By MimmyJarr

On noon of Saturday, March 15th, I paced behind a rank WhiteManMarchers facing the world through the wire mesh of a bridge barricade and executed the crunluath (crowning movement) of my piping career.

That day marked my first public performance of a Pibroch, which to a piper means going beyond wordism into the marrow of the Nether Lorn Canntaireachd, which is the musical equivalent of Kinhin in Zen.

My vehicle for the journey was “Struan Robertson’s Salute”, which can be heard here as performed by a fellow Grade IV competitor, Brendan Rigler:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5ZvmarKXA4

I hope Brendan has the privilege to one day perform before an audience as exalted as mine, and of thus coming face to face with The Sound of One Hand.

“To the make of a piper go seven years of his own learning and seven generations before. If it is in, it will out, as the Gaelic old-word says; if not, let him take to the net or sword. At the end of his seven years one born to it will stand at the start of knowledge, and leaning a fond ear to the drone, he may have parley with old folks of old affairs.

Playing the tune of the “Fairy Harp”, he can hear his forefolks, plaided in skins, towsy headed and terrible, grunting at the oars and snoring in the caves; he has his wittle and club in the “Desperate Battle” (my own tune, my darling!), where the white-haired sea-rovers are on the shore, and stain’s on the edge of the tide; or, trying his art on Laments, he can stand by the cairn of kings, ken the colour of Fingal’s hair, and see the moon-glint on the hook of the Druids!”  –  Neil Munro, The Lost Pibroch

I’ll never unhear that sound!