Post by musicgirl on Jul 27, 2012 15:58:16 GMT -5
My name is Colm Keegan. As far as I can remember, I've always been a performer. My mam tells me stories of how I would make guitars out of cereal boxes and rubber bands, shakers out of rice in empty oatmeal containers, and drums out of pots and pans.
When I was old enough, piano lessons began and my love for music flourished. I would hear a song on the radio coming home from school, spring from the still-moving car, and rush into the house before the melody left my head. Sitting at my little electric Yamaha in the living room, I would pluck out the melody and add my own accompaniment. Then I found my voice. I would play and sing for hours; first very tentatively then with power as my confidence grew. Mam pretended not to listen while she was making dinner in the kitchen, but if I listened closely I could hear her humming along. Music gave me expression, freedom, and joy.
Fast forward a few years to where I am now. Last week, I finished my very first tour with Celtic Thunder! Yes, I was thrown into the deep end because of Ryan's injury and absence, but this show was spectacular nonetheless. It was a whirlwind. It was amazing.
I had a week and a half to learn a whole set of songs that everyone else already knew. I learned my solo songs as well as complicated harmony parts for the ensemble numbers. I swear, "Dulaman" still gives me nightmares! I have messed up that song too many times to believe. I'm glad we performed in American where no one knows Irish Gaelic. At least, none that I know of.
Although, there were two mistakes that any audience would notice. The first one happened fairly early in the tour. All the guys were walking out onto the stage in the darkness to sit on their appropriate steps for the next song. I was backstage where I was having a momentary lapse in my thinking and forgot what song was next in line. I ran over to a Sean, a stage hand, and he managed to find me a set list. My eyes landed on "Danny Boy" and I panicked. I threw the paper over my shoulder and ran on stage. The lights went up to reveal an empty space where I should have been. There were some confused expressions exchanged on stage and bemused laughter from the audience as I hurried to my spot next to George. Emmet clapped me on the back as I passed. Newbie respect. We managed to make it through the song without any other complications.
The second mistake consisted of me singing about a mysterious pair of shoes under a bed. Apparently, I forgot to send out the memo that I don't wear boots. I own shoes. But I just shrugged it off and had fun with it. After all, I was singing a drinking song.
On the last night of the tour as I took my place behind the piano on stage, I was reminded of those days of my childhood. Memories came flooding back of those long nights sitting at my piano when I was five and learning my scales, of when I was twelve and discovering my voice, and of my fourteenth birthday when I got a guitar from my dad.
A strange peace and joy washed over me as I was brought back to reality as the strings began to sing. It was then that I realized how beautiful music really is. Not only to the ear, but to the soul. Music encourages and heals. It lights a fire in a young musician's heart. It brings an unimaginable joy that only a musician can understand. It can make you soar in the clouds. Even a young boy named Colm knew that. He felt it. I realized that everything I had done in the last few weeks I had done for the love of music.
When I was old enough, piano lessons began and my love for music flourished. I would hear a song on the radio coming home from school, spring from the still-moving car, and rush into the house before the melody left my head. Sitting at my little electric Yamaha in the living room, I would pluck out the melody and add my own accompaniment. Then I found my voice. I would play and sing for hours; first very tentatively then with power as my confidence grew. Mam pretended not to listen while she was making dinner in the kitchen, but if I listened closely I could hear her humming along. Music gave me expression, freedom, and joy.
Fast forward a few years to where I am now. Last week, I finished my very first tour with Celtic Thunder! Yes, I was thrown into the deep end because of Ryan's injury and absence, but this show was spectacular nonetheless. It was a whirlwind. It was amazing.
I had a week and a half to learn a whole set of songs that everyone else already knew. I learned my solo songs as well as complicated harmony parts for the ensemble numbers. I swear, "Dulaman" still gives me nightmares! I have messed up that song too many times to believe. I'm glad we performed in American where no one knows Irish Gaelic. At least, none that I know of.
Although, there were two mistakes that any audience would notice. The first one happened fairly early in the tour. All the guys were walking out onto the stage in the darkness to sit on their appropriate steps for the next song. I was backstage where I was having a momentary lapse in my thinking and forgot what song was next in line. I ran over to a Sean, a stage hand, and he managed to find me a set list. My eyes landed on "Danny Boy" and I panicked. I threw the paper over my shoulder and ran on stage. The lights went up to reveal an empty space where I should have been. There were some confused expressions exchanged on stage and bemused laughter from the audience as I hurried to my spot next to George. Emmet clapped me on the back as I passed. Newbie respect. We managed to make it through the song without any other complications.
The second mistake consisted of me singing about a mysterious pair of shoes under a bed. Apparently, I forgot to send out the memo that I don't wear boots. I own shoes. But I just shrugged it off and had fun with it. After all, I was singing a drinking song.
On the last night of the tour as I took my place behind the piano on stage, I was reminded of those days of my childhood. Memories came flooding back of those long nights sitting at my piano when I was five and learning my scales, of when I was twelve and discovering my voice, and of my fourteenth birthday when I got a guitar from my dad.
A strange peace and joy washed over me as I was brought back to reality as the strings began to sing. It was then that I realized how beautiful music really is. Not only to the ear, but to the soul. Music encourages and heals. It lights a fire in a young musician's heart. It brings an unimaginable joy that only a musician can understand. It can make you soar in the clouds. Even a young boy named Colm knew that. He felt it. I realized that everything I had done in the last few weeks I had done for the love of music.