Richard Harris Intimidates in the Tragic Irish Drama The Field

In preparation for St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve been loading my Netflix queue up with Irish movies. The first to arrive was The Field, Jim Sheridan’s film adaptation of a play I read in high school. It had been a while, so while I remembered the premise, I didn’t recall all of the events that transpired in this tragic tale or I might have shied away. That would have been a shame, though, because I would have missed some gorgeous cinematography and a towering performance by the late Richard Harris.

Harris stars as Bull McCabe, an elderly farmer who has spent his life nurturing a rocky field and coaxing green life out of it. The land is now lush and fruitful, and the weakening Bull wants assurance that his son will carry on the work that he began, so he decides the time has come to persuade its long-widowed owner (Frances Tomelty) to sell it to him.

He succeeds, but the plan backfires; instead of selling directly to the man who has worked the field so long he considers it his, she announces her intention to sell it at public auction, and a wealthy, arrogant American (Tom Berenger) shows up to buy it. What’s worse, he wants to cover it in concrete and turn it into part of a highway system. Is there anything this old man can do to protect the one thing in life he is most passionate about?

Irish farmers take their land very seriously, and Bull’s obsession with the land is all the more intense because of the family history he divulges in one of Harris’s most wrenching moments in the film. This is a quiet movie with little music but plenty to feast the eyes on. Jack Conroy’s capturing of the green rolling hills makes us feel the pain along with Bull at the thought that it could soon be paved over.

The eyes linger over the verdant grass more than they otherwise might because there are stretches of time with no dialogue at all. When Harris does speak, however, he makes an impact, even though you might have to pay extra close attention to catch everything he says with that soft voice and thick brogue. His piercing eyes peer out of a face wreathed in white hair, and when the dormant fire within them sparks into life, it’s an intimidating spectacle.

While Harris is the focal point here, other strong performances bolster his. Sean Bean is surly and near-silent as Tadgh, Bull’s cowed son with a violent streak. With few words, he emphatically demonstrates the depth of the gulf that lies between father and son, as well as the tragic traits that tie them together. As village idiot Bird O’Donnell, John Hurt adds some levity as he disappears into a truly eccentric role, while Sean McGinley’s mostly low-key performance as a stern parish priest deepens the eventual outburst showing the conflict between the clergy and public opinion.

This is an unsettling film that compels us to sympathize with characters while simultaneously disdaining them. Its exploration of the conflict between a tight-knit community and encroaching modernity opens an ethical can of worms as stubbornness and madness lead the key characters in dismal directions. It’s not an uplifting film, to be sure, and it’s a bit on the long side, its lagging pace seeming more egregious as it becomes clearer that the conclusion will hardly be a tranquil one. Nonetheless, this dark drama provides a fine example of Harris’s dramatic heft and of the gorgeous land whose all but inevitable loss drives him to the depths of insanity.

Ryan Kelly Returns to the Theme of Romantic Regret in Messages

Last year saw the release of In Time, the debut solo album of Celtic Thunder's Ryan Kelly. Two of its tracks, In Too Deep and I Wish That I Could Get Over You, deal with the heartache of realizing that a relationship that seemed so perfect simply isn't going to work out. Kelly returns to that theme in the song Messages, which he recorded for the musical project Five Leaves Left - a song which, incidentally, includes the words "in time" in its lyrics.

This song is an interesting collaboration of artists, of whom I confess only Ryan was familiar to me. Brian McAteer wrote the song, while production is by Donal O'Connor and mastering by Cormac O'Kane. Paul McSherry plays the guitar, and Stephen Beggs and Siobhan O'Kelly add some snippets of dialogue toward the end.

This is a song about connection and miscommunication. Ryan's vocals are gently wistful as he sings about his certainty that he and the object of his affections shared a powerful bond and the gradual realization that either he misunderstood or she changed. The central idea of getting messages is one that will resonate with anyone who has struggled to understand exactly what another person is trying to convey.

The most poignant part of the song for me is the earnestly delivered lead-in to the first chorus: "You laughed at the right time, at the punch line. I thought that at this time, there was still time..." The verses proceed in a curious, almost staccato fashion with very short phrases strung together, emblematic of the stilted communication between the two. "And so, I liked this game and loved what it became, this sort-of love."

The song grows rather experimental toward the end with the spoken word interjections, which seem as though they're supposed to sound like answering machine messages, though they feel more like snippets of a fervently delivered speech. They seem disjointed and a bit unsettling, rather like the dialogue in Simon and Garfunkel's Fakin' It; I'm not entirely sure I like the device, but I think it's an interesting way to explore the overall theme of confusion in communication.

While the liner notes single out the guitarist, it's the keyboard that seems most prominent here, along with some light percussion. It's a fairly mellow tune that builds in intensity a bit as vocal harmonies back up Ryan's forlorn lead toward the end. Generally, I like the lyrics and delivery a lot, though a couple of lines have very odd phrasing where it feels like the end of a sentence but is actually part of a preparation for a complete thought. Namely, McAveety keeps splitting up the phrase "kind of" so that "kind" is followed by a noticeable break. It seems he simply wanted to emphasize "kind" for the sake of rhyme, and it just comes off as strange.

For the most part, though, this is a great stand-alone track. When December comes along, no song can ever compete with Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne in my mind when it comes to reflections on regret in relationships, but Messages has more of a year-round appeal for someone in the mood for something a little melancholy. Meanwhile, this marks Ryan Kelly's return to recording several months after announcing his retreat from the music business, so downer of a theme aside, this song's very existence is music to fans' ears. Here's hoping there will be plenty more to come!

Soak in Some Irish Disney Magic With Darby O'Gill and the Little People

March is usually my big month for watching Irish movies, but when it occurred to me that I had never reviewed Darby O’Gill and the Little People, I decided I needed to watch that 1959 classic again as a part of my autumn Disney immersion. This largely comedic movie written by Lawrence Watkin and based on the stories of H. T. Kavanagh was directed by Robert Stevenson, the man at the helm of many of Disney’s most notable movies, including Mary Poppins.

It’s a movie in which Walt Disney took special interest; the DVD includes a nearly hour-long featurette in which he journeys to Ireland to meet Darby O’Gill and make the acquaintance of Brian, the leprechaun king, who agrees to participate in the filming and get the rest of the wee folk involved as well. The beginning of the movie even includes a special acknowledgment from Walt thanking Brian for his cooperation, without which the movie would not have been possible. That, coupled with the excellent use of forced perspective that would come to be such an integral part of the Lord of the Rings trilogy decades later, gives the movie a charming air of authenticity. It really seems as though those leprechauns could be the real deal.

This movie is mostly a battle of wills between Darby (Albert Sharpe), a crusty old codger who has just (rather rightfully) been forced into retirement, and King Brian (Jimmy O’Dea), the leprechaun monarch. Both men are clever, and each has a healthy respect for the other, even as they plot ways to outwit each other. Darby is always after the three wishes that King Brian must grant if he is captured, but the wily king has no shortage of loopholes to keep his old friend from cashing in. On the other hand, they’ve developed such a rapport that Brian tries to retire Darby to the leprechaun kingdom, while the old man just wants to get home to his daughter and see her happily married off. Observing these two is like watching an expert tennis match, and it’s a thrill to see what devilish trickery will come to the forefront next.

While the twinkly-eyed Sharpe, the perfect picture of an old Irish pub denizen, is really the star of the show here, O’Dea puts in a mostly-dignified performance as the eternally middle-aged king, and dozens of uncredited actors and actresses make up the thriving population of leprechauns. While not all of the effects in this movie are terribly sophisticated – the banshee, for instance, looks pretty hokey to me, yet it still manages to be utterly terrifying – they really pull off the illusion of tininess remarkably well. These magical beings inhabit a glittery realm unseen by human eyes, and one can’t help thinking that Darby would at least want to stay and feast his eyes and ears on all its glory for a while before concocting a plan to escape.

Naturally, great folk music is in abundance, particularly since Darby plays a mean fiddle. I wouldn’t call this a musical, but there is one song that we hear a couple of times, and it’s noteworthy because it is sung by Sean Connery in one of his earliest film roles. Connery plays Michael McBride, a handsome young man who has come to take over Darby’s caretaker duties. In the process, he falls for Darby’s spirited daughter Katie (Janet Munro), who seems to think he‘s pretty easy on the eyes but sees him as a threat to her father’s happiness. While these four are the main characters, various pub regulars are significant as well, particularly the parish priest, who likes Darby but doesn’t entirely approve of his obsession with ancient superstitions, and Pony, an arrogant Gaston-like golden boy whose witchy mother is desperate to hook him up with Katie. The pub scenes actually made me think a lot of Beauty and the Beast, but Darby is more respected than Maurice and Pony is not as widely admired as Gaston.

Despite the fact that the Irish side of my family has been in America for generations, I strongly identify with my Irish heritage, and it tickled me immensely to hear Katie reference the McCartys as neighbors toward the end of the movie. I got a thrill again during I Captured the King of the Leprechauns when Pat O’Brien mentions the McCartys to Walt Disney as having a family banshee. This little black-and-white globe-trotting adventure would be a delight to watch without the name connection; Walt just looks like he’s having such fun, and the twinkle in his eye is quite as pronounced as the one in Sharpe’s. The other features are worth a look as well, discussing the making and reception of the movie. I found it especially interesting to hear Connery discuss the impact the film had on his career.

While Darby O’Gill and the Little People is ideal for St. Patrick’s Day viewing, there’s no reason to wait until March to pop this in the DVD player. If Irish blood runs in your veins or you’ve ever caught yourself wishing it did, this is a wonderful marriage of Disney magic and Irish enchantment.

Orla Fallon Brings Her Irish Magic to Erie, PA, 10-4-11

Yesterday, Irish musician Orla Fallon, formerly of Celtic Woman, came to Erie to give a concert at Mercyhurst College. Before the main event that evening, she went to the headquarters of WQLN, our local PBS affiliate, to record a mini-concert in the lobby to promote the show. While I couldn’t make it to the full-blown concert, my dad, grandma and I attended this free show. It was the first event of this kind that any of us had attended, which makes me wonder why we never went to anything like it before. I suppose it just wasn’t on our radar.

