "Ildaite Sound" a radio show that I'm presenting on "Stranger Radio," an independent radio station based in New York. The show will be on Thursday (bi weekly) at 6pm EST. Ildaite Sound will explores colorful connections and resonances between Irish and Latin-American folk music, focusing more on the music itself than talk. Heres a link to the first episode below! Have at it! 

 

Rodney's Glory & The Plight of Eoghan Ruadh

Rodney's Glory was written by the Irish poet Eoghan Ruadh Ó Súilleabháin, its melody finds its origin in, "The Princess Royal" which was written by the harper Turlough O'Carolan. Eoghan Ruadh used that air for this ballad he wrote in praise of one Admiral George Rodney. The melody, having been first written in the early 18th century, became popular in England after it was coopted by William Shield for his opera "The Arethusa," which had a similar patriotic warlike British theme to Eoghan's song. This is where Eoghan, most likely, found his inspiration for Rodney's Glory. Thanks to Patricio Sullivan (charango), Manuel Momobertoni (bandoneón) and Ezequiel Dutil (double bass) for joining me on this recording.

In 1782, not long after been sequestered and press ganged into the British Navy, Eoghan found himself down in the belly of a whale, that whale being the warship, HMS Formidable. 

"ó teagmhas féin le tréimse i nglasibh céim d'fhúig dearbh dubhach mé"

"by chance a while in bondage, that has left me feeble and bereft"

The English used this practice of press ganging or kidnapping men to fight in their wars throughout the 18th century. This is how Eoghan Rua "An Bhéal Bhinn" (of the sweet mouth) ended up serving against his will in a British naval ship. While in chains, he pours out this song for Rodney, hoping the Admiral will relieve the poor sailor of his sorry post. Down in the belly of the beast Eoghan witnessed first hand the horror and wonder of the Battle of Saintes. 

RODNEY'S GLORY

Give ear ye British hearts of gold 

That e'er disdain to be controlled 

Good news to you I will unfold 

Tis of brave Rodney's glory 

Who always bore a noble heart 

And from his colors ne'er would start 

But always took his country's part 

Against each foe who would to oppose

 Or blast the bloom of England's rose 

So now observe my story. 

'Twas in the year of eighty two 

The Frenchmen know full well 'tis true 

Brave Rodney did their fleet subdue 

Not far from Old Fort Royal 

‘Twas early by the morning’s light 

the proud De Grasse appeared in sight 

And thought brave Rodney to affright 

With colours spread at each mast head 

And pendants too both white and red 

A signal for an engagement. 

Then Rodney he gave the command 

That each man should at his station stand 

And for the sake of old England 

We'd show them British valour 

 we the British flag displayed 

No tortures could our hearts invade 

Both sides began to cannonade 

Their mighty shot we valued not 

we plied our Irish pills so hot 

Which put them in confusion. 

This caused the Frenchmen to combine 

And draw their shipping in a line 

To sink our fleet was their design 

But in this they were far mistaken 

Broadside for broadside we let fly 

‘Til they in hundreds bleeding did lie 

The seas were all of crimson dye 

Full deep we stood in human blood 

Surrounded by a scarlet flood 

still we fought on courageous. 

So loud the cannons that the roar 

echoed round the Indian shore 

Both ships and rigging suffered sore 

We kept such constant firing 

Guns did fire and smoke did rise 

And clouds of sulfur veiled the skies 

Which filled De Grasse with wild surprise 

Both Rodney's guns and Paddy's sons 

Make echos shake where e'er they come 

They fear no French nor Spaniards.

From morning’s dawn to fall of night 

We did maintain this bloody fight 

And being still regardless of their might 

We fought like Irish heroes 

While on the deck did bleeding lie 

Many of our men in agony 

We resolved to conquer or to die 

To gain this glorious victory 

And would sooner suffer to sink or die 

Than offer to surrender. 

So well our quarters we maintained 

Five captured ships we have obtained 

And thousands of their men were slain 

During this hot engagement 

Our British metal flew like hail 

Until at last the French turned tail 

Drew in their colours and set sail 

In deep distress as you may guess 

And when they got in readiness 

They sailed down to Fort Royal. 

So may prosperity attend 

Brave Rodney and his Irishmen 

may he never want a friend 

While he shall reign commander 

Success to our Irish officers 

Seamen bold and jolly tars 

Who like the darling sons of Mars 

Take delight in the fight 

And vindicate old England’s right 

And die for Erin’s Glory.

For me, the interest in this ballad, besides its sweet wordplay, lies in its historical context. Propaganda is central to its heart, it shows the power of song in all its ugly glory. Although Eoghan lived as a vagabond and fought as a lowly sailor, he also spoke and wrote Irish, Greek, English, and Latin. He was an iconic and highly educated poet of Munster, yet for the English he was only fit to fire their guns. 

