Colin was quick to nix the texting. I was incredulous ["ooooh, incredulous!"]. And didn’t I experience the same damned thing just the other day while doing my best to pass on what I was able during my own lesson.

I don’t really think young piping people – or maybe just young people – think too much about it. There’s an obsession to check the phone, to respond, to make sure they know their friends know they’re alive. But when it comes to the phone thing, do what you like, wear your thumbs red raw, just don’t do it during a piping lesson. It’s a sure-fire strategy if you’re looking to get fired.

Be in the moment. The moment is what’s real.

M.

Anyway, he’s put an item up this evening that is quite amazing, at least to me. Up for auction is a genuine miner’s canary cage, used for centuries by miners (until 1986 in the UK) to enable early detection of lethal gases. It wouldn’t be much of a life for the poor little yellow bird but a useful life in the extreme. My dad’s offering is nineteenth century vintage and there for the taking. It’s most interesting to me, I think, because it represents a really common saying: “like a canary in a coal mine“. And here we have that old expression fairly spring to flight.

To keep in line with usual blog blab I think I really have to tie this to a piping thingie. So, “a canary in a coal mine”: are there things in the piping and pipe band game that might be likened to canaries in coal mines? Early warnings?

Random, off the top of my big square head:

- Games and competitions disappearing
- A reduction in the number of bands – everywhere (especially in the higher grades)
- Continually low attendance at the annual general meetings of governing organizations – everywhere
- Pipe bands competing with rubber drum pad “covers”

I’m sure there are others. You’ll have your own thoughts, I know.

M.

And what follows is pretty much how the conversation went; and get ready for a surprise ending …

“About a half hour a day”, he said. I told him that wasn’t enough. He needed to bump that up to at least an hour.

He then said, “Well I’ve always been good at regular practice – expect for a three month time last year.”

“What do you mean?”, I ask.

“Well, I broke my neck and couldn’t play.”

Gulp.

Now this kid is the picture of teenage health – no sign of any illness, let alone a broken neck.

He then proceeds to tell me in the most nonchalant way the story of his broken neck. It went something like this:

“Me and my friends were playing around on a trampoline at a summer party in Lynden. I was jumping on the trampoline and fell; my ex-girlfriend was jumping, too, except she landed on me. I could hear my neck snap. I felt weird and knew something was really wrong.”

And here is the kicker:

“The first thing that went through my head was, ‘will I play the pipes again?’ – the second was, ‘will I be able to walk?’”

Now isn’t that something? To walk or to pipe? Breaking your neck must stand as the ultimate acid test for true love of the pipes.

His story has stuck with me. Like most stories and like most things that happen to others we know, they, one way or another, find a way to reflect on us – and we, of course, reflect: “how would I handle that?”, “what would I do?”, “could that happen to me?”. And so it goes. I’ve thought about his story more than once since his telling – and I told him so yesterday at his lesson – at the same time he gave me permission to pass along to you.

So there you have it; take from it what you will.

M.

Here’s the work of Italian-American artist, Cyrus Cuneo (1879 -1916). This image represents the famous Sir George Simpson, the Dingwall-born (Scotland) governor of what was once known in Canada as Rupert’s Land, an unbelievably massive expanse that surrounded Hudson’s Bay.

George Simpson was the formidable head of the Hudson’s Bay Company, one of the oldest companies in the world and today one of Canada’s biggest department stores (they’re not paying me to say it, but it is a good store). He was apparently an eccentric type, loved the pipes, and so would have them, and a piper, close at hand on his travels – including those in the deep Canadian wilderness [why is it eccentrics are so often the go-to bagpipe lovers of the world?].

Like pipers in some parts of the world – like, say, Cape Breton – who prefer to play sitting down (surely an open invitation to hemorrhoids, by the way), I can’t imagine much fine technique, tuning and rhythm happening while playing pipes in a canoe.

