For the committed disciple of
Newfoundland folk music, there are certain names that you can't
ignore. I don't just mean the Ron Hynes and Great Big Seas out there
– Harry Hibbs, Minnie White, Johnny Burke, the forerunners whose
melding of Celtic, country, gospel, and a flair of originality gave
birth to the sounds that later musicians would run with and turn it
into something that is, paradoxically, both multifaceted and
instantly recognizable.
I'd like nothing better than to grab a
few pints at the Ship Inn and have a chat about when the crucial link
was forged between those early artists who borrowed from external
influences and the purpeitors of an all original Newfoundland sound,
but since I'm a long ways away from St. John's, that discussion is
going to be pretty one-sided: it was Ryan's Fancy. Songs like
“Lukey's Boat,” “The Badger Drive,” and “The Old Polina”
existed before Ryan's Fancy, but when three Irishmen – Denis Ryan,
Dermot O'Rielly, and Fergus O'Byrne – arrived in Newfoundland in
the 1970s, they essentially opened locals' eyes to what was already
here. Through programs on CBC and their incredibly popular live shows
on the downtown circuit, they brought the songs and stories from the
isolated bays and coves to the recognition of the people of this
island. It was already here, but it took three people from outside of
this place to make the ever humble Newfoundlander realize that the
fruits of their own labours are good, too.
Ryan's Fancy gave the music a renewed
vigour, lending it pop sensibilities that would go on to influence
Figgy Duff and the Wonderful Grand Band, who in turn would give a
kickstart to Great Big Sea and the Irish Descendants, paving the way
for the Once and the Dardanelles. I'm not saying that without “West
Country Lady” Newfoundland folk music wouldn't have evolved, but
I'm positive it wouldn't have followed the trajectory it did.
Dermot passed away a few years ago, and
Denis lives outside of the province, but Fergus O'Byrne has remained
a principal member of the local folk community. I met him a few
years ago, when I was doing artsy work for The Muse.
I reviewed the 40th anniversary Ryan's Fancy compilation disc, and
later wrote on his Christmas album with Jim Payne. Fergus sent me an
email a few weeks ago, to see if I'd be available to write about Make The Circle Wide, an album
recorded in Ireland and featuring a cast of extended family members.
New Zealand was a bit of an awkward spot to be writing on
Newfoundland and Irish music, and once I sent it off to another
writer, I figured that would be the end of it.
Almost immediately,
Fergus got his cousin, Colm, in on the conversation – the expat
Irishman calls New Zealand home right now (it's always because of a
girl, right?), and who knows, maybe we could meet up? Just as quickly, there
came an invitation to visit him in Methven on St. Patrick's Day if I
was available. Turns out I was, and in the neighbourhood.
What a lucky,
undeserving bastard.
How serendipitously fitting though – the album is a celebration of family, and so the chance to make this connection in a remote corner of the world is really what it's all about. Drawing the circle even wider.
Colm met me in
Christchurch on Saturday morning, driving just over an hour inland,
past long stretches of farmland and the wide Rakaia River. All along
the way, the sun was blotted out by low lying clouds – Methven is a
ski town, the jumping off point to the Mt. Hutt Ski Field, but if we
were in the foothills of the Southern Alps, it was hard to tell. I
may have to come back in the winter, just to confirm that there are
actually mountains lining the horizon like they say. Especially now that I know what awesome people there are, nestled away here.
We did stop along
the Rakaia River Gorge, where the invincibility of youth was being
put to the test by a small crowd leaping from the bridge into the
clear blue water some 20 m below. I, uhh, couldn't get anyone to take a
picture of my spectacular dive, that's why I'm not in any of the
shots.
The town itself is
a pretty small, out of the way spot, especially at this time of the
year, still a few months from the ski season. When I checked into my
cozy hostel (which was probably the nicest I've been to in New
Zealand), the owner figured it was a shame I didn't come when the
place was more lively. A near deserted place was fine for me though,
since I wasn't planning on spending much time hanging out there
anyway.
We made it to
Methven in the early afternoon, and found the two youngest McGraths –
4 and 2 years old – at the A&P Show, which was much busier and
family friendly (all the kids had entered arts, crafts, and
vegetables in a contest, and the display was a main focal point of
the afternoon) than the one in Kaikoura last month. Good fun, ending
the night early with some pizza and beer, in preparation for the big
day on Sunday.
I started St.
Patrick's Day with some green tea. Not just because of the colour,
but also because I [correctly] assumed this would probably be the
only liquid I put into my body that day that would actually be good
for me. Just for good measure, I had some cake and a flat white at a
little roadside cafe choc-a-bloc full of antiques and junk, all of
which (including the seat you're sitting on) is for sale.
We took the
kids to the playground and got meat pies (a Kiwi staple, with fizzy
L&P to wash it down), before it was time to wear floppy
leprechaun hats and go for the first Guinness at the local pub.
The weather outside
was cold and rainy, but the bar was nice and toasty, the kind of day
where the only thing worth doing was staying inside. There was no
point in green food colouring – even a vat wouldn't set off the
blackness of the stout, and when it got to the point in the night
where you were on the Jamesons, you were more concerned with staying
vertical than what colour your drink was. So, how do the Irish do it
on their day? It involves a lot of friends, a lot of laughs, and a
lot of drinking. It's serious business.
It's a funny thing
though. I was a long way from George Street in St. John's, and Dublin
is even farther away, but St. Paddy's Day had a real feeling of home
in this little chunk of New Zealand. Or maybe I'm still piss loaded,
who knows – either way, it was fun. I think.
Top o' the morning indeed today. After a shower in
the morning to smell less like a distillery, I caught a ride to
Ashburton, where I planned to hitchhike to Dunedin, a four hour drive
south. The difference in hitchhiking today, besides the fact that it
was considerably farther, was that the weather wasn't quite so
pleasant – as in it was pissing raining, and my head felt about the
way it ought to on March 18 if you're living right. Standing there in shorts and a rain
jacket, getting lashed by horizontal rain, I figured my pathetic
figure would elicit some pity. It did, just not right away.
I caught a ride
part way with a sheep farmer, getting dropped in Timaru. From there,
a truck driver brought me to Oamaru, where he also gave me a little
tour of the town, which was cool because I never would have seen all
the old architecture that's just off the main highway. It was getting
on dinner time before a German lecturer in a Jucy rental van pulled
off and brought me into the harbourside town of Dunedin. The Alps
were on our right hand side the whole way down, but the overcast
weather never shifted – no sign of Mt. Cook, although I have it on
good account that it was nearby.
After climbing a
steep hill with my sagging backpack (Baldwin Street, the world's steepest residential street, is literally just down the road), I figured I'd stumbled into a
secret alcove of paradise. Forget all the things I've got to explore
in the city – I'm WWOOFing with the most laid-back family I've come
across yet, staying in my own room, with its own bathroom and chest
of drawers. In this travelling reality, that's basically the
equivalent of the penthouse suite at the Ritz. By the sounds of it,
I'll have plenty of time to get familiar with Dunedin, just as long
as I spend a few hours entertaining the girls (a 5 year old and an
11-going-on-25), stacking wood, and pitching in around the house. Now, if those clouds just clear at some point while I'm here, I'll
be doing all right.
Cheers,
rb
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