And there are among them composers of verses whom they call Bards; these singing to instruments similar to a lyre, applaud some, while they vituperate others.
From Diodorus Siculus Histories, 8BCE
On Home Ground – Saturday 13th September 2014
Saturday afternoon, 13th September 2014, and I was back on home ground for one day only.
This four day festival (a celebration of the life and canon of Seamus Heaney) at Laurel Villa in Magherafelt is the brain-child of its owners Geraldine and Eugene Kielt, with BBC Radio Ulster’s Arts Extra presenter Marie-Louise Muir as midwife.
I wanted a bit of everything on that carefully crafted programme, but only Saturday would fit. I may have got the best of the festival pick. On the bill was an autumnal afternoon with The New Bards, followed by an evening with our contemporary bard-in-chief Gary Lightbody, in Conversation with Marie-Louise Muir.
I must have driven past Laurel Villa thousands of times in my past life, set a stone’s throw from Toome. Yet never, ever had I the chance or wherewithal to visit that cultured, secret garden I’d heard tell of. Behind the marquee, the trees were literally dripping with poetry. Laminated, strategically dangling, poems by Seamus Heaney & Company.
My daughter is with me for this one. She’s studying Heaney for A level this year, so this day trip is, of course, educational. She finds last year’s favourites, Frost and Thomas, among the trees. I find my man, W B Yeats – at the bottom of the garden. Hanging from a young birch – his poem ‘The New Faces’, seemed appropriate:
Let the new faces play what tricks they will / In the old rooms; night can outbalance day, / Our shadows rove the garden gravel still, / The living seem more shadowy than they.
The New Bards
In the ancient Druidic tradition, the training of a bard was intense and took a dozen years, give or take. The old bards were the keepers of tradition, and the memory of the tribe. They were esteemed for their effort and craft. They are required to sink to great depths then soar to higher levels of consciousness in search of inspiration and creative fire before they get their birch or hazel branch of honour (Yeats would have approved). That seems pretty apt for these new bards from Heaney’s home ground, and their initiation into the ‘invisible tribe’.
Coming up were Bellaghy Brothers Enda and Owen Strathearn, now Oh! Volcano (formerly of General Fiasco); Kilrea man, Robyn G Shiels – with Heaney’s nephew James on banjo; and Best Boy Grip, Derry man Eoin O’Callaghan. They’ve all been around for some years, building hard-earned reputations. Yet in the ancient Celtic tradition of the bards, they’ll know by now that the unfurling is a long and arduous path, with birthing pangs a-plenty.
If these were the new bards, then Stuart Bailie was the sage on stage. The veteran music journalist, broadcaster and CEO of the Oh Yeah centre in Belfast, shines his wisdom and experience on our own bardic traditions in contemporary times. In his introduction, Stuart refers to those Northern Irish bards who’ve earned their birch branches with honours – “who set the bar high” and knew instinctively how music and poetry intertwined to reach that “spirit level”.
He refers to Neil Hannon’s ‘The Book Lovers’ and his nod to Heaney in ‘Death of a Supernaturalist’. Tim Wheeler had in conversation revealed the impact that books like Bernard McLaverty’s Grace Notes had on the young songwriter. Indeed, a neat reference to Grace Notes – for here we are in Magherafelt, its partial setting. A certain synergy perhaps in this place, where hope and history rhyme.
With two General Fiasco albums already under their belts, to critical acclaim and a loyal following already formed, Stuart asks Owen and Enda how the local landscape has influenced their recent songwriting. Oh! Volcano has presented the brothers with a blank page, a fresh start and new way of seeing things. Steeped in that sense of self, being able to see poetry in everyday things, Enda says he takes time to make those observations, for the sake, of creative expression. From where I sit, I can’t quite catch the song titles, but Owen’s voice delivers honest integrity and intensity. Over his shoulder, Seamus smiles benignly on the new breed of Bellaghy bard, as if, in blessing.
The art of letting go – lyrics with a certain zen sonority; the rush of blood (show me how to live) suggest their fingers on the pulse of the moment while seeking some flash of enlightenment. I may not understand the technicalities or nuances of sound, I can only let it flow, and catch the drips as they pass by, like now. Oh! Volcano! Surprised by joy.
Robyn G Shiels begins his set with ‘Blood of the Innocents’. Stuart Bailie asks the Kilrea man if words like “terse” and “pithy” are fair description of his lyrics? Yes, he would agree with that. I get the sense, of some churning rural anxiety. These are gut-wrenching, soul-twisting songs that burn into your bones. I’ve only seen Robyn G Shiels live once before, at the G-Sessions in Draperstown some years back, but something has changed, utterly – some core strength and maturity.
Mid-way through ‘A Man to Your Wife’, the daughter has scribbled a note (for it would be rude to whisper): “This one reminds me of the Scarlet Letter”.
“Indeed”, I scribble back, and wonder, with a sideways glance, how one so young, can garner that.
‘Courage To Go’ is dedicated to Seamus, whose nephew James Heaney plays banjo stage right in his uncle’s honour. Finishing off with ‘This Deathly Charm’ and a chill down my spine, I’d love to hear this repertoire and more, resonate in some place sacred, where they seem to belong.
Linking the bardic lineage and sense of place, it would be remiss to not have a son from the city of song among this new bard line-up. Best Boy Grip is from up North – Derry City where Heaney was schooled in St Columb’s College. (I am reminded of the opening lines of Heaney’s poem ‘Singing School’. “Well, as Kavanagh said, we have lived / In important places. The lonely scarp / Of St Columb’s College, where I billeted / For six years, overlooked your Bogside”).
The oak grove’s bardic ancestry echoes around the city walls, raising new blood where talent abounds and is fed and watered. For the final act in the trio of new bards, on stage is a four piece. It’s more upbeat and lightly tongue in cheek, as Best Boy Grip kick-starts the set with the slightly acerbic ‘Barbara’. Plaudits for Best Boy Grip (Eoin O’Callaghan) herald his talent far and wide, reminding me that within this marquee, we are potentially in the presence of greatness.
I am hungry. I have a head full of grace notes but my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.
There was only one thing missing from this afternoon delight. It would have been nice to see more bums on seats, but sometimes about these parts, folk don’t travel well.