D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
July 2009
BAYOU SECO'S ROLLING POSTCARD
Continent by Kangoo
A whirlwind musical tour of Ireland, England and France, bringing a bit of New Mexico to Europe.
By Jeanie McLerie and Ken Keppeler
Editor's note: We're delighted to once again share a "rolling postcard" from the popular Silver City "chilegumbo" musical duo, Bayou Seco, on tour in Europe.
It has become a wonderful repeating theme in our lives over the last 17 years — traveling around the British Isles, Ireland, France and Germany — powered by the fabulous music we have learned over the years from other musicians in New Mexico, Louisiana and throughout the Southwest. Music is the passport — the symmetry of the trips is the recurring theme of concerts in all sorts of situations, combined with the continued contact with special friends we have met along the way.
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Jeanie and Ken with a statue of Seamus Ennis, famed Irish musician. |
We fled the pollen-laden, blustery New Mexico winds in early April, and landed in a greener — but not warmer or less windy — world. The first week took us from our landing in Paris, picking up the usual leased Renault Kangoo (a black one this time), and heading east into the Champagne area to pick up the accordeons, guitar and banjo at our friend's house. Then over the English Channel (on a ferry — we don't like the idea of the Chunnel), across southern England to play at the American Museum in Bath, and onward through Wales to catch the Irish Ferry in Pembroke to Rosslare.
We accomplished all this in five days' time, and arrived in Ireland completely over jet lag (there was no time for messing about with it this year), ready to play the five gigs we had set up. The first was in a pub called Mick Murphy's in Ballymore Eustace near the Wicklow mountains. A small gathering of about 50 folks in an old pub listened and sang along in Spanish and even Navajo with us. There was a couple from Guadalajara who have a Mexican catering business in nearby Dublin, and even have access to chile poblanos for rellenos. Of course they loved our Chile Verde song.
The next day we headed over to County Clare to see one of the greatest fiddlers of that area, Vincent Griffin. We were invited to stay in his guest cottage, which used to be the cow shed and milking parlor, and heard him play several times in the space of the 24-hour visit. He also liked hearing us play some our fiddle tunes.
Then we were off to County Kerry to visit more friends and see our buddy, the fiddler Paddy Jones. We had a concert in the lovely old St. John's church, which is now an Art Center, in Listowel, an historic market town. We invited Paddy on stage during each of our sets, and managed to play a set of his slides and jigs that he had taught us in Silver City on one of his recent visits. I suppose it was daft of us, but I think the audience liked seeing these two Americans play some Kerry tunes. The next night was a fine "seisiun" at Kate Browne's Pub in Ardfert. I counted 14 musicians all playing together. A very special kind of evening.
The next morning we hit the road early to make the four-and-a-half-hour drive up to the north of Dublin, where we played an afternoon concert at the Seamus Ennis Cultural Centre. This was a wonderful place that has hosted many a fine concert over the last 10 years. In the evening we were lucky to go to a Sliabh Luachra (Kerry) tunes workshop at the Centre, given by a melodeon player named Paudie O'Connor.
What I have noticed as we drive about is the colorful palette of this country. At this time of year there are many kinds of pink flowering trees. After a rain there is often a blanket of petals covering the ground under the trees and it is a very pretty sight. Rain is an everyday affair and we enjoy getting re-moisturized by it. It skitters, it pelts, it dances and it lashes. The houses in the towns are often painted a wide array of colors in the bright blue/green/red spectrum, and then sometimes in muted tans/pinks/brick reds and terra-cotta hues. It is strikingly lovely and cheerful, with the constant green undulating backdrop of fields, and always the big patches of dark-yellow gorse on the hills. The other thing we see is a huge amount of very large unfinished houses everywhere. These were being built on spec, and have been stopped by the poor economy. Eventually they will be finished as money allows, and perhaps divided into apartments or duplexes. People will always need places to live. But how will they heat these monsters? They don't have fireplaces or any solar features.
Next we had four days off, and Ken wanted to see the country where his great-grandparents came from in County Tyrone, Northern Ireland. You have to put away your euros and get out your pounds here. There are very few hotels and B&Bs because it is not a tourist area, and the few that exist are very expensive. The violent struggles that have plagued this area are still very recent in people's minds. We were looking for family gravestones or a genealogy center but couldn't seem to find either, and didn't feel very comfortable in this area, so we continued onward to Donegal (back to the euro) and found a very friendly town there with lots of sights to see nearby.
In the Gleanncholmcille area northwest of Donegal, there are more than 60 "standing stones" and Dolmen tombs from 2400 BC and earlier. We enjoyed seeing them, and also the Celtic Village Museum nearby. Then we traveled on down to Sligo to see old friend and harmonica-playing genius Rick Epping, a southern Californian like Ken. We were lucky to hear him play a gig with his trio, The Unwanted; Cathy Jordan of the group Dervish is in the trio. They play songs and tunes from the Atlantic Fringe. As musicians, we treasure the chances to hear others play. When you are on a long tour, you hear a lot of yourselves, and we need the inspiration and input of others to keep a balance.
