"I'm all shook up!"

For some time now I have been musing on a flaw on my website. Perhaps you have noticed it? It is the absence of music and laughter. It's not that there isn't any, it's just that it is underrepresented. So if I might begin, as it were, at the end, and without giving everything away at the beginning, let me tell you that the purpose of this blog, (in respect of music at least), is to redress the balance.

Here in the study, the past, as well as the present, is everywhere about me. I have a shelf of "vinyl" most of which goes back to my youth, and I have cumbersome racks of classical music: recordings of The Great Composers, that for years amidst varying levels of dust, have stood stacked to the side of a bookcase. And thanks to IKEA, I have two columns of CD's, displayed on shelves so compact that they can't gather dust. As for humour, in that corner devoted to things Irish, I have Frank O'Connor: a man now dead, who, when he was one of us, with humour, wrote about his "Oedipus Complex".

And I have pedigree.

As a boy soprano, I sang in public: in seaside talent competitions, where I brought the house down, with renderings of Bless This House. I could hit the high notes with ease, and perhaps because of that, I had no fear, either of the footlights, (modest though they were), nor of the audience. And in the more formal setting of a Feis in Coleraine, and while still in my early teens, I sang, Where'er You Walk, by Handel. And later still, and despite the risk, (for my voice was breaking), I sang in a schools choral competition at St. George's Hall in Liverpool, and took the solo. As my own choir's voice faded into the distance, mine rose from its midst to declare, that: "Only the lark and I are awake, the lark and I ...". Thankfully my voice held and I got due praise. And in my poem, ""What will be will be"", I recall among other musical experiences, singing in the presence of the distinguished musical conductor, Sir. Malcolm Sargent; a song that I remember with affection, because the lyrics, (in so far as I remember them), certainly applied to me:

Is it I wonder a rum thing,
Or nothing to wonder upon,
That whenever a man's doing somthing,
There's always a boy looking on.

He may stand for hours like a dumb thing,
But this can be counted upon;
That wherever a man's doing something,
There's always a boy looking on.

_____

Now what these musical experiences developed in me from a very early age, were skills in communication, by the effective use of: diction, projection, pace, phrasing, tone and emphasis; skills essential to any good story telling, (which is what songs are), and that once acquired in singing, transferred naturally to the spoken word. And breath control. And in particular, the effective use of the diaphragm.

__________

Now in researching this blog I was truly surprised by the number of video clips on UTube, of people either singing, or attempting to sing, Where'er You Walk. Like the concept of "the minimum wage" (the stuff perhaps of a future blog), it is alive, and kicking. And as I listened to the various methods of strangulation, I couldn't help wondering how I as a 13 year old sang it. How, I found myself asking, with my limited insights, could I possibly have interpreted this drawing room song from the Victorian era. Here is that point in the song where it changes key, and where the words and music combined, lend themselves to the dramatic and subtle expression of sentiment:

Where'er you tread
The blushing flowers shall rise,
And all things flourish,
And all things flourish,
Wher'er you turn your eyes,
Wher'er you turn your eyes,
Wher'er you turn your eyes.

[Listen here]

Now the truth is, that whether or not we are formally trained, there is a natural capacity for music in all of us, that sooner or later will find expression, (though I must confess, that in my youth, I had serious doubts about the Beatles, as to whether they could sing, or play); and though my view has mellowed, a little, it seemed that their success had more to do with an age of rebellion, than with talent, the lack of which, to some extent, was disguised by their group dynamic. But when I was sixteen and walking along the shore and chanced upon a group of men standing around in their shirt sleeves, I was curious, and waited to see what would happen. It was to be my first experience of Jazz, and as they say, I was "blown away" by this new music: by the spontaneity and improvisation, so much so, that I went home and on the piano, transposed the funereal English national anthem into a Jazz piece.

The earliest musical experiences that I can recall, came from primary school, where the tonic sol-fa was hung from the blackboard and we learned to sing, first the notes of the scale, and then how to skip to those that the teacher pointed to at random. After that came madrigals, and plainsong. Madrigals were happy songs such as Now Is The Month Of Maying, and plainsong, the solemn liturgical music of the church, which we learned to sing, (without comprehension), in Latin. Later, in my teens, music makers from around the world, freed from the restraints of school, and making a living, rocked around the clock, caught falling stars, wrote love letters in the sand, sang and danced in the rain, fantasised about "the street where you live", worried as to where the baby's dimple might be, and in the case of Elvis, about his blue suede shoes. They sang about dogs in windows, houses that let in the cold, and Tulips form Amsterdam; and about Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellenbogen by the Sea, where:

"The happy pair were married one Sunday afternoon,
They left the church and ran away to spend their honeymoon - in
Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellenbogen by the sea."