But we’ll see. I hope to report back sometime over the coming warmer months – at least sometime after the spring thaw. Who knows? Maybe the whole canoe experience will prove to be the optimum bagpipe playing place.

Funny how people from the modestly-sized Dingwall can sometimes be the most interesting.

M.

In no particular order:

1. The heat that oppressed every one of us there at this year’s Glengarry Highland Games in Maxville, Ontario. I don’t remember playing bagpipes in hotter conditions. I also don’t remember seeing competitors pass out and led – shaking, as in shock – to St John’s Ambulance first aid tents. The whole day was awful; unpleasant in the extreme. If weather continues to change we’ll (quite rightly) see outdoor competitions in the Northern Hemisphere shift to September and October. Oh, and a bit sadistic for organizers to ask open competitors play their tunes twice-through.

2. Murray Henderson‘s last competitive performance. This moment counts as two, really. Thanks to live streaming of this year’s Glenfiddich, I got to catch the big contest in Italy – in fact, in the lounge of a Tuscan agri-tourismo lounge bar – with Jenny Hazzard, Colin MacLellan , Duilio Vigliotti and Bob Worrall – that would be the first part. Surreal. And so great to see Murray play so well and cap a magnificent career in his vintage redoubtable style – and that’s the second. Still surprised the assembly didn’t see their way to rising to their feet at the end of his last tune.

3. The emotional performance by the Spirit of Scotland band of Donald MacLeod’s pibroch, “Caber Feidh gu Brath”. The band played (along with the soon-to-be-defunct, Lothian & Borders Police Pipe Band) Saturday, January 28, at Glasgow’s Royal Concert Hall. With Alasdair Gillies’ old comrade, Niall Matheson, performing the urlar on his own, the band joined in and played through to the crunluath. Really moving stuff brilliantly played. A pitch-perfect tribute to the late Maestro, Alasdair Gillies.

4. The first low A sounded by the Toronto Police Pipe Band at the World Pipe Band Championships. It sounded good and it felt right:

I am tired and I am alone,
(Tha mi sgìth ‘s mi leam fhìn,)
Playing pipe band medleys that start with E
After three pace rolls…

5. Cracking open the printer’s proof of “Damned Suites and Other Music”: my sixth book of music was a long, difficult project that was worth it in the end. Oh, and the proof copy was right.

6. Having the chance to listen first-hand (as a judge) to Dylan Whittemore’s winning pibroch, “MacFarlane’s Gathering” at this year’s George Sherriff Memorial amateur piping competition in Hamilton, Ontario: a young fellow with boat loads of potential. He’s a source of pride, no doubt, for his teacher, Ed Neigh.

7. Another virtual Glenfiddich moment: seeing my old L&B alumnus pal, Iain Speirs, win the Glenfiddich. What a player – and an even better fellow. I remember as a guy in my early twenties going along to the Speirs family’s Edinburgh home (coat-tailing with Bill and Lillian Livingstone) to visit with Tam and Carol. Iain was but a young stripling (as James Campbell, Kilberry, might’ve said) and played an outstanding command performance of “Lament for Mary MacLeod”.

8. Reading the band’s score sheets from the 2012 World Pipe Band Championships. They loved us, they hated us – but heavy on the later. “I can’t hear the music for the harmonies!”. I felt bad for the band but good for the future of pipe band music development. I mean, really, what does harmony have to do with music?

9. Here’s an especially wank moment: Colin Clansey playing one of his winning selections at The pipes|drums Livingstone contest. Colin played my tune, “The Whitby Runaround” brilliantly. And there was Bill Livingstone in the front row (the “Whitby” of the runaround) and me, in the back – the guy at the back end of the runaround.

10. The Vogue girl walking along Bloor Street in Toronto in July in six-inch heels, in seriously short skirt all the while holding a package of hot dog buns – buns swinging in step (as they should).

