My Irish History
lyrics by Mel Tatum
tto: Kesh jig (slowed down, of course, and a bit streamlined, but that at least gives you the idea)
note: I HATE the Kesh jig – it is so overplayed and cliched. When the Kansas City Irish Fest ran a “My Irish History” contest, I knew it was likely to draw lots of earnest stories about discovering long lost roots. So I decided a little smart ass was in order. When I tell people that I listen primarily to Irish and Scottish music, half the time the first question they ask is whether I have Irish or Scottish ancestry. Why is that relevant to enjoying the music? It’s like they think there must be a Riverdance gene or something (and DON’T get me started on Riverdance – want to watch a great show of Irish music and dance? Rent “Ragus”). So I wrote these lyrics – and of course the only possible tune to accompany them was Kesh (I think you’ll discover why as you read).
Two years ago, I hopped a plane
headed for Erin to search for my kin
I knew not where they came from
so I was not sure, not sure where to begin
From Donegal to Wexford,
Roscommon to Wicklow and all points between
I searched every document,
the birth records, death records, found nothing there
I must be Irish, the music it calls me
the flute and the fiddle, the uillean pipes’ drone
the tweat of the whistle, the beat of the bodhran
they all set me to tappin’ my toes
Solas and Grada, the Fuchsia Band, Lunasa
music just keeps me wanting more
So play some Beoga, some Slide, or some Teada
anything Irish, I just adore.
Where could it be? Where am I from?
Where are my family roots? They must be here
I know it’s here; it must be here
it’s just a matter of finding it – WHERE?
Finally, I gave up
it simply, just simply, could not be found
With nothing to show for my trip,
I came home, came back home, tired and worn.
I must be Irish, the music it calls me
the flute and the fiddle, the uillean pipes’ drone
the tweat of the whistle, the beat of the bodhran
they all set me to tappin’ my toes
Solas and Grada, the Fuchsia Band, Lunasa
music just keeps me wanting more
So play some Beoga, some Slide, or some Teada
anything Irish, I just adore.
Two weeks ago, I ran across
my family bible, it listed our kin
I’m horrified, just horrified
German, not German
I hate oompah bands
With heavy heart, I packed away
hornpipes and slip jigs and even the reels
Now it’s all accordions
beer barrel polkas and chickens that dance
I must be Irish, the music it calls me
the flute and the fiddle, the uillean pipes’ drone
the tweat of the whistle, the beat of the bodhran
they all set me to tappin’ my toes
Solas and Grada, the Fuchsia Band, Lunasa
music just keeps me wanting more
So play some Beoga, some Slide, or some Teada
anything Irish, I just adore.
[...] Irish History, or at least her search for it. Here’s the chorus – but you need to read the whole song: I must be Irish, the music it calls me the flute and the fiddle, the uillean pipes’ drone the [...]