Over the years, we have tried to walk a bit of a fine line when it comes to the whole ‘are you Celtic?’ thing. It is a question that has died down a bit, but it still comes up, particularly in America. Early on in our career we decided that we were going to focus as much as we could on Newfoundland songs and instrumentals. It made sense - we were already immersed in that tradition, and there was a goldmine of unrecorded material out there. Plus, it made us unique. Most other traditional acts around here (and truth to be told, everywhere) are drawn to the vast body of well-recorded and well-arranged Irish music. Researching older songs that do not already have choruses and hooks is a lot harder, and often a lot riskier - sometimes old songs are obscure for a reason. Irish songs work just as well, or better, and are a lot easier. In Newfoundland these days, most younger artists do not even make the distinction between Irish and Newfoundland material, something that alternately surprises and depresses me.

That said, Irish music is a broad strain in the Newfoundland tradition. It is particularly prevalent in St. John’s, which has seen a continual influx of Irish players over the years. Like a lot of things, the nuances are just part of us. For example, I would consider my accordion playing about as ‘Newfoundland’ as you could get. I hardly own one Irish accordion record, nor do I use Irish ornaments in my playing, nor do I play any identifiable Irish tunes, really. Even so, I once played for Seamus Connolly, a famous fiddler and professor at Boston College, and an expert on Irish music. He was intrigued by my playing, which he felt was a blurry version of a rural Waterford style. And my repertoire includes many tunes originally popularized in Newfoundland by the McNulty family, Boston Irishmen who were stars here in the 1950s. (Much of the rest is sped-up English Morris dances, but that is another essay).

Furthermore, the last decade has not been a golden age for Irish music, which adds to my general ambivalence about our suppressed Celticness. There are lots of good bands, and great players, but the well-arranged song has largely been supplanted by lightening fast jigs and reels. If they sing at all, younger bands often do so unaccompanied: one chap lilting away with his eyes closed, while everyone else looks at the stage, trying to be suitably solemn. That is a bit of an anathema to Great Big Sea - hearty songs and spirited group singing are our meat and drink. Therefore, if I was to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, (in some fashion other than a gig), than I would listen to some music from the late 60s and early 70s, when the ballad singers spawned by the Clancy brothers met the first generation of modern players. And all sorts of amazing things came forth.

Good luck finding any CDs by the Johnstons in a record store. This is one gem that ITunes rescued from obscurity, and I am grateful for it. The band peaked in the early 1970s, when folk legends-to-be Paul Brady and Mick Maloney joined a band fronted by the two Johnston sisters. They all sang close harmonies, and Brady and Maloney found complex and intriguing hooks, all while maintaining a very light feel, a bit like the Association meets the Clancy’s. The records sound old-fashioned now, from an audio point of view, but there is a freshness and spirit to the singing that is rare in modern Irish music. Check out their version of ‘The Spanish Lady’. This rather enigmatic song has become sadder and sadder over the years, but there is nothing but joy in the Johnstons’ version.

After the Johnstons, Brady himself later joined Planxty, the band every critic agrees was the greatest of the era. The four original members - piper Liam Og Flynn, bouzouki genius Donal Lunny, mandolinist and singer Andy Irvine and guitarist and singer Christy Moore - single-handedly reinvented the way Irish music was arranged, sung and performed. Their blend of songs and instrumentals was unique, years ahead of its time, and in Moore and Irvine they had singers who were capable of anything. Lunny was not the first to play Celtic bouzouki, but he invented the melodic rhythmic style that every one of us uses today. Irvine mostly played mandolin in the band, and he and Lunny created a weaving harmonic style, which with Og Flynn’s virtuoso piping was a killer combination. Later additions like Brady and Johnny Moynihan just added to the mystique. Every pub band in the world owes a debt to Planxty, and their hooks and ideas have become fodder for hundreds of albums. ‘The Raggle Taggle Gypsy’ is the song most critics point to as evidence of their brilliance, but I prefer ‘The Little Drummer’. Moore’s crisp baritone punches every note, while the rest of the players create a melodic setting which would be the envy of any fancy pop band. Case in point - the song itself has no chorus, and repeats itself a half dozen times. In the hand of a lesser bunch it would be dull and repetitive. In Planxty’s version, you do not even notice. Instead you are just sad that the song, and the band, ever has to end.

Luke Kelly has been dead for decades now, but as ballad singer, he has yet to be surpassed. A gnarly looking character, he was one of the leaders of the Dubliners, a band who wrote the book on gnarly. He might have looked like an out of work dustman, but his voice was something else - strong, clear and as rich as a good pint. The Dubliners often played all over each other, but live Kelly was left alone, to sing his songs with little accompaniment. He loved songs about the travails of workingmen, and ‘Tramps and Hawkers’ is one of the best. A superb live version is available everywhere, on a dozen different Dubliners compilations. Go buy it, and revel in the passion the man was capable of bringing to a simple lyric.  Few singers in any genre would have the courage to deliver this song as simply as Kelly, and yet you believe every word. The song ends almost in a whisper, with this poignant traveler lyric:

 And if the weather treats me right, I’m happy every day.

 Whether in Ireland, or across the ocean, words we can all live by.