There wasn’t much room in the lobby, so a crowd of maybe 50 or so sat in neat rows and munched on complimentary popcorn while we waited for the guest of honor to arrive. She was a few minutes late, so WQLN personality Tom New, who hosted the concert, kept us entertained with some goofy banter that he continued with later as he interviewed her. The whole thing had a very casual feel to it. Most of the people in attendance were retirees, in large part, I imagine, because it was 2 in the afternoon. The crowd was quiet but appreciative, especially once Orla and her fiddler, an enthusiastic young Oregon native named Amberly Rosen, took their places.

Orla probably did more talking than singing, not that anyone minded; her lilting voice has a wonderfully musical quality to it, and she has a natural gift for storytelling. A former schoolteacher, she discussed her appearance at an assembly at Northwest Pennsylvania Collegiate Academy, a local high school, earlier in the day, and her delight in addressing those students was evident. She described her tiny hometown and her eventual decision to pursue music full-time, and she and Amberly both talked about how the fiddler came to join her touring group last Christmas.

She also gave some background on the songs that she sang. As she built up her first song as a perpetual crowd favorite, I suspected what it would be. However, I had never heard that it was composed on a bus ride, an aspect she said adds to its magical quality because it arrived as a gift. I also loved her introduction to the second song, a ballad about a mermaid who is tricked into forgetting the sea by a fisherman who is in love with her. What made this especially neat was that while she was describing the mermaid’s renewed longing for the ocean after she remembers her history, she pointed to my grandma, who was wearing a sweatshirt featuring a picture of a seaside lighthouse.

Orla Fallon is an accomplished harpist, and she played the elegant instrument on all four songs. It was not the largest harp I have ever seen, but its size was still impressive, and it was mesmerizing to watch an expert play it from such a short distance away. We sat in the second row, so we had an excellent view. There was no stage, just a couple of microphone stands on the flat floor. However, the harp rested upon a small pedestal. Her fingers gently plucked the strings on each of the songs, and the harp and fiddle together created a deeply satisfying sound.

The mermaid song was in Gaelic, and it was followed by a purely instrumental tune. As far as I can recall, I’d never heard either of these before. However, Isle of Innishfree, her opening song, has been one of my favorites since I first heard Joe Millar sing it at my first Irish Rovers concert nearly two decades ago. It’s really the song that introduced me to the flourishing tradition of Irish songs about longing for one’s homeland. The gorgeous melody and the poignant lyrics have always had a deep effect on me; only Ryan Kelly’s The Village That They Call the Moy can compete in terms of emotional resonance. Orla’s clear, delicate voice is an exceptional instrument for this song, particularly since, as a musician who spends much of the year on the road in other countries, she can no doubt relate to the feeling of homesickness.

The notion of separation runs deep in Irish music and is part of not only Innishfree but also the mermaid song and the final selection, a benediction of sorts called The Parting Glass. We just became familiar with that song this year thanks to the High Kings, a traditional Irish group rather like Celtic Woman in that it is primarily a PBS-based group. The song’s lyrics have a ring of permanence about them; its reflection on a full life seems to be that of someone not long for this world. However, it also makes a fitting finale for a concert, particularly since many of those in the audience will only see her live once. This song was especially lovely because Amberly provided back-up harmonies, and her voice blends beautifully with Orla’s.

I wish that we would have been able to go to the full concert, but I’m glad that we made it to the PBS show, which had a deeply intimate feel to it. Both women came across as very sweet and personable and were more than happy to talk to those who cared to stick around for a few minutes. Celtic Woman certainly lost an outstanding member when Orla Fallon decided to branch out on her own, but her PBS set aptly demonstrated her ability to carry a concert as a solo artist.

The Irish Rovers Are Still Rovin' After All These Years

I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Irish gal, and one way that expresses itself is in the music I listen to. One of my favorite bands is the Irish Rovers, the Irish-Canadian group who first made a powerful impression on me when I was a toddler listening to Tales to Warm Your Mind, their early collection of quirky narrative songs. In the years since, I’ve seen them in concert several times and amassed a collection of their albums. My most recent acquisition is Still Rovin’ After All These Years, which features bandleader George Millar, instrumentalists Sean O’Driscoll and Fred Graham, balladeer John Reynolds, accordionist Wilcil McDowell and Ian Millar. The last I knew, balladeer Joe Millar was still with the group, so I was dismayed to see that he’d left, and I wonder when it happened, since the album makes no mention of it. Nonetheless, in their present form, the Irish Rovers are still just as much fun as ever.

A Long Time Ago - A lively start to the album. It was written by George Millar, and given the commemorative nature of this album, it seems as though it’s an autobiographical song, with the Irish Rovers reflecting on four and a half decades in the business. A nice group number, with soloists switching off on the verses and cheerful flutes backing them up. “A long time ago, a long time ago, for we’re the boys who made the noise a long time ago.”

Forty Years A-Roving - George wrote this one as well, and it also seems very autobiographical. I assume this was written for their 40th anniversary. Another great group song made more fun by the pipes and accordion. “Forty years a-rovin’, we haven’t had enough. Forty years a-rovin’, and we’ll never give it up…”

Rambling Boys of Pleasure - The accordion is especially prominent on this song, also by George, which celebrates the joys of a carefree life that includes considerable imbibing. A fun song with a lengthy instrumental portion midway through and again at the end that seems to encourage getting up and dancing. “We’ll rant and roar upon the spree, sing and dance right heartily. No sorrows, cares or woe have we, the rambling’ boys of pleasure.”

The Dear Little Shamrock Shore - A gentle song bemoaning the pain of emigration. John’s husky voice stands out to me most here, and the guitar accentuates the folksy tone of the ballad. The high whistle and the nautical sound effects add to the sense of loneliness the song conveys. Probably my favorite track. “Farewell to the ones I adore and the land I will see nevermore, for I’m sayin’ goodbye with a tear in my eye to the dear little shamrock shore.”

Up Among the Heather - The first song on the album not written by George. This one is a traditional tune with a bit of a nonsensical edge to it; the main purpose seems to be the see how fast they can sing and play. Entertaining but rather silly. “Up among the heather on the hill of Benakee, rollin’ with a wee girl underneath a tree, a bumbee stung me right above the knee up among the heather on the hill of Benakee.”

I Will Go A-Rovin’ - Another traditional song, this one fairly in line with Forty Years A-Roving, though it doesn’t apply as specifically to the band. It’s a song that revels in having the freedom to wander. There’s a thread of parting running through this, but it feels jubilant rather than regretful. “Now, I wouldn’t trade my life at all for the King of Spain’s own riches. I’m happy ramblin’ ‘round the hills and jumpin’ streams and ditches.”

Liza Jane - This traditional song rhapsodizing about the titular woman is sung by Ian, who holds his own well with balladry. A bit of a downer with an earnest man pining after a shallow woman, but a nice change from all the group songs. “…And little I thought that I’d soon be caught in the snares of Liza Jane.”

The Wild Colonel Boy - A fairly involved folk ballad about a young man who leaves the comfort of Ireland for an uncertain life as an outlaw in Australia. Probably the most narrative of the tracks, it’s peppy but with a splash of tragedy, and everyone In the group gets a chance to shine. Another favorite, though as I am a fan of the actor James McAvoy, I find one of the lines rather troubling… “He robbed the rich; he helped the poor; he shot James McAvoy. A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.”

Dunluce Castle - George takes the lead on this upbeat ode that he wrote to a castle that endured many attacks until it was undone by some nasty weather on “a dark and stormy night.” A mostly chipper tune with deep percussion that adds to the sense of regality. “Dunlace Castle fell to no man, sword or pike or cannonball, roving clans or Spanish foemen, Dunlace stood against them all.”

Brady of Strabane - This peppy traditional song is the only one on the album that I knew ahead of time from a previous Rovers album. This version seems faster than I remember, and it’s distinguished by prominent flutes. Basically a song of complaint against a boss who works the speaker a little harder than he expects. “’Well, you’re welcome with me, Johnny, and you’re with a decent man.’ But little I knew what I had to do for Brady of Strabane.”

Little Skillet Pot - A nostalgic song rather along the lines of Phil Coulter’s Gold and Silver Days. It’s just a series of questions asking if the listener remembers certain blissful times from younger years, going from early childhood to the joys of young love. A sweetly wistful song that concludes with an extended instrumental segment. “Oh, weren’t them the happy days when troubles we knew not and our mothers made colcannon in the little skillet pot?”

Rory Murphy - Another traditional ballad on which the singers trade off verses. Burly Scotsman Rory is a piper who is beloved throughout the land for his music but is undone by his drinking problem. Mostly an upbeat tune complete with pipes and austere drums to give us a sense of the music he spread. “Saw ye Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy, Rory Murphy, saw ye Rory Murphy, piper o' Dumbarton?”

Home From the Sea - This mellow track, the last one aside from the instrumental medley that follows, is another George original, and it threw me at first because it’s also the name of a Coulter song that is the central point in Celtic Thunder’s new Heritage album. This mandolin-enhanced tune is entirely different, however, a lighthearted song about a rambling rover who falls in love and decides to settle down. Makes a nice bookend to the early tracks about happy wandering. “I’m home from the sea; no more I’ll go rovin’. I’m home from the sea; no more will I stray.”

The Jig Set: Father Kelly’s Jig / Langstrom’s Pony / The Lark in the Morning - Few instruments in the world can compare with the beauty and joy produced by Irish instruments, and the Rovers aim to bring that across here. A fun medley to get the toes tappin’.

Allegedly, this disc includes four bonus live tracks, but despite their presence on the track listing, I seem to lack to ability to make them magically appear. Three of the four - Black Velvet Band, The Unicorn and Wasn’t That a Party - are well-worn Rovers classics. The fourth, entitled Boogevogue, is one I’ve never heard of before, but evidently it’s another lively jig. I’m not sure how I ended up with a copy that seems to be missing four tracks, so that’s a bit disappointing, but I don’t really care because I have three of them on other albums anyway. Still, just something to watch for. It’s possible that you’ll only end up with 14 tracks when you’re expecting 18.

That complaint aside, this is another nice collection from the Irish Rovers. It’s sad to see another original member of the group fall by the wayside, but from the sounds of Still Rovin’ After All These Years, the remaining Rovers have plenty more ramblin’ yet to do.

Celtic Thunder Embraces Its Folkier Side With Heritage

In September of 2010, I had the opportunity to go to Poughkeepsie, New York, to see the filming of two DVD specials for Celtic Thunder. One of these was Heritage, which marked a dramatic return to traditional music after the extremely pop-flavored It’s Entertainment. In the end, I decided the experience just didn’t quite justify the expense, the bad timing and the logistics of getting there. While I saw that portion of the concert live the next month, I still sort of wish I had gone, especially since Heritage ended up being the last DVD special filmed before the group underwent dramatic changes.

