Like the ol’tune, “O’ Danny boy, the pipes the pipes are calling…” — once the call has been truly heard, like the call of Christ (to the heart), to a Scotsman the pipes call in the same way. My brother, I scarce believe you’ve heard this call for 40 YEARS now! Crickey! ‘Tis a ‘love/hate’ dichotomy, is it not? Blessings, A
I am a Highland Bagpipe player or piper in street talk. It is an instrument with which I have had a love-hate relationship for almost forty years now. For the longest time I wondered what might have gone through my parents’ minds when, at eight years of age, I loudly proclaimed my overweening desire to begin lessons immediately. That is, until I mused lately on the fact that both of my sons are rock drummers. I’m sure that bears at least some resemblance.
The Great Highland Bagpipe (GHB) as it is called by the musicology muck-a-mucks is an instrument uniquely designed to be heard. A perfect wake-the-dead alarm, they have been used for centuries to alert clans of forthcoming gatherings, oncoming battles and soon coming dignitaries. A piper on a hill is not just a cliché or quaint tourist post card. It does in fact typify much of…
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