Tag: Bardic

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Bardic around the Fire

Now you all know the bards and their songs…

This is the year I won Baronial Bard for Stonemarche. I had made it my mission to make more bardic opportunities, and not just at events. Conversing with Kythe and Sine, they had opened their home at Bard’s Rest if I wanted to run any sort of event. They have a spacious backyard with a bonfire cleverly disguised as a fire-pit, a deck with table space, and ample parking. I decided we were going to have an open Bardic Circle. What attracts Bards more than food and booze?

Okay, maybe bling…

But fire is pretty, and beer is foamy, so two out of three and all that, right?

We set it up for a warm night in June; we prepared by raking the yard, and sending out e-vites about a month prior. We expected maybe ten folks to show up, and that would be enough for me. But lo and behold, 25-30 showed up, far surpassing my meager ideas of success. Thankfully, the table overflowed with food, and the cups *almost* overflowed with beverage, because anything more would be alcohol abuse, and there was enough for everybody.

When it began to grow dark, be gathered around the fire to begin. The format of Pick, Pass, or Play was instituted, and the night really began. We had song, story, and instruments played, and everyone of all skill types and levels had an opportunity to shine. This roared until one in the morning, I’m really glad I had planned on staying the night.

The next morning, not only did my hosts ask for this to occur again, but my Facebook and email inboxes were flooded with similar requests. I made a mental note to not let Cedric tell stories after midnight next time.

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Birka 2015

It’s time for Birkacon! This Viking’s favorite holiday, where she gets to shop until she drops, and then maybe sit in two to four hours of court and recover from shopping.

The shopping portion of our event went from the time I arrived, about 10, until 3, with a break to eat. I think. I hope I ate… Anyway, Aneleda had advised that there would be my second favorite things, singing and rounds, outside the fighter pits, at fighter-o’clock. I eagerly was early to her class, which was not formally in the site booklet. We sang for an hour, and then Aneleda took me to my first Vigil. I didn’t know who this person was, or what to say, but I clung to Aneleda like a frightened child holding fast to her mother’s skirt. Her son was a few years removed from this age, so I’m sure she was fairly used to it.

Then we sat down in the hall together, I don’t even remember what floor we were on, all I remember was we were fairly removed from the rest of the event, and it was quiet. I had been looking to start my bardic journey, but was in desperate need of guidance, and she knew that. My knight, Sir Marcus, had been scheming behind my back, to make this next event happen.

Aneleda, in her dulcet tones, asked if I would be her student for the next year and a day. Star-struck, I agreed, barely having a voice to confirm, barely having air to push through my vocal cords. I quickly told her a story I found extremely embarrassing because it featured her, and the only reason I did so was because I wanted to make sure this relationship was still kosher.

With her sparkling, warm eyes, and a curled tendril framing her face, she blessed this relationship with a smile. I was now ready to be the best bardic student I could be.

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Harper’s Retreat, Take 2

This is the year. I’m totally going to do it.

That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway. I actually spent time learning my music. In fact, I had memorized my music, unlike last year. I was more prepared this year than I was last year, and had even decided to share some of what I had learned at college with others. There had been a post in the forums asking for teachers for this event; I had polled many of the locals about their interests: I had narrowed it down to three classes: the first being about protecting your voice for singing and local heraldry; the second was on period rounds; the final was about medieval notation and church modes. I looked at my schedule for the event, decided to forgo the heavy field, and if I moved around my perusing of the merchants I could squeeze in all three classes and still make the competition, and perhaps squeeze in some more shopping after. Vikings need bling; after all it might be bad taste to pillage my competitors.
11am. Protecting Your Voice

I was armed with York Peppermint Patties and DumDums. In my head, I kept bouncing between Oh, God, I hope people show up, and Oh God, I hope no one shows up! After all, if no one showed up, more candy for me. I arrived at my designated car-port fifteen minutes early, and was kept company by my litany until people started arriving. And arriving. And arriving! To my chagrin, I think seventeen people showed up; I might have lost count after the third Oh God! And the wet trickle down my leg that may or may not have been sweat. After all, it was summer.

I had my handy bullet of talking points, inclusive of vocal warm ups, breathing exercises, physical stretches, and partner massages — keep your mind out of the gutter Karen! I discussed the importance of warming up your voice, as well as the horrors that professionals had experienced such as polyps, nodes, hemorrhaging, aphasia, and laryngitis/pharyngitis.

We discussed discovering your soft palate through the clever use of the aforementioned candy, and voluntary raising of the soft palate. The stretching and massage circles loosened up the body — and hey, who doesn’t love a good massage? For those who had difficulty with breathing, we even made use of the floor in our exercises.

The hour flew by, and I had people begging to ask me questions beyond the time limit. I was glad I could help so many people to begin — or continue — their careers as some sort of vocal performer. It was even discussed with me that one of my students had even regained confidence in performing due to the techniques I had taught in one short hour.

It was now time to haul as — I mean swiftly fly to the next class. Who’s idea was it to schedule them back to back? Oh, yes, shopping, bling.
12pm. Round and Round and Round We go!

