Liz Carroll, the Irish fiddler and composer, has been thinking lately of the path her musical life has taken. It’s been a road rich in traveling companions, with inspiration from stops along the way. And now, with Half Day Road, her duet album with guitarist and pianist Jake Charron, just released in 2019, and with a new book of tunes, Collected II, published in March of 2020, there are new horizons ahead.
Since she was 18, when she astounded the Celtic music world by winning the Senior All-Ireland Championship, Liz and her fiddle have been amazing audiences around the globe. She has been honored with many accolades, including a nomination for a 2010 Grammy, with John Doyle, for their duet album, Double Play. In April of 2011, Liz was awarded the Cumadóir TG4, the first American-born composer honored with Ireland’s most significant traditional music prize.
Liz’s recordings are in the majority her own compositions, and they have given her a stature equal to that of her playing. When you listen to a Liz album, you’re hearing the music of a composer celebrated for invigorating the traditional styles of Irish music. Her tunes have entered into the repertoire of Irish and Celtic performers throughout the world.
2016 saw the release of a new collaborative album, produced as companion music to an exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago – “Ireland: Crossroads of Art and Design, 1690-1840 – The Music.” A mix of period music and new compositions by Liz, the other artists include Liz Knowles, Kieran O’Hare, Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill, and Catriona McKay. Daniel Neely of the Irish Echo praised it, saying:
Liz’s 2013 solo recording, On the Offbeat, is another collection of original compositions – of the 24 tunes on the album, 23 are hers. Produced by Seamus Egan of Solas, Offbeat has been greatly praised, including by Siobhan Long of The Irish Times:
It’s these tunes, as well as Liz’s vital performances on concert stages, television and radio, that have established her as one of traditional music’s most sought after performers. Neil Tesser of the Chicago Reader marvels that “her quicksilver lines can captivate violin admirers way beyond the bounds of Hibernia.” P.J. Curtis of the Irish American says that Liz “conjures up a dizzying mixture of the sweetest tones, the fastest runs, and the most dazzling display of musicianship imaginable.” One of Liz’s proudest concert moments was at the 1st American Congress of the Violin, hosted by Yehudi Menuhin.
In 1994, the National Endowment for the Arts awarded Liz a National Heritage Fellowship for her great influence on Irish music in America, as a performer and a composer. First Lady Hillary Clinton presented the award which bestows national recognition on artists of international stature.
Liz was born in Chicago, Illinois, of Irish parents, and is proud that she was awarded a fellowship in 2019 by the State of Illinois in Ethnic and Folk Arts.
(text from www.lizcarroll.com – Image by Marianne Mangan)
Swanny [comp. Liz Carroll], slip jig
Bobbi Nikles [comp. Liz Carroll], reel
Bang the bins [comp. Liz Carroll], hornpipe
All about that Trevor [comp. Liz Carroll], jig
The rat’s meow [comp. Liz Carroll], reel
Tom Cahill’s polka [comp. Liz Carroll]
Mullingar or bust! [comp. Liz Carroll], reel
The path forward [comp. Liz Carroll], reel
Reflections across the bog [comp. Liz Carroll], air
Photograph of Liz Carroll by Marianne Mangan
Offaly accordion legend Paddy O’Brien joined ITMA Director Liam O’Connor in our studios to conduct an interview for ITMA’s Saoithe interview series.
Paddy talked about his musical life, playing in Offaly, Dublin and America. He also spoke about his tune collections and some of his own compositions.
The episode will be posted online in the coming months. In the meantime, you can catch up with all past editions of Saoithe here: https://youtube.com/playlist?l…
Coming all the way from America, piper, flute and whistle player Seán Gavin visited the archive this past month. After spending a day researching in the building, Seán sat down for a video interview for the archive, where he discussed his background in Irish traditional music and the music of Kevin Henry, one of his biggest mentors and influences.
Early forms of sound recording were ‘acoustic’, that is, the sounds produced by singers and musicians were directed into a horn and cut mechanically by a vibrating needle into a groove on a cylinder or disc. The resulting playback sound was constricted and relatively unnatural. But in the mid-1920s the introduction of electric microphones and ‘electrical’ sound recording brought a great increase in fidelity of sound. It also enabled a much greater sound dynamic to be captured, and this had a particular advantage in recording large ensembles like dance bands.
Larger Irish-American bands, of the kind that had been playing in dance halls in the eastern cities since the late 19th century, took advantage of the new medium, and the recordings they made began appearing from 1926. They featured the full band ensembles, as in their performances in the halls, and also the band vocalists and instrumental soloists. The selection presented here from the collections of the Irish Traditional Music Archive represents ensembles from New York, Boston and Chicago, which comprised mainly Irish-born musicians playing traditional music. Combinations of instrumental sounds never before heard in Irish music were heard on these recordings, which give us our first insights into large Irish ensemble playing.
