Seabirds, Storms and Space

I spent my summer holiday camping and cycling up in the far North West of Scotland. Emotionally and artistically it was quite an important trip for me as I prepare for my sabbatical. It was exactly a year to the day since I last saw the Atlantic Ocean in Reykjavik and, from Durness, my “view” to the countries I’m visiting was unimpeded.

Durness

Scourie

Durness and Scourie have much in common with the communities I’ll be visiting in Iceland, the Faroe Islands and Shetland. There are just a few people living there, eking out a living from the land and tourism. The weather is a dominant force and needs to be respected, as we discovered when we were one of only 4 tents left standing on the Durness campsite in an unusually strong summer storm. It also rained – A LOT!

The weather may be tough, but these are well-connected, thriving communities with a strong artistic life. There are many musical gatherings and the Balnakiel Craft Village is an example of local talent working together, supporting each other and providing something beautiful for locals and tourists alike.

There’s no getting away from the environment artistically either and I found this time out really refreshed my music-making ahead of my concert in Kinbuck on 20th August. It reminded me what it feels like to have space all around me. Cape Wrath was windy, wild and, save for the lighthouse, without any sign of humankind. To the north and west there is nothing but open sea. This feeling of space is, for me, what epitomises the music of the north.

Sandwood Bay was a different experience. The weather was benign – unusually hot and sunny, in fact. The sea was dynamic and kaleidoscopic in its ranges of blues, greens and azure. The sand was soft under your toes and golden, leading the eye with sweeping lines of stones and seaweed brought up by the tide.

Kristian Blak’s piece, “Drrrunnn” is all about the interaction of the musician with the recorded seabird sounds, both blending with and commenting on the natural sounds. I learnt a lot watching the seabirds from the campsites and learning their individual characteristics. The kittiwakes were my favourites. Beautiful, sleek and pure white underneath when flying, I loved their chattering “kittiwake” call.

Back home, I’ve finally dried out and it’s back to practising, but the music is different now: I’ve reconnected with the north and I can’t wait to get out there!