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Instead of just letting the Irish Festival rush over you like a big, Celtic wave, you learn a bit of something with a traditional dance course or one of various instrument workshops. Jasmina Schreck becomes more musical, if possible.
 John McSherry teaches the tin whistle. Photo by Marko Törmälä
All the workshops at the Irish Festival of Oulu 2009, I learn, from fiddle to Uilleann Pipes, are to be taught by members of Sunday’s main event, At First Light, except for the singing workshop, which is to be administered by Doimnic Mac Giolla Bhríde.
Having started playing tin whistle myself last winter, I’m especially interested in the knowledge John McSherry is about to share in his tin whistle workshop.
Asking each participant to give a short sample of their skills, he signals that this is clearly an advanced lesson. Most of those present master a jolly tune without any difficulties, with only two or three players just beginning to learn. They, too, pick up the melody John models for them quite easily. Sequences of notes follow, and are put together to make a whole tune.
On the tin whistle, the most common difficulty for beginners is the second octave: from my experience, painful for player, flatmates, and neighbours. John doesn’t have a sure formula for this problem, and explains that “you have to blow really hard to get the highest notes out.”
One after another, each attendant repeats individual parts of the tune, before the whole group whistles the entire composition together.
Laura, a participant, tells me she found the lesson “good, but the pace was a bit too fast for me because I’m only a beginner.” Juha, who travelled from Tampere to Oulu for the festival, is pleased. “It was good to learn some tricks and a whole tune,” he says.
In the other room, Alan Burke is teaching a beginner’s course in the Bohdrán, an Irish frame drum played with a double-headed stick. According to Alan, the word bohdrán means not only a drum but a deaf person. “You can become that easily with this drum,” he quips.
The lesson starts with a simple jig, an exercise, and after a while Alan joins in, singing. “A jig is maybe the hardest to get off at first, but we’ll do a reel soon, that’s easier,” he explains. “Yesterday we landed at 1 am and they brought us straight to a pub,” says the man with a wild hair disorder, explaining an imperceptible tiredness. He shows us how the tipper should be held; comments on his pupils’ drumming; throws in a joke here and there for good measure.
The weekend courses in traditional Irish dance have been organised in Oulu for years now with success, and this year sees the opportunity to expand your repertoire on a three-day course, or – if unfamiliar with the basic steps – introductory sessions covering reels, jigs, and slip jigs from scratch.
The teacher of the beginners’ course, Riikka Laitinen, explains the first, basic step: getting your right leg up, down, and a step forward, then left and back and right. Then the same all over again with the other leg. What sounds – and looks – easy induces coordination difficulties with music on, music that demands that everything be carried out at a dizzying pace.
In Irish dancing, nothing is done with your hands, says Riikka: they're always kept at the side. One theory for the tradition is that people used to dance in crowded places; another is that it was started so that during times of dance prohibition, English officers walking by houses of people dancing wouldn't realise anyone was dancing at all.
Now, looking in the mirror, Riikka and the more talented participants almost look like they’re in a ballet. My own steps resemble someone taking karate lessons. More steps and jumps, especially, follow, the joyfulness of Irish dance shining brighter and brighter at each move.
The core group consists of women in their twenties, but there is also a girl of around seven years old, and some that are older than the majority. However, since not one single male has decided to enrol on the course, half of the group is assigned steps designed not for their biological sex, and we learn about set dances of four like "The Walls of Limerick," usually for two men and two women. In one, “Advance and Retire,” two pairs approach and step back.
The dances also often include changes of places between those dancing them.
After three days, everyone in the group has learnt the most important steps with a gracefulness that surprises me. Camilla and Jaana, participants, are happy. “It was all very informative,” they say. “Three hard days: much to learn: so little time – but it was really good!” they agree.
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