Since September, operatic Paul Byrom and rakish Ryan Kelly, whose first solo album came out in October, have left the group. Multi-talented Neil Byrne, whose first EP was released the same month, continues to rise in prominence within the group, and tenor Emmitt Cahill, the newest member, remains largely a mystery to fans. Balladeer George Donaldson has a solo album out this month, and teen wonder Damian McGinty is currently starring on Oxygen’s The GLEE Project, a reality show in which twelve contestants battle it out for a seven-episode guest starring role on the popular Fox series. The only one whose situation doesn’t seem to have changed much is heartthrob Keith Harkin, who continues to write his own music and sharpen his guitar skills as he prepares for the eventual release of his first solo album. I’m not sure when the next Celtic Thunder special will be filmed, but I know that the group is going to look and sound significantly different.

Heritage is a nice special to serve as the transition between different forms of Celtic Thunder. Many fans were disappointed by the deviation away from music that actually has a Celtic flavor, so the response to this very folksy set of songs has generally been positive. It also contains more joint songs than any previous special, with several duets as well as the full-blown group numbers. This time around, no mystery women perform solos or duets; it’s just George, Paul, Ryan, Neil, Keith and Damian performing together, and the poignant duets between Paul and Damian and George and Ryan take on added meaning in light of events that have happened since. Did they know at the time that these would be songs of farewell to each other?

Heartland - As always, this ensemble opener of the sailors’ prayer written by Phil Coulter packs a powerful punch. We get the extended version here, with Neil showing off his percussionist chops during the majestic early portion that precedes the arrival of the vocalists in their uncharacteristically casual clothing. The stage is dark and misty, with a simple raised platform whose sides ancient cobblestone and a backdrop of rolling green hills. This rendition is much the same as in previous specials, with the major difference being that Ryan sings the Gaelic bridge toward the end that is usually a Damian solo. This song always starts off concerts with a bang, and it’s especially fitting here given the traditional bent of the special. “When the winds are howling, vigil keep. Shelter us and save us from the deep. A Thiarna, déan trócaire, a Chríost, déan trócaire. A Thiarna, déan trócaire, a Chríost, déan trócaire!”

Buachaill O'n Eirne - Damian wowed audiences as a 14-year-old with his clear-voiced rendition of this classic, then titled Come By the Hills. At that time, he sang one verse in Gaelic and the others in English. Here, it’s all Gaelic, and he sounds significantly different now that he’s gone from having the highest voice in the group to the lowest. I love the strong presence of the harp in this one and the close-ups on Damian’s crystal-blue eyes and expressive eyebrows as he sings under that mop of hobbity hair, not to mention the brief shot of an adorable toddler gracefully dancing to the music, glowstick in hand.

The Dutchman - One of my favorite songs on the DVD and possibly my favorite of Keith’s Celtic Thunder solos, it’s a wonderful showcase for his delicate guitar work as well as his sensitive line readings. Keith excels at these folksy songs about enduring love, often with rambly, potentially tongue-twistery lyrics. The song structure here reflects the state of mind of the title character who speaks for himself in the refrain. Aged and often unaware of his own surroundings, he wanders through life in a haze, but he remains content because of the care lavished upon him by his true love. Reminiscent of the Nicholas Sparks weeper The Notebook, it’s a tender song exquisitely performed, with the gentle percussion adding to the sense of enchantment in the chorus. “He’s mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes. Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes. ‘Let us go to the banks of the ocean where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee. Long ago, I used to be a young man, but dear Margaret remembers that for me.”

Black is the Colour - This is one of the oldest songs in the program, but Ryan spices it up with a modern twist, giving it all the fiery flair he brought to Ride On in the first special. As in that song, the instrumentation has a Western flavor to it, and it’s easy to imagine horses galloping across the prairie as he proceeds. He sounds like a scoundrel, but he’s not; the lyrics are a total sapfest. It’s just fun to watch him as he sings the praises of his beloved while stalking the stage and belting everything out with a throaty growl. The most entertaining portion comes toward the end when he pumps his fists in time to the drums and the spotlights change color each time. Violinist Nicole Hudson also stands out here as a primary instrumentalist and the object of Ryan’s flirtation. “Black is the colour of my true love’s hair. Her lips are like some roses fair. She’s got the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands, and I love the ground whereon she stands.”

Working Man - This Rita MacNeil ballad originated with Take Me Home, but it fits so perfectly here that I doubt anyone minds the repeat much. George had a flourishing career as a balladeer before joining Celtic Thunder, and none of the lads has a greater gift for consistently connecting with the audience and getting to the emotional core of a song. The oldest member of the group by nearly a decade, George’s rumbling voice and hairless head give him added gravitas that make him the ideal instrument for this tale of a man worn from decades of hard labor in the coal mines. The addition of the rest of the group on the final chorus adds to a sense of defiant jubilation. “It’s a working man I am, and I’ve been down underground, but I swear to God if I ever see the sun or, for any length of time, I can hold it in my mind, Lord, I never again will go down underground.”

Home from the Sea - This Phil Coulter ensemble number, written as a tribute to those who risk their lives to save those adrift at sea, includes Neil pulling double duty as guitarist and solo vocalist. Each member gets half a verse to himself, while they all sing together on the chorus. When I saw this in concert, there was a bit of roughhousing at this point, and it was one of the songs that allowed the most personality to shine through. They’re more sedate here, but you can tell they’re enjoying each other’s company. This song is similar in many ways to Heartland, though it’s entirely in English and has more of a bouncy quality to it as opposed to the reverent tone of the first. Both are prayers for deliverance by wayward sailors, but in this case, they receive their rescue at the hands of a lifeboat crew. A hearty, exuberant song, with the standout line George’s bellowed “All survivors on board!” “Carry us home, home, home from the sea. Angels of mercy, answer our plea…”

Just a Song at Twilight - I confess I find this song a bit too slow and snoozy for my liking, though it’s great to see Paul and Damian singing together, and it’s a nice song of reminiscent brotherhood that feels especially fitting given Paul’s then-impending departure. The chorus upon which they harmonize is quite lovely, I’m just not as enthralled by the verses. Still, this mellow, piano-backed song is certainly soothing. “Just a song at twilight when the lights are low and the flick’ring shadows softly come and go. Though the heart be weary, sad the day and long, still to us at twilight comes love’s old song.”

Belfast Polka - This is another repeat, a chance for the band to show off their stuff while the vocalists get a break. Of course, Neil on guitar duty again, so no break for him, though he’s not really highlighted here. The violinists stand out in this fun tune that gets the audience clapping, but the most entertaining instrumentalists are flutist Brendan Monaghan and keyboardist Dave Cooke, who demonstrates his ability to boogie when he stands up to shake things up with some hand-held percussion.

Gold & Silver Days - When I saw the Heritage tour, this Coulter original was the one that excited me most, partly because its nostalgic flavor resonated so deeply with me but mostly because it was a long-awaited duet between paternal George and Ryan, who may play the bad boy role but who cuts most deeply in songs of loyalty and loss. Their two voices complement each other gorgeously as they sing of bygone childhood days, and while the verses are heartfelt, it’s on the harmonized choruses that we really feel the sweet ache for those long-ago years. The warm smiles and the contrast between George’s deep voice and Ryan’s higher, husky tones add to the beauty of this reflection, as do the harp and the lonely sounds of the flute. “Sing me the songs of our gold and silver days, days filled with innocence and light. Not a penny to our name, we were happy just the same in our gold and silver days.”

Noreen - Of all the songs here, I think this is the one that benefits most from the visual experience. Another Coulter original, he wrote it as a wedding gift for his friends Liam Neeson and Natasha Richardson. At the time, it was only instrumental, and it was entitled Natasha. After her untimely death in a skiing accident, he added words, hoping to convey a searing sense of separation without specifically referencing the event that precipitated it. Neil’s performance here is nothing short of heartbreaking, and the emotional impact increases significantly when you are able to see the tears that linger in his eyes until that high, long-sustained final note dies out and he blinks them away. When I first heard it in October, it touched me, but in the months since, this song of exile and impossible distance gradually surpassed all others from this collection to become my favorite. Tragic but tinted with a shining thread of optimism, this is the moment that banished any lingering doubts that might have remained as to Neil’s rightful place as a full-fledged member of the group. “When I dream, I’ll be dreaming of Noreen and the love that I’m leaving behind me, and the twilight will always remind me of my Noirin, mo Stoirin, my love.”

Steal Away - Another Coulter song, and another repeat, this is the closest we get to pure a cappella, with little more than some simple guitar accompaniment, some of it provided by George. A big part of Celtic Thunder’s appeal comes from these deeply harmonic moments, so it’s another song that bears repeating. “Steal away, let’s steal away, no reason left to stay. For me and you, let’s start anew, and darlin’, steal away.”

Skye Boat Song - This traditional tune is the only one that is not featured on any of the CDs to date. George’s Scottish heritage comes to the forefront here, and the theme of protecting a child feels very much in keeping with his repertoire within the group. Adding to the rich Scottish flavor is Brendan’s bagpipe accompaniment toward the end. “Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing. ‘Onward!’ the sailors cry. Carry the lad that’s born to be king over the sea to Skye.”

Whiskey in the Jar - Probably the most rockin’ song in the set, this arrangement of the old folk song seems to be taking a page out of Metallica’s book with the emphasis on the electric guitars. It’s not as heavy as theirs, but it’s still pretty modern-sounding in comparison with everything else here. Neil and Keith both sing and play together here, and they seem to be having a lot of fun. This is one of those songs in which the lyrics seem to be slightly different in each version, and I’m not crazy about some of the choices here, especially changing the woman’s name to Molly, which lacks the satisfying rhyme that Jenny provides. Still, an entertaining performance. “As I was goin’ over Cork and Kerry Mountains, I saw Captain Farrell, and his money he was countin’. I first produced my pistols, then produced my rapier. I said, ‘Stand there or deliver, or the devil, he may take you.’”

My Love Is Like a Red Red Rose - From the liveliest song in the special, we go to the quietest and slowest. Written by legendary Scottish poet Robert Burns, it’s a fervent proclamation of love sung by Paul. Muted and lovely, but it seems a shame that on what is most likely his last DVD with Celtic Thunder, he doesn’t get something a little more dynamic. A nice lullaby, though. “Till all the seas can dry, my dear, and rocks melt with the sun, and I will love thee still my dear, while sands of life shall run.”

