They'll Be Good Yet : Introduction

by Tom Munnelly

The very first thing incumbent on me is to state that it is an honour to be asked to make some introductory remarks for this excellent CD. And no, this is not an empty cliché, for when I listen to this recording I feel that I am in the presence of two purveyors of a form of musical artistry that encapsulates an almost intangible essence of what it has been like to play music in West Clare for generations. This essence is usually described as "the spirit of the country house." It abounded in the West Clare I first got to know in the early 1960s, when music and dancing was still part of the everyday social weave of much of rural Ireland and of Clare in particular. Music, song, and dance were something that you did yourself; they were not only to be found on the stage, screen, or recording.

When work was done and the evening meal eaten, the fiddle, concertina, melodeon, whistle, or whatever (the uilleann pipes were still a rara avis at the time), was taken out as a form of relaxation. Sometimes the player was joined by other musicians, frequently siblings or parents, sometimes not. The evening's music was generally casual and unstructured. Kitty's neighbour and friend, the late Tom Lenihan, recalled often making his way to their thatched house atop Knockbrack on still Summer evenings and hearing the music being made by his nine brothers and sisters drifting to him across the mountainy meadows.

Long before the introduction of the notorious, clerically-enforced Public Dance Halls Act of 1936 with its infamously destructive effects on domestic (as opposed to public) social dancing, Francis O'Neill-the great Cork-born but Chicago-based collector who had found unexpected delight in the music still played in Clare-observed the withering effect of the rural priest on dancing and such merriment. He remarked that ' …the frown of the prelate will dampen the ardour of the most enthusiastic'. Junior Crehan, fiddler, composer, philosopher and long time friend and playing partner of Kitty and her husband, Josie, summed up the situation as they all experienced it:

The Dance Hall Act had closed our schools of tradition and left us a poorer people. In addition to this, in the Forties, the rate of emigration increased rapidly. The youth saw nothing in their own country but poverty, and Government and Church collected their Dance Hall dues from a falling population. The countryside was once more going through that terrible silence which it had suffered after the Famine, the silence of a departing people and a dying of music and song. These were indeed the Black Forties.

But Irish music and its bearers are nothing if not resilient; like seeds beneath the frosty ground, after every winter they creep from beneath and open their flowers to the musical sun. Though some musicians and bands achieved local or national popularity even in the lean times referred to by Junior, they were not many. Equally if not more important in relation to the survival of the tradition were the musicians and singers to whom songs and tunes were just part of the domestic landscape, the social milieu in which they moved. Singing while doing domestic chores; dancing on the back of a cart during a break in turf cutting; composing tunes suggested by the rhythm of harvesting machinery; these are not images created for some rural idyll: All of these are situations which have been documented in West Clare and are indicative of a musical tradition that was still part of the daily life in the area, even in the 'Black Forties'. Kitty Hayes would be a fine example of this musical tradition, which went on inconspicuously in the homes of County Clare and other areas throughout the country.

Kitty Smith was born in Fahanlunaghta, east of Moy, with Lahinch being the nearest sizeable village. But it was not in the town but at her own hearthstone that she and her siblings and peers found their academy of music. Kitty got her first good concertina from her father and she was playing at house dances from her mid-teens. Like many of her generation and before, she met the boy who was to become her husband at one such country dance: Josie Hayes was then a member of the renowned Laichtín Naofa Céilí band, which had in its ranks such local luminaries as Willie Clancy (pipes and flute), Junior Crehan (fiddle), Martin Talty (pipes and whistle), Paddy Joe Mac Mahon (accordion), J. C. Talty (flute and whistle), Jimmy Ward (banjo), Angela Merry (double bass), Paddy Galvin (fiddle), Michael Sexton (accordion), and several more, all of whom were neighbours and friends. During the years they were on the road it was tough for the members of the band to integrate their travelling with their work at home-usually the back-breaking toil of running a small farm. But if it was tough on them it was no easier for those like Kitty, who had to take on extra tasks as well as rearing a family of seven in the home that she and Josie set up in Shanaway, on the other side of Miltown Malbay. Kitty had little social life beyond her home at the time, but this is not to say that she was deprived of music, for theirs was a welcoming home and a spot frequented by musicians who would call in to pass an evening. Among these was an American visitor, the illustrious fiddler Paddy Killoran (1905-1965), who was married to Josie's sister.

All centres of population have gathering points where the local 'parliament' convenes. In cities it might be the town hall but in rural areas it was more likely to be the grocery shop, the blacksmith's forge or, in more recent times, the pub-which with the dawning of sexual equality, some affluence, and even more importantly, lounge bars with toilets for the women, became socially accessible to both sexes. In Kitty's and Josie's case this pub was Gleeson's of Coore, which was also a grocery. Junior Crehan and Josie had played music there since they were twelve years old and altogether served seven decades there playing on Sunday nights. Sunday night was always a good night for a gathering of locals to sing, dance, and listen to the music of Junior, Josie, Patrick Galvin, Micheal Downes (fiddle), and the frenetic bodhrán playing and hilarious singing of Pat Kelly. Musicians from all over the country and from much farther afield came to play in this unspoiled traditional venue. As the older people moved on, their places were taken by others living locally such as Eamonn McGivney, Conor Keane, and Jackie Daly (accordions). Singing was always part of the night's proceedings and among the many performers, Kitty's singing ranked with the best (an aspect of her talents which could fruitfully be covered in a future CD). The Gleeson family ran this pub for five generations and it is no exaggeration to state that its closure in the year 2004 is still keenly felt by hundreds of people. Any musical history of the area will have to take into consideration the musical impact of this sanctuary for musicians for well over a century.

After the Josie's death 1992, encouraged by her son Joe (who also died tragically a few years later), Kitty began playing the concertina again. Diffident at first, she would take it out for brief sorties into the music on Sunday nights. As time progressed she became more confident. Her self-assurance was helped in some measure by the musical rapport she had struck up with Peter Laban. Peter, an archivist, librarian, superb photographer, and musician from Rotterdam, had come to live in the area and also was taking part in the sessions on pipes and whistle. As well as playing with the general gathering, they began playing duets during lulls in the dancing and these soon became a very pleasant part of the evening's proceedings.

This CD catches the musical understanding that Kitty and Peter share with one another. The music is stately and relaxed at the same time. It eschews flashiness totally and gets under the skin of the tunes, a conversation between friends, never an argument or a race. If you wish to hear Clare music as it should be played, you will be hard-pressed to find a better example.

Undoubtedly this CD will gain Kitty and Peter an even larger audience when people hear this truly harmonious combination, played in a spirit which is rarely achieved: enjoyment in the sharing of the music.

Enjoy!

Tom Munnelly

They'll Be Good Yet : Introduction

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