Soul Music

 It was an early start, to be in an unfamiliar city centre.  There was a degree of anxiety.  Into the Unknown.  A need to pay a call around four of the clock brought with it an end to any prospect of a return to the land of dreams.  Thus rising by 6.30, for a 7.30 departure, wasn't then a problem.  Vivid dreams and lack of sleep may not be unrelated to a course of Chinese herbs, but that is another tale altogether.  I started the day tired.

Anyway, Mrs Satnav Woman, got me there in good time.  It had been a glorious drive, in early sun on quiet roads.  Promising fewer miles and more importantly a saving of 11.7% in fuel costs, took me on roads less travelled, through towns and villages some of which were not complete strangers.  The Turra Coo failed to catch my eye.  Then on to little places that had been nought but names on road signs, soundbites on the wireless.  Whiterashes came and went.  Onwards to the city and an easy approach to find the University of Aberdeen.

Introductions, teas and coffees, before splitting into two groups.  Button Boxes, Room 047; Concertinas 045.  Half a dozen or so, plus tutor, in each room.

I had signed up to challenge myself with a day of music tuition.  For several reasons.  One of the retirement projects is to explore any deeply hidden musical ability - to try and produce a few notes in the right order for the first time since Three Blind Mice on the recorder well over five decades previously.  That may not be unrelated to being aware that all other members of the family had musical talents to showcase.  And I had none.

I had started dabbling a year or so earlier, a tinkle on the keyboard, a squeeze on the box.  The former fell by the wayside, mainly as Girl Child returned to take up residence in Spare Room 1, where the keyboard had been set up in privacy.

The melodeon was a challenge.  Boy Child had played it for half a dozen years or so, from late primary school after Luke Daniels came along for weekly sessions on the penny whistle for six weeks.  An invite to his folk academy was accepted, and a button box put in his hands.

That opened a whole new world.  It came to a premature end, perhaps temporarily, when an attempt to take his music to another level was thwarted (after carefully considering the prospect of life for a year or two absent from the terraces of Newlandsfield and trips to other grounds around the West of Scotland and beyond).  This was during covid, and the route to audition was only the submission of a recording, absent any real guidance and with no opportunity for any discussion that might have allowed a nervous young lad to establish any rapport.  There remained a lingering afterthought that perhaps the need to try and find a melodeon tutor may have been an issue.

Anyway, stuffing knocked out, he turned his back on the good times he had had with the box, at various folk festivals and performances with Luke, concentrating on his guitar and keyboard through to Advanced Higher Music.  The school, and his mates, remained unaware of his folk music activities.  Reasons.

His melodeon sat in the corner.  I picked it up, wondering.  Could I make a noise of any sort; would it perhaps re-energise the young prodigy, renew his interest in the Trad scene?  I'd be delighted if he took it up again, happy to change my own plans.

I'd kept in touch with Luke through the years.  We'd seen him play with his trio (with Matt Tighe and Luc McNally) in Broughty Ferry a few months earlier - a handy place for a family trip, collect boy child from his Dundee student flat, bribe him with dinner and a gig, before a weekend by Bow Fiddle's cliffs.

I had continued to dabble, progressed from Twinkle Twinkle, and London Bridge, eventually into a few tunes which Luke had used to start our 10 year old son on his journey.  I got my fingers round Logan Water; the Stitches in Your Britches progressed.

I found a few tunes I liked to hear, began, slowly, to learn them.  Reasonable progress.  The Keel Row, which I'd heard Tim Edey play beautifully on the guitar, and then on to The Waters of Kylesku and Calum's Road.  These were not tunes from Luke's folk academy, and I had to learn from scratch, no guidance on fingering on the buttons, work it out, think about the instrument.  So far, so not too bad.

I needed tuition, saw an event.  In Aberdeen, a reasonable trip from Portknockie.  And the tutor was my old chum Luke Daniels.  So I signed up.

A week ahead of the big day in came the homework; two tunes to work on.  Elliott's and Garster's Dream, with sheet music, button and fingering notes.  Elliott's was a tune I enjoyed listening to; memorable concerts with Rura, at St Luke's and elsewhere.  A grand tune.  Could I do it any sort of justice?

Many hours of practice, and I was reasonably content.  Even with Ganster's, completely new to me.  Then Luke started by drilling us with some additions, tweaks and twists, all the deedly-dee bits.  Rolls and triplets - I had at least heard the terms all those years ago - staccato rolls and half rolls.  And the option of using different fingers on different buttons to those that had become familiar, been instructed, through the week's practice sessions.  These were not changes I could settle in a few minutes.  Give me a month, maybe...

A copy of the notes and diagrams from the whiteboard will be a useful reference going forward, but on the day far too small and pale for my old eyes to pick out.  Just as well I'm an instinctive note-taker.

I persevered.  The class made noises, some of them tuneful.  The plan was that come the final session, late in the day, both box and concertina classes would come together, play together.  Perhaps play those tunes again in a session after the evening concert.

And that was when it all came tumbling down.  I managed a handful of notes.  Then lost it.  There was no way back in.  The band played on.  It wasn't that I didn't know the basic tunes, or that they were played too fast for this beginner's old fingers.  I realised I couldn't hear what I was playing, the instrument on my knee drowned out by the cacophony all around me.  Unnerved.

So used was I to sitting alone in a room, behind a closed door.  I guess playing in front of others may be akin to the first time of sending a piece of writing off to be read by others, or even pressing publish on a blogpost.  But those were considered articles of writing, edited and re-written, tuned and tweaked.  The music was live.  And it was scary.

Losing that connection between finger and button, and the note reaching the ear, threw me completely.  It is hard to explain.  Why not just play the notes I knew, with all the others?  But was I hitting the right note, at the right time?  I couldn't tell.  And once I stopped there was no path back in to the tune.  It was an unsettling experience.  Would I ever be able to play music with others?  Or was I destined to make my own mistakes behind closed doors?

Meanwhile our day ended in grand style.  The evening concert was richly entertaining, with Frances and her concertina making music you might not have thought possible; and then Luke bringing it to a close with some mesmerising box play, tunes of yesteryear on a one-row classic.  Then came the session.  Our two tunes opened, before Luke led the gathering with Irene Meldrum's Welcome to Bon Accord - an old favourite with which he and his young protege used to entertain crowds at festivals back in the day. That was my cue to take my leave, with a smile on my face.  Delicious memories to bring my adventure to a close, and to remind me of my own failings.  Home by midnight, exhausted, mentally and physically.

Perhaps Boy Child could yet reclaim his instrument, get back on his own musical carousel.  Now that would please me no end.  I could dabble with the keyboard, though the melodeon has been challenging fun.

Back in the practice room I realise that when I do hit the wrong note (far too often) I tend to stop, play the right one, then carry on with the tune.  Not something that will work playing with others.  That will have to change.  If I can get over not being able to hear my bum note in the first place.

I have a target in mind.  My Aberdeen adventure was a day with Button Boxes & Moothies, with The Elphinstone Institute.  There is a festival, every four years, and this wee fling was filling a gap, keeping the interest.  Perhaps by the time of the next festival, in 2029, I might be ready.  Then I think of how the birthday clock will have ticked over by then; these old fingers three years more decrepit.  Meanwhile Elliott's and Garster's continue to get some private airings.  I'll hang in there, at least until the youngster wants his box back.  Baring my soul in music does not come easy.

Meantime keep an ear out for young Owen O'Connor, he's a star in the making, having entranced us not just on the box (and an unfamiliar one at that for him), but also on piano and whistle.  He was even seen having a pluck at a mandolin.  One to watch.