Friday, November 29, 2013


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I'm feeling a bit stuck in this folkie groove, worried whether I should feel worried. But, do you know what? I don't. This is important. Well, I think so.

This is a song, poem, whatever, about Flora McDonald, and it is in gaelic. It probably neither rocks nor rolls, and has a choir singing on it. What's not to love? Well, try it......

The scottish band, for it is they, have legend similar to that "Scottish Play" that dare not say it's name. To invoke their name can lead, I'm led to believe, to untold harm, yet they plough their 40 year farrow, unabated, give or take an occasional change of character. This song stems from what I consider their classic period, when Donnie Munro was still fronting on blood-curdling vocals, yet he scarcely figures in this, beyond background wails. I find the goose bumps rise inevitable on this, perhaps a result of my hebridean lineage, but I can't but be affected by this piece. When my mother died, several years back, this was the obvious choice of music for her send-off, not least as she was a gaelic-speaking native of Melbost, near Stornoway, on the Isle of Lewis.

This band came from Skye, I understand, another of the hebridean islands, steeped in history, real and invented. It is another world to the one I live in and know, with a poetry and presence at odds with the elsewhere world. I love it. It is my home from reality, a home from home. Fogive my indulgence. Enjoy the song.

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