Or Hello Everybody.
I'm more just testing out the blog feature that Scott said I should do or he'd back over my whistles with Big Willy, my big blue van.
Oh! That just made me think of a topic of my first blog entries. I have friends who, like me, have named their vehicles. Kitty named her car Milly. Tommy has an auto named Blueberry. My friend Siobhán affectionately named her car POS. Big Willy is named after the same man who gave the band its name: William of Ockham. See? I can't do anything with trying to subscribe some weird meaning or symbolic gesture to it. Call it an overwhelming sense of the importance of the inanimate.
I have also named my instruments.
My Milan accordion, Fergus, which I refer to being my punk rock accordion for its garish red marble finish and the fact that it's held together with duct tape and zip ties, is named after Fergus mac Róich, a character known for his virility in the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology. Fergus is a musette accordion, meaning that the tone has a lot of vibrato, making it 'wet.' He's tuned in D/G which means I can play some power chords which are immensely fun for me, not so much for anyone else within a three foot circle of myself.
My Cairdín is named Fingal, after a county in Ireland, and a misappropriation by James MacPherson when he wrote the Ossian cycle of poems of Fionn mac Cumhaill's name. But Fingal is pale compared to Fergus, and took some time for me to learn his buttons. Thus Fingal, meaning 'white stranger,' which made the name appropriate. I tend to use Fingal more often live than Fergus, mainly because he has a purer tone and is tuned in C/D which allows for me to play some of the weird chords in our music.
I have a piano at home named Ophelia because she's slightly sharp at the top end and slightly flat at the bottom end, making her amazingly out of tune and terribly unbalanced. But I love her and compose on her often. In fact, I've grown so accustomed to her tunelessness, that sometimes I find myself preferring the sounds of the chords created on Ophelia rather than on better, more in tune pianos.
Now for my whistles!
The low D, or the 'Big One' as most people refer to it, is a Chieftain and I love its tone. His name is Naoise, after the doomed lover in the story of The Sons of Uisne (which incidentally is the inspiration for the track "Diedre's Dream" on Wolves in the Walls.) The low whistle is perfect with a little reverb or echo on it to give some of those slower, mournful sounds I so much love. And at the same time, we can tear through some reels and jigs and add a wonderful midrange tone to the fiddle's highs. Also incidentally, I use both whistles on "Diedre's Dream."
My high, or soprano D is named after the mythological Lugh. Lugh was the hero god in ancient mythology and the month of August in Irish (Lúnasa) is named after him. I use my high D, which is a brass Dixon instrument with a tunable resin fipple, more than any other whistle so I feel like I know that particular whistle better than any other. He fits perfectly in my hands and with a pleasant weight, due to its being made of brass, I can tear through a reel at a pace that sets my soul alight.
The low F, a Susato, is only used on two songs, "Follow Me Up To Carlow" and "Rocky Road To Dublin." It's sort of my marching fife. I love the fact that both songs imply traveling and they're the only songs on which I use Fachtna (that's the low whistle's name, named after High King Fachtna Fáthach.) I also own a Generation soprano F, that was used on the studio recordings on Ten Thousand Miles To Bedlam, whose name is Bídeach, because it is.
The low G, which is the second of my Dixon whistles, my preferred whistle maker, is an aluminum bodied whistle with a detachable fipple (head joint) which makes it tunable - - an immensely good thing for playing in a band. Her name is Gráinne, after Gráinne Ní Mháille, and if you don't know who she is, you should do your homework.
I own two Shaw whistles, an A and an E. Dave Shaw, a Northumbrian maker of tin whistles, Northumbrian smallpipes, Scottish smallpipes, Irish uillean pipes, and shuttle pipes makes his whistles in a truly traditional manner, with the body being conical of an alloy of nickel and silver and a wooden block in the fipple. These whistles have a fantastic airy quality which when combined with a reverb effect, as on our arrangement of "The Foggy Dew," on Live and Well, give it that otherworldly sound that makes the hair on your arms raise up. On "Whiskey & Pills," from Ten Thousand Miles To Bedlam, the tone, rich and sweet, gives it that breezy quality that I think lends more of a sense of fun than the lyrics actually imply.
