In Keeping with a Sombre Mood

In keeping with last year's tradition, I'm starting the run-up to the Solemn Feast of St. Patrick a couple of weeks in advance. Just as I initiated last year's run-up by linking to the video for the improbable dance hit in Germany Dearg Doom by Horslips, I am kicking this one off with a Horslips' tune. Being in a somewhat sombre mood, I'll post a video for a more morose tune from Horslips' 1973 Táin album. Next week, I hope to do a bit on the Táin Bo Cuailnge, because Kinsella's translation of it is one of my favorite reads.

The song Cú Chulainn's Lament is perhaps the most outré love song in the English language- the semi-divine hero Cú Chulainn sings a lament for his friend Ferdia, whom he has just slain in single combat. In the course of the cattle raid narrated in the Táin, Medbh, Queen of Connacht, promised the hand of her daughter Finnabair (a cognate of Gwenhwyfar, which in turn is the root of the name Jennifer, or is that Jennifer? Who can tell with all these Jennifers gadding about?), and her "friendly thighs" to Ferdia if he could defeat Cú Chulainn in single combat.

The combat, like many of the fights described in the Táin, takes place in a river-ford. Before the combat, Cú Chulainn tries to warn Ferdia off- I love the line "everything I do is ringed about with fantasy" (it would be a good motto for someone). In the course of the battle, neither Cú Chulainn nor Ferdia can gain the upper hand- they strive in combat by day, then share their provisions by night for days. Finally, Cú Chulainn calls for his secret weapon, the Gae Bolga, a wickedly barbed spear, which only he knows how to employ, in a most bizarre fashion:

And Cúchulainn called for the Gae Bulga from Laeg son of
Riangabair. This was its nature: With the stream it was made
ready, and from between the fork of the foot it was cast; the
wound of a single spear it gave when entering the body, and
thirty barbs had it when it opened and it could not be drawn
out of a man's flesh till the flesh had been cut about it.

Ferdia, having (much like Achilles) an impenetrable skin of "horn", is fatally pierced through his bunghole- one possible original meaning of Gae Bolga is "spear with a sack", so make of this episode what you will, you dirty dogs. So, in an abrupt shift from salacious to sombre, here's Cú Chulainn's lament for his fallen friend:





For the sake of completeness, I must also note that the Decemberists released an album inspired by The Táin as well. I'll have to track down some videos to link when I finally get around to doing my bit on The Táin.

Staggering Towards St. Patrick's Day

I am of the opinion that holidays should be structured like Hanukkah- multi-day celebrations, rather than one-offs. I inaugurated the St. Patrick's Day season last night by meeting up with an old friend and his co-workers at The Brazen Fox in White Plains, NY. I had just spent a few hours at work explaining the new computerized timesheet system to a co-worker who had never used a computer before (en español) when I got the call to arms glasses. It was a splendid night, spent quaffing dirty big pints of Smithwick's while surrounded by beautiful women. The highlight of the evening was playing "wingmen" to a couple of visiting Brazilian guys, and helping them meet a couple of really pretty Brazilian girls, with whom they hit it off swimmingly. Yeah, it's nice to perform an occasional mitzvah.

Anyway, as it's my wont to post occasional music videos, I'll honor the season, and my paternal grandmother's Roscommon heritage by stressing songs by Irish bands for the next couple of weeks.

Perhaps the first rock band to incorporate Irish traditional music (and mythological themes) into their music was Horslips, so thank them for such diverse groups as The Pogues, Black 47, In Tua Nua, and a host of other worthies (hell, U2's first album had the track An Cat Dubh on it, not a trad song, but one in Gaelic).