Ireland's Call - This Coulter ensemble number that celebrates the pastime of football is perhaps the one song most associated with the group and the one most likely to get crowds on their feet. It’s the original quintet here, doing their same borderline corny choreography in their matching gray kilted suits, but boy does it get the blood pumping. Lots of whooping from the audience on this one, as well as flashing of Irish banners and waving of green glowsticks. Always a good time. “Ireland, Ireland, together, standing tall. Shoulder to shoulder, we’ll answer Ireland’s call.”

A Place in the Choir - This Bill Staines ditty is a Sunday school classic, and it makes a vivacious end to the concert. The lads are back in their earth tones and vests, all set to do some downright goofy choreography that is hysterical to watch. They look like they’re having a blast, the audience clearly is. The banjo and the fiddle add to the fun hoe-down feel, and the sense of camaraderie is deeply evident here, especially when Damian sings the bass line and the other four fall down in mock shock at the idea that such a voice could come out of little Damo. A joyous conclusion. “All God’s creatures got a place in the choir. Some sing low, some sing higher, some sing out loud from the telephone wire and some just clap their hands or paws or anything they got now.”

I do still kick myself a bit that I didn’t try harder to make it to this; the thought of actually being a part of such a landmark moment in the life of my favorite contemporary group is pretty appealing. But even though I didn’t see it filmed and can’t pick myself out in the audience, I can have the pleasure of watching it whenever I want. This DVD that goes back to the folky sound so many Thunderheads crave may be the strongest release yet, so if you’ve never encountered these talented vocalists and musicians, Heritage is a great place to start.

Rhys Bowen Brings Early 20th-Century Irish Immigrant Experience to Life in Murphy's Law

Like most people I know, I have a mixed bag of ethnic backgrounds, but the one with which I identify most strongly is Irish. Maybe it’s because my name is so Irish; maybe it’s because some of the first music I can recall listening to was Irish. Whatever the case, I am especially drawn to anything that involves Ireland, so when the Molly Murphy mystery series was brought to my attention during my All Things Irish Write-Off last year, I knew I would have to check it out eventually.

The series, written by Rhys Bowen, begins with Murphy’s Law, which finds the narrator, fiery redhead Molly Murphy, fleeing for her life from her tiny hometown of Ballykillin after accidentally killing a man while defending her virtue. Fortune works in her favor initially as she finds a friend in the big city who asks her to assume her name and escort her children to America on the boat. If she can just make it into New York City and find the children’s father, she figures she will be fine and free to start a new life. However, her luck takes a downturn when a man she had scuffled with during the ride turns up dead. While there is not enough evidence for police to hold her in custody, Michael, a gentle young man she befriended on the way over, remains a prime suspect. For both their sakes, she is determined to discover the true culprit in this crime.

Bowen does a good job of setting the scene for us, capturing the excitement and trepidation of the immigrant experience in the early 1900s. It reminded me of movies like Far and Away and An American Tail, where those coming over have big dreams of what their life in America will be like and reality doesn’t quite match up. Molly doesn’t really come to New York full of starry-eyed fantasies, but she does face some disillusionment when she sees how limited her employment options are, with most bosses hiring only workers from their own cultural background and most decent remaining jobs requiring references that she can’t provide since she is both on the lam and impersonating another woman. Her job search offers an interesting peek into the economy of the time.

But Molly doesn’t have much time for work when she has a murder investigation on her hands. Her contact at the police station is Daniel Sullivan, who initially suspects that she was an accomplice in the murder and later simply finds her a bit of a nuisance. He could use the help with the case, and he likes her plucky personality, but the mean streets of New York are no place for a woman fresh off the boat who doesn’t yet understand the way the city works.

Bowen puts Molly into several dangerous situations as she relentlessly pursues her leads. Even people who have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder pose a threat. Molly always seems to be in danger of unwanted amorous attention from various men who find her tart tongue intriguing and her unspoiled looks alluring. Considering the reason she went on the run in the first place, avoiding their advances without resorting to violence is a constant struggle.

Generally speaking, I enjoyed the spunky Molly and the historical setting in which she resides. It’s fun to spend time in the New York of a century ago, particularly when the focus is so much upon the Irish neighborhoods and way of life. Bowen makes many references to towns and counties in Ireland, and the atmosphere in New York seems consistent with what I know of the period. I didn’t hear the brogues in my head as readily as I sometimes do when reading fiction focusing on Irish characters, but the manner of speaking rang pretty true. Of everyone in the book, the one whose voice I had the easiest time imagining was Michael, my favorite side character.

Some of the sequences in the book, like Molly’s ill-advised foray into one of the seediest parts of the city unaccompanied, are gripping, while others seem a bit plodding. The climax is fairly satisfying, though it seems slightly unrealistic. Still, I certainly enjoyed it enough that I hope to continue with the series and see where Molly’s new life in America takes her next.

Celebrate Traditional Irish Balladry With The High Kings

A couple years ago, my dad and I discovered Celtic Thunder. I’d heard of them before; he hadn’t. These lads from Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland soon became a major part of our musical landscape. Their hearty mix of pop and folk, of solos and group numbers, made it easy to get a good sense of each performer’s strengths, and with their frequent updates on Facebook and Twitter, they soon came to feel almost like friends. I long ago relinquished my reluctance to whole-heartedly embrace another Celtic group out of loyalty to the Irish Rovers, and when I stumbled upon the High Kings, another group introduced to America primarily through PBS, I snatched up their DVD for my dad’s birthday.

The High Kings: Live in Dublin features Finbarr Clancy, Martin Furey, Brian Dunphy and Darren Holden, all established Irish musicians in their own right with musical legacies to uphold. Produced by David Downes, who is also responsible for Celtic Woman, the band has a much more old-fashioned, folksy feel to it than Celtic Thunder. The vocalists consistently play a variety of instruments while singing, and for the most part, they sing together. They stand or sit on the stage, four in a row, and they sing with very little theatricality. You don’t have the borderline corny choreography you get with Celtic Thunder; you do have a fair bit of talking, which is one thing I miss with Celtic Thunder. The songs here are almost always a group effort, so getting a sense of the individual members isn’t as easy. The High Kings isn’t so much about individual personalities; it’s simply about the music.

That music includes a number of traditional songs that were familiar to me. The Irish Rovers introduced me years ago to The Black Velvet Band, a tragic but ever-so-sing-along-able tale of a man who falls for a wily seductress who frames him for theft; The Wild Rover, about a meanderer who has decided to settle down; Marie’s Wedding, about a rather raucous wedding; and perhaps my favorite of the four, Will Ye Go Lassie, Go?, a mellow, summery song about friendship, togetherness and the way romance seems to bloom more robustly among wild mountain thyme. The harmonies and instrumental accompaniment are especially nice on this one when the High Kings perform it.

Another thing you hear a lot more of from the High Kings than from Celtic Thunder are nonsense lyrics. Irish music is full of these babbling series of syllables that don’t mean a thing but sure are fun to listen to. We get the biggest dose of it in Jimmy Murphy, and they essentially dare the audience to sing along with the chorus, which gets longer and longer and ever more tongue-twistery. “Skinnymalink killymajoe whisky frisky tooraloo, rank a diddle dido ding dural i doe!” I think I’ll stick to listening, thanks. Same goes for the “routin’ toutin’” rambles of The Little Beggarman. Phil the Fluther’s Ball isn’t as nonsensical as it sounds; they just sing it really quickly, and the words trip all over each other in this jolly number. Unless you’ve got a very agile tongue, you’re likely to have a hard time wrapping your way around speedy lines like “With the toot of the flute and the twiddle of the fiddle, o; hopping in the middle, like a herrin' on the griddle, o…”

Because the four singers, who dress alike in a series of rustic outfits, also are adept at playing musical instruments, jigs and reels are integral to this concert. Bearded, burly Martin Furey, whose father was a member of The Fureys, picks up the bodhran, an Irish hand-held drum, to perform a sort of percussive version of Dueling Banjos with an Irish step-dancer in the very entertaining Dance at the Crossroads. This fascinating drum also gets the spotlight in Bodhran Solo. The Beggarman Jig, which follows The Little Beggarman, is a joyful showcase for the fiddle and accordion.

The lovely Ar Eirinn Ni Neosainn Ce Hi includes the music of Gaelic lyrics, as well as English lyrics to clue listeners in on the devastating tale being told. Finbarr Clancy, whose father was in the Clancy Brothers, adds to the poignant nature of the song with his beautifully performed Irish whistle. He’s front and center for The Holy Ground, one of the rowdiest tracks, which gives him and his bandmates the chance to sing while wearing the iconic white “jumpers,” or sweaters, that became so associated with Irish music. Though this is a song in the grand tradition of ballads about Irishmen leaving home and loved ones to try their luck across the ocean, it’s far too raucous to feel morose, particularly during the booming exclamations of “Fine girl ye are!”

A much more melancholy take on the same idea is the achingly harmonic Paddy’s Green Shamrock Shore: “A place in my mind you will surely find although I am so far away…” Even more downhearted is The Auld Triangle, an a cappella lament about a doomed prisoner daydreaming about being imprisoned with women. The Rocky Road to Dublin, which starts off the concert, is a breathless account of a treacherous trip that starts off essentially a cappella before the instrumentalists kick in and turn it into a lively reel. The moment in the concert that reminds me most of Celtic Thunder is Fields of Glory, in which the men sing a rousing anthem about Gaelic football and its power to make “boys become men”.

The strangest song in the collection would have to be Galway to Graceland, a pretty but oddball ballad about a woman who makes a pilgrimage to Graceland and has a little too much trouble tearing herself away from the gravestone of her idol. Meanwhile, the one that sticks in the mind most afterward is The Parting Glass, which concludes the concert. It’s basically a traditional Irish benediction bidding farewell, and there’s a sense a permanency about it. A simple song that builds in intensity as it repeats, eventually incorporating bagpipes, it leaves listeners feeling both charmed and wistful. “Fill to me the parting glass and drink a health whate’er befall, and gently rise and softly call, ‘Goodnight, and joy be to you all.’”

Nobody tells a rousing good tale quite like the Irish, and although I didn’t write this review in time for St. Patrick’s Day as I’d originally intended, it feels just as fitting for National Poetry Month. Whatever month it happens to be, these talented musicians breathing fresh life into classic ballads are well worth an hour of your time.

