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July 15, 2006
33,300 [Tunes] and still writing...
By Karen Mazurkewich -
The Globe and Mail
INVERNESS,
N.S. — Thirty years ago, fiddler John MacDougall thought he
was going crazy. Onstage at a concert in Broad Cove, N.S.,
strange music suddenly drowned out his own fiddle playing.
Yet no one
else was visible onstage, nor could anyone hear the
mysterious tunes. Frustrated and confused, MacDougall packed
up his fiddle and exited stage left. Still, the music
followed him home. He couldn't see those musical
apparitions, but he could clearly hear the notes wafting
from the ceiling of his cramped trailer that night.
Perched on
the edge of his bed, he resolved to document them for all
time. That feverish night, he scored 65 tunes before finally
collapsing.
"They
started coming so fast I could hardly write them down,"
MacDougall now muses as he sits among his collection of
eight fiddles that are strategically placed around the room
for easy access. One is on his living-room couch, and his
favourite, a "sweet" 300-year-old instrument with a repaired
bullet hole, occupies pride of place on the kitchen table.
All these
years later, the white-haired, but still energetic musician
continues to entertain those ghostly visitations, but the
pace has slowed.
Holed up
in his trailer in Inverness, Cape Breton, the 81-year-old
master fiddler pens 10 to 15 tunes a day, often hunched over
his kitchen table. By his own count — and he keeps a daily
tally on small sheets of paper — he has produced 33,300
compositions, but he still balks at publishing them, saying
he hasn't yet reached his personal goal of 35,000.
Yet
MacDougall insists he's not creating art; he's simply
recording history.
"It's from
the people who lived here before ... they could make tunes,
but they couldn't write them," he says.
Whether
you believe he is reproducing the tunes of his ancestors, or
merely inspired by their memory, MacDougall's growing
catalogue of traditional Cape Breton fiddle music is a
historical treasure. And it has come to light just in time
to provide support for a cultural renaissance in search of
its roots.
The
revival of Celtic music in Cape Breton has left young
musicians handicapped as they struggle to expand their
playlists. Although there are Scottish playbooks, many
traditional Cape Breton jigs, reels and strathspeys (a slow
Scottish folk dance with gliding steps) were never written
down. In the past, most fiddlers learned by ear. Musical
repertoires were memorized and reinterpreted with each
generation.
Only a
handful of local composers such as Gordon MacQuarrie and Dan
R. MacDonald have published sheet music. Songs or "tunes"
were considered a gift to be passed from one fiddler to
another at the music parties known as ceilidhs. But memories
are fickle and countless tunes disappeared. Now, MacDougall
wants to reverse that trend.
"These are
the lost tunes," he says. "The dead want to get the music
back."
Never has
the timing been better. "There are [fiddlers] all over the
place ... and they are crying for new music," he says. His
work is laying a cornerstone for Gaelic tradition, to "give
the culture a big boost."
For the
old-time fiddlers, music is not so much a profession as a
passion. MacDougall worked in sawmills. Contemporaries such
as Buddy MacMaster and Kenneth Joseph MacDonald worked on
the rail lines and trapped lobsters to make ends meet.
Somehow they always managed to find the energy to play at
night.
But it
wasn't enough. By the early 1970s, there was a lull in
professional recordings and the number of known master
fiddlers had shrunk to a handful. The situation had
deteriorated so much that in 1972, the CBC aired a
documentary entitled The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler.
It was a
requiem, a lament for a dying way of life. And it became a
turning point in Cape Breton's musical history. Rev. John
Angus Rankin organized a massive revival festival in
Glendale, N.S., in 1973. "He got his dander up and wanted to
prove that it wasn't dying," says musician and musicologist
Dave MacIsaac. He flushed out dozens of closet fiddlers into
the public eye, and more ceilidhs and other musical events
sprouted.
