I rarely dedicate a Psalm Offering (prayer song) to myself. In all of the 130 + piano songs I have composed, I have only dedicated one to myself, and that was back in 1975. I generally dedicate them in memory of someone I have loved and admired, or give them as gifts to those I love, have befriended and admire. However, this song, “The Celestial Fiddler” Psalm Offering 10 Opus 14, I dedicate to myself on the occasion of my 68th birthday.
When I was a wee lad, my Great Aunt Sarah, who was as Irish as Irish can be, told me stories about my Great Grandpap Marron, a noted Irish fiddler, who played many a dance. He was often accompanied by my Great Grandmother who played the tin whistle (also known as a penny whistle). My Great Aunt Sarah thought that the genes of her father was very much present in me. Little did I know at that time in my young life the role that music was going to play in my life, eventually becoming part of my life’s work. I never mastered the violin. When I was taking my instrumental technique classes learning to play a vast variety of brass, reed, string, and percussion instruments, I was told by Sister Katherine Kessler that I just didn’t have the wrists to play violin properly. It was a good thing I majored on piano and minored in voice. Alas, I would never be the fiddler my Great Grandfather was. However, I could compose an Irish air, and Irish jig, and an Irish reel.
So to honor my 68th birthday, I composed this song, “The Celestial Fiddler.” It is representative of an Irish music set, in which Traditional Irish Music Bands play a number of jigs and reels interlaced with one another in a long music set. The music is a combination of three songs: an air, a jig and a reel. All the while I was composing this, I had in the back of my mind one of my favorite poems from William Butler Yeats:
The Fiddler Of Dooney[1]
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With “Here is the fiddler of Dooney!”
And dance like a wave of the sea.
William Butler Yeats
[1] The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats, © 1983, 1989 by Anne Yeats. Macmillan Publishing Company, 866 Third Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022.
