The Clare Concerto (2013) 60'
Concerto for Orchestra composed for the Irish Memory Orchestra.
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Score/Parts are exclusive to the Irish Memory Orchestra
The Clare Concerto Tunebook is available here |
Instrumentation: 4 Uilleann Pipes, 4 Concertinas, 4 Harps (Irish & Concert), 4 Flutes doubling Tin Whistle, 2 Oboes (Oboe 1 doubles Cor Anglais+Tin Whistle), Clarinet in Bb, 3 Electric Guitars, Tenor Saxophone, Alto Saxophone,Trumpet in Bb, 2 Trombones, Bronze Age Irish Horns (2 players minimum), Percussion (3 players minimum), Percussion instruments used - Timpani, Xylophone, 2 Drum Kits, Shakers, 2 Bodhráns,
2 Glockenspiels, Suspended Cymbals, Strings 9,9,4,4,3 minimum* Additional Under 16's Youth Strings Section Commissioned by Clare Arts Office under The Per Cent for Art Scheme. Premiered by Dave Flynn & the Irish Memory Orchestra, conductor Bjorn Bantock on 9th November 2013, Glór Theatre, Ennis, Ireland Programme Note by Dave Flynn
It is customary for composers of contemporary orchestral music to write long programme notes explaining the intricate technical details of their music to the audience. I’ve lately abandoned the idea of a technical programme note and instead do something a little more creative. I write Programme Poems. So here’s a Programme Poem for the Clare Concerto. EAST CLARE The Siege of Ennis We start with a siege, an imaginary kind As if Ennis was a town in pre-historic times Bodhráns sound the slow battle march That warns us the siege is about to start From the left come the locals with Bronze Age Horns Blaring trumpet calls, the enemy to warn From the right come outsiders led by Carnyx Calls They meet in the centre. Then there’s a free for all Reich and Glass go to Tulla As the siege ends we come back to the future To Tulla no less where the Ceili Band rules But in this little tune the Tulla are invaded By New York Minimalist looping grooves Philip Glass-style arpeggios are transformed with a lilt Into hornpipe, jig and reel time tunes While the harps, guitars, drums and basses Build a Steve Reich process filled with NYC fumes The Maghera Mist Maghera Mountain makes mournful music When it is covered in mildew mist Cello drones mould a melancholy mood Which Cormac soars above Paddy Canny Ascending into Space Paddy Canny, the great fiddler from East Clare Is no longer with us, but his music’s still there He could twist a tune in extraordinary ways It was often like music from outer space So with this strange hornpipe we pay tribute to him The Violas lead the tune, big fiddles if you will The tune drifts around then climbs up high Until Canny’s grand-daughter Eimear wishes him goodbye With her harp ascending into space Fahey in Feakle In Irish academia, there’s long been a debate Have the Irish ever produced a composer as great As Bach or Beethoven, Mozart ét al The academics answer is ‘No, we’ve feck all’ But within our tradition we have composers so great They’d be world famous, if they’d learnt to orchestrate To me Paddy Fahey’s the king of them all He comes from East Galway, but he’s played in Feakle! O’Donoghue’s Silver Flute He came from a place called O’Callaghan’s Mills And it’s around that area he developed his skills Unlike most Irish flautists his flute wasn’t made of wood It was silver and keyed, but play it well, he could Play it well enough he could to join the Tulla Ceili Band And become renowned all across the land He composed a few tunes that might be known to you He was the late, great Paddy O’Donoghue II. North Clare Kitty from Kilfenora Imagine, if you will, an unorthodox scene The Kilfenora Band of the 1970’s Are somehow transported into the future To a CMO practice in glór theatre Undaunted, their leader Kitty Linnane Bangs out some chords to start up the band But the sound that comes out isn’t what she had in mind So she starts the band again two or three times Frustration soon takes over poor Kitty And her chords get louder, discordant and gritty Don’t mess with our Kitty, she’s got nerves of steel She keeps bringing the band back to the start of the reel Eventually she allows us into the B part But by then most of the musicians choose to depart So it’s left to flutes, fiddles and oboes apart To lead us on in to Corofin Harps Corofin Harps Harps aren’t associated so easily with Clare A sighting of a harp in a session here is rare But there is at least a sporting team Who use the harp to symbolise their dream To bring the Sassanach sport of soccer To the land of hurling; they must be off their rockers! But they play with passion, dignity and heart So please pay respect to the Corofin Harps! Micho Whistling at the Cliff of Moher Micho Russell was a champion tin whistler who could cast a spell on devoted listeners So now let’s imagine he’s cast a spell on a resident of the village where he once dwelled Etain McCooey gets possessed one night in her home in Doolin by Micho’s spirit light As the waves lap gently against the sea shore he directs her towards the Cliffs of Moher The waves start lilting a strange little tune over which Etain’s whistle starts to croon The notes she plays come from the Other Side where our dear Micho now resides The ghostly tune takes hold of two more, the CMO flautists who we all adore Aisling Agnew and Eimear McGeown, are soon at the Cliffs whistling over the drone Of pipes regulators, basses and cellos, all sorts of strange noises are concocted and bellowed The waves get bigger as the tunes intertwine in an orgy of sound that seems to stop time Then the mother of all tsunamis arrives and brings our whistlers to meet Micho on the other side. Midnight in Ballyvaughan Down by Lough Rask, I bask In the moonlight glow That illuminates Ballyvaughan At Midnight On a clear night You can clearly see all the stars It is in these quiet moments In this peaceful idyll That I find my inspiration For slow, slow music The Barren Burren Anyone who visits asks me, ‘How did it come to be like this?’ ‘Such a barren, limestone landscape?’ The official explanation is surface ‘denuding’ The ancient farmers couldn’t have foreseen That by ruining their land, they’d create such beauty Which thousands would come from across the world to see In between the barren burren rocks there’s life to behold Little creatures scurrying around underneath The barren burren oboe-ground. Bell Harbour Droneys Down by Bell Harbour there’s a legendary name That of the Droneys, a family famed For a household where music abounds In a county filled with concertina styles This family stands out by a country mile For their unadorned, rhythmic, dancing sound Chris and Francis, like father like son You couldn’t keep track of the titles they’ve won Nor the ladies they’ve charmed with their smiles! And let’s not forget Chris’ daughter Anne Better known now as the singer Kirrane Another fine exponent of the Droney style This tune took its cue from a tune Chris composed That I saw Francis play on Youtube I borrowed and remoulded the first few notes And wondered off on my own little muse I’ve exploded the tune into an orchestral score For 70 musicians to belt out So the Droney sound may not be to the fore But feck it, that’s just what came out! As an epitaph to the story of this tune It’s important and interesting to note That Francis’ wife Aíne McGrath Is playing fiddle with the CMO! III WEST CLARE Flying into Shannon If it wasn’t for our Aer Lingus friends We’d have spent so much money on flights The chances are we couldn’t hire glór for tonight! So we open this West Clare movement with a flight into Shannon Imitated by the CMO It’s a small token of thanks to our flight sponsors And our main contact there; a fervent supporter of Irish music His first name’s Michael. He knows who he is (That’s not really a poem, or Is it?) Kilbaha Jazz On the far west of Clare down by Loop Head Kilbaha sleeps tonight Kilbaha’s dreams are haunted by memories of ‘The Jazz’ Of saxophones, trumpets and flugelhorns Double basses, brush kits and Arch-Top guitars The Irish jazz cognoscenti congregated here For a mere two years But it was special ‘The Jazz’ Louis Stewart, Myles Drennan and Mick Coady Heiner Franz, Stephen Keogh and Michael Buckley Honor Heffernan and Dorothy Murphy Rubbed shoulders with the Ennis cognoscenti Eamon Cotter, Mick Coyne and Graham Dunne They were all focused on ‘The Jazz’ After class in the closest pub to New York There were late night jam sessions Where jazz intertwined with trad Frank Kilkelly was in his element Back then I could hear some tenuous link Between these two traditions But it’s only when I heard Neil Yates Play trad trumpet like Miles Molloy That it finally all fell into place Jazz and Trad merge into ‘The Trazz’ When it’s done right, it’s pure joy So here’s to Jim Connolly for making it happen And to Louis Stewart for being the catalyst He’s our national jazz treasure And he’ll outplay any cat who tries To scratch his eyes out The Mullah of Mullagh Composers Compose, Compose and Compose Compose and Compose, then Decompose But some take their time and compose now and then Junior Crehan of Bonavilla in the Townland of Mullagh Was one of these patient composers For he left us just 20 tunes. But so perfectly formed is each of these tunes that he is rightly praised As one of the great Irish tune composers His quality trumps any quantity For what’s the value of 100 tunes that aren’t as tuneful as ‘The Luacharachán’ What’s the value of a string quartet without one melody to equal ‘The Otter’s Holt’ What’s the value a Symphony if it doesn’t have airs to match Junior’s airs? Though he’s bidden Farewell to Milltown Malbay from the Mist Covered Mountain In the Hills of Coore as Her Golden Hair was Running Down Her Back Junior still speaks with us through his music. He was a master of Irish music – The Mullah of Mullagh Willie Clancy’s Milltown Malbay Heat-Wave I wonder if Willie Clancy, that great master piper Ever experienced a heat-wave like we had this July? It was an odd experience for the festival in his name Because it ALWAYS rains during Willie Week Only this year there was nothing but sun And I tell you the sun was to blame For moving the music out of the pubs Onto the street and onto the beach It really just wasn’t the same The heat-wave drained our energy It drained the music’s energy It was a damn crying shame So whilst it was nice to experience Willie Clancy’s Milltown Malbay Heat-wave Next year I’ll be praying for rain! Quilty Township Jive This piece is a tribute to our South African conductor friend He’s the man you see waving his hands about whilst wiggling his rear end His name is Bjorn he’s from Cape Town where they do the Township Jive It’s important to explain to you all how he keeps our music alive For he’s not just a glorified metronome Without him we may as well stay at home He gives us belief and energy So let’s pretend he’s from Quilty! Connaghan in Coore Past the midnight hour during Willie Clancy Week musicians emerge from the cracks They hop on buses, cramp into cars and head for the Hills of Coore They congregate in McCarthy’s Bar for tunes, pints and craic Busloads are still arriving there at a quarter before four There’s one lady who’s always there earlier than most If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was the host She’s just mad for tunes, pints and craic and plays for hours aloud She plays and plays oblivious to the sardine tin can crowds She’s also been the rock through which this orchestra operates She’s been our project manager with a carnivorous work rate So it’s a fitting tribute to her to end this epic piece With a Highland Fling I’ve written to exude joy and peace Tara starts us off, plays the start of the tune Then transfers it to Aoife, until it spreads around the room The tune is thus repeated through all the CMO sections Until the very end we’ll leave you with no question That tonight you have witnessed something new, something profound A philharmonic orchestra with a distinctly Irish sound Encore So all that’s left to do is to give thanks so sincere To all of our musicians, sponsors and volunteers Without whom this piece would have never come to life Without whom we couldn’t have organised this night And lastly we must generate ginormous gratitude To a man who deserves sainthood or at least beatitudes So raise a glass to Eamon of the O’Donnell clan He’s our manager, our mentor and our biggest fan |
