Sunday the Sig-O and I went to hear the San Francisco Scottish Fiddlers play at the Jackson Theater. They played for about two and a half hours, a very lively show if you like Celtic music. Alasdair Fraser, the founder of the group, was unable to be with them for this concert because of a death in the family. This is their annual concert, and it was plain they missed him, but they did a wonderful job. A brother and sister team from Seattle, Ryan and Cali McKasson, who participated as kids in one of Fraser’s Valley of the Moon music camps, dropped everything and flew down to join the group in Alasdair’s place.
About 120 musicians filled the stage; fiddlers, cellists, bassists, guitarists, flautists, and drummers. And a couple of Celtic dancers. The McIntosh Pipe Band pi
ped them in.
The story of this music is that sometime in the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries, the British banned native music in Scotland. Like all good tyrants, the British knew that songs, art and story-telling spelled trouble for them because they play on emotion and are helpful tools in fomenting rebellion. Many Scots fled Scotland. Some came to the Appalachians, some moved to Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. They brought the music with them, and kept the original, “real” Scottish music alive, while back at home it got homogenized and “blanded out” by the English influence. At least, that’s the Scottish-style fiddlers say.
What’s it like? It’s meant to be jigged to, waltzed to, clapped and stomped to. When it’s mournful, it’s really mournful, because that bow can drag out a low quavering note in a way you can’t drag out a guitar or bass note. It’s full of verve and drama. It’s fire and earth with a good beat, and dancing in the aisles is encouraged.