By way of contemporary contrast and contextualisation, the selection concludes with an ‘Irish’ song by the famous Irish-American Bing Crosby and a rendering of one of the most famous Irish melodies by what was possibly the most famous of the American big bands.
With thanks to record donors Jim Brophy, John Cullinane, Ciarán Dalton, Vincent Duffe, John Loesberg, Mrs Walter Maguire, Dan Maher, Matt Murtagh, & Kieran Owens.
Nicholas Carolan & Danny Diamond, 1 December 2011
The fifteen tracks in our audio playlist this month are a selected snapshot of newly composed tunes and songs commercially released by Irish traditional musicians and singers between autumn 2015 and spring 2016. The collection highlights the wide spectrum and diversity present in contemporary Irish traditional music and song. Performers/composers featured are Irish, Australian, English, Finnish, Polish and American and bring different approaches in terms of style, arrangement, instruments and sources of inspiration. This collection also highlights ITMA’s remit to collect traditional music in a broad and inclusive way reflective of each generation of performers.
The mouth-blown bagpipes, commonly called the ‘warpipes’ in Ireland, have been played here since medieval times, and were then the instrument which often led Irish forces into battle.
With the introduction of more modern methods of warfare in the 17th century, they lost their military function, and were played only to accompany such recreational activities as dancing, parading, and leading sports teams onto the field of play. By the 18th century, their position had largely been usurped by the quieter bellows-blown uilleann pipes, which were usually played indoors. But there was still a social need for a loud outdoor bagpipe for certain public occasions, and the Irish warpipes never quite disappeared. They enjoyed a revival in Ireland in the later 19th century, under the influence of the bands of Scottish regiments of the British Army stationed in Ireland. The warpipes continue to be played in Ireland as a solo and as a band instrument, and most commonly in the context of competitions.
Nationally minded Irish warpipers incorporated native tunes in their repertories from the time of the revival, often adapting them from other instruments and existing publications. After 1900, as the revival progressed, printed collections of these warpipe melodies began to be published. Among the earliest and most influential was the 1911 collection Irish Tunes for the Scottish and Irish War-Pipes, compiled by William Walsh and arranged and published in Edinburgh by David Glen, the original printing of which is presented below from the collections of the Irish Traditional Music Archive.
William Walsh, a flute player and dancer as well as a warpiper, and an Irish speaker, was born in 1859 in Oughterard, Co Galway, and was brought to America as a child. Settled in Chicago, he was attracted to the sound of the warpipes, and sought out the company of Scottish players there. He joined the police force in the city in 1891, and was a friend of the music collector Francis O’Neill who was prominent in the force. Walsh was self-taught in music and learned from notation in preference to ear, and his collection of Irish and Scottish tunes for the instrument was in manuscript by 1909. David Glen (b. 1850), one of a prominent family of musical instrument makers and music publishers which had been in business in Edinburgh since the 1820s, added characteristic grace notes to Walsh’s notations. The collection was later reprinted by Glen in a 2/6 edition, and reprinted by Mozart Allan in Glasgow in 1951.