Celtic Thunder Goes Traditional With Transitional Heritage

It’s been a little more than two years since I first listened to Celtic Thunder, the group of several Irishmen and one Scotsman that has been making such a splash on PBS. The first few albums are a solid mix of traditional and pop music, while the last couple of releases have focused mostly on pop. Heritage, the latest album, goes the other way, boasting a track list of folk tunes old and new. As someone who loves traditional Irish music, this is a particular treat for me.

This album also stands out because it is transitional, featuring both Paul Byrom, the “swanky tenor” who is taking his operatic voice solo now, and Emmet Cahill, his young replacement. On board as before are Scotsman George Donaldson and Irishmen Ryan Kelly, Neil Byrne, Keith Harkin and Damian McGinty, along with talented instrumentalists like Declan O’Donaghue, Brendan Monaghan, Seana Davey, Conor McCreanor, Ivan Gilliand, Dave Cooke and Phil Coulter, who has composed many of the group’s songs. Together, they create a rich tapestry of music to stir the spirit.

The Dutchman - Keith kicks off the album with a wistful, folksy rendition of Michael Peter Smith’s poignant song about an elderly man who has lost his mental faculties but not the love of his dear Margaret. The delicate guitar work and the understated percussion beautifully complement Keith’s sensitive performance of this gently meandering song that competes with Mountains of Mourne as my favorite of his Celtic Thunder solos. “He’s mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes. Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes.”

Buachaill on Eirne - Damian wowed the crowds on Celtic Thunder’s first release with his clear-voiced rendition of this classic ode to Ireland’s beauty. Back then, he was a mere 14 years old, so hearing the song again now, it almost seems as though someone else is singing. His voice has deepened immensely since then, and with the mellower arrangement and the fact that this time, he sings entirely in Gaelic, it hardly feels like a retread at all. His first pristine version felt like a glowing invitation to visit Ireland, while evidently the lyrics here are quite different and more amorous in nature. In any case, a lovely track.

Black is the Color - This electric guitar-heavy track has a western flair to it, hearkening back to Ride On. Ryan sounds like the Bad Boy here as he growls out the words, but the lyrics to this old folksong are really pretty straightforwardly romantic. The flute toward the end adds a touch of old-world quality to this song that has largely been given a contemporary feel. “Black is the color of my true love’s hair. Her lips are like some roses fair. She’s got the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands, and I love the ground whereon she stands.”

My Love Is Like a Red Red Rose - This sedate piano-driven air written by famed Scottish poet Robert Burns is a nice vehicle for Paul’s talent. It’s very quiet; while he utilizes his upper register quite a bit, he never goes into those loud power notes, instead keeping everything barely above a whisper. But it’s a lovely performance that feels like a coda after Christmas Morning Donegal, which felt to me like his grand finale with the group. “My love is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June. My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

Home From the Sea - This first Phil Coulter original on the album is a wonderful Celtic-flavored seafaring ballad. Considering the fact that Heartland, the song that opened their first concert special, is a prayer by sailors to reach shore safely, this track feels particularly appropriate to the group. While Heartland feels ethereal, Home From the Sea is more robust and earthy, and the lads inject more of their personality into it. While they sing the chorus together, each takes half a verse solo; Damian and Neil get the first verse, Paul and Ryan the second and Keith and George the last. I was particularly impressed with Ryan’s heartfelt reading of the segment in which the sailors are spotted by their saviors and George’s triumphant recounting of the rescue itself. A definite favorite. “Then a flicker of light, and they knew they were right. There she was, on the crest of a wave. She’s an old fishing boat, and she’s barely afloat. Please God, there are souls we can save!”

Just a Song at Twilight - One nice thing about this album is that we have three duets. This track is the first, pairing Paul with Damian. This slow, old-fashioned romantic ode, accompanied by piano and strings, feels more like a Paul song than a Damian song, though it never reaches operatic heights. It’s a low-key little number with a sweet brotherly feel to it, as we get the sense that Paul and Damian are sitting together, recollecting the wonder of having been in love. “Even today, we hear love’s song of yore. Deep in our hearts, it dwells forevermore. Footsteps may falter; weary grows our way. Still we can hear it at the close of day.”

The Galway Girl - This is the most recent song on the album that Coulter didn’t write himself. A lively ballad by Steve Earle about love at first sight in Ireland, it feels like a typical rowdy Irish group song, particularly during the instrumental section, which includes whistles, accordion and plenty of whooping. When I first heard this, I thought for a moment that I’d wandered into an Irish Rovers album. This track is interesting because it’s the first group number to include Emmet – and exclude Paul. It sounds more raucous than melodious, but it’s a fun number. “Let me ask you, friend, what’s a fella to do? ‘Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue…”

Gold and Silver Days - I’ve long hoped for a duet between George and Ryan, my two favorite members of the group, and had no doubt that any song pairing those two would tug at the heartstrings to some degree. This Coulter original certainly does, and it feels wonderfully fitting for both of them. Most of George’s songs with the group have been family-oriented, so this song reflecting on a happy childhood feels like a natural fit, while Ryan’s signature song outside of Celtic Thunder is The Village That They Call the Moy, a heartfelt ode to his hometown. Bringing the two of them together to wax nostalgic about “days filled with innocence and light” to the accompaniment of gentle harp and wistful whistle makes this an almost unbearably tender track and my favorite on the album. Each seems to truly feel the tug of those bygone days, and their harmonies are exquisite, particularly on the line “we were happy just the same.” Simply gorgeous. “Then we’d gather at the daisy field on Sunday after mass. I can hear the songs, the stories and the laughter. Through the years, we all were scattered, but the friends we made back then were the friends we could rely on ever after.”

Noreen - When I first heard this melancholy piano-driven ballad sung by Neil, it reminded me of the lamentable tale by the Irish mouse in An American Tail on the boat over to America whose true love fell victim to a cat. Neil gets to show off his mastery of the high end of the scale in this melancholy reflection about a love left far behind. In the song, there’s a note of hope that they might reunite, as it is distance rather than death than separates them. Still, there’s a definite depth of sadness to the song that reflects its inspiration. Coulter wrote the instrumental portion as a wedding gift for Liam Neeson and Natasha Richardson, and it was only after her death that he added lyrics, which he meant to convey a searing sense of loss at being kept apart from one who is loved dearly. “So I pray when my exile is over, with the pain and the heartache behind us, back in the peace of the valley you’ll find us, my Noirin, mo Stoirin, and me.”

Kindred Spirits - This is Emmet’s first solo as a part of Celtic Thunder, and it’s the third weepy Coulter original in a row. As a staunch fan of Anne of Green Gables, I love the term “kindred spirits” and often apply it to people in my life with whom I feel a deep sense of connection. The “kindred spirits” in question here are the speaker’s parents. Following the death of his mother, he reflects on his sense of profound loss mingled with contentment that his parents are together again and “kindred spirits” in the truest sense of the word. This song combines the depth of affection for one’s growing-up years found in Gold and Silver Days with the keenly mournful quality of Noreen, and Emmet sings it with great emotion. His voice seems to reflect a classical training, but unlike Paul’s, the Irish accent still seeps through, a nice complement to the harp being serenely plucked in the background. “They shared the load together. They were proud as proud could be. They were always kindred spirits, and they will forever be, for now those kindred spirits will share eternity.”

Whiskey in the Jar - After that somber side trip, we get the rowdiest song on the album to shake everyone out of a stupor. Neil and Keith tear it up on the electric guitars on this, one of the most widely known of Irish folksongs. It’s one of those songs that has slightly different lyrics every time I’ve heard it, which makes it a little hard to sing along with since I keep recalling a different set of words. It’s clear that both of them are having fun with this raucous narrative about outlaws, murder and unfaithfulness. The downside? Usually the speaker concludes the song in a pretty good place, or at least in anticipation of one, but this version ends with him in prison, and we’re given no reason to believe he’ll be getting out any time soon. Still, it’s a rollicking song that’s a great showcase for Neil and Keith’s livelier side. “As I was goin’ over Cork and Kerry Mountains, I saw Captain Farrell, and his money he was countin’…”

Red Rose Café - George’s solo has a tango flavor to it, particularly at the points when the violin is most prominent. Written by prolific Dutch singer-songwriter Pierre Kartner, its lyrics remind me of Billy Joel’s Piano Man as they mostly describe the patrons of the titular café. This is an upbeat sing-along type of song, and George seems to be having a blast with it; it’s easy to imagine him standing on stage throwing his arm out at the audience as he sings. Incidentally, aside from the songs involving Emmet, whose inclusion in the group was not announced until a couple of months after the concert was filmed, this is the only song that does not appear on the Heritage DVD.

A Place in the Choir - When I was a kid, this chipper ditty by Bill Staines was my favorite Sunday school song, so I was thrilled to hear it at the Celtic Thunder concert back in October. Of the ensemble songs on this album, this one is the most harmonious as well as the most fun. There’s a lot of personality injected into the performance that doesn’t quite come across just listening to it, but you still get a strong sense of camaraderie. The song is really quite appropriate for Celtic Thunder, as it’s about those who are different joining together to make a joyful noise. Just as great as the singing is the accompaniment, which incorporates fiddle and banjo and sounds like a good old-fashioned hoe-down. A great way to close the album. “All God’s creatures got a place in the choir. Some sing low and some sing higher. Some sing out loud on the telephone wire, and some just clap their hands or paws or anything they got now.”

With St. Patrick’s Day right around the corner, this is an ideal time to pick up Celtic Thunder’s latest album, which has a more distinctly Celtic flavor than any previous release. While the group looks and sounds a bit different now than it did in the beginning, these lads are still going strong, and I look forward to seeing what they come up with next.

The Secret of Kells Offers an Enchanting Peek Into Irish History

I am generally drawn to all things Irish, so when I first heard of The Secret of Kells during the build-up to the 2010 Academy Awards, I was intrigued. I finally got around to seeing it the other night when I noticed that it is available on Netflix Instant Viewing, and now I understand why it received a nomination for Best Animated Film.

The Secret of Kells was written by Tomm Moore and Fabrice Ziolkowski and directed by Moore and Nora Twomey. The heavily stylized movie, which is only about 75 minutes in length, tells the story of the creation of the famed Book of Kells, an ancient Irish illuminated manuscript of the Gospel painstakingly transcribed by monks. I saw the book myself when I was in Dublin, and it’s quite the masterwork. The film has fanciful elements that feel very fitting for the realm of Irish legend, but it is rooted in historical events.

