‘The Boys of the
Lough’/’The Humours of Ennistymon’
‘The Boys of the
Lough’
Recorded April 1922
Folk tune
Performed by Michael
Coleman; accompanied by J. Muller, piano
2:59
‘The Humours of Ennistymon’
Recorded April 1922
Folk tune
Performed by Michael
Coleman; piano accompanist unknown
3:01
In October 1914, a 23-year-old violin virtuoso left Ireland
and came to America. His archaic but lively style led to an enthusiastic
following. His recordings of traditional Irish music boomeranged back to the
Emerald Isle, inspiring both the preservation and the development of Gaelic
music, culture, and language.
Coleman came from a musical family in the Knockgrania, near
Ballymore in County Sligo. His father was a locally renowned traditional
flautist. Coleman was trained as a child both in fiddle playing and in step
dancing. This the fiddler of the time would combine in live performance,
roaming from town to town as an entertainer.
When the young man joined the vaudeville circuit in America,
he found a universe of “stage Irishmen.” The first massive wave of Irish
immigration to America took place in the 1850s, triggering the first of the
many anti-immigrant political movements in the United States. “No Irish need
apply” was a sign seen in many shop windows. In popular culture, the Irishman
was a boggy beast, a cartoonish figure who was uncouth, drunken, prone to
fisticuffs, and prolifically fertile. By the time Coleman made it over, despite
the integration of Irish-Americans into the culture and power structure, this
stereotype was still in place and beloved. “Throw ‘em Down M’Closkey” and “The
Mulligan Guards” resounded everywhere.
However, a New York City record-store owner named Ellen
O’Byrne thought she could sell authentic Irish music to those hungry for the
sounds of home. She encouraged Coleman, and they both cleaned up. “The Boys of
the Lough” has become an archetypal reel, and “Ennistymon” remains a
preeminent jig.
Coleman’s is what is now termed the Sligo style of Irish
fiddling, brisk and slashing, with lots of ornamental trills and triplets,
bursting into chords at the ends of lines, like someone wielding a firework in
the dark. This is not lyrical, legato stuff — it’s straight-up dance music, and
it’s easy to imagine the hammering beats of Coleman’s feet accompanying his
playing. There’s life in it. Most surprising of all, his records sold the most
in Ireland itself. As such, his work still stands as a bridge between ancient
tunes and modern times.
He preserved the old tunes, but he made them his own as
well, imprinting them with his unique style. (Observe the parallel with the
previous discussed Texas fiddler Eck Robertson, who performed a similar role
for American country music.) Ironically, his education in antique technique
turned out to be the sound of the future.
The National Recording Registry Project tracks one
writer’s expedition through all the recordings in the National Recording
Registry in chronological order. Up next: The Okeh Laughing Record.