Traveler 2024
Tales Of Old Ireland
Back to the Emerald Isle: American ensemble venture on a time warp to create an alternative lore of ancient wisdom.
Wherever these journeymen may roam, they keep returning to the land of Éire either as part of the collective’s globetrotting plan on such records as "Fields Forever" or standalone projects like "Celtica" – only whatever the crew did earlier, they didn’t feel the need to go so poetic as to inviting a standalone lyricist on board. The change of approach alone could make “Tales Of Old Ireland” special, yet the songs Scott Jeffers and Brian Stewart came up with feel engaging not only in creative terms, building on traditional template, but also in terms of giving seemingly familiar subjects a new lease of life and bringing it all to our day and age. There are the power and the glory – as well as anguish and sorrow – on the album’s numbers which never fail to move the listener.
But there’s a balance too – in a push for a pavane and a pull for a jig in the heart of a legend forming “Brian Boru” that lays out the lads’ filigreed delivery for everyone to marvel at, as Scott’s mandolin and Eric Wilson’s whistles dance ever so elegantly, and offers references to a few of later tracks. So when “The Altar Boys Of Limerick” – given a crunchy chorus yet otherwise as reflective as any piece about World War II should be – and the playful “St. Patrick” float to the fore, one can perceive a concept lurking in the shadows. And once the catchily marching “Shipwrecked” throws a bridge to an equally defiant, if more acoustic, “Ships Of Irish Orphans” whose refrain is just as irresistible, the record’s core ideas gel into a singular image encompassing an impressive amount of time and space.
Still, despite the universal appeal of these themes, and the soul-warming balladry which “River Shannon” unfolds, some cuts populate the platter with a string of curious characters, and while the banjo-driven “Lucky Enough To Be Irish” wraps its story into a simple folk tune, and “Fair Kate” goes for jovial balladry, but stops for a dance, the sweetly belligerent “Shanty Boys” calls the clans to action. Of course, “The Greatest Irish Heroes” will turn the finale into an obligatory anthem, the sole somewhat theatrical composition here, Cú Chulainn and Ferdiad don’t hide in there, and individual tales told on this album render the whole riveting.
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