So the session was pretty much over and had wound down to four of us, and the other fluteplayer wanted to quick try my Eb flute body - I was just fixing to go, myself - so I relented and capoed the Gizmo up a half step, the fiddler tuned up too, and the bodhránista for once didn’t have to spritz her head (a filthy habit anyway, I told her ), and wham! the session fatigue evaporated and our energy rebounded gangbusters, for we couldn’t help ourselves: Eb is another experience altogether. Funny how much difference a little bitty half step can make; the harmonics actually had my bones vibrating, seemed like. This was a New Thing. It’s hard to put my finger on and I can’t account for it, but whatever it was, it was real. I think we must have played for at least another hour, maybe an hour and a half, if that tells you anything; we did close down the joint, anyway, and that’s not the usual.
Now, I love when folks are playing in the compasses of C, B, or Bb - mellow and smoky - and look forward to every chance I get for that, and D’s always there and lovely and solid and not to be denied. But this Eb thing…yeah. I get it, now. Usually I only play my flute’s Eb body solo, and that’s something I look forward to, but I’m glad I was able to finally play in that compass with others and see for myself what the allure’s about. I have a suspicion we’re hooked on Eb for good and will be doing more of that whenever we can. Oh, yes. I won’t even mind lending my flute over for it.
Indeed they do! Eb’s bright and edgily exciting, but not in an in-your-face, hit-'em-with-a-sledgehammer sort of way. It’s more uplifting, subtle while substantial.
“Birdyness”. That’s a good one. The various lads and I do some Bb songs where we make use of an F whistle in them, and that’s exactly what it is: birdy.
Dervish! I’m movin’ up in the world. I’ll send out a press release.
And what the hell, pray tell, is THAT???
Surely only dogs could hear it. Moustaches are probably out, and clogging exponentially worse. And you’d have to have long fingertip prosthetics, with itsy-bitsy teensy ends, never mind how you’re gonna orient the tips to get the job done, much less even feel the holes, and what about a workable flesh-and-bone mimicry for good support and sealing should you even somehow succeed at good fingering? And the biggest and final question for me would be, simply: “WHY?”
It would be hilarious to behold, whistlette, finger prosthetics and all ; but instead I think it is better suited to just being a really cool keychain “I Yam A Whistler” ornament toggle thingum, and leave off with this whistle microtechnology arms-race madness. Please. For the love of all that is holy.
No, I think Eb’s about the ceiling for me and the sessiony stuff. The buck stops here.
With Eb there was some more audience response than usual, but it might’ve been just an effect of the contrast in the shift from D, though. Hard to say about that sort of thing when it comes to punters. But in any case the effect seemed to do other work too, for I got sort of cornered and shamelessly flirted with afterward, and let me tell you, for me THAT’S a novelty. I think I’m gonna have to try this Eb stuff again. Just to see if there’s some sort of correlation, like.
We were certainly energised, anyway; for group playing, the effect seemed more solidly magical than we were used to even after an hour or so of nonstop playing. Great stuff.
Could be just that. But here’s the thing (WARNING: purplish prose ahead): the odd thing to me is about the end product; while there’s no question that we were energised, all the same we weren’t playing any more energetically than usual, and although I think it’s fair to say that our inner energies indeed rose to meet the pitch change, our execution itself wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary, otherwise. There was a subtle difference in the life of the thing that our playing alone couldn’t be accountable for. Even the more deliberate and stately stuff we did was just…different. Yes, the music expressed more energy or magic somehow, and it was as if energy or magic had been given unto us, I suppose you could say, but we were more just conduits for - or immersed in, or both - the the effect of the pitch, and in spite of ourselves: I felt that we had become almost incidental, and the music had woken up as if it were some living being, to speak for itself and on its own. It was in our hands, yes, but it wasn’t. I do think that it was the pitch that had everything to do with everything. Well, on the music side of things, anyway.
We certainly weren’t given a magic bullet that made us play better than before, I’ll tell you that.
As for me, the sad fact is that in the course of six hours I’d only nursed thru one pint of the black stuff, and from a benefactor a shot of The Balvenie Double Wood that I otherwise usually wouldn’t have ordered; just enough to keep my mouth wet and body and soul together. Yes, it’s true, and yes, it’s normal. I don’t know how I do it, myself. They’ve gotten tired of bugging me about the glacial pace of my drinking habits at sessions. Just too busy playing chunes to remember to drink, I suppose. The driving/drinking thing is in the back of my mind, too - I’ve seen too many die or lose their licenses from it - so that also probably contributes to putting the reins to that sort of thing. So, while my above post may strike you as being on the hallucinatory side - a reasonable assessment - I assure you that crawling into my glass had nothing to do with it. I’m just a born nutjob even when I’m sober.
This, coming from you. “Purple” doesn’t even begin to describe some of your transports of prolixity.
But to reply to your question: civic-mindedness should never need to explain itself.
So, what does that have to do with me? If I were literally starving…maybe. JUST maybe. Believe it when I say I would exhaust all other options first, even found shoes, mayonnaise by the spoonful, my nail clippings, and roadkill.
), and wham! the session fatigue evaporated and our energy rebounded gangbusters, for we couldn’t help ourselves: Eb is another experience altogether. Funny how much difference a little bitty half step can make; the harmonics actually had my bones vibrating, seemed like. This was a New Thing. It’s hard to put my finger on and I can’t account for it, but whatever it was, it was real. I think we must have played for at least another hour, maybe an hour and a half, if that tells you anything; we did close down the joint, anyway, and that’s not the usual.
they all have their personalities don’t they 
ack…bloody extremist!!!
I can play on that slippery slope all night 