And how could I not have a soft spot for Lonnie Donegan, whose lyrics, besides being funny, represented a huge cultural shift from the refined world that I inhabited:

"Does your chewing gum loose its flavour
on the bedpost overnight?
If your mother says: "don't chew it!"
do you swallow it in spite.
Do you catch it on your tonsils?
Do you heave it left and right?
Does your chewing gum loose its flavour
on the beclpost over night?"

_____

It was the age of skiffle: of improvisation, when you could make music using washboards and tea chests. And though the outlets for popular music were as nothing then, compared to what they are now, the American influence was strong, not just on vinyl, but in the cinema in shows such as Annie Get Your Gun, Singin' In The Rain, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers and Guys And Dolls.

In summer, our kitchen, (the heart of a large seaside guest-house), was an especially busy place, there work went on from early morning until late at night; and as a consequence, it was the backdrop to much of this music making. In my poem Paddy Johnson, I recall those hectic times; and in this extract , something of the tensions and conflicts of interest, when it came to serving breakfasts:

"Breakfast for two."
"No! two adults and on child,
three breakfasts."
"Ou of the way!"
"Yes, toast, lots of toast!"
"Can someone see to these dirty dishes
they're piling up like crazy?"
"!No! Mr. Weir hasn't appeared yet."
"Here! Give that teapot a wipe, it's filthy!
And you! upstairs and scrub your face
and wash behind your ears."

_____

In such an environment, music kept us going. From a box gramophone on a windowledge, Bridie Gllagher, an exile, sang approvingly of The The Boys From The County Armagh; while someone else, on behalf of those, down under, (living in Australia), told us of how much better life could be: "if we only had old Ireland over here". While Eileen Donaghy, oozing sentiment on behalf of someone who had made it to Broadway, was nostalgic for The Old Bog Road. And John McCormack, (Ireland's greatest export after Guinness), besides reminding me of my formal education in music, helped to make light of the hard graft, with Macushla, whose "red lips" were calling, "again and again".

Now I have just remembered something that is a good point at which to begin to wind down.

When my sister Anna got married and I was asked to sing at her wedding, I took a few lessons in order to help get my voice back into shape. The wedding was in February at a church on the sea front, and it was bitterly cold; something that Anna didn't seem to notice in her short sleeved wedding dress. Singing from the loft to a small congregation, in a large church, that I didn't know, was not an enjoyable experience, for such were the acoustics that I didn't recognise my own voice. But my singing must have been better than it seemed, because afterwards, a young wedding photographer, whom I didn't know, came over and said: "You know, you could give a lot of pleasure to people". Well, it wasn't to be. But someone who did just that, and still does, was Kathleen Ferrier. I was 11 when she died at the age of 41 from cancer; and I think I discovered her by chance while browsing in a record store, in search of traditional folk songs, possibly in 1971, because among my vinyl of that year, I have, The World Of Kathleen Ferrier.

Were I to be a castaway on a desert island and only allowed to take one song rather than the customary eight, it wouldn't be Irish, and it wouldn't be liturgical, nor would it be Jazz, or folk, or the music that made me laugh. It would be Kathleen Ferrier singing Art Thou Troubled. She had the most beautiful voice imaginable, and listening to her, for me, is as near as we are ever likely to get in singing, to perfection. Or as another great performer from my teenage years, (and from the opposite end of the spectrum), might have put it, when I hear her: "I'm all shook up!"

[Listen to Kathleen Ferrier here]

Art thou troubled? Music will calm thee.
Art thou weary? Rest shall be thine.
Music, above all gladness,
Heals thy sadness, at her shrine.
Music, music ever divine.
Music, music calleth, with voice divine.

When the welcome spring is smiling,
All the earth with flow'rs beguiling,
After winter's dreary reign,
Sweetest music doth attend her,
Heav'nly harmonies doth lend her,
Chanting praises in her train.

