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I just spent a perfectly marvelous week at the Rocky Mountain Fiddle Camp! Quite an experience- I've been trying to get there for 4 years, though circumstances have conspired against me. Then against the camp itself- the first location got flooded out, so the venue was switched to another camp about 150 miles away, less than 2 weeks before close to 200 people were set to arrive. Kudos to the organizers- it worked!
I followed Seamus Connolly around like a puppy, attending all possible classes that he taught and sessions he led. (For those who don't know, he's a fabulous Irish fiddler (won the Irish National Fiddle Championship ten times!), a very sweet person, and a very good teacher. Unbelievably patient, or possibly promising himself a swig out of the bottle later, but after a week, I'm betting on patient. For the benefit of all involved, I didn't take the fiddle out of the case in the expert class, which was dominated by teenaged hotshots. I could play it, I just couldn't learn it as fast as they could. Next year. (glares at fingers)
Unfortunately, some of the other classes I wanted to take conflicted with the ones I yearned to attend, so the O'Carolan class is just going to have to wait. That can come off the dots, as they say; I can get the sheet music. What I can't learn on my own is how to make it all sound properly Irish, and that is where I have fallen in love. He explained ornaments and where to put them, why to put them... (Those are the twiddly sounds that make the music so distinctive). Oh, Seamus, if I could have explained you to my husband, I'd have brought you home.
Had some lovely room-mates; the random assigments gave me a couple of fiddlers about my age who specialized in Scottish and Old-Time styles, but were willing to try anything. Great ladies!
It was amazing how much progress we made as a group, which had fiddlers and other musicians ranging from five to (lots and lots older than me) and from total novice to professional. Age had nothing to do with skill- one of the best around was nine, and a lot of the novices were adults. Next year, I will have to learn some Cape Breton style.
All that, and a chipmunk in my room.
I followed Seamus Connolly around like a puppy, attending all possible classes that he taught and sessions he led. (For those who don't know, he's a fabulous Irish fiddler (won the Irish National Fiddle Championship ten times!), a very sweet person, and a very good teacher. Unbelievably patient, or possibly promising himself a swig out of the bottle later, but after a week, I'm betting on patient. For the benefit of all involved, I didn't take the fiddle out of the case in the expert class, which was dominated by teenaged hotshots. I could play it, I just couldn't learn it as fast as they could. Next year. (glares at fingers)
Unfortunately, some of the other classes I wanted to take conflicted with the ones I yearned to attend, so the O'Carolan class is just going to have to wait. That can come off the dots, as they say; I can get the sheet music. What I can't learn on my own is how to make it all sound properly Irish, and that is where I have fallen in love. He explained ornaments and where to put them, why to put them... (Those are the twiddly sounds that make the music so distinctive). Oh, Seamus, if I could have explained you to my husband, I'd have brought you home.
Had some lovely room-mates; the random assigments gave me a couple of fiddlers about my age who specialized in Scottish and Old-Time styles, but were willing to try anything. Great ladies!
It was amazing how much progress we made as a group, which had fiddlers and other musicians ranging from five to (lots and lots older than me) and from total novice to professional. Age had nothing to do with skill- one of the best around was nine, and a lot of the novices were adults. Next year, I will have to learn some Cape Breton style.
All that, and a chipmunk in my room.
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