The litany in my head had changed slightly from the previous class. I had had so much fun helping people, that I was no longer afraid of nobody showing up, I was hoping for a handful, maybe seven to show up and spend an hour singing with me. Though now the litany on my head was Oh God, please let them read sheet music. I hope they can carry a tune, I hope I printed enough copies. What if they already know these songs. Or worse! What if they don’t know any of them?

My new classroom, a scenic picnic table in a wide open space, was empty, but in the near-distance, there were a few harpists twiddling on their instruments, and to the other side, the sound of rapiers punctuated the intricate dance of fencers. Neither were disruptive, but still permeated the air with a music all their own.

The bodies poured in. I don’t know where they were hiding. Not only did we fill the extra long picnic table, but Sir Cumfrance himself showed up — and his seat at the table was surrounded as well. An amoeba of bodies totaling twenty-three — I know because I made an absurd eighteen copies, and five were without and had to make due with looking over shoulders or getting cuddly with new or old friends — raised their voices in layered homophony, and overpowered the harps and rapiers both. Again, many levels of experience surrounded me, and yet every moment was a joy. What was originally slated to be an hour class swelled to fill two and a half. I didn’t have the heart to stop the group once they got going; I guess I wasn’t getting my much needed break before my final class. But who really needs to eat or nap or shop anyway?
3pm. Medieval Notation and Church Modes

Hurray! I got an actual building for this class! With walls and everything! More space than I actually needed.

I had a circle of benches and five eager attendees; three familiar faces from my household — who swore they weren’t just there for support — and two new faces. The inquisitive faces and inquiring minds were puzzled at the very square notation which lacked many lines on the white paper I handed to them. There was no treble or bass cleft; there were no bar lines; all the notes were oddly diamond shaped. Where were the familiar {or even evil}  time signatures; where was the familiar italian that we knew and loved?

Nonexistent!

All that seemed tangible was the spacing and filled in heads of notes. From there, the aesthetics got worse — even though you might be wondering how it was possible — and I got questions like, what do you mean that the scale stops on the second pitch? What do you mean, this feels like major, but isn’t? And why are there seven of them?!

In the end it all made sense — or at least they nodded their heads and pretended it did — though I don’t think we’re going to have any new medieval music scholars any time soon. Even words like dorian, locrian, mixolydian, might arise out of their mouths in the future, if they can’t bite their tongues fast enough.

 

A glance at my anachronistic time piece and CRAP! A rushed shower and garb change, and then off to feast. At least I didn’t have to run down the stairs, hopping to pull one shoe on, then the other. I was invited to sit at the dais, beside the Baron and Baroness, and the other teachers, who offered their time and skills that day. Lost in conversation with her excellency, I was offered her gratitude once again in the form of liquid courage that I gladly partook, as well as general entertainment.

Feast was a delightful blur — and not because of the alcohol being passed around — and all I can remember is at the end of feast, his excellency offered up the list to sign up for the Baronial Bard competition that evening. Like a comet across the sky, I moved to sign up first, then rushed to the arena. If only I had known what my haste was getting me into.

That same friend I had made the year prior had planted herself beside me; we chatted and talked music and things we had learned in the year since we had set eyes upon each other last. It was then time for instruments to be tuned, voices to be warmed, and the games to begin.

Things were different this year. Instead of separating the performers and having them perform just once piece at a time, we were to perform both pieces back to back. In years past, the performers had been randomized, and the sign up sheet had been but an attendance sheet for the competitors. This year, they called my name first.

Normally, my heart would have raced, but the scotch had set in.

I suavely approached her excellency, Baroness Jocelyn Del Espada, at the judge’s table, and cunningly brought her to the stage to take a seat, so she would be the center of attention, and closest to my performance. I announced my Italian love song would be dedicated to a lover of music and the arts, her. By the end of the piece, I could see tears streaming down her face, her hands trying to cover the rosy blush tinting her cheeks.

I could not leave my Baroness in distress like this.

I had to change the mood, and luckily, I had come prepared. I allowed her to take her seat amongst the judges for comfort, and beckoned for assistance from the audience. I pleaded for the biggest, strongest warriors to join me on stage. I told my comical tale of kings, fairy princesses, knights, dragons, swords, and pickles! That’s right, pickles! (ooh, you have Karen’s attention now!) By the end of my nine and a half minute story, the judges amongst the audience were fighting to keep back laughter. I feel like I was successful in changing the mood just a tad.

Once my performance was over, I then spent the rest of the night sitting against the wall, enjoying the rest of my comrade’s performances. Unlike last year, I didn’t have negative thoughts towards my competitors. I was in awe at their skills, and found myself biting my nails in anticipation for their performances, as well as at my potential demise.

The competition ran late that night, and my head remained questioning the outcome. It was almost torturous waiting for court the next day.

