Sarah Ghriallais
Connemara Sean-Nós
Cinq
Planètes CP 01958; 55 minutes; 2001
It’s a rum business being a reviewer. Stuff
you would uncritically rave over, if you’d salvaged it from some obscure corner
of a second-hand record shop, gets remorseless, microscopical examination when
it arrives in a jiffybag labelled Musical Traditions. On with the
headphones. Out with the scalpel. Hack. Dissect. Thrash
inexorably through your misanthropic primer of unrepeatable insults. 
Therefore, before I pull the wings off the gander, let me
make it clear that I absolutely love this disc. True, I found some
shortcomings, and I don’t doubt that a Gaelic scholar would have found a good
deal more. Even so, I consider it a very important record indeed.
To put some beef on the bones, as Turlough Carolan
might have said: Sarah Ghriallais comes from one of Connemara’s most
distinguished musical families. Sean-nós fans will be as aware of
Sarah as they are of her sisters, Norah and Nan. They will know that,
between the three of them, the prestigious Corn Uí Riada trophy of the Oireachtas
has been cornered by the Ghriallais family no less than five times. That
is a remarkable feat, and one which may be rooted in childhood ambition. I
was once told that, behind the Ghriallais homestead at Idir Dhá Sháile,
there is a natural amphitheatre. It was used by the girls as a place to
practise their singing, whilst dreaming of future days when they would take the
Gaelic world by storm. I do not know whether the story is true, or even
whether the amphitheatre really exists. However, if the facts are as
presented, it could well account for their highly individual singing style.
Sarah sings eleven songs on this record, all of
them as Gaeilge, and nearly all of them well known in the Connemara
tradition. Since the disc is approximately fifty-five minutes long, we
have an average track time of about five minutes. That, by Connemara
standards is fairly economical. However, there is practically nothing by
way of the short, lively songs which still abound in that part of the world,
and which could have broken up an otherwise unremitting programme. True,
there is Táilliúr a Mhaga, which pokes fun at the philandering
tailor. Yet, despite being set to a fairly rhythmic tune, its treatment here
scarcely qualifies the piece as an example of amhrán tapa. This
therefore is not a disc for the novice, or the faint hearted, or the tourist of
traditional song. It is a very stylish top-drawer production for the
connoisseur, and it needs to be judged as such.
There are songs enough
to satisfy the connoisseur, and I was particularly taken by the magnificent air
of An Sagart na Cúile Báine, a lament for a drowned priest from Co Mayo.
As the booklet notes point out, this is an unusual melodic construction for
Connemara, and I concur that the tune is probably of Munster origin. Nor
does it appear to be the only melodic migrant, for the wider Gaelic world makes
its presence felt in the forms of Dónall Óg and Eileanór na Rún.
Also, there is a song here called Fill Fill a Rún Ó. Again, the
subject matter is a priest, this time in a song of reproach for one who has
turned his collar to that of a Protestant minister. In this case, the
shape of the tune, plus references in the text to Sagart Ó Domnhaill,
plus the comparatively high incidence of Protestantism in that county, make me
wonder if it might have wandered down from Donegal. But it was the air
which Sarah uses for Máire Standúin that most surprised me. If you
ever get the chance, take a listen to Mick Hoy’s County Fermanagh version of The
Banks of the Bann. It is on the Northern Ireland Arts Council
cassette, Here is a Health: Songs, Music and Stories of an Ulster Community
(no matrix number). The melody which Mick uses is not the hymn tune
commonly associated with The Banks of the Bann, but his air does appear
to have a strong family relationship to Sarah’s tune for Máire Standúin.
Nevertheless, wonderful singer as she is, Sarah
sounds a notch or two below her usual form. Her voice is never less than
striking. Even so, on An Sagart na Cúile Báine and Donncha Bán she
seems somewhat hoarse, and her performances throughout the disc have a quality
of reticence about them. This, I must explain, is not Sarah’s first
outing on commercial release. Brian Ó Ruairc who, coincidentally, earns
his crust lecturing in the language of this disc’s producers, issued a cassette
of her in 1987 (Camus CP 004). Comparing her performances then with now
is a striking exercise, for I mentioned the famous Ghriallais style
earlier. It is far more forthright than that of most Connemara singers.
It involves a wider dynamic range, plus a much harder tone, and masses of
projection. In some ways the sisters are more reminiscent of Eastern
Europe than Connemara. Their style in fact is just the sort of thing
which might have evolved from practising in an amphitheatre. I need to
qualify that by saying that Sarah is probably the least ‘Bulgarian’ of the
three sisters. Even so, she sounds more subdued here than on the Camus
cassette.
