On the 25th of January I had the pleasure and honour of attending my first Burn's Night dinner, a bonafide ethnic event! I was a guest at the Bridgeton Burns Club evening in Glasgow, established in 1870 and reputedly "the best Burn's night in the world". It was a crowded event, 650 men (no women!) with an average age of 60. I reckoned on being the youngest there by a long chalk and possibly the only one not affiliated with the Masons (boom boom).
Robert Burns must have been the most electric personality. No less a figure than Magnus "I've started so I'll finish" Magnusson regaled us with the speech entitled "The Immortal Memory", a serious toast to Burns in contrast to the more ribald Speakers who followed. As I became gradually more mashed on single malt I learnt of Burns forays into the Highlands on field trips to collect Highland song. Burns has a reputation as a poet but clearly the boundary here with song is practically non-existent. This was underlined by performances of Burns's songs and also recitation of his work in the form of extraordinary Choral speaking. This has to be seen to be believed; a choir of East End kids (the winners of an annual competition run by the non-profit-making club, which discovered no less a singer than Lulu) rhythmically chant Burns's poetry, the choir splitting to point and counterpoint each-other with occasional soloist breaking from the melee. The kids did "Tam O'Shanter" with such humour and passion, it was only a pity that I was alone in not grasping the meaning.
Anyway, learning of Burns's ethnomusicological forays made me flash on Bartok's scavenging of Medeterranean music (I wish I could find that collection he compiled) also of course the work of the Lomaxes for Folkways. One of my party who hadn't made it this year (the Vice-President of one of the Scottish Universities) was apparently an expert on Scottish folk music. It would have been fascinating to talk to him, it seems amazing that the same songs wash up in the Appalachians and even the Missisippi Delta three hundred years after their journey to America, preserved by the rigidity of tradition. Indeed the evening was marked by such a formality, the same straightjacket which preserves Ragas in India for hundreds of years, I thought I was going to be lynched when I asked for the vegetarian option before more wisely plumping for Haggis (tastes like a Hamburger).
The musical treats extended beyond the Wordsound of the recital of Burns's work, we of course had the Bagpipes. My neighbour George, a hillwalker but Kidney Specialist by vocation, hated them insisting they were appropriate only for the battlefield, and sure the accompanying drumming is martial by definition. George said they were either Roman or Irish by descent. There is still some wild Italian folk in the form of Tarantella, the top end of which bleeds into Opera Buffo. I really like the bagpipes. I even have an Ardkore bagpipe record Armitage and Shanks's "Bagpipes in Effect", a real kicker at New Years Parties. When I hear the bagpipes I immediately associate the sound with the plaintive wail of Bismillah Khan's Shenai.
It's a sad truth that connecting with the initial charge of an idea or person or music becomes weaker with the passing of time. It's a feeling I often get on visiting a Church (Christians please be gentle with me....). However it's worth a crack, and one need only feel the vibe faintly to be able to imagine how strong it must have once been.
Posted by Woebot at January 28, 2003 12:40 PM