The song Dearg Doom (a mash-up of Gaelic and English best rendered as "Red Destroyer") comes from the band's 1973 The Táin album, a musical interpretation of the epic Táin Bo Cuailnge ("The Cattle Raid of Cooley"). The annotated Horslips lyrics page, besides giving a basic gist of the song's meaning, has a funny item about the genesis of the song (which is an unholy hybrid of traditional epic and Marvel Comics, conflating Cúchulainn with Dr. Doom), and a couple of nice quotes from Phil Chevron, a founding member of the Radiators from Space, who joined the Pogues for "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash" and subsequent albums.


The blazing guitar riff that anchors the song is the traditional O'Neill's Cavalry (check out this sweet acapella version). The video reminds me of Spinal Tap's Stonehenge, because of the band's outfits, and the song's theme. I'd love to know if Stonhenge was inspired by this performance. Please note the chainmail "glove" and silver body paint on the lead singer's hand, a tribute to the divine king Nuada of the Silver Hand (known to HPL fans as "Hoary Nodens"):




Please note, this song became a number one dance hit in Germany. Who'd a thunk it? Additionally, in 2004, the Decembrists released an album titled The Táin.

The Annual Run-Up to the Solemn Feast of St Patrick Begins

In keeping with our annual tradition, every March I put up a series of videos of Irish music, trad and otherwise. I'm going to kick this year's countdown off with a great folk-rock number by the terrific (and Bastard-approved) band Horslips. King of the Fairies is a traditional set dance, which takes on a particular awesomeness when given the rooftop rock-out treatment, complete with awesome 70s 'staches and wide collars:





Me being me, my favorite part is the tin whistle solo beginning at the 2:23 mark. Damn, that's some badass tootling!

The "fairies" of Irish folklore are a far cry from the "Tinkerbell" style little winged critters. More properly known as the Aos Sí, they are the remnants of the old pagan gods of Ireland, the Tuatha Dé Danann, a entirely more "dangerous" category of otherworldly beings than that of the nursery tales. As one noted folklorist described them:

They're the things that you see
When you wake up and scream
The cold things that follow you
Down the boreen
They live in the small ring of trees on the hill
Up at the top of the field

Nobody's going to be clapping to keep these types alive!

Channeling New Order?

I figured I needed a break from politics and current events, so I'm falling on the old 'post a video' gambit. I have long been a fan of Portland band The Decemberists, I mean, how could I not love a band that released an album named after the Táin Bó Cúailnge. For the record, I am also a big fan of Horslips.

The latest Decemberists track is pretty anomalous, being uncharacteristically synth-heavy, but once Colin Meloy starts crooning in his unmistakable voice, everything falls into place:





While the synthesizers have a bit of a Giorgio Moroder vibe, the guitar has a sound reminiscent of New Order:





It's an interesting stylistic shift for the Decemberists, a much more radical departure from earlier sounds than when they channeled the jangly college-radio rock sound of REM:





It'll be interesting to hear how the new single sounds when performed live.

Runup to St Paddy's Day 2019 Begins

Once again, the St Patrick's Day season is upon us (the Irish, being contrary, celebrate Carnival season in the middle of Lent), so I will be taking some time to post Irish music, but traditional and popular. This year, I think I'll start off with folk rockers Horslips, which I have featured in previous posts. The band was the first to blend traditional folk songs with hard rock, often incorporating traditional melodies into guitar riffs. The band also drew upon myth and legend for inspiration, recording 'concept albums' based on the Táin Bó Cúailnge and the Lebor Gabála Érenn.

One of the standout tracks on the album The Book of Invasions was Trouble (With a Capital T), which is still a popular music selection in the bars in my neighborhood. The song, despite its titular allusion to The Music Man, deals with the arrival of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a tribe of divine beings, to Eire. The song poses the question, "But are they gods or real folk?" It's the sort of question that one of the Fir Bolg would have posed when the sorcerous Danann host arrived on the island. At any rate, the song is a fun 1970s artifact, with a 'Jethro Tull' esque flute part:





Now isn't the arrival of a bunch of sorceror-kings with eldritch superweapons a bit more worrying than the opening of a pool hall?