The story takes place around the eighth century AD, where young Brendan (Evan McGuire) lives peacefully in a community of monks that includes his uncle. A red-headed scamp, he is energetic and fascinated by tales of the Book of Iona, a magnificent manuscript that his older friends insist makes their own transcribing efforts pale in comparison. Even so, the monks believe that they are engaged in sacred work in the Scriptorium, and it annoys them that their abbot – Brendan’s uncle – is so insistent upon devoting most of the abbey’s resources to building fortifications against the savage Norsemen he fears will come calling before long. When famed Illuminator Brother Aidan (Mick Lally) of Iona shows up with the legendary book in tow, concentrating on the wall becomes even more difficult, especially for Brendan.

While everyone in the Irish voice cast is a joy to listen to, the only actor I recognized was Brendan Gleeson, who lends his distinctive voice to the role of austere Abbot Cellach. Tall, soft-spoken and severe, he seems to have a scowl etched on his face throughout most of the movie. Like Mad-Eye Moody, the eccentric Auror Gleeson portrays in the Harry Potter films, Cellach comes across as a bit paranoid, and it’s clear that the rest of his community suspects that his fixation on the Vikings is unfounded. In part because of my familiarity with Gleeson, whose performance is understated but compelling, I found myself particularly interested in what happened with Cellach.

I didn’t recognize Lally’s name or voice, but a look at IMDb informs me that I have seen him before as well, most notably as incomprehensible farmer Louis in the last season of the Irish dramedy Ballykissangel. His character seems like he should be a very serious fellow, but the elderly artisan is anything but. From the moment this monk who looks like an animated version of Willie Nelson arrives at Kells in the company of his inquisitive white cat Pangur Ban, who has one green eye and one blue eye, he displays a self-effacing joie de vivre that makes him even more appealing to Brendan.

Brendan really is the main character in the movie. A sweet but restless lad who is tired of being cooped up behind abbey walls, he apprentices himself to Aidan, defying his uncle’s orders to venture out into the forest in search of berries to be used for ink for the book. It is in the woods that he meets the enchanting Aisling, a sprightly creature who appears in the forms of both a silvery blond girl and a white wolf and claims that the forest belongs to her.

With her musical voice and enigmatic nature, she reminded me quite a bit of Evanna Lynch’s Luna, the delightful oddball in the Harry Potter series. The voice belongs to young Christen Mooney, who has only this film to her credit, and it is Aisling’s veiled face that graces the cover art. She is also the only character who sings, and her haunting lullaby is likely to ring in the ears for days afterward. This gentle sprite who helps Brendan in his quest and befriends him is representative of ancient Irish mythology, and in her relationship with the young monk in training, we get a taste of the ways in which the two very different worldviews have worked in tandem throughout much of Ireland’s history.

The film’s animation style is striking. The flat look reminds me of retro cartoons such as Powerpuff Girls, while the film’s most heavily stylized segments make me think of Watership Down and the ways in which legends and stories were depicted in that iconic movie about rabbits attempting to escape the encroaching city and find a new, safer home. One scene in that film is particularly traumatic, and that’s true here as well. The movie makes very effective use of color. It mostly sticks to browns, greens and whites, giving the abbey and forest a refreshing, pristine look enhanced by Bruno Coulais' mystical score, but the Vikings always are shown in a haze of black and red, and their voices are terrifying and cyborg-like. The battle scenes involving them are minimalistic, but this only seems to increase the horror.

Because of these couple of very dark scenes, I’d encourage caution in showing the movie to very young children, who might also have difficulty in understanding some of the eloquent dialogue, especially Aisling’s whispery words. On the other hand, this movie serves as an excellent, enchanting introduction to a chapter of Irish history and a truly wondrous artifact. I will never begrudge the masterful Up its Oscar win, but I’m glad that the Academy Awards helped to let this Secret out.

Return to Pooh Corner With Kenny Loggins

Years ago, I recall my dad presenting me with a CD containing the song House at Pooh Corner. I’d never heard the song before, and I loved the hard-rockin’ tune with the gentle lyrics as performed by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. After all, I am a big fan of the Silly Old Bear. It was quite some time before it occurred to me that if I liked the song so much, I should have a look at the singer-songwriter who penned it one melancholy day as he was teetering on the edge of adulthood. That’s what brought me to Kenny Loggins’ Return to Pooh Corner. Like Art Garfunkel’s Songs From a Parent to a Child, it’s a wonderful collection of lullabies for children to absorb along with their parents.

All the Pretty Little Horses - I have to chuckle a little bit because the song that opens Garfunkel’s album is Who’s Gonna Shoe Your Pretty Little Feet? I guess “pretty little” things are pretty popular with little folks! This Celtic-flavored track includes some poignant-sounding harmonies on the chorus and a smattering of intriguing instrumentation. A sweet song encouraging a reluctant child to sleep. “Can you see the little ponies shinin’ before your eyes? All the pretty little ponies gonna be there when you arrive.”

Neverland Medley: Somewhere Out There / Never Never Land / Pure Imagination - This medley includes songs from three different whimsical musicals: Don Bluth’s An American Tail, the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. All three are great songs that have to do with far-off places, but my favorite is definitely Somewhere Out There, one of my all-time favorite duets, which in the context of the movie applies to a brother and sister who have lost each other but is general enough that it really can have to do with any two people who care about each other but are separated by a great distance. “Even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star. And when the night wind starts to sing its lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky.”

Return to Pooh Corner - This is essentially House at Pooh Corner with an extra verse added to make it a little less melancholy, a little more about passing the wonder of childhood on to the next generation. Loggins is no longer that conflicted high school kid reluctant to put away childhood things; he’s the dad who knows what carefree joys await his own children and anticipates getting caught up in the magic with them. Instead of Peter, Paul and Mary’s forlorn Puff the Magic Dragon, it now reminds me of Dick Feller’s more optimistic Biff the Friendly Purple Bear. A loving tribute to the timeless Pooh and his plush pals, and Christopher Robin, too. “After all’s said and done, I was watching my son sleeping there with my bear by his side. So I tucked him in, I kissed him, and as I was goin’, I swear that old bear whispered, ‘Boy, welcome home.’”

Rainbow Connection - A lovely banjo-backed cover of the classic Kermit the Frog anthem about chasing your dreams. The second track on the album to mention wishing on stars, and a great one for those who dare to yearn for the seemingly impossible. “Have you been half-asleep, and have you heard voices? I’ve heard them calling my name. Are these the sweet sounds that called the young sailors? I think they’re one and the same. I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it; there’s something that I’m supposed to be…”

St. Judy’s Comet - Birdsong contributes to this tender Paul Simon cover, which Loggins sings with an interesting tone in a seeming effort to imitate Simon’s own delivery. Another song encouraging a sleepy child to embrace slumber, using plenty of imagery of the night sky to paint a magnificent picture of the backdrop to a dreamscape. “Won’t you run come see St. Judy’s Comet roll across the sky, leave a spray of diamonds in its wake? I long to see St. Judy’s Comet sparkle in your eyes.”

The Last Unicorn - Written by Jimmy Webb, who wrote several songs recorded by Garfunkel, this haunting song is backed by piano, and it has a very wistful edge to it. Originally performed by America, this was the theme song of the Rankin-Bass movie of the same name. As somebody who grew up with the Irish Rovers’ rendition of Shel Silverstein’s The Unicorn, which details how the unicorns were so preoccupied with their own frivolity that they never made it onto Noah’s Ark, I can’t help thinking that this seems like a response to that – that somehow, a unicorn survived and still lurks in some enchanted corner of the world. “In the shadow of the forest, though she may be old and worn, they will stare, disbelieving, at the last unicorn.”

Cody’s Song - The first song on the album that I had never heard before. I still have never encountered this in another context. It’s a nice song, and I love the extended harmonica solo, but it doesn’t quite grab me as much as most of the others. “I’ll be there to sing to you. I promise you, I promise to comfort you and sing to you.”

The Horses - This is the other song I haven’t encountered anywhere other than this album. I’m a little surprised he didn’t save this one for last, since it would make such a nice bookend with the first song, although it’s slightly more up-tempo than most of the songs on this disc, and I suppose he wanted to end on a strict lullaby. I really like the harmonica on this one, and there’s a nice dreamlike quality to it. “Can you see her moonlight in her eye? Coming from under my wing, you were born to fly.”

Love - A nice, simple song by John Lennon, who had a special talent for effective minimalism in his lyrics. Sometimes, you just don’t need a lot of complexity. Love can be complicated, but at its most basic, it’s really not. The ocarina adds a haunting quality to this gentle song that works very well as a lullaby, with the extended piano outro tenderly lulling the listener into sleep. “Love is you, you and me. Love is wanting to be free. Love is knowing we will be.”

To-Ra-Loo-Ra - As into Ireland as I am – my name, after all, almost requires it – I’m very much in favor of this track, which includes some gorgeous work on the Celtic harp. Lyrically, it’s little else than that classic Irish title phrase, but really, what else is needed? Delicate and perfectly lovely. “To-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, that’s an Irish lullaby…”

Return to Pooh Corner is a tender album for children and for children who never grew up, or who did but found themselves growing back down once, as C. S. Lewis said, they became old enough to start reading fairy tales again. Return to Pooh Corner with Kenny Loggins; it’s a good place to be.

Celtic Thunder's Ryan Kelly Dazzles With His Solo Debut, In Time

This year has seen the release of several highly anticipated albums, including Clay Aiken‘s collection of standards from the 50s and 60s, the Irish Rovers‘ 40th-anniversary CD, two LOST soundtracks and two offerings from Celtic Thunder. I was especially anxious to hear the Celtic Thunder Christmas release, but the one album I awaited most eagerly was from my favorite of its members, Ryan Kelly. As he began to send out messages on Facebook and Twitter about the recording process and offer up sneak peeks on ReverbNation, my excitement increased. I had it in my head, though, that we wouldn’t be seeing the album until next year, so when I got word that In Time would be released this month, when I’m already on Celtic Thunder overload thanks to the concert, the Christmas album and Neil Byrne’s EP, which just arrived in the mail, I was one happy camper.

