It is four years this week since Junior Crehan was laid to rest outside Mullagh church. A year after his death a tree was planted outside the place where he played every Sundaynight, in memory of himself and the other departed musicians that used to played there.
Earlier tonight tribute was paid to the great man, music was played outside, Junior’s daughter Ita and Angela, PJ Crotty, Jacky Daly, Kitty Hayes and myself played some of Juniors compositions, Caisleann an Oirr, Struthan a’ Chait and offcourse The Mist Covered Mountain, which itself was standing just so in the dark a few miles away.
There was an interesting moment when an English car came down the lonely country road, turned the corner to see us playing in the headlights, it drove on a hunderd yards, turned and the people inside sat listening, wondering.
Anyway, there was a thread about what is at the core of the music. I was thinking about that when we were playing tonight, the night was about Junior, who was at the very core of it. He passed his music on and shared it freely with anybody, no matter where you came from. He gave his tunes and encouragement unreservedly if you had a commitment to the music. He believed the music belongs to those who play it and cherish it, who keep it in their heart.
Inside we played for the sets, as we do every week, there were six of us playing, accordeon, concertina, fiddle two flutes[Eamonn Cotter joined later during the night between himself and PJ there was some serious fluteplaying going on] and myself on the whistle. The dancers were whizzing about, it was fun. Later there were songs, a recitation, Tim Dennehy read one of his poems and sang a song. On the way home I dropped a few people off, Kitty and her concertina at her hilltop farmhouse, another old singer at her cottage below. Mount Callan still sitting there, covered in mist. The people and the music, the fun the sadness. Isn’t that what it’s all about.