The next gig of ours was in Galway at the Crane Bar. It was the start of Bank Holiday weekend, alas, and there were many festivals going on in the area. So most of the local musicians were elsewhere, but we still had a nice listening audience and we enjoyed the visit to that town. We found a great Italian restaurant on the popular Quay street where we enjoyed our meal of the day. The next day we would have loved to go to the Cookoo Fleadh festival in nearby Kinvarra, or the Joe Heaney festival up the coast, but we really needed the day to cross back over to Wexford town for the last gig of the two weeks and have a bit of quiet downtime. So we drove slowly over the beautiful Sliabh Bloom mountains and spent a quiet evening in Carlow.
We have eaten Guinness stews, beautiful smoked salmon, very sharp cheddars, the ubiquitous brown soda bread, gorgeous new potatoes and young fresh salads all along the way. The Irish have a high standard when it comes to food.
The Arts Center in Wexlow is a vibrant, hopping place with all sorts of things going on. We did a kids show in the afternoon and a concert in the evening. The next day we crossed back on the mighty Irish Ferry Innismore, a nice four-hour journey across the Irish Sea.
Back in England, we had a few days to get ready for our month-long tour. Three totally acoustic concerts in village halls in West Sussex and Kent kicked it off. The Beechwood Village Hall in Cooksbridge near Lewes was brand new, and completely off the grid. There was a wind generator for electricity, a heat pump to heat the building and solar panels on the roof for the hot water. The building had a display panel to show the renewable energy it has so far generated — 9,767 kilowatts of energy and 4,199 kilograms of CO2 saved. The acoustics were excellent and we enjoyed playing for the diverse community in this beautiful "green" building.
Village halls are an important part of each community. We played one in West Sussex that had no clear deed or papers on when it was built. It is maintained by and available to the community, and all sorts of important events happen there. It has perfect acoustics and seats about 100. There's a wooden floor ideal for dancing, a small stage and a kitchen. The night we played there, people brought along their own drinks and snacks. One of the halls we played on the Welsh border was quite small, and the outside was clad in corrugated tin painted dark green. Apparently these "tin tabernacles," as they are known, were built from kits in the late 1940s. They were used for churches and meeting places. We had a very large and enthusiastic audience of all ages, who were happy to join in on the New Mexican broom dance and the Baile de los Panos, and holler out Gritos during "Estas Lindas Flores."
We played in the foyer of the Royal National Theatre in London on the south bank of the Thames. The concerts there are free to the public and happen five to six days a week from 5:45-7:15 p.m. It isn't only the theater-going crowd, but a lot of Londoners who know about this nice venue. And since all the English people older than 60 have free local bus passes, a lot of people use this perk to the max. We have friends who make their way around the country visiting friends, using the local buses to get from place to place.
Gas is still very expensive, though cheaper than last year, but one tank lasts us a long time. We can go up to 900 kilometers on a tank, and sometimes that lasts a week or so. In our country it is "how many tanks to get to the gig," and here it is "how many gigs can we get to on one tank?" The diesel cost .98-1.03 pounds per liter. The euro is about 10% lower than the pound, and the gas cost is also little bit cheaper in euros per liter. In eight weeks we bought 300 liters of petrol to go 7,500 kilometers, and spent the equivalent of about $750. Cars over here get good gas mileage. For instance, why does a diesel Ford Escort get up to 55 miles per gallon over here? The engine is a bit smaller, but plenty powerful nonetheless.
At the Broadstairs Festival in Kent, 17 years ago, we met some people who were to become very important to us. Brian and Christine Kell had been running the Straw Bear Festival in Whittlesey, Cambridgeshire, since 1978. Straw Bear Festival is based on an old Fenland tradition. The local farmers paid off their workers before Christmas. This meant they would have no more work (or pay) until they were hired once more, usually on the Monday after Twelfth Night (Plough Monday). Times were hard and they needed money, so they would dress one man in straw, and the rest would blacken their faces as a disguise. Off around the town they would go with their "dancing bear," begging for money to provide them all with the three "Bs" — beef, beer and 'baccy!
These days, two bears made of straw but powered by a person, one large and one small, dance throughout the town, followed by a band of local people playing the music, and thousands of adoring spectators from near and very far. As many as 25 sides of Morris or Mollie teams dance outside the pubs all day. We have been lucky to play at this festival three times; our song "Waltzing with Bears" figures in heavily here. And now there is a German bear and all his entourage who join in each year.