11. Young Kyle Coughlin winning his first professional solo competition at Maxville: he won the jigs on his first professional attempt – and – ready for the bald-faced promo: with “Cross-border Side-step” … a tune that’s been good to me, too.

12. Reconnecting Reay Mackay and Willie Morrison at the George Sherriff Memorial competition. When I was a kid a stand-out memory was hearing Reay and Willie, after the Scottish World Festival Tattoo, jig and reel pipe duel in the Sergeant’s Mess of the 48th Highlanders. I recall like yesterday the tunes, especially Willie’s original rendition of “The Cameronian Rant” jig. They hadn’t seen each other since that time. A circle of sorts for me.

So, random memories, for sure. Just mine.

I wish you all the best for the best New Year ever!

M.

It’s the rare artist who accurately represents the bagpipe, especially one in full performance flight. With the exception of The Simpson’s Groundskeeper Willie few sets of pipes and their piper come off as near-accurate representations of the real thing. I know, I hear you: its art, it’s interpretative, suck it up.

The bagpipe in its many forms has been around for eons and it’s found everywhere. The pipes the world over are touchstones of great tradition. And not just that, have been the apple of many an artist’s eye. Maybe the many different incarnations of the instrument might account for the oddly – and consistently – inaccurate representation of the instrument.

Whatever it is I know that there’s something about the instrument that prevents artists from taking the thing in. There’s maybe a crazy blurry force field that blinds the artist’s eye, that twists drones over chanter over bag over shoulder. A spooky thought, however unlikely.

I also know this odd phenomenon starts at the very beginning of an artist’s career. Exhibit A: my near five-year-old niece, Lexie. Here we have a strapping piper (hello) and a seemingly mildly interpretative, ever-so-slightly upside-down pipe.

I wonder what she saw in me and my pipes – and what she took in, and remembered. I assure you I did not sit/play for this portrait.

Still. I see this as hugely promising work. Damned fine, in fact. And that has nothing to do with the artist’s tagline.

M.

We’re coming up to the bagpipe competition season and everyone who aims to seriously take part is hard at it trying to make the best music they can.

Today’s May first – a big day for those of the Pagan persuasion (Beltane and all that) – and a slew of other groups of varied and disparate kind. Maybe a few of you rushed out early this morning to wash your faces in May dew – an apparent tonic and secret to youthful appearance [by the way, the May dew thing seems to be working for me, as so many of you can clearly see, just an unsolicited tip].

But for me the month of May has always been the start of the outdoor bagpipe competition season. My first outdoor contest was in May. It was at “Alma Highland Games” [and that seems weird to key in as Alma is a pokey little place in the middle of the American state of Michigan - not so highland] where I launched my solo competitive piping effort.

It was 1977 and Star Wars was the movie tearing up the global box office. Me? I was playing “Hills of Perth” at Alma for Bob Worrall’s teacher, the Ulsterman, Bill Millar. And here’s my score sheet – or what’s left of it:

So, in case you have trouble reading Bill Millar’s infamously poor scrawl – and – the text tears of the old score sheet – here’s what he said:

“This boy needs more practice”

Break – 5/5 [Hello! No breaks in the performance of one march - 5 outta 5!]
Time – 8/10 “Expression is lacking” [the highlight of this score sheet]
Tone and Tuning – 12/25 “Pipe chanter very sharp on top; drones no’ in tune”
Expression – 13/30
Execution – 13/30 “Execution is very ragged”

So, all in all, a score sheet to toss in the bin. I didn’t. As you see, I have shreds of it now. Like almost all constructive criticism I’ve received – and continue to receive – I took it at face value. And practiced. Practiced my face off.

In 1982 I again went to Alma games, five years after my unsuccessful rendition of “The Hills of Perth” and won professional prizes – at my first outdoor open contest.

I add this little factoid with a view to encourage people – I know it appears as something less noble, but it is here to point out the power of practice. Really.