__________

© Cormac McCloskey

Appendix

If you click on the song titles below they will open the relevant UTube page in a separate window. Though the quality varies greatly, as some recordings go back to the early part of the 20th century, I hope you enjoy some of these songs, all of which were a part of my formative years. With very few exceptions, (Kathleen Ferrier being a case in point), I was familiar with all of this music by the time I was 18 in 1960. In most cases, I have used the recordings that I would have listened to on the box gramophone. One exception that comes to mind, is My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose, by Robert Burns. The recording that we had at home by Kenneth McKellar, is on UTube, but distorted from use in the past, and is hard to listen to. So I have selected a later Kenneth McKellar recording. Also, Foster & Allen did not exist as a performing group in my youth, but the songs did. I have been careful also, not to use recording where the volume is set automatically at an excessively high level. The one exception is This Old House, but I have placed a warning beside it, urging you to reduce the volume before it gets going. There are others, not so bad, to which I have also attached a warning. As for the Gilbert & Sullivan comic operas, I was fortunate to be able to see many of them live at the Crane Theatre in Liverpool, (now the Nemptune Theatre) in my school days.

Putting this list together has been hard work, but it would have been a lot harder had it not been for YOUTUBE, and those many people who had sought to share their music with us. So a sincere thank you, to those of you whose postings I used.

And thank you to music, that in no small way, in those early years, helped to keep alive within me, good things, that otherwise might have died.

Songs From School:
Now is the month of maying
Tantum Ergo: (Plainsong]

Popular Irish Ballads:
Eileen Donaghy: Doonaree
Eileen Donaghy: The Flower Of Magharally
Eileen Donaghy: The Old Bog Road
Foster and Allen: Among The Wicklow Hills
Foster and Allen: A Place In The Choir
Foster and Allen: Black Velvet Band (Rather Loud]
Foster and Allen: Danny Boy
Foster and Allen: If Those Lips Could Only Speak
Foster and Allen: If we only had old Ireland over here!
Foster and Allen: Maggie
Foster and Allen: Seven Old Ladies [Rather loud]
Foster and Allen: Silver Threads Among The Gold
Foster and Allen: The Green Glens Of Antrim
Foster and Allen: The Old Boreen
Foster and Allen: The Stone Outside Dan Murphys Door
The Fureys: When you were sweet sixteen
The Wolfe Tones: The Boys From The County Armagh

Classical Irish Ballads and Other Songs
John McCormack: Annie Laurie
John McCormack: Bantry Bay
John McCormack: Bless This House *
John McCormack: Bonnie Mary of Argyle
John McCormack: Dear Old Pal Of Mine
John McCormack: Down By The Sally Gardens
   Also by Orla Fallen
John McCormack: Foggy Dew
John McCormack: I Hear You Calling Me
John McCormkck: I'll Walk Beside You
John McCormack: Little Town In The Old County Down
John McCormack: Macushla * The final notes of this song as sung, are sublime.
John McCormack: Meeting Of The Waters
John McCormack: Molly Brannigan
John McCormack: Snowey Breasted Pearl
John McCormack: So Deep The Night
John McCormack: Sonny Boy
John McCormack: Star Of The Old County Down
John McCormack: The Bard of Armagh
John McCormack: The Harp That Once Through Tara's Hall
John McCormack: The Minstrel Boy
John McCormack: The Rose Of Tralee
John McCormack: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
John McCormack: Where'er You Walk *
   Also by Jan Peerce
Maureen Hagarty: My Lagan Love
Maureen Hagarty: She Moved Through The Fair

Scottish Song:
Kenneth McKellar: My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose [Rather Loud]
Kenneth McKellar: Afton Water
Will Fyffe: I Belong To Glasgow