Bird songs — the day starts out with birdsongs no matter where you are. In Whittlesey it is the blackbird that gives us a preview of the day to come with his strikingly tuneful melody — as early as 3 a.m. Later on, the lovely blue tits, thrushes, finches, robins and finally the turtledoves take over with their monotonous cooing, which says to me, "getupnow, getupnow, getupnow." In Silver City, we hear the curved-bill thrasher first. As we drive along, we often see magpies. Legend has it that you must say, "Good morning, Captain, and how's the missus?" when you see a magpie. Lots of theories on this one, but it is perhaps a question of respect and luck for the day.
On Whitmonday, the last Monday in May, we got to return to an annual Morris-dancing event in a small town called Bampton in the Bush, west of Oxford. This has been going on for hundreds of years. The three teams dance all day around the town, in large gardens of manor houses, outside pubs in the streets, and in the churchyards and courtyards. It is amazing to see this kind of tradition being carried on. The crowd follows along and cheers them on. For us it is a great way to see gorgeous gardens. It is quite a physical event for the dancers because the surfaces they dance on change from spongy lawns to rough paving stones and hard concrete. The dancers are all dressed in white with bells tied to their legs and flowers decorating their straw hats. Of course, a lot of beer is consumed all day, and the Sunday and Monday night pub sessions are wonderful. This is the place to hear proper English music on the melodeon and fiddle.
We were near the end of our month's tour of England. We made a big loop up to Yorkshire to play in a folk club near Ripponden. The rhododendrons and azaleas were all in bloom. The woodsy hills and dales were jumping in vivid purples, oranges and pinks — a nice treat for the eyes on a rainy day. The next day we played in Liverpool at the World Museum, and then we went all the way south to the Dorset coast near the Isle of Wight. There we stopped in a little village called Worth Matravers, where there is a quaint pub called The Square and the Compass, a tiny place that has been run by the Newman family for more than 100 years. Large fossils that have been found along the coast decorate all the windowsills and fireplace mantles. The cider is artisan-made with local fruit.
It has been a good month of music and friends. Soon we will move on to France.
What do we like about England? Well, the cheeses — aged Berkwell or a Kelsey Lane soft ewe's milk cheese from the west midlands, Ribbledale (a goat cheese) from Lancashire, Swalesdale from Yorkshire, the seriously sharp cheddars from Somerset, Shropshire blues and Stiltons, Gevrik goat from Cornwall, and Lincolnshire Poacher. We like Hobnobs — the knobbly, nutty, oat-y biscuits, an unusual snack if spread with St. Agur blue cheese and paired with a sliced Braeburn apple. We like how, instead of saying "hello," the first thing people here say is, "You all right then?" We like the local pear ciders on draft in the pubs, bacon and mushroom sandwiches, baby new potatoes from Jersey, minted peas, Rachel's Organic Yogurt from Aberystwyth on the Welsh coast, Cornish pasties and, most of all, the people. Our friends are all wonderful folks.
Seven weeks had flown by and we returned to France. We left Stroud, near Bath, at 9 a.m., went east on the M4, M25 and M20, and caught the 2 p.m. ferry to Calais. We were in the countryside, northeast of Rouen, by 6:30 p.m., eating saucisson and olives in the garden of a friend who is also a fiddler and violin maker.
France seems so large after England. The towns are much farther apart, the roads much less crowded, and the food style so very different. We continued south the next day to Poitiers on the autoroute, spending almost 40 euros for the convenience of a good fast road with no roundabouts or stoplights. Our next stop was at another friend's house so that Ken could make a one-row diatonic accordeon. We would stay for six days.
We presented an afternoon New Mexican dance workshop in nearby Parthenay (a medieval town) and a Cajun dance that evening at a little restaurant. The cook, named Marko, made a beautiful jambalaya complete with crayfish and shrimp and some very authentic-tasting Cajun sausage. He also made the best bread pudding I have ever eaten, served with a sublime bourbon sauce. For us, the best part was at the end when three local folks got out their fiddles and guitar and played some music for the "avant deux" dance of this region. The people who had been dancing all afternoon and evening to our music showed us how it is done around here.
Every time we come to France we learn new things. This time we have learned that a "giraffe" roundabout (rond-point/traffic circle) is one with five roads going off it — the neck and four legs, so to speak. There are always new things to eat, different ways to cook vegetables, yet untasted cheeses and wines. After a few days in the country, our French comes back and the rrr's roll easily off our tongues. It is a thrill to be here each year, listening to and playing music, and seeing the beautiful countryside.
One thing we still can't figure out is why every receipt from the store or gas station has the price not just in euros but also in the old French franc. It has been almost seven years of the euro now, and there is no turning back.
We will be in France for the month of June, playing for workshops and dances, a family reunion, a 50th birthday party, a house concert, and several restaurants. Then we will play a festival in Germany, and get ready to come home to our quiet life in Silver City. It does take lot of energy to sustain this pace. We take naps when possible, and sometimes get a day to ourselves. But we never forget the privilege we have been granted to be ambassadors of our culture. It is an honor and a pleasure.