An Lanntair, Stornoway, 27 March 2009

THE MOVEABLE feast gathered under the term Lewis Women was originated for An Lanntair’s opening events programme back in autumn of 2005 but taken up as a continuing idea by the Heb Celt Festival as well as the Arts Centre. It’s in the nature of the show that new faces and voices will appear as some of the established performers are unavailable. Last Friday’s version proved that the idea has no signs of fatigue.

Neither did any of the divas. I feel quite well placed to comment on this as I felt it necessary to continue bantering and sipping wine with two of the four women in the team. This continued well into the Saturday, purely in the interests of researching this very notice.

I can thus inform the music audience of the north that it is entirely possible that an honorary man may well join the group for future appearances. The après concert kitchen ceilidh featured a near neighbour of Ms Murray from the Back district, decidedly male but very heavily influenced by Janis Joplin.

But the official staged event had a hefty dollop of soul in its tones. Sadly Mary Smith, with her powerful voice, rhythms of rowing and smiling shade of wry in her dry-ish and always informative intros, had lost her voice. She joined the bustling house and seemed to be enjoying what she heard.

How could she not? It must be immensely rewarding for those who’ve taught as well as performed, to keep a strong vernacular culture moving, to share the stage with a new generation. The two younger women overcame any shyness to take their place as equals. And it has to be said that Ms Macaskill as well as Ms Murray seems to have found a way of keeping fearsomely young.

A pattern emerged. There would be the ensemble pieces, with differing feature spots. These would give way to solo spots. And then it would all come together again. Most moving for me was a very rhythmic group version of Murdo Macfarlane’s song ‘1914’.

The lyric has the lover marching off to Fort George, as if to be a rigger on the Clyde or one who follows the migration of the herring as the fishing goes from the Broch to Baltasound. But then the lover at home states that each year she will see the geese return but never her own young man. He has joined the ranks of so many from villages or cities, all over Europe, with the blood run out of them and all washed by the same rain.

Ishbel took the lead voice on that one, but the arrangement and the pace of the marching was the performance of an ensemble. Anna reminded me often of the willingness to bend tunes very naturally into something close to swing.

I’ve been returning recently to the excellent 1999 album from Lochshore – Trì Nithean – Three things. Her ability to project powerful sound from her slim form and to generate presence must be linked to her gift for performance in theatre and film.

Catriona Watt has a background in different forms of music but her singing on Friday had very little trace of anything you would think consciously studied. Learning is worn lightly. Her voice has a rich warm tone and there’s no hurry in it. Once the boat was pushed out she was gliding on the sea. And she has that performer’s knack of making each person in the audience feel they are being addressed personally.

None of these women are short of wit. It all builds to a performance where the intros and interplay are a seamless part of the show. Ishbel’s wit is a fair bit more dry than gin. Anna’s is fast as a cutag (a herring knife). I would say it seems that Catriona’s wit has a warmth about it.

But when Isobel Ann Martin overcame her nerves and started gabbing to the audience as if they were indeed already at the kitchen table, we had stand-up comedy. Like the others, the chat was not only about communicating out from under the lights to faces you can’t see. All four women seemed to me to be
building up to the moment when the voice was tuned to the particular song.

Ms Martin’s singing is like great pipe music. You’re mesmerised by the notes and variations but never to the point where the emotion in the music is subjugated. This was an exciting performance though never obtrusive.

© Ian Stephen, 2009

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