Nicholas Carolan & Maeve Gebruers, 1 February 2014
The Irish Nation, air — Norin ni Cullinan (Little Nora Cullinan), march — Fainne geal an lae (The Dawning of the day), air — Fear an marsad (The marketman), air — Gillespie’s, hornpipe — The rambler’s rest, (Tie the bonnet), reel — Rocky road to Dublin, jig — One before we go, march — Kiss me sweetheart, air — How much has she got, jig — Three little drummers, (The tenpenny bit), jig — The black haired lass, reel — Cealleachin Fionn (Little Kelly the fair haired), air — The soldiers’ joy, hornpipe — Scatter the mud, jig — Dan Roger’s favourite, jig — The humours of Tralibane — The Templehouse reel — Rory O’More, jig — Nell Flaherty’s drake, jig or quickstep — Costla Bay, reel — Brian Boru’s, jig — County Down, jig or quickstep — Paddy Whack, jig — Larry Grogan, jig — Cameronian rant, reel — Wearing of the green, air — The peeler and the goat — The highway to Dublin, jig — The Yorkshire bite, reel — The Home Rule, jig — Skiver the quilt, jig — The Morgan rattler, jig — Maid on the green, jig — Paddy’s farewell to America, jig — The devil in Dublin, jig — The steam boat, jig — Saddle the pony, jig — Paddy Carey, jig or quickstep — The mysteries of Knock, jig — Will you come home with me, jig or quickstep — The green garter, reel — The merry harriers (The cup of tea), reel — Jimmy’s return (Dunrobin Castle), reel — Gramachree Molly, air — The spirits of whisky, jig — John Roy Stewart, reel — The thatcher, jig — The gallant Tipperary boys, march — Miss Kelly’s, Reel — Johnny the jumper, jig — The mountaineers’ march — The knee buckle, jig — The rakes of Irishmen (The ranting rake), jig — The boys from Mullingar, air — James O’Neill’s, Quickstep — Dandy Denny Cronin, reel — The flowing bowl, reel — The green linnet, reel — Mickey by the fireside, reel — The Gallowglass (Niel Gow’s lament for his brother), jig — Wasn’t she fond of me, jig or quickstep — The Land League, jig — Black eyed Biddy (John Campbell of the Bank) (The Linlithgow march) (The rock and a wee pickle tow), march — Skin the peeler, jig — Rakes of Mallow, quickstep — Seo slainte do’n piobaire (Here is good health to the piper) (The piper’s maggot), air — An cailin deas donn (The pretty brown girl), jig — Cahirsaveen (Cahirciveen) (Cumberland crew), air — Garry Owen, jig or quickstep — Grandfather’s pet, air — The fisherman’s frolic (Argyll is my name), air — The girl from Ireland, jig — Huish the cat, jig or quickstep — Condon’s frolics, jig or quickstep — The butchers’ march — The minstrel boy, air — Billy Barlow, jig — Fasten the leg in her, jig — Oh, dear what can the matter be, air — Kitty Quinn, air — The night cap, air — The night cap — The last rose of summer, air — Last rose of summer, air — The sporting boys, jig — Deoc an doruis (The parting glass), air — The rushy mountain, air — McDonnell’s rant, jig — Bean a tigh air tar (The woman of the house in the centre), reel — Holland is a fine place, air — Brian Boru’s, march — Big Dan O’Mahony (Fingal’s weeping), hornpipe — Helen O’Grady, jig — Domnall na greine (Donald of the sun) (Thady you gander), jig — The merry soldier, hornpipe — Rocky road to Dublin, jig — The red fox, air — Mrs Macleod of Raasay, reel
Francis O’Neill was born the youngest of seven children in Tralibane, outside Bantry in West Cork, and rose to be the General Superintendent of Police in the city of Chicago, a post he held from 1901 to 1905. ‘Chief O’Neill’, as he became known, is still remembered fondly for his legacy as an officer of the law, but it’s his dedication to traditional Irish music, and the work he did to sustain it, that gives the true measure of the man. His birth took place in 1848, just at the end of the worst years of the Irish famine, a famine which had devastated the Union of Skibbereen in which his own parish of Caheragh was situated. Still, the nearer town of Bantry was regaining prosperity, and Frank – as the young Daniel Francis O’Neill became known in America – enjoyed a happy childhood rich in music and society.
He particularly remembered Peter Hagerty, ‘An Píobaire Bán’, the piper who played at the nearby Colomane crossroad, and years later the Chief remembered Hagerty’s music reaching his younger self in his bed as people danced next door: ‘Being young and insignificant I was put to bed, out of the way, while the others went to enjoy the dance next door. It just chanced that the piper was seated close to the partition wall … Half-asleep and awake the music hummed in my ear for hours, and the memory of the tunes is still vivid after the lapse of 50 years.’ His parents were singers and kept their house open to travelling musicians. So, it was that the young boy quickly became acquainted with songs in English and Irish, and with the dance tunes that made up the repertoire for the visiting fiddle, flute and uilleann pipes players around him.
When the time came to play himself, he learnt the flute by ear with the help of neighbouring farmer Timothy Downing. Downing had a large collection of transcribed music in manuscript form, but the old means of handing on the musical tradition were strong, and O’Neill left Ireland as a confident musician still unable to read music. His restlessness and his desire to explore the world didn’t mean that he’d left the old tunes behind him, however. He always claimed that he learnt from his mother ‘a keen ear, a retentive memory, and an intensive love of the haunting melodies’ around him.