Yes, maybe Bob Worrall and Jim McGillivray blootered it up, paving the way for my wayward entry to professional prizes – but that’s not my point. My point is practice delivers great rewards: win or lose – with practice, better music is made.

M.

Here’s the scoop: After meeting and date number three or so they start talking a little about their families. He says to her something like, “my Mum’s family comes from a little place in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland: Benbecula”. “Yikes”, thinks my sister – or something like that. That’s where my father’s mother comes from!

So it turns out that the Benbecula village, or maybe more rightly stated, “enclave of houses”, that is Torlum, Benbecula, forms a seriously common thread for both of them. On the birth of their first child I have a feeling they were on high alert for overly close eyes – or, worse, only one: mid-forehead.

Of course, all’s well but interesting to learn more of my brother-in-law’s family; most probably, my family.

Here’s a tune he passed to me. Provided here at his courtesy. I looked at this and thought right away that the way to find out more about it was to talk to Reay Mackay, a Godfather of North American piping.

Reay is a veritable fountain of piping knowledge, a child prodigy and so a person who has made music through a good chunk of 20th century piping life. In his insight to this tune, he didn’t disappoint.

This tune, “Alex MacMillan”, is my brother-in-law’s grandfather [**small world alert**born in Torlum one year after my grandmother with the same surname as my grandmother's mother, the 1891 Scottish census shows both families living in Torlum at that time ... I digress]. It was written by Donald Ewen Macpherson from Skye. Reay relayed yet another fascinating back-story to this manuscript [I admit: it's the second back-story that may interest you].

First, the tune is really good. We both agree, it’s full of merit, clearly written by an accomplished musician and completely playable and worthy of competition. Second, **small world alert** the manuscript is from the hand of Murdo MacLeod, one of Reay’s teachers and Benbecula emigrant – and, just by the way, a pupil of John MacDougall Gillies.

Reay said he could recognize Murdo’s hand anywhere and has copies of tunes written in the same stylish pen. So here we have a tune for a Benbecula man, composed by a Skyeman and in the hand of another Benbecula man – all immigrants to the Toronto-Hamilton area, you’d have to think they were all good pals.

But the really interesting thing about this is related to the composer of “Alex MacMillan”.

Donald Ewen Macpherson was something else: a real all-rounder. Not saying the guy could just play jigs and the big music, no, this guy could play the whole gamut of bagpipe music and highland dance, toss the caber and do all the heavy events – and do them well. In fact, as Pipe Major of the Royal Scots he won the wrestling championship of the British armed services [William Donaldson, “The Highland Pipe and Scottish Society: 1750-1950"].

Macpherson was a man cut from the all-rounder rough cloth of John MacColl and D.C. Mather. Though those guys, while Highland dancers [the kind of Highland dancing, by the way, the Gaelic College is so down on], didn’t seem as big on the heavy events. Not like our Donald Ewen Macpherson.

So what’s the deal with Donald Ewen Macpherson and his buckshot aim at all the prizes on offer at the Highland games?

We only have to look to Donaldson for a little insight. Referring to the early days of the twentieth century he notes the problem [p. 205] of the “same old names” turning up in the solo piping prize lists with the “struggling young player” never seeming to catch a break. I suggest that’s probably an age-old problem. Though pipers like Donald Ewen Macpherson had a solution to covering their travel – and other – expenses: they competed in all the events they were able:

“Given such difficulties, some young pipers preferred to concentrate on track and field events, where arcane considerations of authority and reputation did not predetermine the outcome, where they did not have to bear written accreditation from social superiors before they could even enter (as was the case with piping events at a number of games, including the Northern Meeting), and where victory and defeat were normally unequivocal. Robert Meldrum recalled one of his own pupils, Donald Ewen Macpherson of Skye, ‘who was a most promising piper, playing some splendid piobaireachds, but he preferred the athletics side of the games…”

Indeed he did. He emigrated to Toronto and, according to Reay, opened a gym on Queen Street in Toronto, one of the city’s main streets. Signs, like this tune, point to his continued involvement in the piping world.

