Kierkegaard once said that ‘grits are not a problem that needs to be solved, but the only true Southern way to experience corn that doesn’t get ya drunk.’ He was the father of ‘bubba-level existentialism.’ Not Soren Kierkegaard, the 19th-century Danish philosopher, but my ol’ pickin’ buddy, fair-to-middlin’ fiddler, and deep thinker, Enis Kierkegaard from Beaufort, SC.
This post is highly ‘bubba-stential.’
I finally came to terms with the mandolin! The mandolin was demanding that she play rough and loud with chopping vamps and lick-based solos in rousing bluegrass songs. And I would be forced into compliance! I had to confront her. I just wasn’t that good at it. The mandolin taunted that perhaps my hands weren’t as nimble as they once were, or maybe my mind was slowing and solo improvisation was out of reach for me. But it was something else… I experienced the mandolin as a beautiful, ancient instrument, the deliverer of the literal siren’s song. Then she said, “so you want to play beautiful melodies on my four courses?” I said that I did. The Mandolin then said, “I will allow fiddle tunes, reels, and waltzes, but that’s as soppy as it gets!” I struck the deal!
I have only given a human name to one instrument in my life, but I regularly give a name to the essence of an instrument. The spirit of the mandolin, to me, is Hannah, the canonical derivation of Anne. Because the mandolin’s essence gave us ‘St Anne’s Reel,’ as a blessing of a lilting melody and an ancient story for our hearts to dwell on.
When I play this great old tune, I daydream about a blind youth in Apt France leading Charlemagne to the hidden entrance of the relics of the grandmother of Jesus, Saint Anne herself. For a good ol’ boy like me, drifting away on an apocryphal quest is something significant enough to write about!
Tracing the origins of old fiddle tunes can be pretty dicey. For St. Anne’s Reel, we started calling the song by that name en masse, when Canadian fiddler Joseph Allard recorded it in the 1930s. But the melody goes back for a couple of centuries before that. Likely a French a-a-b-b dance tune that translated well to an Irish reel… Just like the story of the blessed St. Anne translated well to the Vatican when granting her patronage of grandmothers with wayward grandchildren, miners, and equestrians. (That’s right, The Good Lord’s Memaw watches over the horsey set. I reckon everyone needs a blessing from time to time, even those who are uppity enough to wear jodhpur breeches in public.)
If you share my affection for beautiful old-timey fiddle tunes, please consider St. Anne’s reel as one of those songs that mature along with you over time. Not just a tune you learn so you can jam with your crew, but something that will develop with more and more sophistication year over year. Just like my friend Gene. He retired as a Major in the US Army, a Ranger, and an honest-to-taters warrior. Over time, Gene matured into a right successful Georgia bee farmer and, I wouldn’t say he is a hippie, but he has a ‘deliberately organic spirit’ about him. I just like that feller! He is not afraid to embrace his personal evolution. Such is St. Anne’s Reel. She came to me as a bluegrass reel, then evolved more of an Irish traditional melody, and now she sports some contemporary chord structures. Just like Gene, she is refining with the passing of time.
Below is a link to my video demo of St. Anne’s Reel.
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Thanks for stoppin’ by today! Ya’ll come back and we’ll do some pickin’.
TH