Went to a bagpipe recital in deepest darkest Brooklyn. Not trendy, hip Brooklyn, but end of the line subway and then 6 miles on a bus Brooklyn. I departed the Oz of Manhattan by miles and headed to The Baile Na Gael AOH Hall on Gerritsen Ave. I met Lev on the bus. A Russian on his way to hear pipes for the first time. As I suspected, his bagpiping Chinese Medicine teacher was behind it. Save for Lev, the Hall was filled with central casting Irish faces and beer. Copious amounts of cigarette smoking was confined to the bar area. Not only had I gone out of my urban comfort zone, I had headed back in time. This hall is like so many of these halls around the world: a bit run down, lots of old ticky/tacky memorabilia mixed with flags and beforethedevilknowsyourdead tiles. The white ceiling had a recessed shamrock in it that was painted green and underlit! So incongrious, but quite apt.
I am thinking about joining a Grade II band from the Bronx. I met the P/M there. I asked if anyone knew Byrne O'Sullivan and one lady said, "I'm a Sullivan, but we were too poor to affored the O!" I quite liked that. I met a bunch of the guys from the band and got the music. Quite excited about it.
Gordon Walker from Scotland and Alen Tully from Ireland were featured players. They were both excellent.
As I sat in that room and listened to that playing and looked at all the faces, I knew I was home. These ARE my people. I am them. There is such a strong immigrant part of me that cannot be erased ever. And the pipes will seemingly always frustrate me, but will always feed my soul as well. So many fathers with their sons. My heart ached a little. But it was really, really great. If I ever calm down, I really know who I am.
As if that weren't enough I am going to a solo piping competition in New Jersey tomorrow night!
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