Almost a year ago during the Hard & Easy tour, shortly after the Winnipeg stop, I came down with the worst stomach flu I have ever endured. A tour bus is a poor place for such an affliction, and by the time we got to Saskatoon I was so weak there was some doubt if I could make the show. I do not remember the flow of events very well, but apparently I looked so bad the decision was made to summon a doctor backstage. He thought I was nuts to be doing anything other than lying in a bed, but he was kind enough to stay backstage while I stumbled around in front of the audience, trying to remember what to play through a fog of exhaustion and Gravol (Dramamine for our American fans). We never said anything about it at the time; the show must go on and all that, and it was hardly the first time one of us has gone onstage feeling like a bag of shit. And seeing as how we almost croaked in a bus crash a few days later, it kind of fell off the radar.

Thus it felt a bit ridiculous to find myself onstage in Saskatoon a few weeks ago in even worse shape than the last time. I knew I was sick days before the show, but I was hoping it was a bad cold, and stupidly told everyone I would make the gig.  I felt absolutely horrible on the endless flight out west, and a full daily dose of Tylenol & Advil didn’t even make a dent in the incredible headache that developed. Once again I bumbled around the stage in a daze, while medics waited for me to fall over in a stupor. Our fans in Saskatoon are going to assume that I am always eerily pale, exhausted looking and a very sloppy player.  At any rate, I went from the plane home to the hospital, where I spent the next week pretty much immobilized with meningitis. I was too sick to read, and watching TV was impossible. Even talking hurt. I just stared at the wall, muted conversation from my family and the tunes in my head the only entertainment I could stand.

I have always had the ability to listen to music in my mind. For years I assumed everyone could do this. It makes playing a bunch of instruments easier – all you have to do is find the way to finger the tune that’s already playing in your brain. While I lay there in the ward waiting for the next nurse to arrive, I replayed the piece ‘Puirt A Beul’ by the Scottish band Capercaillie dozens of times. For one thing, it has many layers, and is well suited to that kind of mathematical/meditation exercise. The title means ‘mouth music’, which refers to short little demi-songs, kind of like ‘Billy Peddle’. There are two of these in the piece, combined with some instrumentals.

Capercaillie specializes in elaborate Scottish Gaelic folk songs, with unusually complex instrumentals. Their sound is anchored around lead singer Cathy Makinson’s crystalline voice, and keyboardist Charlie McKerron’s creative settings. Generally, I am not a huge fan of keyboards and folk music. Something as naff as Enya always seems to lurk around the corner if you are not careful. Capercallie flirt with this sort of thing, but somehow it never gets away from them. Each tune in this set exists in its own perfect little musical world, like the parts of a symphony. Each new turn is a delightful surprise, but one that flows completely logically from what came previously.

While I was researching this, I noticed that the album Crosswinds, on which this piece appeared, has evaporated from their catalogue, and the compilation I first heard it on has also gone into record company aether. It doesn’t really matter to me anymore. I am pretty sure I could pick up a fiddle and play the whole piece from start to finish. Anyway, Capercaillie has a huge catalogue, and it is not hard to find their stuff anywhere. It’s all pretty good.

 A lot of the folk music I listen to is about energy, or poignancy. Capercaillie is very different. For lack of a better description, their music is ordered and deliberate, and often quite pretty. As much of it is sung in a language few understand, it demands little other than loose attention. But then unlike so much ‘New Age Celtic’, it stays with you. Years after you have heard it, you find it lurking back there, playing away like an old record left to spin around and around, long after the party finished.

Perfect for hospitals.