7 days in Tullamore
The All-Ireland Fleadh (pronounced “flah”)
is the biggest annual worldwide celebration of Irish music. This year, the
festival was held in the town of Tullamore
from August 20th through August 26th. The following is a
day-by-day account of what went down.
Day 1: Banjo Camp
Today began, as most of my days in Ireland do, with a bowl of muesli, milk and a sliced banana. I then caught a bus in Port Laoise, and about an hour later I was in Tullamore. I found my way to the main fleadh office, where I saw a sign that said “Accomodations.” I was planning on going back and forth from Port Laoise every day, so I figured I may as well see if I could find anything cheap in Tullamore.
Me: Hi
Man: What can I do for you?
Me: I want a home.
Man: You aren’t in Schol Eigse, are you?
Me: I don’t think so. What’s that?
Man: It’s the week-long camp that’s going on this week. Anyway, we have a number of-
Me: Can I be?
Man: Can you be what?
Me: Can I be in the camp? Is it too late to sign up?
Man: Aren’t you a little old?
Me: No.
The accommodations man, a really nice guy named James, sent me across a few streets to a woman named Siobhan. Siobhan said I could join the camp, but they didn’t have mandolin, so I’d have to be in the tenor banjo class. Tenor banjos are actually tuned the same as mandolins and violins (GDAE) but are an octave lower. She said I had to be in class at 2 p.m. (there are 3 class sessions each day, but I had missed the first two), leaving me with a few hours to kill. I went over to café for lunch, during which it hit me that I was about to join a camp for kids who play banjos. I got really excited. When I was younger, I was forced to go to a classical music camp in Ottawa, KS. I didn’t really like classical music, so I really didn’t like Ottawa. This was different, though. This was Irish music camp, and I would get to hang out with kids who play banjos, and, I figured, since I was probably older than most everyone in the class, I would automatically be pretty cool. It was going to be a good week.
I walked into class at 2, and saw that my teacher, Shane, wasn’t much older than me. My fellow students, on the other hand, were a good 5-10 years younger than me. The class started with Shane showing us four to five bars of a tune. He would then ask one person to play the tune back. At this point, everyone in the class who wasn’t being asked to play would play as well, but usually other tunes. One kid kept on playing the dueling banjos theme from Deliverance. Another kid played the correct song, but would always capo it up a fret (meaning he would play it in a slightly different key), just to be an asshole. It was chaos. Shane would have to quiet the entire class every 5 minutes. There was a clique of kids in the back of the class that he would have to quiet more often than the rest of us. One of them, who had a shock of red hair and went by Steven, insisted that Shane was “racist against gingers,” to which Shane responded by relocating him to the front of the class, next to me.
Banjos are pretty loud instruments, so Shane could usually hear the kid he was listening to over the din. When it came to me, though, everyone had to shut up because mandolins are so soft. At this point I realized that I was not the cool older kid. I was the creep with the wrong instrument. Had I not been the only student who was more or less done with puberty, I have a feeling other kids might have picked on me. At the end of the class, Shane told me that tomorrow I might want to bump up a class because the other class might be quieter. I told him I’d give it a shot.
Afterwards, I went back to talk to James, my accommodations man. He told me that he didn’t have a place yet, but that I should come back the next day and check in. I headed back to Port Laoise on the 6 p.m. bus.
Day 2: Auyon finds a home, plays accordion
I once again took the bus into town, and decided to try the Banjo 3 class (I was in Banjo 2 the day before). The class had a few more adults, and did seem much quieter. Our teacher, Maeve, was a young woman who opened her eyes really wide whenever she said anything, like kindergarten teachers tend to do. It made me really uncomfortable. The class, as I said before, was definitely quieter, but strangely enough all of the tunes we were playing seemed really simple. At the end of the class, when Maeve started showing us the correct way to hold a banjo pick (everyone calls them “plectrums” here), I got suspicious. After the morning session, I told her that I think I should bump up to the next level, to which she responded “Oh that’s fine. Just head over to Shane’s class next door.” I returned to Shane’s class and stayed there for the rest of the week.
Between classes, I returned to the fleadh office to try and find housing. When I walked in, a kid named Garrett asked to see my mandolin, and he played a few tunes on it. We talked a bit, and I found that Garrett lived in town. James later called his parents, and I ended up staying with Garrett’s family, the Delaneys, for the week. Garrett was a friendly, outgoing 14 year-old, and he showed me around town later in the day. It was good to hang out with someone on a one-on-one basis again, and Garrett and I quickly found common ground when we discovered our shared passion for potty humor.
Garrett had an older sister named Eitne, who worked at a local doctor’s office, and an older brother named Steven, who was an accomplished Irish dancer and athlete. I would later end up being good friends with Steven. Garrett’s parents, Martina and Liam, were very kind to me, and for 40 euros a night, I was given room and board for the week. Liam also played just about every instrument, from accordion to banjo to guitar, and so they had all of the instruments lying around the house. I was immediately attracted to the accordion. Liam taught me the D-scale, and I soon played Happy Birthday and Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star. I was happy as a clam. I also fooled around on the banjo, which I can play reasonably well since it’s tuned the same as a mandolin. I’m buying one when I get back to the US.
Day 3: On Stage
After classes today, I went over to the fleadh office to buy a book of tunes. I was doing pretty well picking things up by ear in the pubs, but I didn’t have any tunes down by heart yet, so I figured I should build up a repertoire. I went up to a girl to ask her which book would be the best to buy, and she responded with a really strange Irish accent.
