Ciaran Carson’s a very good writer, isn’t he? 
OK, this is just my opinion, and I admittedly know little or nothing. But my impression was that Carson was too good a writer. And what I mean be that is that producing a work of art (his book) became as important as showing the tradition (the topic of his book). The effect is that for all the nitty-grittiness of his writing (remember the fatty breakfast?) and the round-aboutness of his approach (can you understand this music without light a cigarette? OK, I am exaggerating.) he is glossing the Tradition and thereby actually missing it or part of it. As I say, this is an impression, and perhaps a strange one for me to have as an outsider, but his book just didn’t seem chime completely with things. Great bits, though, no doubt.
(I probably shouldn’t even post this.)
No, I think I see your point, Bloo. Plenty of times I got the impression that his writing was more for art’s sake than for anything else. Then again, he’s Irish. 
Bloo, you’re such a recalcitrant old stogie. You’re totally harshing my mellow.
[Edited to add that last sentence, which I’ve just heard from one of my employees, who heard it from her teenage son.]
Nah. Actually, I agree that Carson sometimes lets his words get away with him; that is, he gets so enchanted by his poetic turns that he keeps going, and sometimes overshoots his mark. I’m only halfway through the thing, so it’ll be interesting to see how it all holds together over the long term as well as it seems to be doing in the first chapters (IMHO, of course). Maybe it’ll prove to be one of those books best ingested in short sittings, an odd chapter at a time every once in a while.
That said, I admit to a weakness for those who are just good at screwing around with English, so writerly excess doesn’t bother me as much as perhaps it should. So I don’t mind too much when Carson goes off on a flight of fancy. I like David Foster Wallace, too, and he’s definitely capable of a certain amount of onanism in his work. . .
Probably, understood as personal memoir/travelogue/experiential piece, the book’s a worthy one, even with all those ciggies and the heart-attack on a plate the guy’s always eating in strange small towns after waking up in an unfamiliar room. And I like his reflections on time, and the passage thereof. So far, at least.
Who was it that said of Wagner (or someone) something like: “His music has some lovely moments, but some terrible half-hours”? Or did I just make that up?
Carson pops up on Radio 4 over here now again and he is usually identified as a poet. I think that explains the way he plays with words in his prose as well. He is by all accounts a very handy flute player as well.
Ken
I love the twists and turns that Carson’s writing takes. His writing is like the music; you know it’s good but you just can’t put your finger on it.
I don’t think he’s just trying to talk about the music or just be artsy. If you ever read his poetry and meet him then I think you’ll agree that Last’s Night Fun is a brilliant combination of the music and the man. His poetry is really rambly and playful and it reminds me a lot of Seamus Ennis’s storytelling.
Flashback: I spent a little time with Carson during college when I was just starting into trad. He came up for a reading and a couple of my friends and I sat up most of the night trying to simultaneously play tunes and keep up with the drinking. It was great. He’s a brilliant player (from what I remember) and a great singer. I still sing one of the songs he gave me that night. The next day was one of my favorites memories. After his reading, where he also played some flute (great schtuff) we followed him and the whole English department faculty out to a pub. We loitered around the bar for a while, not really fitting in with the literary types. Carson looked miserable. After about ten minutes he just got up and left the highbrows at their discussion about him and bought us a round. We just sat around and chatted for the rest of the night. Now that’s art! He told me to look him up if I was in Belfast, but of course when I got there I forgot his number. How many Carsons do you think there are in Belfast?
I think Last Night’s Fun is a great book BECAUSE he puts in so much that’s not directly about the music. I think that those of us who are coming in from the outside spend too much time focusing on “getting” the music anyway. We focus on the end result, on becoming a “good” player and sounding like our favorite recordings. That’s not what it’s about. The reason why it’s bigger than any one musician or what somebody can “do” to it is because it’s not just about the notes. It’s a lifestyle, a way of looking at the world. The music is about people. I take Last Night’s Fun as a challenge. The book is a reflection in a way of what it was like to come up in the music when he did. I have to ask myself, what stories will I have to tell? It’s not enough to play…it’s the craic between the tunes!