I wasn’t the only one. CD Baby, the website from which the album is currently available, received so many inquiries about it that its release was pushed up by a few days, and along with many other fans, I stayed up late into the night, checking every few minutes to see if it had gone live yet. First thing the next morning, my search for Ryan Kelly still returned no results, so I turned my attention to the previous night’s episode of Criminal Minds, which starred Sterling “Little Ben Linus” Beaumon, and when he was done thoroughly creeping me out, I returned to CD Baby to find that in my absence, the album had come… and gone. In the first half hour, I learned, every copy they had in stock sold out. So I sighed, put in my backorder and ordered the MP3, which tided me over until I had my physical copy of the album.  And now, my first impressions of In Time…

On Simon and Garfunkel’s Old Friends boxed set, there is a live version of Poem On an Underground Wall before which Art Garfunkel memorably recounts the calamitous tale of the photo shoot for Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M., from which they hoped to walk away with “the perfect James Dean shot”. Well, Ryan Kelly has managed it here, and I tip my hat to photographer Padraig Donnelly, who is also responsible for the striking shots that serve as backdrops to the liner notes, and Stuart Medcraft and Aidan Donnelly, who are credited with designing the cover and artwork. Ryan, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown leather jacket, leans against a dilapidated building, his face inscrutable. A row of windows is behind him, but the light is most arresting toward the bottom of the photo, where sunshine pours in through a jagged hole in the wall, making the shadow he casts especially pronounced. It’s one of the most aesthetically pleasing album covers I’ve ever seen - but then, of course, I am rather partial to the subject matter... 

I also appreciated reading Ryan's note of gratitude within and would like to offer my own for his decision to include his lyrics.  By the time the album arrived I'd pretty much memorized them all, but there were a few lines of which I was uncertain, and anyway, I generally find that being able to read the lyrics makes a song easier to connect with, especially when I'm first familiarizing myself with it.

In Time includes 11 tracks, one of which can be ordered as an MP3 individually without buying the entire album. Though he’s released it under a different title, it’s one of several songs that Ryan had up on his music pages in demo form. Not all of those songs have made it to this album; I presume he’s holding them back for future releases. When I downloaded the MP3, I took a leap and guessed, based on my Googling efforts regarding the tracks on which I had no previous information, that Ryan has full writer’s credit on nine of the eleven tracks, with one being a cover and another a pre-existing poem for which he composed a melody. I was right on target except in the case of In Too Deep, which he co-wrote with Kieran Lavery.  The variety and intricacy of these songs reveals an artist who is not just a talented performer but a burgeoning songwriter of exceptional caliber.

Playing the piano and keyboards, which are so prominent on several tracks, is Dave L. Cooke, who also produced and arranged the album and, like Brendan Monaghan, who plays pipes, whistles and the bodhran, is a famliar name to Celtic Thunder fans.  So is vocalist Charley Bird, whose lovely voice augments several songs on this album and who performed a duet with Ryan on Celtic Thunder Christmas.  Other instrumentalists contributing to this album include guitast Andy Saphir, percussionist Tony Harris, lead violinist Oliver Lewis, violinist Paddy Roberts, viola player Lucy Morgan and cellist Nerys Richards.

Emily - I knew right off the bat that Ryan wrote this one, since he said as much after he put about a minute of it up as a sneak peek. I’m curious as to just who Emily is. A real person from his past? A fictitious flame? Or does he, like a young Paul Simon, have an odd fascination with Emily Dickinson? That I don’t know just makes this opening track all the more intriguing. It’s a fairly bouncy but angsty song backed by electric guitar, and it makes a perfect bookend with the album’s closing track, as it has to do with a young man who is anxious to get out of his “one-horse town” but finds himself, at the last moment, torn due to the love of a local woman. Romance and ambition battle within him, while we also get her perspective through Bird, who captures the heartache of realizing that you’re about to lose someone you’ve always taken for granted. This is probably the track I can most readily imagine hearing on the radio. “I can’t let myself be drawn into your world. It’s too late for me to stay for just one girl.”

In Too Deep - This track features lovely legato piano backing, along with the occasional strings. The verses proceed slowly, as though he’s grasping at images through the haze of a dissipating dream. It seems to describe a relationship that has gone sour; he yearns to make reparations and such scenarios haunt him, mirage-like, only to leave him feeling more empty than ever before, especially since he feels responsible for her disappearance. And yet there is hope, notably in the line “I’ll play guitar again,” as there is a solace to be found in one’s passions - particularly music - that can help one heal after even the most devastating loss. “It’s over now. What could’ve been could never be, yeah. So I’ll move on. I’ll find a new song. I’ll find a new me.”

Make You Proud - This song, another sneak peek that Ryan offered, first made me think of Taylor Hicks’ Do I Make You Proud and Clay Aiken’s Proud of Your Boy, both of which have to do with growing up and doing well by one’s parents, but some of the lines, such as “Tell me you need me,” suggest a more romantic angle. In any case, it’s about the realization of having fallen short of expectations and trying to be a better person. I particularly love the earnest delivery of the line, “Just don’t lose your faith along the way.” Electric guitars add a nice twang to this up-tempo song with a redemptive twist. “No matter how it turns out to be, all I wanna do is make you proud of me.”

Heaven Bound - The first time I listened to In Time, I played each of the tracks individually, and somehow I missed this one, so when I played the album through as a whole, it stopped me cold.  My first thought: Is he really singing about what I think he’s singing about? My second: I hope this isn’t autobiographical. Of all the tracks on this album, this is the one that best reflects Ryan’s musical theater background as he takes us on a dark journey into a shattered soul tormented by someone he thought that he could trust.  “He’s Heaven bound, but he’s closer to Inferno in that Hell that only I know.”  A searing social commentary through the lens of one meticulously drawn character, this is a gutsy track exploring a subject I have never heard tackled in song before: child molestation. 

My first inclination was that the song was connected to the pedophilia crisis in the Roman Catholic Church, though the backdrop of the funeral of the man in question may account for the abundance of religious imagery.  Clearly, whatever his vocation, he was widely respected.  Given the reference to "another night assault," I suppose it could even be the speaker's father.  In any case, it's a startling topic, and his performance is riveting, with the soulful back-up singers on the chorus emphasizing the disconnect between how this man is viewed by the townspeople and what the speaker knows about him. The only track to incorporate bagpipes, it’s the biggest surprise on the album, and I’m drawn to Ryan’s empathetic vocals and the way the careful orchestration slowly builds to heighten the turmoil. Utterly gripping. “I don’t blame them all, but those whose eyes were blind helped him leave this wreck behind. The years aren’t kind. Will he ever let me be, this pillar of my community?”

Go If You Want To - Ryan adopts a wounded and waspish manner for this rant against a woman who has spurned the speaker. It’s probably the harshest-sounding of the tracks, with whining electric guitars and stinging words - even a bit of mild profanity. It sounds like we’re hearing a long-drawn-out argument in its death throes; tired of fighting the inevitable, he throws up his hands and feigns indifference, but his acidic manner betrays his true feelings. “You can go if you want to, or stay, I don’t mind. Just remember, if you leave me now, there won’t be another time…”

Secret Bit of Right From Wrong - Peppy percussion and a repeated succession of swift violin strokes set the lively tone for this song that’s as infectious in its own way as Simon and Garfunkel’s Feelin’ Groovy. After the darkness of the last two tracks, it’s exhilarating to hear this joyful cry of a man with a new lease on life. There’s acknowledgment of past wrongs - particularly of the drinking variety - as the speaker basks in a rare sense of ecstasy with a song in his heart. Listening to this is like glimpsing Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas morning. “Your perfection caused my resurrection; that’s why I sing…”

Get Over You - Piano is in prominence once more on this mid-tempo song that again deals with a broken relationship. Ryan performs a harmonious duet in the chorus with Bird, who conveys an equally powerful sense of longing. There’s a lot of self-deprecation sprinkled throughout this album; sometimes these guys make amends and sometimes they merely wallow, but most of them mess up and freely admit it. Here, I love the equation of sensitivity with masculinity, along with the clever wordplay that fills the verses. Another song that feels like it’s itching to become a radio hit. “I wish that I could get over you. I wish it stopped when we said goodbye. I wish the memories would just fade away; if I was a man, maybe I’d cry.”

Broken Things - This was the first of Ryan’s solo efforts that I ever heard, and I was left breathless by the vulnerability that keeps a quaver in his voice throughout the song. It’s the only one on the album that Ryan didn’t have a hand in writing; credit here goes to Julie Miller, a singer-songwriter best known in contemporary Christian music circles. The main distinction between that intimate acoustic guitar-backed demo and this studio version is a bit more in the way of instrumentation, especially violins. Ryan also employs slightly different delivery on a couple of lines, and his accent seems a bit more pronounced here.

At first listen, this could be taken for a love song, but the air of total supplication and need for renewal suggests a plea for something deeper, especially with the hints of Scripture in the lyrics. It’s the prayer of a man who has hit his nadir and can’t extract himself from the depths of despair on his own. This gentle song ushered me into a whole new understanding of Ryan, and it remains one of my favorites. “I heard that you make old things new, so I’ll give these pieces all to you. If you want it, you can have my heart.”

Not Far Apart * - This is the track that is the only one you can get online by itself at CD Baby, which is a nice gesture that I presume has to do with the fact that it’s a Christmas song and is primarily intended to console those who are mourning. I’m fairly confident that years prior to hearing Ryan’s demo last year, I received this poem by Wanda (Bencke) White in my Inbox; it seems to have been floating around for at least a decade, usually under the title My First Christmas in Heaven or Spending Christmas With Jesus Christ, which is how Ryan originally presented it on his MySpace page. The decision to rename it distances the song from specific seasonal connections within the context of the track list.

Ryan wrote an original melody for this reflection from the perspective of someone who has recently died and is trying to reach out to comfort those left behind. It reminds me a bit of both the Mary Elizabeth Frye poem Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep and NewSong’s The Christmas Shoes. While I confess to finding the latter, a ballad that dominates the all-Christmas music play lists, a tad mawkish, Ryan wisely hangs back here, keeping this slightly altered version, which is accompanied by delicate piano that trips upon the ears like dancing snowflakes, tender but understated. I know that he’s sung this one at Christmas Eve services back home, and there’s an air of humble sincerity about it.

This song, incidentally, is one of the reasons I’m not particularly bothered by his use of the word “Christ” in the chorus of the closing track, which originally gave me pause. I choose to interpret the emphatic interjection as a fervent vow rather than a casual curse, and his decision to set this to music and record it, along with Broken Things, suggests that I might not be too off base. “Have a merry Christmas, and wipe away that tear. Remember, I’m spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.”

