Usually, St. Patrick’s Day lasts just one day. Not this time around.
This year, the Irish-American holiday lasted a whole week for me as I played five Celtic-flavored shows between two Sundays. One was a solo performance. Another had me teamed up with four other musicians, paying homage to Ireland’s greatest punk-poet, Shane MacGowan. I also went out on a mini, three-day run of shows with my four-piece band, Bailey’s Mistake.
I’m a lucky man — though I am not, in fact, even remotely Irish.
A recent DNA test and deep dive into my family history revealed that I’m as New England as they come. My overseas ancestors came mostly from England and Northern Europe, though there is a bit of Scots in me, too — and have a fabulous story to relate about one of my Scottish forefathers, but I’ll save that for later.
My point is, my entire family tree basically leads back to colonial Massachusetts. Everyone I come from was here before 1700. A few came over as early as the 1630s. That makes me a New England Yankee, through and through.
But I found my way to folk music as a kid and the best folk music, I quickly discovered, came from Ireland. American folksongs were truly boring by comparison. They were also mostly based in the southern and western states, where I felt no connection.
Irish and Scots music, along with sea shanties, were all around me here in the northeast and wow, were they exciting. Shipwrecks, freedom fighters, lovers separated by emigration and the joys of drinking were way more interesting than cowboy songs and bluegrass ditties about the little cabin in the woods.
So, that’s where I’ve gravitated, my whole life, Irish or not. Thank goodness for that.
I want to thank my Bailey’s Mistake bandmates: Travis, Rob and Dean for a great string of shows. I also want to thank the folks at the amazing venues I played this past week: The Fire House Center for the Arts, Somerset Abbey, Cadenza and The Hill Arts. And especially Denise at the Portland Eagles Club.