And their names? The A is Aoife. She is the 'demon of the air' described as King Lir's second wife in my favourite Irish story, The Children of Lir. And the E is Aodh, one of the aforementioned children.
I have a plethora of Generation whistles, which Paddy Moloney of the famed Chieftains has said are his favourite brand. The problem with Generations is that you have to 'tweak' them in order for them to be more in tune. But they do have a lovely, sweet tonality which I have used on many songs, especially on Ten Thousand Miles to Bedlam. I use Betty, my Bflat whistle on "I'll Tell Me Ma," and Bídeach, my high F on "Rocky Road" and "Carlow." I also own an Eflat named Éimhín and a stupidly high (and ridiculously small) G whistle named Fuiseog, which means lark or skylark in Irish.
And finally I have an Overton C whistle named Ceol, which of course is the Irish word for music. While I enjoy the tone of the Overton whistle, I find that the fipple, being on the small side, requires that your embouchure be super tight, especially on the higher register which can make the tone rather shrill if you're getting tired. But it is the whistle that creates that haunting counter melody at on "Lord Randall" on Wolves In The Walls, and would have been on "Gravel Walk" from Ten Thousand... if I'd had it then, but alas, I was using a brand of whistle (whom I won't name) that was the shrillest, most out of tune whistle I've ever owned and created a lifelong distaste for the brand.
So there you are! My first blog entry and a list of all the names for my instruments. I do have a violin that I don't know how to play, a guitar that I'm haphazardly learning to play, and a flute that was the first instrument I ever owned, given to me by my parents. It does have a name, and it is well loved though it needs its cork and pads changed and possibly some adjustments in the headjoint. But I'm going to keep that name to myself.
So thanks for reading my first blog entry. I hope I haven't bored you to tears.
Yours,
Kriostoir.
I'm more just testing out the blog feature that Scott said I should do or he'd back over my whistles with Big Willy, my big blue van.
Oh! That just made me think of a topic of my first blog entries. I have friends who, like me, have named their vehicles. Kitty named her car Milly. Tommy has an auto named Blueberry. My friend Siobhán affectionately named her car POS. Big Willy is named after the same man who gave the band its name: William of Ockham. See? I can't do anything with trying to subscribe some weird meaning or symbolic gesture to it. Call it an overwhelming sense of the importance of the inanimate.
I have also named my instruments.
My Milan accordion, Fergus, which I refer to being my punk rock accordion for its garish red marble finish and the fact that it's held together with duct tape and zip ties, is named after Fergus mac Róich, a character known for his virility in the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology. Fergus is a musette accordion, meaning that the tone has a lot of vibrato, making it 'wet.' He's tuned in D/G which means I can play some power chords which are immensely fun for me, not so much for anyone else within a three foot circle of myself.
My Cairdín is named Fingal, after a county in Ireland, and a misappropriation by James MacPherson when he wrote the Ossian cycle of poems of Fionn mac Cumhaill's name. But Fingal is pale compared to Fergus, and took some time for me to learn his buttons. Thus Fingal, meaning 'white stranger,' which made the name appropriate. I tend to use Fingal more often live than Fergus, mainly because he has a purer tone and is tuned in C/D which allows for me to play some of the weird chords in our music.
I have a piano at home named Ophelia because she's slightly sharp at the top end and slightly flat at the bottom end, making her amazingly out of tune and terribly unbalanced. But I love her and compose on her often. In fact, I've grown so accustomed to her tunelessness, that sometimes I find myself preferring the sounds of the chords created on Ophelia rather than on better, more in tune pianos.
Now for my whistles!
