The Chieftans

A tin whistle takes you places.  At least it does me.  When I hear one, it transports me to a rocky island in the Irish Sea.  In the hands of a master, like Paddy Maloney of the Chieftans, the sound turns me into an Irishman.  Not in the cheap way St, Patrick's Day makes Irishmen of anyone looking to spend a few hours pounding Guiness beers and Old Bushmills shots.  It's a tad more spiritual and it comes and leaves without the pounding headache.

We were lucky enough to hear Paddy and the Chieftans at the Kennedy Center on Friday.  They have been around 50 years.  Quite an accomplishment for any band.  Outside it was a muggy east coast spring night.  But the humidity somehow evaporated and an imaginary chill set in--the icy tingle that goes up your spine on hearing the ballad of a lost love--when the first penny whistle notes flowed from Paddy's instrument.  And there we were, safe and warm in the confines of an Irish pub,  After Paddy's tin whistle came Kevin Coneff's brassy Irish tenor, then the husky cooing of Scottish lass Alyth McCormack.  The shouts and cheers after every song were like the encouragement of friends for their favorite village balladeers.  I could almost smell wet tweed and spilled beer by the time brothers Nathan and Jon Pilatzke broke into their Irish dance routine, a few numbers into the evening's festivities.

By the end of the night, people were up and dancing in the aisles.  To add to the homey, pub vibe, the Chieftans had invited local musicians to perform, including astronaut, Cacy Coleman (who took one of Paddy's tin whistles and one of Matt Molloy's flutes for a 95 million mile ride in the space shuttle); the Rockville High School bagpipe band; and a bevy of talented tousel-headed Irish dance school beauties (with two lucky lads in the mix).

Like everyone around me, I clapped and shouted along with the music and dance.  We were in the first balcony, so I resisted the urge to swan dive down to the orchestra level to join the conga line of Irish dancers during the night's final number.  But I didn't resist the urge to be an Irishman for an evening.  Made me want to book a pub tour of the Emerald Isle.