My Irish Moment

There was a time when friends of mine were hosting musical events in their home.  These home concerts were small, cozy events with food, drink, and traditional Irish music.  This family occupies a central position in the local Irish music community, a community that my wife and I are only peripherally connected to.

I have played traditional Irish music, and I understand and appreciate it, but I've never been crazy about it.  I have plenty of Irish ancestors, but that connection has not compelled me, as it has others, to identify with the music.  In fact, my surname is technically Scottish in origin (Colquhoun).  Add to that the Scottish ancestry on my mother's side, and my family has good cause to identify more with its Scottish roots.

A half-dozen years ago I began compiling and researching my family's genealogy.  The issue of ethnicity became clouded at once:  among my ancestors were Scots-Irish, Irish-Scots, Anglo-Scots, French-Canadian-Anglos, and Scots-Irish-Canadians.  It also became clear that my Calhoun forbears probably came from northern Ireland.  The connection to Scotland (if there was any at all) would have been back in the 17th century.  It made me a bit nervous to announce to my family that we were a lot more Irish than Scottish.  We knew nothing of Ireland, but we had all learned ancient Colquhoun history, we had clothing made from the tartan, some of us had visited Scotland, and one of my brothers had learned the whole kilt-bagpipe thing (he's really good at it, too!)

It was shortly after my father had died that my wife and I began attending the home concerts.  One of the concerts featured a fiddler living in New York but who had been born in Ireland.  During his performance, he told us that he had grown up in the western part of Tyrone County, near Donegal, in northern Ireland.  He mentioned the town, noting that probably none of us had ever heard of it, but I had:  it was the town near where my Calhoun ancestor had probably emigrated from, a fact that I had just recently unearthed.

So I was thinking about my dad, and about my Irishness, while the music played.  One of the tunes was by the famous Irish composer O'Carolan, who was a contemporary of Bach's.  My father loved Bach's music; he probably would have loved this traditional music, but he knew nothing about it.  For my dad, Irish music meant "Danny Boy."  And I could have introduced him to this music many years ago, but the thought never occurred to me.  We were Scottish, after all.

My father grew up Catholic in South Boston, which is about as Irish as you can get.  Our family had been there since the 1870's.  But no one had ever questioned the family's assertion that it was Scottish.  Apparently this concept, based on a technicality, provided solace and identity for a family struggling, like all the others, in an impoverished ghetto.  Certainly my father was eager to escape, and distance himself from his history.

I spoke with the fiddler after the concert.  He was excited that I knew about his home town, and he said I was lucky to know, even if only roughly, where in Ireland my ancestor had come from.  A lot of Irish-Americans have no idea.  Yes, I thought, I am lucky, and lucky to have realized, before it was too late, that this beautiful music actually applies to me.

BC

The Neanderthals are Coming!!

Neanderthals are back in the news.  Evidence has been found that seems to locate Neanderthals in the caves of Gibraltar some 28,000 years ago.  This is news because it was thought that the Neanderthals had become extinct two thousand years earlier.  There is poignancy to the discovery; the researchers describe the caves as the "last stand" of the Neanderthals in Europe, and thus on planet Earth.

The last stand against what?  No adversary is named.  The press release describes the caves as providing shelter and "last refuge" from eventual "displacement," but the question remains.

The findings, which show that Neanderthals lived alongside modern humans for thousands of years, bring fresh evidence to the debate on what happened to our evolutionary cousins, and whether modern humans drove them to extinction.

"Living alongside our cousins" sounds so neighborly.  How sad that somehow our neighbors the Neanderthals were "driven" to extinction.

I've encountered this language before in writings about the Neanderthals and their extinction.  The extinction is usually described as just happening over the course of time, coincidental with the appearance of Modern humans in the same regions.  Were the Moderns responsible for the extinction of the Neanderthals, and if so, how?

When I was younger, Neanderthals were depicted as hairy and primitive.  They were the typical cavemen, grunting, low-slung, and hitting things with clubs.  The Moderns, so obviously more sophisticated, "advanced" into West Asia and Europe, "displacing" the hapless Neanderthals, who apparently just withered away at the sight of such superiority.

Today, the picture is a little different.  Neanderthals are understood to have been much more complex than we thought.  They weren't as hairy, were excellent hunters, had a social organization that cared for the injured and elderly, and practiced burial rites.  They might have had some language, they created and possibly traded cultural artifacts, and even learned from the Moderns. 

The shortfalls of the Neanderthals are described in much more technical terms:  they were less able to adapt to the cooling climate of the time; their hunting techniques were less effective than those of the Moderns; their diet was less adaptable maybe; they didn't migrate as readily and thus engaged in much less trade than did the Moderns.

So it wasn't that the Moderns were so superior, it's just that the Neanderthals didn't quite have what it took to "compete."  They simply dwindled away, died off, the poor things.