MacDougall
took up teaching with new fervour. His first student in
Mabou, N.S., was John Morris Rankin (of Rankin family fame),
but soon he was invited to teach at the new Gaelic College
of Celtic Arts and Crafts at St. Ann's Bay. A new generation
had found a mentor.
Ian
MacDougall, 25, attributes his success to the years spent
studying under John MacDougall — a distant family relative.
Every Sunday, from the age of 8 to 17, Ian's father would
faithfully drive him up to John's trailer at the outskirts
of town where he practised the fiddle. "I don't think I
missed two weeks," he says. "I never had to pay a nickel."
With two albums of traditional music under his belt, and a
full play schedule, Ian MacDougall is now considered one of
Cape Breton's best traditional fiddlers.
But
finding and playing traditional tunes is still a struggle
for the younger generation. Ian MacDougall built his
repertoire partly through unearthing amateur recordings of
old fiddlers. He is also in discussions to record some of
John MacDougall's compositions. "It's different from all the
other stuff [written today] ... it sounds like the old tunes
played long ago," he adds.
Max
MacDonald, director of Cape Breton's largest music festival,
Celtic Colours, says attitudes toward local traditions
changed over the past decade. "Celtic music was once
something people were embarrassed to listen to," he says.
"You put on your headphones and went into your bedroom..
Now, it's cool."
Since its
inception in 1997, Celtic Colours attendance has doubled,
and the number of foreign visitors has increased tenfold.
The
comeback of the fiddler is also reflected by the growing
number of independently produced music CDs. Almost every
serious artist has an album, and indie discs are sold
everywhere — from grocery stores to coffee shops. It is
estimated that more than 150 albums have been produced
locally — not bad for a region with a population of less
than 150,000 souls. While only a few have the cachet of
Grammy-award-winning fiddler Natalie MacMaster or Ashley
MacIsaac, many are now making a living wage on the pub and
ceilidh circuit.
The
octogenarian MacDougall still plays every Saturday and
Sunday night at the Glenora Inn & Distillery in Glenville.
They would have him play more dates, but MacDougall likes to
give students a chance in the limelight, Glenora manager
Sandra Scott says. His generosity toward young players and
his prolific songwriting have made him a legend in these
parts — quite a feat in a region known for its eccentric
players.
"People
are amazed that he's still playing so lively ... and they
are fascinated with his story," Scott says.
MacDougall
is descended from a long line of bagpipers, but it was the
fiddle that engrossed him as a wee lad. He spent hours
practising his bowing technique, using wood kindling before
graduating to a cheap tin fiddle.
"It was a
craving I always had," he says. "I could see a fiddle in
front of me even then."
MacDougall, who worked in a sawmill for $2 a day in his
early 20s, eventually saved enough money to buy a $35 book
on how to read and write music. Later, he learned how to fix
broken violins.
Although a
long-time fixture at local barn dances, it wasn't until his
50s that MacDougall felt compelled to write tunes. He
explains his compulsion in metaphysical terms: "I think that
someone wants to send the music over from the other side.
People have asked me if I'm scared about that. Why should I
be scared? If it's not the devil, then let it happen. Let
them send all that they feel like."
But with
compulsion comes obsession. MacDougall is fiercely private,
and until now has refused to publish until he hits his magic
benchmark of 35,000 tunes. The sheets of music, neatly
transcribed in 155 notebooks, are kept in two small safes in
the back of his trailer. He plays some of his originals over
at the distillery and for family, but worries that they
might be stolen before he has copyrighted them.
"I don't
know what's holding me back [from publishing]," he says.
"I better
smarten up and forget about these things and take whatever
time I have left to get them published."
Those who
have heard his music are convinced of his genius and believe
his work may one day be viewed as the most important
collection of Cape Breton tunes. Whatever the case,
MacDougall is sure of one thing: "These tunes will be played
a hundred years from now."
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Above photo:
Margaree (by Victor Maurice Faubert)
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