Camp chairs now made a makeshift amphitheatre where the fencers danced yesterday. After their Excellencies and the previous year’s Champions processed in, it was time for business to begin. The first order of business on the docket was for the newest Baronial Bard. I remember staring into my lap, and listening with my right ear to the wind. My name was called, and it almost felt foreign. I had only been called into court once previously, so the customs were still new to me. I think I did okay. I hope I did okay. I didn’t puke on anyone’s shoes, so I must have done okay, right?

Not only was I greeted by the familiar face of her Excellency, but the tender embrace of my friend, who was the previous year’s Baronial Bard. (insert picture and videos here, you schmuck) I was gifted the traditional chalices for bardic performance, as well as the regalia.

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I got to stand amongst the newest champions during the rest of court, and let the realization that I had a new-earned responsibility set in. I set in my mind that I was going to change things. I was going to build a bardic community, not just for Stonemarche, but for my own homeland, the land of the badly behaved people, Malagentia.

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Stonemarche Yule

Season’s greetings! And all that falala. Christmas, Chanukah, and Kwanza have all passed, but now it’s time for us to celebrate with some logs and hidden babies in cake!

The household of Bard’s Rest, like it’s name, is notorious for making sure there’s entertainment at events, whether it’s alcohol, story, or song. This event would be no different. I had been told there was a need for performance, so I did what every good Jew does for Yule, and brings their Christmas songs. The room was filled with an array of homemade treats, chatter, and cheer — especially the alcoholic type. But what it didn’t have was music. I was still shy about performing in public, but with a little help from my friends, I had mustered courage enough to get up and perform. First I picked a few ditties of my own, then I received requests. Luckily, I brought my choral music as well, because then everyone wanted to sing.

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It wasn’t the prettiest arrangement, but the experience alone was enough to bring smiles to everyone’s faces. There was even a photographer there, singing out of the corners of her mouth while she captured everyone else having a great time. We would later reunite, she as Photographer-Girl, and me as That-Bard-Who-Sings/Hey Bard!

It was then I realized how much music could bring a family together, and this, of course, was meant to be a family event.

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Harper’s Retreat

So 2013 was my first year competing for Baronial Bard of Stonemarche; I admit I was both nervous and full of myself.

I was full of myself because I felt I was a shoo-in. I’ve been a professional singer since 2004; I had been doing a wide range of music my entire life, from singing to playing instruments such as clarinet, I have done both solo and choir pieces; I qualified for All-State Chorus all four years in high school, making it through regional competitions to gain that honor; I went to college for voice and music education. I scoffed at the idea that any of these non-professional singers holding a candle to me. Looking back, I now know I had a shitty attitude, and I truly underestimated the talent of the Knowne World.

I had one period piece to my repertoire — only to find out later that it was only SCA appropriate, and not period appropriate — and a few Irish traditional songs. Looking back, I know that these things don’t make a good bard. I was ill-prepared with nothing memorized or even off-book. And even with all of my experience, I was shaking like a leaf due to nerves.

I had been encouraged to compete by my warm and welcoming household, whom had just found out I could sing. I had been sitting at their house every Thursday night for months, and never once had I brought up the fact that I went to school for music. I had lost my backbone for performance, and had sworn off singing once I had graduated from college, partially due to family issues and partially due to self-confidence.

Anybody who is anybody has sampled a brew from Bard’s Rest — and the night in question I had sampled several — and knows these brews can cause inhibitions to be lost, and in myself, musical turrets to abound, so I had opened my mouth to sing. It was at that point, Kythe and Sine had asked if I had ever competed for Baronial Bard. They had advised in years past that numbers had been few, many of which would be recycled. I had been apprehensive, but with liquid courage and their silver-tongued persuasion, I decided, what the hell, I’d be a shoo-in.

So, back to the day of the competition, without the liquid courage running through my veins, I was no more than a shambling shack in the wind. I remember sitting in the audience talking to whom would soon be the new Baronial Bard; we laughed, we joked, we commented on the music and stories shared; we exchanged opinions, and encouraged one another to be the best that we could be. Even when my new friend had gone to perform, I still scoffed and thought I had it in the bag. I didn’t sing well, not nearly up to my own standards, nor apparently to the audience’s or the judges’, but again this false arrogance had sat with me throughout the day. I finished the night out as most bardic circles do: singing merriment, laughing, and enjoying the more relaxed environment now that the competition was over.

Next day in court, it was time for the moment of truth. It was like a bad movie scene where the goofy guy expects to get the job, only to find it goes to the more qualified person. In the same fashion, as they were calling the Baronial Bard, I stood halfway up before I realized it wasn’t my name they had called. I tried to make it look like I was stretching, as awkwardly as a boy on a first date putting his arm around a girl, as I inched back into my seat. After the moment wore off, more than half of me was happy for my friend, though I will admit there was a part of me that was crestfallen.

I was disappointed, sure, as any would be at the loss of a competition. However, I gained so many more things from that day: I met mingled with many performers of many unique backgrounds; made friends with the Baron and Baroness; and realized what it truly meant to be a Baronial Champion, it was not just about aesthetics, but about the spirit, knowledge, and diversity that go into being a musically inspirational leader. With this in mind, I was no longer discouraged and now had a goal for next year. Give or take a year.