Why is this? I cannot be sure, but I’m
wondering whether the circumstances of recording might have something to do
with it. My feelings are strengthened by the fact that three of the songs
here also appear on the Camus tape, and the newer recordings are shorter by
between one and two minutes each. In one case - Amhrán Muighinse -
this is partly attributable to the fact that a verse has been omitted.
For a tradition which deals in orally transmitted non-narrative songs, textual
instability is of no consequence whatsoever. Indeed, one could argue that
it is an inherent feature of the singer’s art. However, her tempos on
these three later recordings are conspicuously faster than those of the earlier
ones. It’s a long time since I heard her performing live, and I cannot
rule out the possibility that Sarah has simply modified her style over the
years. However, as anyone who has ever associated with Connemara singers
knows, the finest performers often display a nervousness about their art, and a
temperament which would be not unbecoming to an opera star. It can be
very difficult to coax the best out of them, and they frequently do not respond
well to strange environments.
I was surprised therefore to discover the
recording location given as Leitír Mealláin, rather than Sarah’s own
kitchen. My sense of geography is bad at the best of times, and the Irish
countryside is littered with place names. Nevertheless, the only Leitír
Mealláin I can recall is on the west coast of Gorumna Island which is
itself off the coast of Lettermore Island. Although accessible by road,
the journey from Idir Dhá Sháile would be a difficult travail even by
Connemara standards. I am left wondering therefore whether somebody has a
recording studio out there, and whether that was the reason for the choice of
location. Whether or no, the clean and consistent acoustic certainly
suggests a recording studio. But if artistic prowess has been sacrificed
for good sound, then I hope Cinq Planètes do not make that mistake again.
My other bone of contention lies with the booklet
notes. Cinq Planètes, is a French company, and I am conscious that they
were working with an unfamiliar language in a strange idiom.
Nevertheless, inelegant translation of purple prose means that the document’s
readability varies between the difficult and the downright impossible. Moreover,
Jean-Yves Bériou, the booklet’s author, is clearly no expert. I detected
near-verbatim liftings from various writers, including Brian Ó Ruairc, Liam Mac
Con Iomaire, Seóirse Bodley and Daniel Corkery. However, the only
acknowledgements I could find were made in passing to Ó Ruairc. The
result of all this borrowing is that Bériou seems to have absorbed a fair bit
of Gaelic League mythology - particularly with regard to the origins of the sean-nós
- and to have made a few factual errors. For instance, without going off
and re-reading it, I cannot refute Bériou’s statement that Dónall Óg
features anywhere in James Joyce’s story, The Dead. However, the
central ballad, around which that story is built, is not Dónall Óg, but
a fragment of Lord Gregory. Incidentally, it would probably have
been too much to expect song transcriptions in trilingual form, and partial
translations are embedded in the notes in French and English.
Nevertheless, it would have been a nice touch had the publishers included a set
of texts in their original Gaelic.
For all that, I feel this is a case where it would
be counterproductive to dwell on the product’s imperfections. I have had
occasion to castigate native Irish writers for laziness or shoddiness, and in
one instance, for downright opportunism! Whilst such things are
inexcusable amongst people who know, or at any rate ought to know, Cinq
Planètes hardly falls into that category. Also, the booklet contains a
substantive biography of Sarah, plus a well thought out appraisal of her
importance as a singer. That is a distinct notch up from at least one
home-grown product I have had occasion to criticise recently. Thus, in my
estimation, Cinq Planètes deserves an accolade for making a brave attempt, and
for showing so much initiative. I hope the sales justify their
efforts. Moreover, I was pleased to note that there are other sean-nós
projects in the pipeline, including a bilingual anthology in book form.
Nevertheless, Cinq Planètes have clearly set themselves a very high standard.
One hopes that no more of their ships will be found short of the smidgen of
tar.
This review by Fred McCormick was originally written in 2001 for Musical Traditions.
The CD is Available from: Asterios Productions, 68 Rue de la Folie, Méricourt - 75011, Paris, France. Tel 01 53 36 04 70. E-mail: asterios@wanadoo.fr.
TIMR editor’s note – Sarah also appears under her Irish
married name of Sorcha Bn. Uí Chonghaile on the Raidió na Gaeltachta album Buitaeoirí
Chorn Uí Riada (RTÉ 207) singing Sagart na Cúile Báine. This double
album comprises one song from each of the 16 winners of the trophy between 1972
and 1996.