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Showing posts with label Pearwood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pearwood. Show all posts

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Wrting and Shrewsbury

I'm not entirely sure what has happened, but a bunch of my routines have fallen apart.  Actually, I'm pretty sure that between school starting, fighting off a September cold, and the Shrewsbury Faire, my routines have fallen apart.  I haven't been to the gym in almost twelve days, although I have done some free-weight work at home; and my writing has been sporadic.

Thursday, Mark was great and cajoled me out of bed to get some editing in the morning, and I did manage to get up and do some more editing Friday morning.

I've been thinking about Shrewsbury all week.  For the longest time, they very graciously let me lead the opening and closing parades there, and I would sing with the Pearwood Pipers.  It was fun, and I enjoyed it, but it slowly got less and less fun.  

Part of the disenchantment is the on-site camping.   While I mostly enjoyed the Pearwood Encampment in years past, chances were usually good that we'd set up next to folks who drank, had loud sex, smoked, and swore a lot.  This made for difficult sleeping.  The solution is sleeping off-site.

I thought I might get some writing in at Shrewsbury, but that didn't happen.  The fantasy was that I could park myself under a canopy somewhere and work on short stories.  I had a book I could have written long-hand in, but I didn't have a period pen.  I wanted to get a feather with a ball-point pen core in the shaft, but that didn't work out.  

Sometimes it feels like Shrewsbury is turning into a costume party for the participants and less an immersive event for patrons.  Someone pointed out to me this year that Shrewsbury had very little street theatre because most of the performers there are production groups yoked to stationary guild yards, which encourages patrons to come and watch the show, similar to an interpretive museum.  This is not a criticism of the production groups, who do a very good job presenting historical information in an entertaining way.  I think the solution to non-interactive Renaissance-Zoo would be to start-up a Street Theatre Guild (John ducks).   

I'd say this year's oddest experience was at the Staggering Oak Tavern, when I attempted to teach what I took for street players the Closing Parade Song only to have them look dully at me over their tankards.  Then there was a scattering of applause, and a gentleman of a certain age dressed in fine Elizabethan period clothing began loudly calling for a stripper.  I turned my back on the tavern's yard and continued to teach and lead the song to the players who were slowly congregating.

The more I think about leading the parades, the more I wish there was a portative organ or some other loud instrument which could be automated.  My fantasy is to make something like a mechanical stag on a cart with a musical component.  It's really too bad that steam calliopes are an American invention.  Oh well, at least we have a very capable bag-piper.

The most fun part of the parade was telling everyone that we were going to do the Opening Parade as a cha-cha:  "Aah-wake / awake / the day / doth break / good craft- / men / oh-0h-pen your stalls / (cha-cha-cha)."  

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Harp and Chess at the Faire

The Pearwood Pipers, the recorder ensemble and madrigal group I used to sing with, let me guard their pavilion while they played a gig.  

One of the props that they have is a large wooden chess set.  I set that up in front of me.  Then I pulled out a hidden bottle of soda, poured it into a ceramic goblet, and sipped it while I strummed my harp.  Under the pavilion's shade, I felt like an errant squire in an Arthurian adventure.

I was surprised at how many folks came up to learn chess or about the harp.  I played a game of Queen and Pawns with a five-year-old, and I taught a twenty-something the other pieces.  What felt like a home-school family came up and spoke with me about the harp and its tuning.

Then the Pearwoods came back with some other musician friends and began a jam session.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Put A Little Dog In It

I'm back from a Renaissance Faire. I play harp and sing with a group of musicians called The Pearwood Pipers. We had a lot of fun, but as usual, ended our weekend gig with the standard question:

Why are the songs that we have the largest audiences for the ones about drinking (or the one where I put on a dress and pretend to be an oyster girl [hint: "oyster girl" is a euphemism]), whereas the beautiful, four-part madrigals by John Dowland (okay, yeah; they're kind of melancholy) make them leave in droves ?

Part of the problem is that it's easier for modern audiences to understand, "Jolly good luck to the landlady; good luck to the barley mow!" than it is "Wilt thou, unkind, thus reave me of my heart (of my heart, of my heart) and so leave me?" But still; these are folks who come to a Renaissance Faire -- surely they've brushed up their Shakespeare? Or is it true that they only came to see the Chicks in Chainmail.

It's a conundrum for us, because as performers, we want large audiences, but as musicians we want to create portals to other worlds with haunting, chilling, music. But maybe our audience is fleeing from the peril of transformative music. (Yes, there is always room for improvement in our music, but I don't think they're fleeing because we play badly.)

Perhaps it's time to make a sandwich board flip sign with a translation of the words and train a little dog to turn the pages...