Accompaniment

People have anxieties about all kinds of social things, starting dancing, even chat. I was one of those who couldn’t be pulled onto any dance floor, still feel uncomfortable dancing solo in public and usually avoid it.

Five months on, why still go to the folk nights in the local pubs?  Sometimes a singer seems to reach out for connection.  Sometimes there's a sense of compatibility or the song is fine. There are good voices, good playing, good humour, new songs, the craic with Chic, listening at the bar.  A neighbour drops in or or a musicians wanders over for chat or passes the time of day while buying a drink.

Still, I prefer folk music from Latin America.  There is not as much "singing with" as I thought and perhaps, noticing through its lack, hoped for.  There seems rather to be a respect for and expectation of singing solo.  Sometimes relief washes over an instrumental number.

Mostly though I realise I go to hear quiet George, the bazouki, mandolin and banjo player who has played for over fifty years.  The distinctive sound of his bazouki speaks for him and his accompaniment is sublime. No one else complements the others so well nor so effortlessly.  Beyond his accomplishment, George supports a weaker musician with his music, never taking over, so that what they play or sing is enhanced, as if by magic.  When he wasn't there last week the gap in his customary place looked, felt like a missing tooth.  You can in fact, hear absence.

George, the kind host, Dave in the forest, anyone really with tact and kindness are essential for beginners or people who ill at ease to get started or they will disappear. That help is not necessarily overt, it can be subtle thing, creating the right feeling, for which I doubt there are rule books.  Maybe it's innate, maybe it's picked up through watching, listening, sensing.