Cycling past Flanders Moss in Stirlingshire the other day I stopped to watch around 200 geese land in the fields.

It was quite an emotional moment: these birds, which have always been a welcome portent of winter for me, became the defining sound of my stay in Egilsstaðir in East Iceland. Cackling away on the grasslands around the Lagarfljót, they were preparing for exactly the same journey back south to Scotland as I was.
In many ways this epitomises my musical journey. Travelling makes you look at home with new eyes. In October, I went to hear Alastair Savage and friends play in the beautiful hall at Kinbuck where Nordic Viola started its journey. The tunes from St. Kilda, Lewis and Harris struck a particular chord with me, especially with the group’s fabulous sea effects. It was evocative of the sounds of the Faroes and reminded me of the ever-present sea and weather. That sent me back to the new CD The Lost Songs of St. Kilda. (If you’re going to the Shetland or London concerts, listen out for my arrangement of Soay).
The crossover between Faroese and Shetland culture is in my mind as I practise Lillie Harris’ new piece”AND”. It’s inspired by the poem “Blashey-wadder” from Jen Hadfield’s Nigh-No-Place collection. Lillie picks up on the poet’s repetition of the word “And”, depicting the relentlessness of a North-Atlantic storm. Having experienced a few of those in the Faroes and Iceland I can say that both poet and composer are spot on!

For me, there are two main elements in Lillie’s music – an energetic triplet figure which depicts the energy and power of the storm and double stops, predominantly in diminished 5ths high on the viola that sound like the wind howling.
It’s important to me that I play new repertoire as my journey evolves and having such a wonderful new piece written for me has given me such an amazing impetus. I can’t wait to take it home to Shetland, though I’m secretly hoping for some gentler weather!
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