Plucking up courage on a musical retreat

Though relatively inexperienced, Roisin and I had perhaps undershot our ambitions in choosing the novices’ class. Fair play to the tutor, though, who almost kept control of a room full of senior infants and tried to teach us a tune amid the constant interruptions.

After our first official break, I sat back in my chair to discover that sticky Club Orange had been spilled on it. Shortly afterwards, the children began asking, “When is home time?” A couple of them were laid out on the floor by that point. Roisin and I felt there was no alternative — we had to move up to the intermediate class.

The summer school is named after the late county councillor and townsman Joe Mooney and is a week-long event dedicated to traditional Irish music, dance and song.

As well as the classes and workshops, there are recitals, céilithe, lectures and open-air music events. Not forgetting music sessions in the local pubs, which attract players from all over the country and often spill out onto the streets. These sessions are the heartbeat of any music summer school.

Trad music and Guinness in another session

BRIAN FARRELL

Drumshanbo is at the southern tip of Lough Allen, the third biggest lake on the Shannon. The town is overlooked Sliabh an Iarainn (the Iron Mountain), so named to acknowledge more than 300 years of iron mining in the area.

Legend has it that the Tuatha de Danann (tribes of the goddess Danu) rocked up around here in a swirling mist, bringing with them three musicians: Ceol, Bind and Tetbind (music, sweet and sweet-string). It’s a tale that lends itself well to the ethos of the summer school.

All manner of musicians are catered for during Joe Mooney week. As well as banjo, there are classes in the concertina, whistle, flute, uillean pipes, mandolin, bouzouki, button accordion, harp, bodhran, piano, accompaniment guitar and mouth organ. You can study traditional singing, sean nos singing and set dancing, and there’s also hand dancing — made popular by the former Riverdance duo Suzanne Cleary and Peter Harding — and brush dancing, which is dancing with a sweeping brush.

Leitrim was one of the counties worst hit by the downturn, and the impact is still visible. If you are driving to Drumshanbo, make sure to fill up your vehicle before crossing the Shannon, because many petrol stations have been abandoned. During Joe Mooney week, however, instrument sellers and repairers take over many of the town’s vacant premises.

Drumshanbo, which has a population of about 1,000, is a wonderfully unspoilt and hipster-free traditional Irish town, although you wonder how it survives outside the summer season.

There are only a couple of restaurants — the Chinese does steak and pasta — while the Mace and Centra deli counters do a roaring trade, as does the chipper, when it comes to feeding the musical masses.

As with many Irish towns of similar size, there is no shortage of pubs. When I rolled into Drumshanbo, I was greeted by the lilting tones of fiddles, pipes and banjos wafting out of the hostelries as the sessions got under way.

Within minutes I spotted Drumshanbo native and Eurovision winner Charlie McGettigan chatting to all and sundry on the street. In Conways, the first bar I sampled, I saw award-winning author Belinda McKeon, just back from New York, where she lives. McKeon is a Longford native but her mother-in-law is a director of the summer school, and the author and her husband never miss Joe Mooney week.

The star-spotting didn’t end there. That evening I saw Brendan Gleeson playing a mean fiddle in the middle of a great session at Monica’s bar. No one paid the actor any notice, other than to enjoy and appreciate his music. Gleeson attends every year, apparently, and there is never any fuss surrounding him.

The intermediate class was in progress by the time we found it the next day. A quick glance around the room revealed 20-or-so assorted banjo players, mostly adults but with a sprinkling of younger ones exuding confidence and affected ennui.

Our new tutor, Maggie Carty, who plays and records with her fiddle-playing father, John, introduced a new piece to us: a delightful reel called the Killavil Fancy. We had to learn each phrase by ear before putting it all together for a run-through.

Shortly afterwards, it became evident that Roisin and I were playing with the big boys now. Our younger colleagues were quick at picking up the reel and were keen to show off how fast they could play the new material. No matter how hard Maggie stressed the correct speed, they couldn’t help themselves, and played faster each time. It was like trying to chase a runaway train.

If I had been frustrated by the slow pace of the novices class, here I found myself sweating while trying to keep up. I caught myself throwing a dirty look at one young speedy Gonzlaez.

I did not want to think what the advanced class would be like, although one tutor confessed later that he was struggling to come up with enough challenging pieces for them. The mid-teens appears to be the optimum age for this sponge-like ability.

One of the great things about Irish trad music is that it is not formulaic or repetitive. If you lose your way, the tune will come round again at least a couple more times, and you can jump back on board.

I did find myself desperately looking forward to a break, however. When it arrived, I hardly had a chance to catch my breath before the middle-aged men in the room made a beeline for me. “Where did you get that banjo?” one asked. “Is that a Vega?” another inquired. “She’s a beauty,” said a third. “How much did you pay for it?” asked another.

It turned out that I own the banjo equivalent of a vintage Mercedes, while a couple of them had ‘Harley-Davidsons’, ornate models with chrome-plated steel finishes and beautiful mother-of-pearl inlays.

Younger musicians perform at Berry’s

Maggie was a patient and encouraging teacher, and went around the room asking each student to play. I felt rather jealous when I overheard her informing Mel, a fellow student, that he had “a lovely right hand”, until she complimented me on my rhythm. Maggie also admired my instrument, and I swelled with pride when she asked whether she could play it.

To get the most out of Joe Mooney week, students are encouraged to not only attend classes in the morning, and practise in the afternoon, but also to take part in the evening sessions. Joining those sessions is the key to it all, because practising on your own is all well and good, but playing with others is what musicianship is about. It is more fun to play trad music than to just sit in a pub listening to it.

The ethos of the week, regardless of whether you attend classes or come for the craic in the pubs, is one of musical joy and welcome — for young or old, newbie or seasoned musician, individual or family. There was no snobbery and, despite most of the action taking place in the pubs, only a moderate amount of drinking.

It was a joy to see a group of children and adolescents perform their own session in the back room of Berry’s pub, growing from a few fiddles to about 20 musicians with assorted instruments, despite most not knowing each other.

Another sight that has stayed with me was young girls practising their hornpipe steps while walking down the street. Some of the more enterprising of the children were busking.

So, did my banjo-playing improve much over the week? Probably not, but that may be down to me. As with many things, you get out of Joe Mooney week what you put in. If you take the classes, practise and challenge yourself by joining the evening sessions, you’ll improve and grow in confidence. I’ll be braver next time.

What I did get out of the week was a new enthusiasm for the banjo and the music, and a greater determination to continue to practise and improve. Heaven help me — and my neighbours.

Music classes for the week cost €90 for adults and €70 for under-16s; joemooneysummerschool.com http://joemooneysummerschool.com/