The Rediculously Funny & other 50s Pop
Alma Cogan: In The Middle Of The House
Alma Cogan: Never Do A Tango With An Eskimo
Alma Cogan: Pickin' A Chicken
Alma Cogan: Twenty Tiny Fingers
Bill Haley: Rock Around The Clock
Elvis Presley: All Shook Up!
Elvis Presley: Blue Suede Shoes
Elvis Presley: Jailhouse Rock
Elvis Presley: Spanish Eyes
Ertha Kitt: An Englishman Needs Time
Ertha Kitt: An Old Fashioned Milionaire
The Platters 1958: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Frank Sinatra: Somewhere Over The Rainbow
Jim Lowe: The Green Door
Jo Stafford ? : The Shrimp Boats Is A Comin'
Lonnie Donegan: Battle Of New Orleans
Lonnie Donegan: Does your chewing gum loose its flalvaour... *
Lonnie Donegan: Don't You Rock Me Daddy-o
Lonnie Donegan: Grand Coulee Dam
Lonnie Donegan: Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley
Lonnie Donegan: Have A Drink On Me
Lonnie Donegan: My Old Man's A Dustman
Lonnie Donegan: Nobody Loves Like An Irishman
Lonnie Donegan: Pick A Bale Of Cotton
Lonnie Donegan: Purrin' On The Style
Lonnie Donegan: Railroad Bill
Louis Armstrong: What A Wonderful World
Max Bygraves: Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellenbogen By The Sea *
Max Bygraves: Tulips From Amsterdam *
Michael Holliday: The Runnaway Train
Michael Holliday: The Stairway Of Love
Michael Holliday: The Story Of My Life
Nat King Cole: Red Sails In the Sunset
Pat Boone: April Love
Pat Boone: Love Letters In The Sand *
Patti Page: Changing Partners
Patti Page: How Much Is That Doggy In The Window *
Patti Page: Mockingbird Hill
Patti Page: Tennessee Waltz
Paul Anka: Diana
Perry Como: Catch A Falling Star *
Perry Como: Magic Moments
Perry Como: Don't Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes
Perry Como: Tie A Yellow Ribbon
Rosemary Clooney: Where Will The Dimple Be *
Stuart Hamblen: This Old House
Tennessee Ernie Ford: 16 Tons
Tennessee Ernie Ford: The Ballad Of Davy Crocket
The Pinetoppers: Mocking Bird Hill
Tommy Steele: I've Got A Handful Of Songs
Tommy Steele: Little White Bull
Tommy Steele: Singing The Blues

Films: Movies from the 1950s
Gigi Thank Heaven For Little Girls
High Society: True Love
Seven Brides For Seven Brothers: Bless Your Beautiful Hyde
My Fair Lady: On The Street Where You Live *
Singin In The Rain: Gene Kelly: Singing In The Rain
The King And I: Getting To Know You
The Student Prince: Mario Lanza: Drink Drink Drink
The Student Prince: Mario Lanza: The Loveliest Night Of The Year

Gilbert and Sullivan Comic Operas
The Mikado: Behold The Lord High Executioner
The Mikado: I Have A Little List (Contemporary rendition)
The Mikado: Three Little Maids From School
The Mikado: The Sun Whose Rays
The Mikado: Tit Willow
The Pirates Of Penzance: I Am A Pirate King
The Pirates Of Penzance: A Policeman's Lot
The Pirates Of Penzance: Poor Wandering One
The Yeomen Of The Guard: A Man Who Would Woo A Fair Maid
The Yeomen Of The Guard: I have A Song To Sing O!
The Yeomen Of The Guard: Strange Adventure

Kathleen Ferrier
Kathleen Ferrier: Where'er You Walk *
Kathleen Ferrier: What Is Life? * *
Kathleen Ferrier: Silent Night
Kathleen Ferrier: Art Thou Troubled * *
Kathleen Ferrier: All Is Fulfilled * * .Not available at the moment
Kathleen Ferrier: He Was Despised * *
Kathleen Ferrier: Blow The Wind Southerly
Kathleen Ferrier: Lasciatemi * * Cant find at the moment
Kathleen Ferrier: Fair House of Joy
Kathleen Ferrier: An Die Musik (Schubert) * *
Kathleen Ferrier: The Keel Row
Kathleen Ferrier: Du Bist die Ruh (Schubert) * * *

And lastly this, (As we are in the middle of the World Cup in Sout Africa), something that I did not know existed: Kathleen Ferrier in 1951 singing Land of Hope and Glory It is a scratchy recording to begin with, but persavere. You have never heard it sung like this, as sung, it is beautiful without being tirumphilist. Land of Hope and Glory.

"desert island" alludes to the BBC Radio 4 programme, Desert Island Discs

It was my Aunt Maura (See the blog below), who taught me to sing The Bard of Armagh, and who explained that the "poor Irish harper ... Phelim Brady", was not as the song suggests, a minstrel looking back over his life, but a priest, in penal times, travelling in disguise:

O list to the strains of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strings in his poor withered hands.
Remember his fingers could once move more sharper
To raise up the memory of his dear native land.

At fair or at wake I could twist my shillelagh
And dance a wild jig with my brogues bound with straw.
And all the pretty maidens in village and valley
Loved their bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh.

Note: This blog, "I'm all shook up!" was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 30th May 2009