Tag: ELizabethan

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Birka 2018 – The First Voyage

My second largest pilgrimage of the year is to Birkacon, where vikings and Elizabethans alike update their bling. This year, I had virgin blood in hand, something all good vikings treasure. Except wait, no longer viking… As a proper late-period lady, I am introducing a good friend to upstanding society. In fact, my best friend.

With wide eyes full of wonder, and my vehicle exceptionally light for going to an event, we arrived at what would be the last time Birka was at the “Raddisson” (because the hotel is changing names, of course). A bag of fencing gear in one arm, the other armed with a small suitcase, and my best friend with his little back pack — clearly this was his first event — I led him like a sheep to slau- I mean, through the fields. This was a sight, of course, because my friend is an ex-military man, six feet tall, covered in tattoos, well built, and topped with a brown mohawk. He was quite a tall dwarf, he’d proudly proclaim.

We dropped our stuff and trolled in Friday evening, and as per usual, we could not walk more than five feet without being stopped with hugs and salutations. Steve quickly became an introvert. I proudly paraded him, proclaiming that this was his first event, and he was my best friend, so he better be taken care of.

This statement went to to the lowliest beggar to the highest of points and pearls, After unloading our items and having a quick meal, we would make him not-naked for the first time. I hurried him into garb, which I had been wearing for eight years now, and said, “Let’s party!”

That night he got his first taste of Birka, the friendly hospitality, and the beverages. Saturday morning came early, and it was time to show him the real event. I took him up to the fighters, and let him watch them wail on one another. Just over the railing, I myself suited up in my fencing gear and showed him how to feel people up — I mean inspect their kits; I am a proper marshal after all.

After a list-field-side court took place, it was time for me to have a taste of blood from my enemies. Typically I would choose to fence in the tournament, this was not for glory but for the learning experiences. However, I did not want to leave Steve up to his own devices for so long — we all know what type of trouble someone can get into on their own at Birka — so I had sectioned off one hour for pick up bouts.

I danced with friends and strangers alike, who then became new friends. The dance with a sword is a magic friendship builder. And when the hour was up, the sweat from my brow was quickly wiped on the body of my best friend, because I am a jerk.

We both decided to go change, and then hit up the shopping — the best part of Birka. I was going in disguise — I mean, my new later period me. I was decked in a Greenland gown, and my hair was wrapped in a veil. Bling was nominal, but definitely there. The elevators were surprisingly fast today, so with haste we made our way back into the great hall of Birkacon! Steve’s eyes exploded with wonder at how many sharp objects there were — and he could afford them!

His first purchase, of course, was on two wee-sized pocket knives. We continued to build his kit and expand mine, until it was time for Stonemarche’s Baronial Court. At Stonemarche’s court, I had been commissioned to compose words for two award scrolls. Where the words had been posted previously in my blog, I would like to note that I had asked special permission to herald these into court.

So many deserving people got awards this day, both in Baronial and Royal court. But when court was over, my true joy was to begin. It was time for Bardic Circle!

I had set up a circle of about 30 chairs, this was clearly not enough. Bodies began to pour in and fill the seats. And when we had enough people, I felt that we could begin. There were both locals and those from out of kingdom. There were some as young as ten years old, and some as old as in their sixties. We had stories, songs, poetry, Shakespeare, and instrumentals. We had skill from novice to master. And this was the magic of the Bardic Circle.

No one said, “I can’t follow that,” after all, that was my first rule. Everyone was supportive. In the middle of the circle, we had a brief interlude. Mistress Aneleda Falconbridge, who was co-running the circle with me, had announced that she would be taking her first apprentice. The bardic path is not an easy one, and to see the family and support grow is it’s own form of magic. Aneleda’s household took her new apprentice into their ranks so he would have a family in both the US and Canada. I swear I’m not choked up, these aren’t tears, I’m writing in the kitchen, someone’s cutting onions. Stop that, Karen, damn you.

My cup was filled with not only the alcohol that my best friend had been supplying me in my tankard of unusual size — TOUS — but my cup was filled with joy that is this community. We grow together, and we grow stronger and larger each day.

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Great-Great-Awesome-Granddaughter…

Karen’s back, back again!

Oh, sorry…

I’m my Own Grandma….

I cut myself open to bleed out the black demonic blood, to transgress into the Elizabethan Phoenix.

Why am I doing this?

Why would Solveig, after spending countless hours, dollars, and BLING, change her super awesome amazing sweet viking kit and go late period velvet and brocades? I hear that stuff itches, and boning isn’t that comfortable. But… never mind!

As you may have noticed, the title of my blog went from Steps of the Skald to Travels of the Troubadour. Throughout my bardic path, I have had much duality in my stage presence. What you’d see is tall, bold, shield maiden; however what you would hear was dulcet melodies of late Elizabethan songs.

It was time to stop confusing the audiences, and maybe even myself.

You would think, Solveig, what does it matter that your kit doesn’t match your performance?

