Kevin Burke, Clark Art Institute
By Seth Rogovoy

(WILLIAMSTOWN, Mass., Feb. 6, 2000)
– Kevin Burke enjoys a well-established reputation as one of the great traditional Irish fiddlers, for his solo work, as a sideman to Arlo Guthrie, Kate Bush and Christy Moore, and for his tenure with bands including the Bothy Band, Patrick Street and Open House.

Yet Burke’s solo performance on Saturday night at the Clark Art Institute showed the limitations of such labels as “Irish fiddler,” “traditional Irish music,” and “Sligo-style Irish fiddling,” all of which are promiscuously tossed around when the name Kevin Burke comes up.

This isn’t to say that fiddler Burke did not primarily play traditional Irish dance tunes in the Sligo style; he did. But when an authentic virtuoso like Burke plays any kind of music in any particular style, all such limits of genre are shattered and boundaries are transcended.

Instead, what yet another standing-room-only audience at the Clark enjoyed was a concert by a musical master first and foremost, one that in this case – and surely not be accident – happened to play traditional Irish dance music in the Sligo style.

Burke’s solo renditions of airs, reels, jigs, hornpipes and ballads were deceptively modest and unassuming. His interpretations were never flashy, but rather spare and minimalist. Less was more in his playing. Unlike other Irish musicians who pepper every measure with a strong accent, Burke held back, so that when he did choose to emphasize a long note it stood out in stark contrast to the bundles of melody notes he played.

And what notes they were, clipped and slightly bent and off-pitch; the Irish equivalent, perhaps, of blue notes. Indeed, the charming, dry-witted Burke told a story about jamming with the American bluesman Paul Butterfield, who after one particular poignant jig said to Burke, “Ah, the Irish blues!”

Numbers like “The Cottage Groves,” “Kitty O’Shea” and “Up Sligo” may have been instrumentals, but in Burke’s hands the songs truly sang and told their stories with great eloquence. At one point he played a slip jig called “The Butterfly” unmoored from its rhythmic foundation, just all shimmering, abstract melody.

In keeping with the pan-Celtic theme, Burke played a few French-Canadian tunes which fit in well with his Irish numbers. Less successful was an attempt at a klezmer tune; the ornaments and phrasing were more Irish than Yiddish, which is perhaps to be expected if not applauded.

Burke’s Patrick Street bandmate Ged Foley began the evening with a set of songs and instrumentals accompanied by fiddler Sandy Jones, Foley’s bandmate from the House Band. Foley was a charming frontman on vocals, and his guitar playing was downright orchestral: percussive and textural, with bass lines, riffs and shimmering, open-tuned chords providing a harmonic bed for his songs and Jones’s understated melodies.

Foley mixed up his repertoire, with traditional tunes vying with contemporary Irish folk. His one misstep was an admirable attempt at Sting’s song “The Black Sea.” While on paper it made sense – Sting’s lyric is a tribute to the hard-working coal miners of Northern England and an indictment of industrial pollution in the tradition of labor ballads and the theme of “postindustrial misery” – Foley wasn’t up to the task of wrestling Sting’s complex melody lines or phrasing.

It is high time to note that virtually every musician who has performed in the Clark’s winter folk series over the last four years has at some point commented on the fantastic meals prepared by the Clark’s chef, Scott Avery. These comments, as much as anything musical, have become the glue that ties together the various concerts, and it is clear that musicians who play the Clark enjoy extraordinary hospitality. Just another secret of the Clark’s success.

[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on Feb. 7, 2000. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 2000. All rights reserved.]

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