The idea of originality in a traditional musician might seem oxymoronic. There are those who hold, some vehemently, that the music is there already, that the scope for improvisation and innovation is limited to what is laid down. But this denies the truth that all music develops organically through interaction of the individual musical personality with otherness. All art is the result of the impulse, after coming in contact with the cold pane of external influence, to produce the condensation of the work. Thus, notions of "purism" and "authenticity" are misleading, even dangerous.
Purism in traditional music circles is emblematic of a condition which has existed also in the wider society, though now somewhat on the wane: a belief that some "true" and fixed representation of Irishness exists in some notional form, and a concomitant fear of contamination by alien influences. This might be said to have been the ethic of the founding of the State. And it might be added that this unleashed a backlash which holds that the opposite is the case: that, in a "modern" world, only external influences have any value. Perhaps the great difficulty we have in attempting to advance by our own lights is in finding a path between these extremes.
Irish music, in its traditional and modern incarnations, has a huge capacity for self-depiction and even prophecy. If you listen to a cross section of Irish music, for example, on Raidio na Gaeltachta or Raidio Na Life, it is possible to be aware of the reality of Ireland and its recent history, and of the double-binds which emanated from this confusion. For in the music, and in the way it is treated and played by different people, there exists a series of snapshots of various perspectives on what Ireland is, what it should be, what it might have been and what it could become.
In the more purist players, there is an obsessiveness about authenticity, a desire to recreate something deemed to be pre-existing. Similarly, in some of the more "modern" treatments, it is possible to detect a different obsession: with reconstruction for its own sake. Both forms are necessary and have their appeal. And yet, neither can truly be said to be organic representations of the growth of a tradition through changing times. In the sleevenote for his most recent album, The Lonesome Touch, the fiddle player, Martin Hayes, writes that it is a mistake to limit Irish music according to a Hobson's choice of tradition and continuity or change and innovation.
The music, he maintains, is capable of containing all of these at once: "The real battle is between artistic integrity and the forces that impede creative expression.
"Traditional Irish music has always experienced change and been enriched by innovation, while at the same time maintaining continuity. The issue that is of utmost importance is that innovation, change, tradition and continuity all be tempered by integrity, humility and understanding. These issues are the issues of all artistic pursuit and are therefore universal, as is the very core of the music itself."
Hayes lists all of those artists who have contributed to the confluence from which his playing emerges: his father, P.J. Hayes, John Naughton, Paddy Fahy, Tommy Potts, Tony MacMahon, Paddy O'Brien, Paddy Canny, Junior Crehan, Micho Russell, Martin Rochford, Mary McNamara, Joe Cooley, the Tulla Ceili Band, "and many more". He also writes that, when he talks about music with his musical partner, Dennis Cahill, they are "as likely to be talking about the music of Keith Jarrett, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, U2, Bach, or Beethoven, as we are to discuss the music of Tommy Potts, the rhythm of the great set dancer, Willie Keane, or the innovation of the Bothy Band".
Martin Hayes's music is not easy listening. Such is the depth of feeling with which he engages that listening requires strength.
It is difficult to say what it is that Martin Hayes does to Irish music, or what he brings to playing the fiddle. It is tempting to summarise him by comparison, or to cite certain influences which flicker on the surface of his playing. But what makes Hayes exceptional is that, once you hear him play one tune, you comprehend his musical personality without necessarily being able to describe its elements. This, I think, is because he is so unafraid of the music he plays.
Many players, unconsciously or through unquestioning reinterpretation of existing styles, avoid the pain at the heart of much Irish music by padding it out with layers of ornamentation and adapted stylisms. Such stylistic devices act as a scaffolding to their playing and ultimately insulate musician and listener from the intensity of feeling which the music might unleash. Hayes strips the tunes down to their essentials, playing the same notes you would play if you picked up the instrument for the first time and tried to scratch out a tune.
But in his mastery of tone and rhythm, Hayes gives the music new meaning, which is perhaps to say that he suggests the scale of its original meaning. His tone is as though from out of a fog, as though the music is floating in from some slightly distant place. It draws you into the fog, where the source of the pain resides.
The "lonesome touch" is a phrase he remembers from his childhood. "It represents a quality that is difficult to express verbally," he writes. "It is the intangible aspect of music that is both elusive and essential. The word lonesome expresses a sadness, a blue note, a sour note."
This, of course, is part of our fascination with Irish music: that it contains the echo of all that we have otherwise sought to expunge. Moreover, it now represents perhaps our only means of accessing and embracing the past from which we thought we should escape but could not. As our only means of entering the fog, it carries also the possibility of redemption, the means, as Hayes observes, of uplift, transcendence, of joy and celebration.
Martin Hayes resembles more a great singer than a great musician. In Our Musical Heritage, Sean O Riada wrote that the most direct means of expression in music is the human singing voice, but argued that, in Irish music, certain instruments approach the qualities of personal expression of the human voice, of which the fiddle is the most ideal. This is because "the player is in direct contact with his instrument; the notes do not exist until he makes them, and his tone is a completely individual thing, differing from another fiddle player's tone as much as one voice differs from another".
Hayes also resembles a great historian. As he puts it: "Music is just a language, a means of communicating. It's what it conveys that really matters. The music conveys the spirit and soul of the people and feelings that sometimes couldn't be expressed in any other manner. It's more accurate than any written history because it's alive at this very moment."