Perfect Man - In Celtic Thunder, Ryan has been cast as the Heartbreaker; here, he sarcastically skewers the whole notion of Bad Boy attraction, snarling his way through a bluesy, organ-heavy ballad about a woman undone by her gravitation toward Leader of the Pack-style men. Both characters are richly drawn, the silly romantic clinging to her unrealistic visions and the ne’er-do-well who seems to have sauntered in from the shady corner of a Jim Croce song. It took me a couple of times through to realize just what Ryan is doing in this snarky number, but it’s a fun throwback that also serves as a warning against favoring danger in relationships, and Ryan shows a real storyteller’s flair. “All her friends tell her how he’s gonna do her wrong, how she’s changed with her mini-skirt and her high heels on, but they just don’t understand; he’s her perfect man.”

The Village That They Call The Moy - Ryan Kelly was pretty firmly fixed as my favorite member of Celtic Thunder from the moment I heard him sing Desperado, but it wasn’t until a few months later that Broken Things led me to his demo of this song, introducing me to Ryan the songwriter, which took my appreciation for him to a whole new level. Odes to one’s hometown and songs about emigration are incredibly prominent in Irish music. Within the Celtic Thunder repertoire, we have Mountains of Mourne, The Homes of Donegal, Come By the Hills and Take Me Home, among others, while my beloved Irish Rovers have recorded such songs as the upbeat The Boys Come Rollin’ Home, the tender Bonnie Kellswater, the reflective Lincoln’s Army and the despondent Farewell to Nova Scotia (which is Canadian but has a very Celtic flavor to it). Up until last year, my favorite song of this type was their rendition of The Isle of Innisfree, a stirring instrumental version of which plays in the background of the John Wayne film The Quiet Man.

Then I heard The Village That They Call the Moy, and it immediately took its spot at the top of the hierarchy. In the song, an elderly man who left his hometown long ago explains his malaise to a fellow bar patron, a youth with the means and freedom to wander at will.  A sense of raw anguish permeates that first homemade recording, featuring nothing but Ryan’s heartfelt vocals accompanied by his acoustic guitar; although the chorus indicates “It’s there I was born and it’s there I belong, and it’s there my last days I’ll enjoy,” his vocals pierce right to the soul, suggesting that getting back there might never actually happen.  I listened to this demo countless times, particularly in the aftermath of the LOST finale, during which it was perfectly in synch with the melancholy I was feeling over leaving the Island, as it were, and as much as I love this full-blown version, I can’t help hoping that at some point, Ryan will put the demo on an album, or at least make it available to listen to on his website again.  It's there that the regret of the aged sage reigns supreme, while the studio version embraces the young man's more naive perspective.

In this edition of what I consider to be Ryan’s signature song, he quickens the pace, giving it a sprightly feel, and after reading all of his giddy posts in anticipation of this album, including his thrill at hearing professional musicians playing his songs, I feel like three decades’ worth of exuberance has been poured into this track. Instead of feeling wistful, it just comes across as pure gratitude to an upbringing in a town that so nurtured his creative spirit. After all, though Ryan did leave the Moy, the separation was not very long-term; now, when he’s not on the road, he makes his home there, and this joyous tribute to his tiny village acknowledges both that it was worth it to depart in order to chase his dreams and that he will always come back. I especially love the addition of the Irish whistles, which further root the song in that green isle I love so well. I doubt it will be long before this one starts getting the mileage of those old classics from many years ago; I can think of no other song that has so instantly transported me and made me nostalgic for a particular place, even though I‘ve never seen it. Maybe someday I will. “Leavin’, it never it easy. ‘There’s no place like home’ ’s what they say. Well, if it’s really that bad and it makes you so sad, sure, what’s the point movin’ away?”

“It’s a Moy man that I’ll always be,” Ryan declares through the vehicle of the grizzled emigrant, and every track carries evidence of his heritage. His smoky brogue creeps into the crevices of each phrase so that a deeper level of musicality seeps through. Words on a page could never adequately capture the qualities of Ryan Kelly’s voice, so seek out the first solo album of this versatile Irish charmer and listen for yourself. It won’t be his last.

Ballykissangel Remains Charming Despite the Departure of Its Leads

Last year, my search for something Irish to watch on St. Patrick’s Day led me to Ballykissangel, a BBC series from the 1990s about a tiny Irish town and its residents. In the first three seasons, the central characters are Father Peter Clifford (Stephen Thompkinson), a priest from Manchester who comes to town at the beginning of the series, and Assumpta Fitzgerald (Dervla Kirwan), the feisty owner of the pub that is Ballykissangel’s most popular gathering spot. However, both Thompkinson and Kirwan were ready to move on to other ventures by the end of the third season, so show creator Kieran Prendiville dramatically wrote out the characters, leading me to wonder how much I would enjoy the series in their absence.

I gave the show a good break and came back to it recently, watching the fourth season through Netflix Instant Viewing. The primary difference is a shift in focus. While the show has featured a number of quirky characters from the beginning, it’s in the fourth season that it becomes a true ensemble drama. Because Fitzgerald’s is so integral to the series, one might argue that new proprietor Niamh Egan (Tina Kellegher), already fairly prominent as Assumpta’s best friend, becomes the main character, but the focus really is all over the place. This results in a season that is generally less intense, but there’s always something interesting happening in Ballykissangel, and the new characters add richness to the interconnecting storylines.

No sooner had hip Father Peter arrived than he became completely immersed in all of the town’s activity. Initially, I suspected that his replacement would occupy just as central a role, but that really isn’t the case. Father Aidan O’Connell (Don Wycherley) is shy and soft-spoken. Lacking his predecessor’s social finesse and tendency to rock the boat, he finds it much more difficult to integrate himself into the life of the village, especially since he has lived in seclusion for much of his adult life. His time in a monastery has left him ill equipped to deal with many everyday concerns, but this adds to his charm. He is a sweet man of deep faith, and I wish that he had a larger presence in most of the episodes.

Along with the new priest comes Orla (Victoria Smurfit), his spirited sister. She comes to town mostly to help ease his transition into modern life, and she is his go-to person whenever he has a problem, whether it’s feeling intimidated by the task of grocery shopping or fearing himself insufficient when it comes to counseling townspeople. I love the tenderness of their rapport, devoid of all the messy trappings of Peter’s relationship with Assumpta. But Orla does much more than simply give her brother a few helpful nudges. A lovely and vivacious woman, she soon befriends most of the major characters and involves herself in many of the town’s activities. Truth be told, I prefer her to Assumpta, who always had a mean-spirited streak that was a bit of a turn-off. Orla can toss out zingers with the best of them, but she’s also relentlessly cheerful, and she’s probably my favorite female character on the show.

I also like Emma Dillon (Kate McEnery), the spunky teenage daughter of Sean Dillon (Lorcan Cranitch), who grew up in Ballykissangel and has returned to an icy reception. Bad blood abounds between the townspeople and this man whose circumstances make him remind me a bit of Lex Luthor in Smallville’s first couple of seasons. It’s hard enough for Sean to accept the suspicious spirit in which he is greeted, but for Emma, who doesn’t understand the history behind it, the move proves especially frustrating. Nonetheless, things start looking up for her when she befriends Danny Byrne, yet another addition to the cast, played by a very young Colin Farrell.

Danny arrives as a rebellious vagabond, but he manages to cool down and become quite lovable after spending some time helping his eccentric uncle Eamon (Birdy Sweeney) run his farm. It’s good for the elderly farmer to have someone on hand to make his workload lighter, and through Danny, Eamon has a more prominent role this season than in any other. The only downside is that Eamon’s feud with Sean runs deeper than almost anyone’s, complicating things for Emma and Danny.

The remaining characters are the ones who have been in place since the first season, and they continue to develop. Wealthy Brian Quigley (Tony Doyle) takes over ownership of the pub, letting his daughter Niamh take care of the daily duties. In the meantime, he continues to concoct a variety of business schemes, particularly involving his new golf course. On the whole, however, he seems to have mellowed out somewhat, as has Father MacAnally (Niall Toibin), the senior priest who is relieved that Aidan gives him far fewer headaches than Peter did. Sharing in that relief is ultra-conservative shopkeeper Kathleen Hendley (Aine Ni Mhuiri), who never held much with Peter’s unorthodox ways.

Niamh and Ambrose (Peter Hanly), the town’s only police officer, face new challenges to their marriage in this season as Niamh begins to feel dissatisfied with the monotony of her life. Their son Kieran, born just last season, is suddenly a chatty toddler, which threw me for a bit of a loop; I’m not sure just when three or four years are supposed to have passed, especially since veterinarian Siobahn Mehigan (Deirdre Donnelly) learns that she is pregnant in the third season and gives birth in the fourth, and the baby is still an infant as the fourth season draws to a close. My guess is that it was just more interesting to have a rambunctious young child to write about, so Prendiville aged him up and hoped we would forget how recently Kieran was born. Meanwhile, schoolteacher Brendan Kearney (Gary Whelan) isn’t too quick to embrace the idea of being a father to Siobahn’s baby, but he gradually warms to the idea, and one of the big questions of the season is how this birth will affect his relationship with Siobahn.

One thing that can be counted upon consistently is some sort of idiocy on the part of Liam Coghlan (Joe Savino) and Donal Docherty (Frankie McCafferty). Somehow, these two are always called upon whenever anyone needs a handyman despite the fact that they mess up every project in which they become involved. Most of their misadventures involve their work for Brian, but some of them are completely independent of him. Perhaps my favorite this season is Donal’s decision to take in a bear abandoned by a traveling circus, while trying to hide his new friend from everyone, including Liam. I also love the episode in which Donal’s attempt to fix the television reception at Fitzgerald’s leads to the pub only getting the Spanish channel, whose soap operas keep the regulars riveted even though they can’t understand what anyone is saying. In several episodes, they find themselves in life-threatening situations, but they always manage to escape unscathed.

Ballykissangel is a thoroughly endearing drama with a lot of comedy mixed in. There’s a wonderful coziness about the series that recalls The Andy Griffith Show and Jan Karon’s Mitford books. Along with all of the colorful locals, there’s the benefit of the gorgeous landscape. Filmed in Avoca, a town a couple of hours away from Dublin, Ballykissangel is beautiful to look it, and the stories are every bit as enriching as the scenery. I was afraid that the show might not hang together very well after losing its central characters, but what the fourth season demonstrates is that the town itself is a character vital enough to withstand any changes to the cast that may come along.