I think the artsy wordy bits are brilliant. They’re musical in their own way. Carson grew up speaking Gaelic. And somebody famous said said something profound (Can’t remember who or what - Willie C.? Seamus Ennis?) about Gaelic, how it has a music of its own. I think Carson approaches language like that. There’s a swing to his writing.
Sorry to rant; I just love that book. I know it’s a bit artsy, but don’t try to “get it”. Just absorb it. Well, that’s one man’s opinion. And you know what they say about opinions… 
“You’re totally harshing my mellow”
LOL! Is that SoCal or wha’?
Carson’s use of the Mississipi is probably less controversial than my use of the image of the Ho Chi Minh trail to explain how any tune in ITM is a rough group of meandering routes that interconnect and can be used interchangeably, rather than a single highway.
Getting back to the posted subject, I would say no; the tradition doesn’t need bodyguards.
Every other Thursday we have a slow/fast session from beginners, to us who have been playing for ten years or more, and an age span going from early thirties to the seventies. And normally there is a core of ten people who show up. Last night only three of us showed up.
It didn’t stop us from playing. We played what we knew, worked on some others, and generally had a good time and didn’t get heckled or whatever from the other customers in pub, and who mostly thought that we did a find job.
Maybe it wasn’t the best playing, it wasn’t the worse, but to us it was wonderful, even with the mistakes. Each getting a turn to call the tunes, playing at speed that was comfortable to us. We all have collections of recorded music from the super ITM groups, individuals etc. all have specialty CD’s of musicians that play the instruments that we play. Do we play like them – no – do we try – not necessarily, but we do try to play the music sincerely and honestly to the best of our abilities.
We went our separate ways four hours later, and I got to thinking of this post walking home. I felt good about our session, I felt that in a quiet B&B, tucked away off the main street, in the core of this city, on a dark and stormy night, that for four hours the tradition was very much alive amongest friends who love the music dearly.
We aren’t bodyguards, but guardians, in a sense that we want this music to live in us and through us.
I walked home whistling (lips) the Boys of Wexford.
MarkB
Carson’s style is definitely in keeping with some of the great experimental irish writers - James Joyce and Flann O’Brien come to mind - mad, rambling, full of double entendres and word plays, run-ons, concrete tactile, visual, aural, and olfactory images heaped upon one another in the space of just a few lines. It’s very dense, but it’s definitely not boring.
I like the bit about the breakfasts, it always makes me hungry
Based on Last Night’s Fun, I bought a couple more of Carson’s books – Shamrock Tea and Fishing for Amber. Good reads, though even more eccentric and wandering than Last Night’s Fun. A bit like Japanese linked verse in a way. I really want to read The Star Factory, which is about Belfast. He’s also written a pocket guide to Irish music that I haven’t read yet , but I hear it’s good.
I’ve got the pocket guide. It’s titled “Irish Traditional Music”, and is a good read, and informative, too.
Carson wrote a lovely introduction to a book of black and white photographs by Rachel Giese called The Donegal Pictures. True, she’s my cousin , but even if she weren’t I’d recommend this book to anyone who likes Carson’s writing and evocative, narrative photographs. They move me.
And here’s a nice little thing: I just went to amazon.com to see if the book was in stock (“1 left, more on the way”) and noticed you could get Rachel’s book and Recollections of a Donegal Man by Packie Manus Byrne (StevieJ’s book) together for a special price. Sometimes you feel like you’re just where you’re supposed to be.
Carol
Sometimes one is just where one is supposed to be.
I honestly don’t know what to tell the people who ask, “so what about those of us who aren’t near any sessions?”
Especially if you can’t find a teacher, or at least some like-minded folk to start a house session. What if you’re completely stranded in the middle of nowhere and have no chance whatsoever of taking part in any community aspect that makes ITM ITM?
But, if you’re that stranded, what is your goal? To play for yourself? To sound like the people in your CDs? To play for friends or pets who have never met another whistle player before, and would have no idea if you’re doing anything right or wrong?