O’Neill’s life as a sailor – inspired perhaps by the sights and scenes of Bantry Bay – was fraught with drama. He fell overboard on a trip to Odessa, and fractured his skull. Rescued in that instance by a lifeboat crew, he moved to America but was drawn to a life at sea again, only to be shipwrecked in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. When O’Neill and his fellow crewmen were rescued from a coral island, they were in a state of near-starvation, and their rescuers brought them on an onward journey via Honolulu to San Francisco. The musical friendship O’Neill struck up with a flute-playing Kanakan crewman on that journey helped him to ward off malnutrition: the young Francis was able to exchange his musical knowledge for food rations! Despite these setbacks, O’Neill’s sailing days weren’t over, and, after a spell as a shepherd in the Sierra Nevada mountains, he tried his hand at sailing on the Great Lakes before heading to Chicago in 1870, still aged only 22. In his new home, Chicago, O’Neill encountered new musical influences from American popular music, but also with the forms of Irish music then popular among the large Irish population in the city (Irish people numbered around 13% of Chicago’s population when O’Neill arrived there). Thomas Moore’s Irish Melodies were hugely popular, and nationalist songs often appealed to people more than the traditional Irish music they had left behind them. But O’Neill was determined to make note of the traditional tunes people carried in their memories before their lives in America became so well-established that the old ways were forgotten. As he said himself: ‘The time was opportune then, and will never occur again.’ Chicago brought together musicians from different parts of Ireland who knew different tunes and regional variations, O’Neill — like his Scottish counterparts in Chicago — realised that their vantage point, outside their home countries gave them a unique opportunity to gather this music in a fairly systematic way.
O’Neill himself likened his collection work to a scientific endeavour: ‘Among Irish and Scottish music lovers, every new arrival … is welcomed … and there is as much rejoicing on the discovery of a new expert as there is among astronomers on the announcement of a new asteroid or comet.’ Though Chief O’Neill undertook his researches without the academic rigour we would expect today, his work was part of the broader attempt to catalogue and revive Irish cultural practices that can be traced in broader projects like the establishment of the Gaelic League and W. B. Yeats’ transcription of fairy and folk tales. O’Neill had an exceptional memory for tunes, and a rare ability to be able to keep track of their differences and connections. He was not, however, able to transcribe the tunes he could whistle and lilt in standard musical notation. For this work, he relied on his Scottish friend James O’Neill, and Captain O’Neill soon drafted the young O’Neill into his musical project and into the Chicago police force. The two men worked closely together, and though an attempt to add a layer of officialdom to proceedings via the creation of an approval committee failed, it quickly became apparent to Irish musicians in the city that this was a worthwhile project. O’Neill sought out tunes ‘through a few dark passageways’ and up the odd ‘rickety back stairs’, and as time went on people began to bring their music to him too. O’Neill began the process of — over many years — collecting and publishing the biggest collection of Irish dance tunes ever to be assembled. O’Neill was always gracious in acknowledging his helpers and collaborators and where a tune lacked a name, he’d often confer on it the name of the player who had introduced it to him. But the bulk of the work fell to the two O’Neills: ‘It required great caution, aided by an acute ear and a retentive memory, to determine whether it was an hour or a month ago that a strain was head among the hundreds played at a sitting, in quick succession.’ A tune would have be played several times for James O’Neill to notate it, and then Francis O’Neill would listen to it played again to check it for accuracy. Each tune would then be copied several more times before the manuscripts were ready to pass on to the engraver. In this process there was room for error, and O’Neill, like other editors of this kind of encyclopaedic project, made editorial decisions along the way, to fill in missing sections of tunes, and to omit the grace notes and embellishments that many of the tunes featured, for example.
While there is room for debates about the work Captain O’Neill oversaw, it is without doubt that he helped to ensure a future for traditional Irish music in which people would be able to benefit from the resources of an orally-transmitted culture captured at its high watermark. Francis O’Neill’s appreciation of Irish music was arguably ch because he understood the importance of the people who performed and transmitted the music. His 1913 book Irish Minstrels and Musicians represented a major attempt to recognise those players, past and present. The volume represents a major achievement, and a foundation for any subsequent studies into the social and cultural aspects of Irish traditional music. Its conclusions also provide a striking testament to O’Neill’s lack of sentiment about the music he loved. He realised that for it to survive, as it continues to do today, its musicians needed real practical support of the kind he himself had endeavoured to produce: Talk of an Irish ‘revival’ he thought was too often ‘just talk’: ‘An Irish revival,’ he noted acerbically, ‘is but the antidote which patriotic optimists administer periodically to the body politic to check the progress of national decadence.’ For traditional music to continue to flourish, it had to be valued, and its musicians had to be properly rewarded: ‘If Irish music is to regain its lost prestige — and its fruition is not beyond the range of possibilities — the attitude of chronic apathy must come speedily to an end. Something more effective than holiday oratory glorifying “our music, our language, and our literature” in set phrases and ready-made monotonous resolutions is essential and imperative.’