Here's a typical way the story is told*:

Jan. 27, 2004  -  In a prehistoric battle for survival, Neanderthals had to compete against modern humans and were wiped off the face of the Earth, according to a new study on life in Europe from 60,000 to 25,000 years ago.

-  -  -

"My general take on Neanderthal extinction was that they were in competition with anatomically modern humans at a time when there was increasing severe cold stress that was not only affecting them, but also the food resources they relied on," said Leslie Aiello, head of the University College London Graduate School, and an expert on Neanderthal response to weather.

-  -  -

Paul Pettitt, a Neanderthal expert at the University of Sheffield who agrees with the new study findings, said, "[Early Modern human] toolkits reveal a very sophisticated range of weaponry.  Far from general purpose spears deployed in the hand, we now see specialist projectile weapons (javelins) perhaps thrown with the aid of spearthrowers to increase effective range," Pettitt told Discovery News.

-  -  -

With such technologies, our ancestors won the prehistoric battle for survival.

Notice that there is no overt mention of how the Neanderthals were "wiped off the face of the Earth."  They simply failed to "compete."  As if the little Neanderthal children just didn't score as well in school.  Or they couldn't afford to keep their caves heated.  And yet there seems to be some gloating about the "sophisticated range of weaponry" that allowed Moderns to "win."

Given your own understanding of modern Modern humans, and what they tend to do with sophisticated weaponry, can you begin to guess how the Neanderthals became extinct?

Paul Pettitt, the Neanderthal expert quoted above, writes less equivocally for his peers**:

It must have seemed, in some areas, that Neanderthals had little to offer modern humans - except competition.  In these areas, the attitude may have been to kill first, ask questions later.  For too long we have regarded the extinction of Neanderthals as a chance historical accident.  Rather, where Neanderthals and modern humans could not coexist, their disappearance may have been the result of the modern human race's first and most successful deliberate campaign of genocide.

So not everyone is afraid to come right out and speak the obvious:  Modern humans killed off the Neanderthals.  There is no mystery to their extinction at all, and I'm afraid that any poignancy we express is just alligator's tears.  But why would we be so circumspect about human behavior that is so obviously evident?

BC

*Discovery Channel news brief, 1/26/04.

**Paul Pettitt's essay in British Archaeology is excellent, but revolves around a finding that is somewhat more in question now than it was back in 2000.

Jared Diamond (author of the wonderful Guns, Germs, and Steel) also brings up the genocide argument.
Here's Wikipedia on Neanderthal extinction.

Not For Nuthin'

My favorite Rhode Island-ism is the phrase, "Not for nothing."  Aside from the unique pronunciation (full of glottal stops and omitting the "g"), the phrase has a particular meaning in Rhode Island discourse.

"Not for nothing" does have a regular, literal use.  It means "for a good reason."  Consider:  "It's not for nothing that ducks have webbed feet."  The phrase is a little inelegant, with its Yiddishe double-negative, but it has a certain rustic appeal.  It can carry a shade of derision:  you'd be stupid not to know why ducks have webbed feet.  It can also convey obviousness:  everyone knows why ducks have webbed feet.  (Rhetorically it is called a litotes.)

In Rhode Island, however, it usually goes like this:  "Hey, not for nothing, but . . . "  The phrase invariably precedes a statement of opinion, and seems intended to prepare the listener for that opinion.  Its literal meaning lost completely, the phrase becomes a mere signal, a flag:  hold on, something's coming.

There seem to be many colloquialisms meant to buffer the blow of a direct opinion, particularly of an opinion that might be unwelcome or uninvited.  I think of the Minnesotan opening:  "You know, some guys would . . . "  You can see the need for this.  "You know, what you oughta do is . . . " can be too direct, almost insulting.  What follows could be taken for fighting words.  So instead there's a softening first, a show of respect, a sign that no hard feelings are intended.  The recipient is free to take or leave what is said.  "You know, some guys would wear a coat in this weather."

The Rhode Island "not for nothing" is necessary because the opinion to follow is usually blunt and unflattering.  It announces, "I am about to state an opinion, and my apologies if it is a little strong and brusque, but I feel I must have my say."

Thus:  "Hey, not for nuthin', but your brother's an asshole."

BC

PS  This use of the phrase is not limited to RI, of course, but can be found in working class neighborhoods up and down the Eastern seaboard.  Here's a great take by a New Jerseyite.

A Tale of Two Keyboards

This story is true, but with altered names.

I went to play music at an open blues jam recently.  I arrived at the club expecting to see Percy, a friend and fellow pianist.  Sure enough, he was there and had already set up his rig.

