The gentle ebb and flow of dulcimers

Dan Evans Live at The Artrix, Bromsgrove

Saturday, 28 January

I've discovered that, when you tell people you're going to see a concert of dulcimer music, most people react by asking 'What exactly is a dulcimer?' Dan Evans, reportedly the UK's only professional dulcimer player, demonstrated the instrument admirably well in the cosy surroundings of the Artrix Studio in Bromsgrove last night. Some of the audience, it seems, had never seen or heard the instrument before. For my part, I've been trying to play one for nearly 30 years so I'd gone along hoping to pick up a few tips and to reassure myself that I hadn't been playing it in completely the wrong way all these years.

I was comforted to find Dan played in a similar style to my own, finger-style rather than strumming. I much preferred his renditions of some lovely traditional tunes -- Columbine and Blow the Wind Southerly among them -- to his choice of cover versions, and his original guitar piece The Garden Waltz was a particular delight.

My own relationship with the dulcimer has been a rather troubled one. When I lived in Brittany back in the early 80s I came into contact with traditional Breton music and a character (who was seldom sober) who rejoiced in the nickname Guinness. Guinness introduced me to the instrument and, captivated, I bought one from a music shop in St Brieuc.

I began teaching myself to play and compose tunes on it but, after 20 years of loyal service, my poor old dulcimer started to misbehave. Some of the frets had become very worn and the poor thing refused to stay in tune. A music shop offered to 'set it up' for me but, sadly, had no idea what they were doing and the dulcimer sounded unhappier than ever. So I traded it in for a new model from the excellent Hobgoblin shop in Manchester. It was only then I discovered, for two decades, I'd been playing the dulcimer back-to-front! My original instrument had been strung for a left-handed player so everything I had ever learnt now had to be inverted and relearnt.

Just to make it more interesting, I was persuaded to exchange my old three-string dulcimer for a four-string instrument. This opened up a whole new world as my new dulcimer is capable of lovely mandolin-like sounds (two of the four strings are paired in unison.) I used it on the album Untangle the Strings and my friend Phil Richards took a series of remarkable images for the album featuring puppets with the dulcimer (see above left) .

For an old battle-weary dulcimerist like me it was very heartening to see people turn out on a cold Saturday night to watch Dan Evans play, and it's inspired me to take my dulcimer with me — and give the guitar a rest — next time I go out to play on an open mic night.

I must, finally, point other dulcimer aficionados in the direction of Dan’s excellent website, which, among other things, finally helped me to understand why other musicians have always struggled to keep time with my playing. It seems it's due to a phenomenon called rubato which Dan explains is ‘rhythmic give and take’. As he puts it, ‘this gentle ebb and flow of the rhythm adds depth and interest to the music, making the song breathe and so come to life.’ So now you know.

On setting traps for songs and getting inside the jukebox

I've been thinking a lot about songwriting and recording lately. Thinking a lot about both and not doing much about either. I've been working on two or three songs for about a year and I'm almost happy with one of them. When I was in my early twenties, I would write two or three songs a month. For over a year now, I've been recording some songs and instrumentals on my home computer with the plan of putting together a little album. Hopefully, it won't take me another year to complete it.

I was going to write something here about the beginnings of the art of songwriting -- something about Elizabethan sonnets, would you believe -- but I'll save that for another time because I've just read an interview with Tom Waits in the December 2011 issue of Uncut magazine. Tom Waits knows a thing or two about songwriting and recording. Last year he released his twenty-second album Bad As Me. Some of these new songs are as good as anything on Swordfishtrombones or Rain Dogs (two outstanding albums of his from the 1980s.)

In the Uncut interview, Waits says some remarkable things about the process of songwriting and recording. On recording, he says ‘... basically it is a very mechanical process, putting a record together. You could say it starts with, like, music lessons, learning to play an instrument, and working your ass off till you can get a sound out of it, then taking your chances and trying to create just the whole act of recording, hoping you're going to catch a bird in there, y’know?' He talks about 'setting a trap' for a song: ' ... my theory is that songs don't really enjoy being recorded. If you're not careful, you can mangle the whole thing in the recording process. I always thought songs lived in the air. Figure if you open up a window, they might float in, go up in your ear, come out the other ear, and wind up on the radio. I remember when I worked in a restaurant, sweeping up by a jukebox, and thinking, OK, how do you get in the jukebox and come out of it? That's the real trick.’ Waits goes on to consider the risks in combining too many different musical influences: '... when you're making a song, you ... have to decide what belongs, and how far you can stretch it ... ' Comparing the process with cookery, he observes '... sometimes you have to throw a whole batch out, and that really hurts ... You can make something for three days until it's just mush.'

