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October
21 2003
J.P.
& me
by
Frank MacDonald, Inverness Oran
When the music nun deleted me from the glee club in elementary
school for no sounder reason that an inability to sing,
she never dreamed that one day I would stand in the spotlight
of the Strathspey Place stage with the Cape Breton Chamber
Orchestra behind me, J.P. Cormier accompanying me, applauded
by an audience of 500+.
Nor
was the music nun the only person to traumatize me. Later
in my life I was the appointed babysitter to my three-year-old
niece who entertained me with song after song of her own
making and imagination, but after several songs felt it
was only fair that I take my turn. "You sing, Uncle
Frankie," Kit said.
There
was no one else in the house to overhear, so overcoming
the humiliation of my earlier musical rejection I began
to sing the words to Too_Ra_Loo_Ra_Loo_Ra, the Irish lullaby
my mother sang to me. A couple of lines into the song
my niece tugged at my sleeve and said, "No, no, Uncle
Frankie. Sing!"
Since
then, my musical aspirations have lived on a deserted
island, surviving on an occasional trickle of fresh water
such as when some musician or another turned my words
into song, and for which the stubs of my royalty checks
total $7.13.
But
that is all in the past. On Saturday afternoon, beckoned
to the stage by J.P. Cormier who clearly recognized what
nuns and children had failed to see, I felt a tongue of
fire form above my head, its power aching to unlock a
miracle of flawless music from my lips.
Standing
on the stage was affirmation of an oft discovered truth;
the world is filled with wonder. A day earlier, the autumn
majesty of the Cabot Trail had unfolded before me, I met
a moose and a tourist from Texas wending his way across
the top of the island, destined for the Gaelic College,
nerve centre for the 300 musicians roaming the island
all week during Celtic Colours
"Do
you play?" he asked me, disappointed to learn I was
an indigenous Caper who was unlearned in the art of Cape
Breton fiddling. Parting, we knew we might meet again
the following afternoon at Strathspey Place for the Celtic
Pops concert, and so I imagined his awe in the audience
as he recognized me up there. I could almost read his
mind: These Cape Bretoner are so modest. That's the guy
who said he couldn't play. >> more
