Egypt
and Barna: what do they have in common? We classify
under 'origin myth' the tale in the Book of
Invasions that traces Scotia's voyage as her
people fled in the wake of the Exodus from the
wicked pharoah through what is now Morocco and
along the Iberian coast up to Kerry. Yet Bob Quinn,
in his revision of his Atlantean thesis in book
and documentary, proposes a North African origin
for sean-nós, or 'old-style' unaccompanied
singing. A controversial theory, but I wonder
how Róisín Elsafty regards her fellow
Connemara resident's research. After all, she
lives minutes from a structure long called the
Spanish Arch on Galway's bay. Imaginations have
long been fired by the 'Orientalist' possibilities
[see note below]. Along the route that
for Quinn's Atlanteans connected the Moors to
Inishmore, Elsafty continues this ancient exchange
through words and music. Tinged with robust influences
from the Islamic lands transported into the rockier
Gaeltacht coves that have long sheltered traditional
Irish-language song, she presents us with an album
reminding us that even the most purportedly traditional
of Irish musics carries within its core the pulse
of a distant desert realm.
A
decade ago, Róisín Elsafty appeared
with her mother, Treasa Ní Cheannabáin,
on Irlande: L'Art du Sean-Nós (Buda,
France). Róisín has appeared too
rarely on records since then; this marks her first
full-length solo album. Sustaining the tradition
of family support, her brother plays tabla and
her sisters sing backup. Easily among the best
sean-nós recordings in recent Irish music,
Má Bhíonn features her 'old style'
singing rooted in the Connemara custom. This style,
argues Bob Quinn in his book and documentary on
the Atlantean Irish, may be traced to the Moors
and North Africa. The ancient origins of this
melismatic, traditionally unaccompanied singing
style return in Róisín's debut.
Daughter of an Egyptian doctor who moved to the
Cois Fharraige Gaeltacht at Barna, immediately
west of Galway city, Elsafty is backed by accordion,
harmonium, guitar, bodhrán, whistle and
harp. Yet she enriches her style with backing
by Ronan Browne on Indian bansuri, Shytte flute,
and Bull flute. These varied accompaniments do
not overwhelm her voice. It recalls the delicacy
of Máire Ní Bhraonáin on
Clannad's earliest, pre-synthesized, recordings.
Pastoral settings dominate the arrangements. A
capella songs intersperse with instrumental
support. The album successfully updates traditional
Irish singing with diverse musical playing.
All
but one of these fourteen tracks are sung in Irish.
Brief notes in English convey the gist of each
tune, but only the lyrics and Róisín's
own acknowledgments (both in Irish) capture the
essence of her spirited, yet controlled verbal
delivery. Sean-nós defies translation.
Connemara performers combine vocal embellishment
with emotional restraint. Elsafty favors less
ornament. She prefers direct expression and austere
presentation. That Dónal Lunny produces
this album shows both the esteem with which Elsafty
is regarded by her peers and the welcome absence
of a misty, effects-laded, lush overproduction
which has marred many of Lunny's productions after
his pioneering years with Planxty. From his bandmate
Christy Moore's repertoire, the sprightly 'Cúnla'
turns less insistent but more seductive.
Elsafty's
choices remind me of what Bob Quinn in his own
article [see note below] classified alongside
his own thesis as the other suggested explanation--
both under 'Sean-Nós, speculative origins'!
The UCC scholar Seán Ó Tuama contends
that sean-nós originated in the French
amour courtois period typified by troubadours
and 'romantic love' around 1200-1400. He estimates
that this style-- also showing Provençal
strains-- entered Ireland in the wake of the Normans,
but no later than 1400. Quinn and Ó Tuama
both judge that, wherever sean-nós was
engendered, it sprang from not only Northern European
but Mediterranean progenitors. Elsafty, then,
brings this traditional style back to its more
temperate nursery. She eschews, as I hear it,
the harsher keening quality of many singers (which
has been used contrarily to link Arab with native
Irish vocal phrasing) for a more rounded, lower
pitched evenness of tone. 'Cúnla' or a
lullabye 'Hó-bha-in' from the version of
noted Connemara mid-20c singer Sorcha Ní
Ghuairm explore this approach well. They lessen
the angst and desolation found in many singers'
stock of songs, while accentuating the tenderness
and play. This typifies her softer reading of
these predominantly traditional songs. Róisín
respects the self-imposed limits of the Connemara
style, yet she invigorates old songs with fresh
arrangements and nuanced manners. Her interpretations
under Lunny's direction reveal the appeal of a
measured, understated ambiance. She will not totally
surrender the hushed, reticent confidence within
her voice. This stance strengthens her album.
One
new 'anti-war song encouraging the people of Iraq
to have the strength of endurance' tells of a
boy left a double amputee and an 'orphaned victim
of the U.S. invasion'. Here, Róisín
sings in both Arabic and Gaelic. She describes
the 'vast destructive' army of Saddam, and of
the B-52 whose bombs caused Ali's suffering. Presenting
Ali's predicament as another rebel song, Elsafty
represents with such choices her contemporary
awareness of how themes of Irish rebellion and
demands for peace can incorporate her complex
influences of Middle Eastern and native Irish-speaking
heritage. A few years back, I recall how her single
in support of Palestine took pride of place at
the counter of Mulligan's record shop in old Galway,
the pre-eminent seller on the West coast of indigenous
Irish music. She chooses songs beyond the typical
'old style'. Reading her notes, whether the deft
summaries in English or her own warm acknowledgments
in effusive Irish, you glimpse a woman truly representative
of this new century's wealth of opportunity for
all in Ireland. Róisín brings hybridity
out of its academic niche and sets it center stage.
She does not shine a spotlight upon her own blend,
but prefers to have her audience wait, listen,
and discover the radiance of the song first-hand,
but quietly. Róisín's Arabic and
Irish and English words fill the album's booklet.
Indian, Egyptian, medieval Irish, Spanish- and
Balkan-derived instruments present her album's
music. Elsafty mingles tranquil legend and harsh
truth. She includes amidst venerable tales of
unrequited love and lost innocence relevant narratives
for our decade.
An
exception to these sparer songs proves equally
innovative. On the expansive final selection,
'Coinleach Glas an Fhómhair', Róisín
widens her vocal range. The music gains depth.
It appears in two parts, the song renewing itself
as it quickens in pace and grows in instrumental
intensity. She gives an epic rendition of this
song that Clannad popularized on their classic
1974 second LP. Backed by noted Belfast whistle
player John Mc Sherry and the RTÉ Concert
Orchestra, it ebbs and surges like the Atlantic
waves near Elsafty's family home.
{Quinn,
Bob. 'Sean-Nós, speculative origins'. In
Fintan Vallely, ed. The Companion to Irish Traditional
Music [Cork UP, 1999. 339-345]. His book was revised
as The Atlantean Irish: Ireland's Oriental and
Maritime Heritage [Dublin: Lilliput, 2005]. Seán
Ó Tuama's thesis originally appeared as
An Grá in Amhráin na nDaoine {Love
in Irish folk song} in 1960. Reprinted in his
essay collection Repossessions [Cork UP: 1995].
For more on speculations regarding Ireland and
the East, see Joseph Lennon. Irish Orientalism:
A Literary and Intellectual History. [Syracuse
UP, 2004].}