Good question, Caj. I wonder if it would be mere blandishment to suggest that the joy of making music itself can be enough. What of the alternative? If I have the choice to play or not to play, well…
I remind myself of another time when the conveniences of our day did not exist. If you wanted music, you played it for better or worse (or paid someone for your pleasure). In my case, since I have the good fortune to be able to hear recordings of stellar musicians at my whim, it is such recordings against which I measure my technical progress as a fellow steward of the tradition. The rest is breath and fingering. In other words, my goal is to play well and get better. This is first and foremost. Do I really need any other audience than myself and God? I play for my cat (very appreciative, but lets me know if my playing sucks), I’ve played for toads, squirrels and sparrows, and for me the experiences were satisfying and somehow mysterious. I’ve played to audiences and sometimes left wondering why I bothered. Sessions themselves can be an awfully depressing experience, depending.
I guess that what I’m trying to say is that if my goals in music have mostly to do with garnering plaudits rather than living a tradition, frustration will be my lot. Yes, I’m lucky to be able to have sessions to attend, but I know that I’d still play otherwise.
That being said, I agree, Caj, that being isolated would be a tough one. We are social creatures.
(edited for that anal-retentive spelling thing)
I’d tell someone in complete isolation from Irish musicians to move or look for another hobby. Seems harsh, but life’s short so why waste time chasing your tail like that?
Hmm well I think it might depend on what you mean when you say complete isolation. I believe its possible to learn how to play Irish music “properly” if the isolation is just physical. I’m pretty much physically isolated from Irish musicians and I think I turned out okay in the playing department. Involved lots of internet interaction, reading, and CD purchases though.
There’s another factor involved here, in my opinion. One definition of the word “traditional” holds that a “traditional music” is defined not necessarily by specific sounds, instruments, or playing contexts, but rather by the processes by which the music is learned, taught and passed on. So an instrument comes into a tradition if its suitability is ratified by a traditional process similar to that by which other instruments have entered the music. Similarly, a new player enters the music at least in part by learning the music using traditional processes.
Those traditional processes have, historically, involved direct and extended contact between learning players and master musicians. Obviously, Irtrad is not the only music in which this is the case; in fact, I would argue that most “traditional musics” involved this extended, direct contact b/w student & teacher (formal or informal settings).
Therefore, I would submit that it is impossible to learn to play traditional Irish music accurately, with stylistic insight, in the absence of direct, extended contact with master players in the tradition. CD’s, ABC’s, CD-ROMS, tunebooks, etc are very useful tools, but they cannot substitute for direct contact with the lineage.
Thankfully, in the modern world there are a variety of ways in which aspiring players can have such contact with master musicians–but I’d agree with Pat that, in essence, it’s unrealistic to try to learn to play traditional music in accurate traditional style with only occasional, or in the absence of, such contact.
chris smith
This is an ongoing debate in other musical worlds as well-that is, if music is a social construct, can it be learned authentically outside of that construct? Christoper Small’s book, Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening (Hanover: Wesleyan University Press 1998), is a thought provoking read on this topic…worth seeking out.
Another article to read-“Can White Men Play the Blues?” by Scottish philosopher Daid Kerr. He addresses this issue from a jazz/blues perspective…(his conclusion-no! Depressing, eh?).
However, Small goes on to nuance this argument further, saying that certain musical idioms (his example is African-American vernaculars) have the capacity, for the duration of a given performance, to bring an appropriate context into being.
I essentially agree with Small, and would submit that Irtrad music has, historically, done the same thing. The music has undergone many shifts of geography, social/economic setting, and performance context over the course of its history, and despite this the thread of transmission within the tradition has never been broken.
I would argue that the reason it has never been broken by such shifts is because, while location, context, participants, etc have changed, the social function and transmission processes of the music have remained remarkably consistent; so much so, in fact, that some of the crucial evolutions within the tradition have occurred outside the original context (Reg Hall, for example, suggests that the phenomenon of “the session” itself is a product of post-WWII interactions by emigrant Irish workers in pubs in London; I think he makes a pretty persuasive case).
chris smith