Me: So where are you from?
Girl: The US.
Me: Cool I’m from Kansas City
Her Irish twang disappeared at this point
Girl: Oh I’m with the St. Louis group. Do you want to perform with us at the youth concert tonight?
Me: I don’t know any Irish music.
Girl (thinking I’m exaggerating/being modest, because only a complete jerk-off would come to the fleadh without knowing any Irish music): Oh but you’ll know these.
Me: I don’t think you understand.
Girl: Can you fake?
Me: I used to play violin in a youth orchestra.
Girl: What?
Me: I’m incredible.
Girl: Cool I’ll see you tonight.
Me: Word.
She also asked me to spell my name, because she was announcing everyone who was playing. Later on that night, I met her at the hotel that the show was being held at. She told me that there would be around 50 kids playing, so it’d be easy to hide. She then gave me the names of all the jigs and reels that I would be “playing.” I told her that I knew none of them. She told me that when I heard them, I’d know them.
I walked into a large hall, filled with a pretty good-sized audience. This worried me a little, but at least I was performing with 50 other kids. Before the St. Louis group was scheduled, there was a group from New York. As they went on, I looked around at my Midwestern compatriots. I was definitely the oldest, but it looked like there were some kids who were close. Also, the girl who was organizing looked around 23 or 24, so at least I wouldn’t be the oldest on stage. As the NY group finished and we walked on stage, I had a string of realizations. First, the girl who was organizing, named Shannon, was not actually playing. She was just organizing. Second, darkness makes kids look older. As the stage lights illuminated their cherub-like faces, it dawned on me that I, once again, was surrounded by a collection of 10 to 15 year-olds, except this time we were on stage. I also had not shaved that morning, so my 5 o’clock shadow served to further accentuate the 8 ways I stood out from the rest of the kids on stage. Finally, I realized that when Shannon had said “50,” she actually said “15,” and the scant crowd on stage left me far too exposed. To really drive it home, when Shannon got on stage to announce our names she said “Introducing the St. Louis Youth Group, and Auyon Mukharji!” while pointing at me. I waved. Now they all knew my name.
As I sat down in the second row, I saw that there was a microphone pointed directly at my mandolin. I gingerly pointed it directly away from me, smiling as I explained to the blond 10 year-old next to me, “I don’t know any of this.” She nodded knowingly. When we started playing, my predictions were confirmed. I faked my way through a few tunes and then ran off the stage at the first sign of a break. I was congratulated by a number of adults on my performance that night and the next day. “It was nothing, really,” I assured them.
Day 4: Exotic Sandwiches
After classes today, I headed over to one of the local cafés, called Chocolate Brown’s. A sign that proclaimed “Organic Coffee, Fresh Juice & Exotic Sandwiches!” caught my attention. So I went in. I looked for the exotic sandwiches, but could only find sausage rolls and pizza baguettes. They didn’t seem particularly exotic, but I reasoned that, under the heading of “sandwiches,” pizza baguettes could be classified as exotic, since they aren’t really sandwiches at all. I then looked up and saw the drinks menu. I was initially going to go with my standard mocha, but then saw another item that read “Chai: Spiced Tea with Milk. A must try!” Below that, they had another item, called “Spiced Chai.” I was intrigued. A spiced drink of spiced tea and milk? I had to order it. I then sat down and started working on my journal. Soon, a waitress brought a tall, steaming, frothy cup to my table. I took a sip. It tasted like watered-down, hot eggnog. I normally like eggnog, but this was not the time or place. I considered approaching the ladies who served me and politely informing them that the spiced chai tasted an awful lot like Christmas, but I refrained. I ended up throwing most of it out and leaving, thirsty and disappointed. Later on that night, I went to a pub and jammed with some old dudes while getting tipsy on two pints of Guinness. All was well again.
Days 5-7: The Fleadh
The Fleadh really kicked off on Friday afternoon, with a huge parade of musicians and a giant stage set up in the main square. As with any public festival, the best part of the whole production was the collection of individuals who were inebriated before anything started, in this case, at 11 a.m. One of the individuals I saw was wearing a red winter hat, aviators, and a half of a pair of green short pants. His underwear (navy boxer-briefs) was plainly visible through the giant rip down the back of his pants. The gentleman in question was playing a game of “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” with a similarly dressed friend of his. They were spectacular. Later on, when there were a number of performers on stage playing music, both of these men, along with an assortment of their friends, played along with the band. They may not have known any of the tunes, but by they played their tin whistles and guitars with fervor. They also yelled and clapped their hands a lot. They would continue to yell and scream at appropriate and inappropriate intervals throughout the rest of the evening.
Even barring the guys at the festival, the fleadh was an incredible experience. There were more than a hundred thousand people in the town, and from Friday afternoon through early Monday morning, you couldn’t walk 15 or 20 feet without coming across a collection of musicians playing on the street, with crowds ebbing and flowing around them. On Saturday and Sunday, I got to see a number of world-class musicians compete for the All-Ireland title in their respective instruments. My favorite instrument is now the Irish Uilleann pipes (pronounced “illinpipes,”) which is the Irish version of the bagpipes. Rather than producing the air orally, the Uilleann pipers use a pump under their right arm to provide the air for the instrument.
I didn’t have too many more escapades during the fleadh, but due to some less-than-judicious management of my laundry, I ended up wearing the same clothes for four days. This in itself was not particularly exciting, but that fifth day, when I got to wear fresh underpants again, was something glorious.
Hope all is well back home, I’m missing you all.
Auyon
