There’s something special about finding an unexpected
connection during the course of pursuing two apparently independent activities
– a glimpse perhaps of some deeper personal motivation that underpins the
various things one feels passionate about…
Ten years ago this summer I camped for four nights at a
midge-infested site on the outskirts of the small highland village of Cannich
in Strathglass, 12 miles west of Loch Ness. Over three consecutive days there,
I drove up each of the three parallel glens stretching west (Strathfarrar,
Cannich and Affric) in turn, to park up, shoulder my rucksack and take in as
many of the highest mountain ridges and summits as I could in a single days
circular walk. The net result was a particularly satisfying and continuous
appreciation of a sizeable chunk of the Highlands; the stunning glens, their
rivers, birch, birds and squirrels, and the airy perspective from the mountains
of the full spread of the land and the many large and deeply embedded lochs. On
the third morning, I set off on foot from the Mullardoch dam (the largest in
Scotland, half a mile wide in a distinctive V-shape, and completed in 1951) which
defines the point beyond which the upper ten miles of Glen Cannich is now
submerged. Despite some urgency to stay ahead of forecast incoming bad weather I
was almost immediately stopped in my tracks by a striking cairn overlooking the
north side of vast Loch Mullardoch. This turned out to be the Chisholm Cairn,
commemorating 700 years of the Chisholm clan living and working the glen and
surrounding lands, and also marking a spot near a now submerged clan gathering
point. The cairn had a number of intriguing Moses-style stone tablets (albeit
lacking text, being either blank or of sparsely abstract design) embedded in
it, the symbolism of which still escapes me, but its strange nature stuck in my
mind, along with the name of Chisholm.
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Fast forward to a month ago, when I obtained a copy of the very
fine recent album Affric by Scottish
fiddler Duncan Chisholm. I was slow to register the implication of this
combination of names, perhaps because I was initially so blown away by the
music, but a read of the sleeve notes had my eyes widening. Duncan is something
of a Scottish Sibelius in that his modus operandi is the evocation of specific
wild landscapes and its associated history through his original compositions
and exquisite playing – in his case a seductive and addictive mix of beautiful
slow airs and compelling energetic pieces that stir the emotions at every turn
yet are extraordinarily easy on the ear. He is of course a Chisholm rooted in
the very area I explored, and currently based in Inverness; and it further transpires
that Affric is simply the final
splendid act in a multi-year project to evoke the three glens running west from
Strathglass in three albums, the others being Canaich (2010) and Farrar (2008). Having now tracked down
the latter two and confirmed that they match Affric for sheer quality, diversity, listening pleasure and raw
evocation of some very special places, I find myself sitting back in admiration
at the scale of his dedication and musical achievement. The music has been
variously described as cinematic and semi-classical, but the traditional basis
is all-pervading - but highly accessible. This may even be fiddle (and viola)
music for the person who avowedly protests they don’t like fiddle music!
It was fitting that the completion of the Strathglass
project was celebrated last January with a concert on a stormy night at the
Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow at the Celtic Connections festival, where
pieces from the entire project were woven together into a coherent whole, the
Strathglass Suite. Reports from attendees are that this was a very special
occasion indeed where performer, audience, music and sense of place and history
connected marvellously – and fortunately for all it was recorded and has
recently been released. That’s one I have yet to savour...
Perhaps I should have included some of my photos
of this landscape of Duncan’s that I explored and am now anxious to
return to, though currently they languish on 35mm slides in a draw, yet to be
scanned into the digital era. There again, the images will come to your minds
eye easily enough if you simply listen to the music – it’s that good. And the
evocative imagery in the album sleeve notes, by local artists and
photographers, are both original and beautiful – a further manifestation of the
dedication and love that is everywhere in this project.
