As the days grow shorter and the nights longer, Music in the Glen, seeks to rekindle the flame in the hearth with stories, music, song, and dance from the cultural heritage of Ireland, Scotland, England and America with their new cd, Fuar.
Southeast Performer Magazine raves:
"The 14 shimmering tracks on Music in the Glen’s debut pull off melodies of traditional Irish in stunning fashion."
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"Encompassing a bright atmosphere, one feels swept away and taken to the heart of an Irish town, as these songs blend with a mixture of love and hope."
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"Susan Moran delivers breathtaking, earthy vocals... instrumental performances are stirring, full of emotional lift and resonating life."
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The members of the Music in the Glen are Jason Killingsworth (guitar, Irish pipes, whistle), Susan Moran (vocals, bodhran), Suzanne Harner (fiddle, stepdance, bodhran) and Katherine Irwin Thomas (fiddle, concertina, mandolin).
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 162 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): TEES TO TYNE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS - SUMMER 2001
Where traditions are not so rare; Sea, country and works scent the air; A multitude of monuments, Planted tubs and patterned pavements.
The longish pedestrian malls; The remnants of defensive walls; Historic buildings are a gauge Of the respect for heritage.
Wheat, rape and pines in the fields; Estuaries guarded by shields; Long sandy beaches and wide scenes; Romantic-ruin go-betweens.
Rivers in parts licked by trees, Or fringed by boat clubs, wharfs, gantries, And crossed by practical delights - Varied spans, forming pleasing sights.
Fine churches headed at Durham; Football kits ad infinitum; Kept castles - one for study; Masonry behind masonry.
And, with moulding-works out that way, It’s somewhere for a longer stay..?
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 2 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): WALKABOUT WITH MY PEN
Once drove an old sedan, up north, From a place in Sydney to Cairns; Then to Kuranda I went forth, By train, to look without set plans.
I browsed through the trendy market, With fresh fruits of tropical kind; Walked to the creek through lush thicket - Nature’s hand giving peace of mind.
I dined in a scenic cafe; Then, outside, as I wrote for yen, Some passing Kooris called-out: “Hey, You go walkabout with your pen.”
Request or question, I don’t know - Assured voices, elderly men. That’s now several years ago, And I’ve seen the world - with my pen.
Once drove an old sedan, up north, From a place in Sydney to Cairns; Then to Kuranda I went forth, By train, to look without set plans.
I browsed through the trendy market, With fresh fruits of tropical kind; Walked to the creek through lush thicket - Nature’s hand giving peace of mind.
I dined in a scenic cafe; Then, outside, as I wrote for yen, Some passing Kooris called-out: “Hey, You go walkabout with your pen.”
Request or question, I don’t know - Assured voices, elderly men. That’s now several years ago, And I’ve seen the world - with my pen.
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this folk-carol on myspace -
230 of 230, walkaboutsverse.741.com: AS GOSPELLERS HAVE SAID/CHRISTMAS SUNG SIMPLY
As gospellers have said, Beneath signalling skies, On land dusty to tread, A trough in a stable Was the strawy first-bed Of a divine baby - The forgiving Godhead.
A season for new hope - There then and here now; The yuletide of goodwill - There then and here now.
In respect of this chance, Beneath bright or dark skies, Faith’s the star that we glance Attending Christ’s churches And trying to enhance, With singing and ritual, Our God-loving stance.