The low D, or the 'Big One' as most people refer to it, is a Chieftain and I love its tone. His name is Naoise, after the doomed lover in the story of The Sons of Uisne (which incidentally is the inspiration for the track "Diedre's Dream" on Wolves in the Walls.) The low whistle is perfect with a little reverb or echo on it to give some of those slower, mournful sounds I so much love. And at the same time, we can tear through some reels and jigs and add a wonderful midrange tone to the fiddle's highs. Also incidentally, I use both whistles on "Diedre's Dream."
My high, or soprano D is named after the mythological Lugh. Lugh was the hero god in ancient mythology and the month of August in Irish (Lúnasa) is named after him. I use my high D, which is a brass Dixon instrument with a tunable resin fipple, more than any other whistle so I feel like I know that particular whistle better than any other. He fits perfectly in my hands and with a pleasant weight, due to its being made of brass, I can tear through a reel at a pace that sets my soul alight.
The low F, a Susato, is only used on two songs, "Follow Me Up To Carlow" and "Rocky Road To Dublin." It's sort of my marching fife. I love the fact that both songs imply traveling and they're the only songs on which I use Fachtna (that's the low whistle's name, named after High King Fachtna Fáthach.) I also own a Generation soprano F, that was used on the studio recordings on Ten Thousand Miles To Bedlam, whose name is Bídeach, because it is.
The low G, which is the second of my Dixon whistles, my preferred whistle maker, is an aluminum bodied whistle with a detachable fipple (head joint) which makes it tunable - - an immensely good thing for playing in a band. Her name is Gráinne, after Gráinne Ní Mháille, and if you don't know who she is, you should do your homework.
I own two Shaw whistles, an A and an E. Dave Shaw, a Northumbrian maker of tin whistles, Northumbrian smallpipes, Scottish smallpipes, Irish uillean pipes, and shuttle pipes makes his whistles in a truly traditional manner, with the body being conical of an alloy of nickel and silver and a wooden block in the fipple. These whistles have a fantastic airy quality which when combined with a reverb effect, as on our arrangement of "The Foggy Dew," on Live and Well, give it that otherworldly sound that makes the hair on your arms raise up. On "Whiskey & Pills," from Ten Thousand Miles To Bedlam, the tone, rich and sweet, gives it that breezy quality that I think lends more of a sense of fun than the lyrics actually imply.
And their names? The A is Aoife. She is the 'demon of the air' described as King Lir's second wife in my favourite Irish story, The Children of Lir. And the E is Aodh, one of the aforementioned children.
I have a plethora of Generation whistles, which Paddy Moloney of the famed Chieftains has said are his favourite brand. The problem with Generations is that you have to 'tweak' them in order for them to be more in tune. But they do have a lovely, sweet tonality which I have used on many songs, especially on Ten Thousand Miles to Bedlam. I use Betty, my Bflat whistle on "I'll Tell Me Ma," and Bídeach, my high F on "Rocky Road" and "Carlow." I also own an Eflat named Éimhín and a stupidly high (and ridiculously small) G whistle named Fuiseog, which means lark or skylark in Irish.
And finally I have an Overton C whistle named Ceol, which of course is the Irish word for music. While I enjoy the tone of the Overton whistle, I find that the fipple, being on the small side, requires that your embouchure be super tight, especially on the higher register which can make the tone rather shrill if you're getting tired. But it is the whistle that creates that haunting counter melody at on "Lord Randall" on Wolves In The Walls, and would have been on "Gravel Walk" from Ten Thousand... if I'd had it then, but alas, I was using a brand of whistle (whom I won't name) that was the shrillest, most out of tune whistle I've ever owned and created a lifelong distaste for the brand.
So there you are! My first blog entry and a list of all the names for my instruments. I do have a violin that I don't know how to play, a guitar that I'm haphazardly learning to play, and a flute that was the first instrument I ever owned, given to me by my parents. It does have a name, and it is well loved though it needs its cork and pads changed and possibly some adjustments in the headjoint. But I'm going to keep that name to myself.
So thanks for reading my first blog entry. I hope I haven't bored you to tears.
Yours,
Kriostoir.