"Both paddies sons and Rodney's guns

make echoes shake where ere they come,

they fear no French nor Spaniard"

Even in our own day the melody is still quite common for traditional Irish dances, but no one sings its lyrics due to its proudly British bent. In the decades following the battle, the song became quite well-known in England, but every mention of Irish or 'paddies' was quietly removed from its verses. It wasn't enough that the song itself is a piece of British propaganda, there is too a foreboding rumble in this silencing of the Irish voice that would summon a scream in the 1840's and then cloak the country in great silence after. 

I previously delved into the theme of one culture precariously living in another's world in this post "The Irish Ark, Still Afloat." There in, I tried to grapple through the sorry slow demise of Irish culture, at least regarding its expression in Gaelic terms over the past centuries. It really was a downward, every spiraling, tumble right up to the famine of 1845-48. Rodney's Glory is a great example of the overarching power of Britain over Ireland, a bold ballad of propaganda and pomp. Unlike the musing and masterful aisling's Eoghan was known for, Rodney's Glory is a more brash, bloody and straight forward beast, while still being a powerfully well written song. At its heart it echoes the sad state to which these Irish Gaelic poets were reduced to; rhyming in a language not theirs, fighting for kings not theirs, floundering in the vessel of their enemy. For the Irish of Munster, Eoghan Ruadh was an icon, a genius, for the English he was just another sorry sailor for their warships. 

I'm releasing this song on the 2nd of August with a poem of Eoghan Rua's translated into Spanish, "En Inglaterra de los Tesoros" (I Sacscaibh na Séad). Replete with piano and sound effects, the poem was recorded as a sort of radio play by  myself and Argentine storyteller Gabriela Verónica Troiano. I've called the EP "Lejos de mi Patria" (far from my homeland) those being the first lines of that poem. In a few weeks I've a concert coming up for the "Instituto Browniano" in the house of the founder of the Argentine Navy, William Brown, and I've made a little card that those that come to the gig can download this EP from. The idea is to give Spanish speakers a little window onto the tumultuous land of Gaelic Ireland in the late 18th century, a whole culture living precariously inside another's world.

I Sacsaibh na séad i gcéin óm dhúchais, in England of the treasures far from my homeland

fé barra na gcraobh cois céid na stiúr-bhairc in the shade of the masts of the mighty ships

Waveleaplights - A Page of Finnegans Wake Set to Music

For the past few weeks I've been immersed in the wild world of James Joyce's sprawling novel Finnegans Wake. I just released an EP, "Waveleaplights," that took the lyrics of one page of the book, setting it to music of my own devising. Also included in the EP is "The Ballad of Persse O'Reilly" which also appears in the novel. The project was conceived at the behest of the Waywords and Meansigns project, which since 2014 has been setting "The Wake" to music.

In true age of internet style, over the weekend I watched Mary Ellen Bute's film adaptation of the book while binging on various articles and media about, among other things, the tragic life of Lucia Joyce (sunny Jim's daughter). Thats herself below on the cover art of the EP. 

Though I've delved in and out of the book many times over the years this past little while I feel I've been truly baptized in the wide world of water, wave and want that is the wake. After setting one page of the mighty tome to music, the myth of Finagin is ringing loud in my ears. Not least of these echos, is the fact the book was released 85 years ago last Saturday the 4th of May. 

My one paginsound that rolls to the mighty island that is the "Waywords and Meansigns" project is page 571, wherein such gems of words as 

These brilling waveleaplights! Please say me how sing you them.  

Yes, they shall have brought us to the water trysting, by hedjes of maiden ferm, then here in another place is their chapelofeases, sold for song, of which you have thought my praise too much my price. O ma ma! Yes, sad one of Ziod? Sell me, my soul dear!

This Thursday I'm having a free online listening party of Waveleaplights. If there is any poor soul still reading this blog in 2024 ye are more than welcome to join me at 8pm GMT on the link on the image above! Hope to ear ye dere! Lend me yer earwickers!

UPDATE. Here's the Waveleaplights music video, filmed in Campo del Cielo, Chaco. 

beir bua,

HCE 

Bleak is the Pampa, Irish folk Song in Argentina

The lyrics to "Bleak is the Pampa" were written by an exiled Irishman in Buenos Aires in 1873. The songs words were published in the corner of a random page of a provincial newspaper in Buenos Aires and then soon forgotten. Unlike many of the other Irish songs scattered among the pages of "El Monitor de la Campaña," Bleak is the Pampa had no obvious melody. That is, the music itself is newly composed. There are illusions to the island of Hy Brasil in its verses, "had he ne'er quitted his own island dwelling, in search of a phantom in lands far away." In 2022 I was approached after a concert at the Universidad del Salvador by Miguel Guarrnochea. Migue had just heard me sing another song from his home town "The Trackless Wild."In the following weeks he furnished me with all the digital archives of the newspaper "El Monitor de la Campaña." Here began a year and a half of going through those pages, lifting out gems like this song.

Last week I did some filming on the pampa wild. I found a beautiful bit of untouched wilderness outside of a little town called "Las Garcitas." Tripping over bones, turkeys, dodging mosquitos and downing rakes of water to keep our motors from combusting, we filmed a sweet three minute video that I hope gives an idea of the vast pampa that is every present in these 19th century Irish Argentine songs of old.