Every keyboard player has a rig, and it varies from simple (and easy to carry) to mind-bogglingly complicated and big.  I tend towards simple, and Percy weighs in a little above average.  There's widespread camaraderie among keyboard players, mostly because there aren't so many of us, and because our playing styles vary so radically that the competition tends to be friendly.  If we run into each other at jams or gigs, we tend to compare rigs in the way that men compare cars.

I was familiar with Percy's usual rig:  a full-sized and heavy keyboard on a regular stand, a folding bench, and a huge amp on wheels (he also carries a second full keyboard in his car).  This particular night he had replaced the amp with a big PA head and an even bigger speaker cabinet.  It had taken him a while to set it all up.

There is usually a host band running the jam.  This band will start things off, then manage the coming and going of guest musicians, then finish the night.  It is generally understood that some of their equipment is available for use by the guests, but it is still polite to ask.  When the host band does not have a keyboard, as was the case this night, a guest can set his up, but he is not usually required to share it.

Percy had had a bad experience at this club.  His keyboard is specialized and expensive, and someone had once turned it on and started playing without his permission.  He had gotten pretty sore and told the manager that his keyboard was to be, henceforth and forevermore, off limits.  Percy and I are friends, and I've played his keyboard before at other venues, but tonight he was apologetic in explaining that, for the sake of consistency, the keyboard was still off limits, even to me.

Here's my rig for open jams:  an itty-bitty keyboard controller on a regular stand, with the sound provided by a Hammond organ module velcroed inside the stand.  I play it standing up, with a volume pedal.  I run it through the house PA, so there's no amp.  It's simple and effective, and small enough to set up and break down quickly, and not get in the way.  Nonetheless, in this small club, it would have been one keyboard too many, but I thought I would ask Vinny, the manager, anyway.

The host band this night was, as it often was, Vinny's band.  He also books all the weekend bands, and manages the open jam each week.  Vinny is a true crazymaker.  He means well, but he has too much energy and too little judgement.  One time he pulled me off the keyboard in the middle of a song so a pal of his could play.  Put a guy like that in charge, add a little alcohol, and you have a recipe for a lot of upset musicians.

Vinny seemed to have forgotten about Percy's off-limits policy, and since there was yet a third keyboard player in the house, Vinny declared that Percy's rig had to be either shared or removed.  Strong words were passed between Percy and Vinny; there was pushing, but no fisticuffs, and Percy began breaking down his unused rig.  All this was happening while music was being played.  I felt bad - it took every bit as long for Percy to remove his rig, with smoke coming out his ears, as I knew it had taken to set up.  Maybe if I hadn't said anything to Vinny this wouldn't have happened, but I understood that this was about some unhappy history between the two men.  As my clear-eyed wife explained, I had stepped on one of Vinny's land mines, and it wasn't my fault.

So finally it was time for Raoul, the other keyboardist, to set up.  I had never met Raoul before, so I watched closely as he assembled his rig:  full-sized keyboard, stand, bench, laptop computer, MIDI/firewire interface, mixing board, amp head packed with effects, giant speaker cabinet.  Assembly took as long as you could imagine, plus endless fiddling with the computer.  Finally, Raoul's piano sound emerged from the speaker.  It sounded terrible.

Vinny wanted to make amends, so he quickly invited me up on Raoul's keyboard.  I took my position on the bench, dropped my hands on the keys, and there was no sound.  Someone had inadvertently pulled the plug to Raoul's rig.  When he reconnected, there was still no sound.  He twiddled knobs, messed with the computer, switched things off and on, to no avail.

"Listen, I'm sitting right over there.  Just let me know when it's working," I said.  Musicians got up on stage, played a few songs, were replaced by other musicians who played a few more songs.  Finally, I could hear that the piano was working again, and Raoul signaled to me.  I sat down at the keys and jumped into the song being performed, but something was wrong.  There was a delay between when I hit the keys and when there was sound.  About a quarter of a second, I guessed.  I tried again, and the drummer glared at me.  "Raoul, what's with the delay?" I asked.  He fiddled with the computer.  Now the delay was about one second long, which was entertaining but no help.  "Listen, I'll be sitting right over there.  Let me know when you get it fixed."

Vinny was concerned; "Why aren't you playing?"  "I don't think he knows how to work his rig," I answered.  But then Raoul waved me over.  I sat and played, and there was the delay again.  I looked at him, and he shrugged his shoulders.  "I guess I've gotten used to it," he explained.  My jaw dropped.  I stared in disbelief.  "You mean you play ahead of the beat by a quarter second?"  I asked.  Without waiting for an answer, I just said, "Well, thanks for trying man, but I can't play your keyboard." 

So I was done for the night.  Vinny had not redeemed himself, he just had gone from The Keyboard That No One Was Allowed To Play to The Keyboard That Was Impossible To Play.  I wasn't upset.  I don't get to witness karma working that quickly every night.

BC