I'm going to try and bear all this in mind as I work on my songs and recordings over the coming weeks and months. And remind me, next time, to tell you about Elizabethan sonnets.

A writerly autumn

I've just got back from a week in London and have barely had time to reflect on recent weeks. Suffice to say, it's been a busy time from the writing angle. My appearance at Bewdley's OctoberFest was very enjoyable. I sold a few copies of A Passenger in Time and got a very positive reaction from the children and adults who came along - so thank you very much to all those keen readers and supporters and to the festival organisers and librarians who helped to make it happen (special thanks to Neville and James.)

Just before I disappeared off to London, I had an article published in the October issue of the British Journal of Wellbeing and, on my return, I discovered I'd had another article published in the delightful Acksherley! magazine. So I'm on a roll and decided to submit a new short story - The Idea of Marmalade - for BBC Radio Four's Opening Lines. Let's hope they like it.

Live appearance

Wednesday 26th October
Anthony Gillam appearing live at Bewdley Library
(a free event courtesy of Bewdley Festival)

I’m delighted to announce I’m taking part in Bewdley’s First Authors' Week - a week of readings and workshops during autumn half-term (October 22-29) brought to you free of charge, courtesy of Bewdley Festival.

Octoberfest is hosting a week of free readings by local and nationally celebrated writers for children, teenagers and adults. This is a unique opportunity to hear authors read from their latest publications and talk about the ways in which their tales are woven. There will also be an opportunity to buy signed copies of their books.

I’ll be appearing at Bewdley Library on Wednesday 26th October at 13.00 to read from and talk about my book A Passenger in Time.

(The event is suitable for children of about 9-13 years and children must be accompanied.)

Further details from Bewdley Festival website:

A musical summer

I wish I could say it's been a long, hot, sultry summer but, as a slight coolness in the air already hints at autumn, I can at least say it's been a very musical one. It began in June when the little Worcestershire village of Arley held its ArleyFest 2011 with fiddler, singer and tenor guitar virtuoso Seth Lakeman headlining. Seth and his band were amazing and lit up the crowd. At the end of the evening, a couple of lads who must have been no more than 12 called out to our trio of fiftysomethings: 'Hey! Did you see Seth? Brilliant!’

That was the Friday night highlight. But the great discovery at the ArleyFest weekend for me was in the acoustic tent on Saturday afternoon where three girls with guitars and keyboards performed a set of songs that perfectly evoke the exuberance and longing of youth. They called themselves -- enigmatically – One Sixth of Tommy, and sounded to me a little like an English version of The Roches or The Be Good Tanyas. Great harmonies, delicate guitar playing, subtle use of keyboards and highly original basslines left me wanting more. Unfortunately, their CD wasn't out yet and I wasn't sure I'd ever see or hear them again.

Later in June, (while One Sixth of Tommy were apparently playing at Glastonbury), I went to Wolverhampton with my old mate Martin to see Fleet Foxes. I can’t remember the Civic Hall ever being so full -- I'm used to seeing unpopular acts in half-empty venues. The Bees were the support act. Martin seemed unimpressed by them -- despite admitting to owning one of their albums -- but I thoroughly enjoyed their performance and admired their musicianship. I was pleased they did their delightful cover version of Os Mutantes’ A Minha Menina. Even their own songs sound like they might have been recorded in 1968. There is something about them that reminds me of The Young Rascals. The Bees have a rare quality in 2011 -- they make happy-sounding music!

Fleet Foxes were magnificent. They gave away White Winter Hymnal early on in the show and played a blend of songs from their first album and this year's Helplessness Blues before lead singer Robin Pecknold finished with a solo Oliver James.