So, there you have it: an interesting story and damned fine tune – all courtesy of my brother-in-law.

That’s Brother-in-law: thanks to our small world, with the biggest of upper case Bs.

M.

PS. Interesting to note that on emigrating to Canada Alex MacMillan joined the 16th Battalion (The Canadian Scottish) and in WWI fought at the Somme serving in the same regiment, and battles, as piper James Richardson, VC.

From left we have Julie Wilson (who today looks very much like this young girl), Andrew Berthoff (Julie’s hubby and resembling, here, a Simon Le Bon wannabe), me (in turn, resembling a corpulent sort of forshadowing of the Harry Potter character), a bearded Jim McGillivray, the ever-smiling Lillian Livingstone and Bill Livingstone, showing just a hint of hockey hair.

Forget T S Eliot and his crappy April, I say November is the cruelest month – at least for us in the northern hemisphere. We’re surrounded by nothing but grey (and not the good kind): short days, long nights, and not much in the way of shimmery snow and invigorating crisp cold. Cheery? Not so much.

So, rotten November, my mucky motivation for today posting this happy pic; I’m sure November exists as it does to encourage our yearning for times like long August days and for places like Cafe Gandolfi (and, by the way, for their unsurpassed Stornoway black puddings – avec champignons [of course - just sayin']).

We know you can’t have your peaks without your valleys and November – and, um, early December – counts as a valley!

On reflection, I’m reminded, too, in part from this photo, that friends and family are everything.

Bring on the Yuletide season!

M.

My timing wasn’t great in looking to get the job done: a recital here, a concert there; on the cusp of the hardcore bagpipe performing season, April is not the best month to be without pipes. Whatever. I forged ahead and shipped the pipes overseas by Fedex and their super-expensive-jig-time-delivery route. Kenny assured a speedy turnaround – the norm for McCallum, by the way. We didn’t bank on the customs equation and unfortunately my “horns”, as Scott MacAulay might’ve said, were tied up in London for about a week – ugh!

Long-story-short: for about a month I didn’t play many tunes on the big pipes. I did, of course, finally get my customs-delayed pipes and have to say I’m thrilled with hallmark outstanding McCallum attention and workmanship. But this is not the point of my note today. It’s about practice.

Right. Here’s the thing. With only a week and a half on the pipes I trotted out to the Livingstone Invitational contest – and sucked. Really not great. Not even good. Since receiving my revitalized pipes I had pulled together at home what I thought were solid “living room performances”. But bring on judges and a room full of critical/”nurturing” ears, well, it’s just not the same thing.

Practice is everything. To make it look easy, to be able to deliver something interesting in an environment of stress and distraction (like a competition), well, that just takes practice – and lots of it.

This past week I was working with a young pupil on his pibroch. He was playing really nicely. Hands creating engaging rhythm and technique – and music, too – but, oh, for the blooters . Note mistake here, note error there. Blooters don’t cut it in bagpipe competitions – let alone score-tracking pibroch events. I coudn’t prevent him from making note errors but I could find out a few facts – like how much he practiced.

I found that this promising – and quite excellent – young piper played though each of his two competitive pibroch tunes once every daily practice sess. NOT ENOUGH!

Until a piper get to a place where s/he has a comprehensive understanding of pibroch structure and form, one run-through on the horns is just not enough to burn the score on the personal hard drive. My prescription for this piper was to double his effort: he had to play each tune twice on the pipes – every day. And, if still falling to error-making, extra chanter work was in order.

My pupil wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of more practice (“what about other stuff, my marches, strathspeys and reels and all that!?”).

Suck it up, I say. The old line is so true: if it was easy everyone would do it.

Lauryn Hill nailed it when she said, “you don’t know how much artists go through to make it look so easy. It’s all in the practice”.

S/he who can play bagpipes well must surely be the poster child for the hard practice brigade.

M.