Welsh Fiddle Festival
In August and September the birds start to spread their wings and head south. I give a couple of hesitant flaps and head west for Pembroke and the somewhat remote Stackpole Centre. You turn left at Pembroke, pass through the back of beyond and then, just past the ar*e end of nowhere, turn down a farm track and keep on going.
Try the aerial view to get a real idea.
Why do I boldly go where Colonel Fawcett would fear to tread? The Welsh Fiddle Festival. Part of my schedule of festivals and a must in my book. Buxton, Snowdon, perhaps, the WFF and Groton if my cards can take the strain.
The festival has grown over the three years I have been going, from a small, ad hoc gathering where we all mucked in to produce copious quantities of cawl (a Welsh icon that is a cross between soup and stew) and bacon sandwiches, to this year where we had caterers in and a bar set up during the concerts. There was a still a small Tesco run to get extra alcohol for the non-concert hours. But, as you can see, there was little chance of slipping out for a quick burger or curry. This catering lead to my first mistake. I posited that we would eat late, and that the caterers would make money by serving small portions. I, therefore, stopped halfway and, taking out a second mortgage, bought a cup of coffee and a couple of Danish. I arrived to be presented almost immediately with a chilli that had half an Argentina beef herd sitting on a goodly percentage of the Chinese rice harvest. This was followed by a mille feuille with several Kent fruit fields covered in a couple of pantechnicons of whipped cream.
That evening (Thursday) there was a lecture on the crwth and ancient tunings for lyres etc. Very interesting but, a bit heavy going after a long car journey (long by UK standards, just round the corner in US). I can remember bits but, lots went over my head by a couple of light years.
Friday was the full English with rather nice local sausages and thick rashers of bacon. A workshop then on improvisation around the chords of a tune. Excellent, even though, when called upon, I cocked up a tune I can play reasonably well. Then onto another workshop by Majella Bartley – a lecturer at Limerick - on bowing. Then lunch, a thick slice of Pembroke ham, lots of cheese, salad and coleslaw and lots of Shandor’s bread*. Sat outside and watched the martins and swallows for a while then had a one-to-one horizontal relaxation workshop.
That evening we had an international concert from the tutors. Iolo Jones and Sian Phillips from Wales, Pete Cooper from England (who sang and played), Lauren MacColl from Scotland (Lauren has a new CD out and I will unashamedly plug it here http://www.laurenmaccoll.co.uk/albums.htm) Majella Bartley from Ireland and Arne Anderdal from Norway. You have to admire Arne, a great player and one who plays a hardanger with gut strings! A highlight was the ensemble playing Soldier’s Joy and Turkey in the Straw as an encore.
Saturday was quiet (I got confused and missed the first workshop) but, did have a rather sadistic workshop. Scales with very long, slow counts of four beats per note that gave you time to think before you put down a finger- much harder than doing it automatically from muscle memory. Then a simple jig.
X:22
T:Torth o Fara
T: The Loaf of Bread
M:6/8
L:1/8
K:G
D | G2 G G2 A | (GFE) D2 D | G2 G B2 B | (DEF) G2 :||
B2 B B2 B | d2 d A2 A | B2 B B2 B |( dcB) A2 D |
G2 G G2 A | (GFE) D2 D | GGG B2 B | (DEF) G3 ||
No problem. I can play it reasonably well if no-one is around. Then, “Now play it as a waltz” Hmmm not so easy. “Now try it as a slow air” Keeping it smooth and hitting the right intonation ain’t as easy as it sounds. Try it with a favourite jig. More swallows and relaxation during the afternoon and an unsuccessful attempt to find out the Liverpool score.
Saturday was competition night. The junior was won, after a couple of years of being placed, by Ivan Brown. My vote would have gone to my little friend (Am I allowed to say that?) Dylan. OK, so his playing is going downhill with the brakes off but, he does enjoy himself. Or as Lauren said in her adjudication, he goes at it like a dog on (thinks: Oh b*gger this is a junior competition but I’ve gone too far to stop) heat. (thinks: I’ll try and get away with it) Err, coiled spring.
After four years of trying, the senior section was won by Jamie Nemeth who looked totally gobsmacked at the announcement. But, he was totally outdone by his father who was floating around about two feet off the ground for the rest of the week-end. I think Jamie managed to prise the trophy out of his grasp for the triumphal entry into the pub on Sunday.
The Sunday lunch over and a session under way, it was time to head east again for another 12 months.
*Shandor Nemeth (Jamie’s father) is a master baker with the accent on master. Every year he bakes batches for us which come straight from the oven to the plate. Even if you don’t know Welsh music or even if you don’t like the fiddle. If you are a lover of bread, it’s worth coming just for that.
Joined: 2006-09-05