2007 Festival - Fèis 2007
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THURSDAY
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The Spaniards were lost in space, I was told. But luckily a man called Hairy rescued them with a minibus and delivered them to Stornoway. I was all for playing an elaborate practical joke on them involving Rockall and a fishing trawler, but no-one else liked the idea.
I saw the Spaniards later in the HS1 place, bemusedly looking on as a Stornoway cove in a kilt danced on table whilst a young fellow battered his "axe", as they say "in the SY". There's lots of cool coves floating about now, with different coloured heads on and playing hits from the eighties. A decade known for it's fine music. And! I saw a couple of people in the full Kiss rock and roll garb last night, with the black faces and the little white patterns on their faces. Maybe they were teleported here from a different rock dimension, through the secret Stornoway portal, which is hidden in the Castle Grounds.
I didn't see the Spaniards play, I went to see Kathleen MacInnes instead. The audience loved her show, beautifully sung songs, and very entertaining as well. Her song choice is wonderful, and the song written for her late father stood out.
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Cathie Ann MacPhee came on to sing with Kathleen, and she had us all reduced to gibbering wrecks in no time, with "Mo Mhàthair". I heard the first sniffs near the end of the opening chorus, and by the end I was manfully dabbing away with the rest of them. Luckily we were all saved from being too emotional by a song about drinking in the Royal Bar, losing your shoes and ending up joining the Foreign Legion in Marseilles, or something along these lines.
The show was stolen by Iain MacFarlane's wee baby being brought on during the encore, all the women in the audience ooh-ing and aah-ing. Surely there's a financial opportunity in... hmm...but where to get fiddles small enough.
The Spaniards! I saw them later doing the circuit in a souped up Escort. Beeping away to random blones. They have taken to it like ducks to water.
The tent is big, eh. Big! Whew! if Matheson were around he'd be having some kind of turret envy. There was plenty of space to swing cats. Surely an opium tent would be fitting in praise of the man?
I was also lucky enough to see one of these Stornoway play fights which are slightly aggressive and slightly homosexual at the same time, involving headlocks, then a few cuddles, and then grasping each others hands as hard as possible repeating "alright cove", and then introducing themselves to each others mates. There were so many policemen about, I'm worried we are going to lose this important part of our culture. Grants, surely, are the way ahead.
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I'd wanted to see 'Moving Hearts' for a long time, a seminal band. What a line up.
How many bouzouki players does it take to change a lightbulb? Ten. One to do it, and nine to talk about how Donal Lunny would have done it.
I partook of a pint of Hebridean FestiveALE and waited for the requisite beats per minute to be reached, so that I could bounce up and down. It took a while for them to kick off, I thought, but they were mighty when they did. And the percussion fellow had a very impressive set-up, although I found it hard to stop wondering how on earth he travelled with it. He kept on producing ever larger shaky tubes and things he whacked and thumped. He had a gong. And I found myself just watching the gong for long periods hoping that he would hit it in a Led Zeppelin style gong solo. I could see the Kiss corner beside me, on tenterhooks. Hit it! they chanted. Luckily the first aid tent has various guitar solos on tap, which can be delivered by IV should it get too folky. Just follow the "Freebird" signs.
I'm not saying that the gong made my night. But it did. I mean. Come on. What's not to love?