After Fleet Foxes, I thought that might have been the end of my musical summer but then I got an e-mail about the Worcester Music Festival in August and found, to my joy, that the city's Old Rectifying House was hosting, among others, One Sixth of Tommy. I persuaded my friend Phil to come along. One Sixth’s songs were as strong as I had remembered them but, unfortunately, there were inexcusable problems with the sound-mixing. Phil and I were stood near the front so were almost hearing the band ‘unplugged’ but the rest of the audience would have struggled to hear the subtlety and beauty of the music. The band seemed to be aware that the sound was poor and looked fed up at times -- a shame because their music deserves to be heard and The Old Rectifying House ought to have been a perfect setting. Phil and I agreed we would try to get one of our local music venues to book them.

Meanwhile, to console us through the autumn days ahead, a crumb of good news: their debut album You're in my Head is released ... today!

You're in my Head by One Sixth of Tommy is available from Helium Records.

New story in Aquila magazine

I'm delighted to say those fabulous people at Aquila magazine have published one of my short stories in their bumper July/August issue. The story Time's Wing'd Chariot is about Josh, a boy who is finding it hard to settle in, since his family moved to Worcester to make a fresh start. Thomas, an eccentric old man Josh meets in Cafe Republico, seems a bit crazy - but is there a grain of truth in his story of 'intelligencers' from the 17th century?

For those of you who haven't yet discovered Aquila - it's a fun magazine aimed at children between 8 and 13 who enjoy challenges. It reminds me a lot of Look and Learn - a magazine I used to enjoy when I was that age.

Letter from a windmill

I know I’m not alone in finding a certain romance in windmills. Cervantes had Don Quixote famously tilting at them, imagining them to be giants. Fictional TV sleuth and magician’s creative consultant Jonathan Creek lives in one as did, according to the song, the notorious clog-wearing mice of old Amsterdam. So I was thrilled when my wife Sue suggested - by way of celebrating both my 50th birthday and our 25th wedding anniversary - that we should stay in a converted windmill in Rye.

Rye is a special place to us, having been the destination for several family holidays, inspired by my love affair with Malcolm Saville’s Lone Pine books, (a number of which are set in and around the ancient Sussex town.) A few days of escape in dear old Rye - familiar but still enchanting - sounded perfect.

Rye Windmill is now a Bed & Breakfast with a calm and calming atmosphere and owners who thoughtfully but unobtrusively attend to every detail. The room was so comfortable and the breakfasts so perfect that we couldn’t even object to the noisy carousing of what we later discovered to be marsh frogs in the river Tillingham beneath our window. (You can hear what a marsh frog sounds like by clicking here.)

We were blessed with a few precious days of May warmth and sunshine and were able to enjoy long walks around Camber Castle. The castle, like Rye itself, was once a coastal defence that now stands stranded by a receded sea, as if it has been built inland by mistake. And beyond Camber Castle, we discovered Castle Water. For a moment we could have been in the Lake District and it’s hard to comprehend that this beautiful wildlife sanctuary of Castle Water hadn’t been there as long as the 16^th century castle but was actually a very unromantic large gravel pit created by the extraction of shingle between 1930 and 1970. Ignorant of this, we allowed the blissful weather and location to create the illusion of our very own desert island with its shingle beach, comfortably shifting, like some kind of sedimentary memory-foam, beneath us when we slumped down for a rest.

Over the years we’ve been visiting Rye it has inevitably changed. Some of the pubs which were previously unbeatable pockets of atmosphere are now not worth visiting. Conversely, one pub that has been given a completely new lease of life is the Queens Head. We’d unfortunately missed the performance of French medieval folk band Les Derniers Trouvères who had been there for the Bank Holiday weekend but we were still able to enjoy real ale and a satisfying vegetarian chilli for a mere fiver. And there can't be many other pubs that run arts and crafts gatherings where you can learn the skills of bookbinding and reflections painting.

One of the other changes to Rye since our earlier visits has been the closure of a few of its second-hand bookshops and some of these seem to be have been replaced by photographers' galleries like Clive Sawyers’ next to Landgate Arch. Clive produces limited-edition photographic art taking as his subject not only the landscapes of Rye and Camber but those of Manhattan and Chicago.

Of course, I took a suitable book along to read during our stay -- Alphonse Daudet’s Lettres de mon moulin (Letters from my windmill). In the late 19^th century Daudet was the most successful novelist in France. Nowadays his books are largely unread. I bought my copy of this charming book 30 years ago when I lived in Brittany and I had never read it properly. Why not? Perhaps because I had never stayed in a windmill before.