And I would respond, The Bard is the whole package.

It made very little sense for a viking to be singing late Elizabethan songs unless it was a “costumed” performance. So I made the decision to become one with the performance.

My first gripe was garb. Because who doesn’t like to be uncomfortable and unable to breathe in 100+ degree weather with 99% humidity? What do I do with this thing on my head? I’m already tall enough! How do veils go? Why do I have three sets of sleeves? Why do I have NINE skirts? Does this corset go on the inside or the outside, and which way makes me a hussy? Where the heck do I put my sword? What do I do with my hair? Wait, I have to lace myself up? Do I need a handmaiden? Where the hell is Karen when I really need her? Oh yeah, helping with blogs…

My next concern is the second biggest: bling! You can take the viking out of the girl, but you can’t take away her bling. All these conquests, all these jewels and pearls, pearls, pearls! Okay, I guess I can make this work, I think I have pearls here and pearls there and pearl earrings and pearl brooches, and pearls are Elizabethan, right? Right?! I guess I’ve got this jewelry thing handled.

My final and most concerning concern: you guessed it, the booze! Wait, does proper late period mean no booze, or hidden and more flavorful? When did the prohibition start in England? I can’t be a proper bard without booze. You can’t spell bard without booze, right?

I mean there ARE some positive things to this whole late period mess, don’t get me wrong. This means I get to openly be a pervert. Look at Shakespeare. Willie S. is my spirit animal. And those codpieces! We also get to enjoy cross-dressing, fencing is period, and oh my god, Landschneckt! All the colors and poofy pants and Landshneckt! And big feathers! Because Landschneckt.

So I suppose this isn’t so bad after all. But it will be a process learning to walk like a late-period lady and not strapping my sword on everyday. But don’t worry Brunnhildr — I mean Solveig the Elder — will make an appearance from time to time.

Have faith my friends.

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The Feast of St. Nicholas in Queen Elizabeth’s Court

I’m King Henry the VIII I am!

Eight months prior to the event, I received a message on the Visage of Tomes from Mistress Aneleda. And within this message, she inquired whether I’d be willing to serve as an ad hoc choir director for an Elizabethan immersion event. Without hesitation *damn helium hand* I said sure! She quickly put me in touch Mistress Aife/Master Valentine, as well as the autocrat for this event. Most of the communication was done through email. Me, being an introvert with extroverted tendencies, I really just wanted a phone call. But I’d make this work anyway.

I was in charge of obtaining vocalists, selecting the music, and rehearsing for a one-day event. Now, you might think, this is crazy, how can you do that, why would you do such a thing, that’s impossible? Trust me, I asked myself these same things over the course of eight months. I’m sure these are the same questions I would be asking myself if I ever found myself knocked up, and some mornings, thinking about the task I had taken on, I woke feeling queasy.

Much like the first trimester, these feelings passed as this baby grew. I tried to figure out the best way to communicate with my potential vocalists: would it be via the book of faces, email, yahoo groups, carrier pigeons, messages in bottles (I felt like I needed to drink a lot of wine to get through this, so I might have some empty bottles), maybe smoke signals? And finally settled on Facebook, even knowing not everyone used it.

Four months prior to the event, as the second trimester as it were was wrapping up, my search for singers would begin. I joined EVERY Eastern Kingdom Facebook group I could find, and started to spread the gospel. The responses started to trickle in. Some committed, some didn’t, but it gave me hope.

Three months prior to the event. Huh, I should probably pick the music now, just like a parent would pick names, right? I had done my research months prior as to selecting what type of pieces — knowing that each piece had to be Elizabethan, —  but the exact pieces hadn’t been chosen until I knew what vocal range my vocalists had, and how many I would have. You can’t do six-part harmony with only two people, after all. Even Vikings can do that much complex math. I settled on five pieces in polyphony, and a few rounds. I sent out a copy of the scores, midi recordings with all the parts, as well as individual parts, for song-learning, so even if my vocalists couldn’t read music, I should have my bases covered.

A few weeks prior to the event, I kept checking in with my vocalists, to see how part-learning was going. I myself had to study the scores and be ready to assist on any of the four parts as necessary. Also, with learning the score, is looking ahead, and anticipating where there might be part difficulty. My scores looked like a rainbow. It had also occurred to me that I would need suitable garb for this event, because while Vikings pillaged quite a bit, they weren’t around to pillage the Elizabethan court. Aw, hell. Thank goodness for Fortune St Keyne. This goddess, this angel of mercy, whipped me up some spiffy threads in but a few weeks time.

A week prior to the event, I still didn’t have a final number of individuals who would be participating. It was coming down to crunch time, time to push this metaphoric baby out, and it was like we didn’t have a birth plan. Or a hospital. Or something equally important, I don’t know.

Day of event! Don’t panic. Don’t forget your towel. I’m panicking! No, don’t panic!

I was early. I’m always early. I hauled my feast gear, my keyboard, my music, my pitch-pipe, my garb, my piano-bench, and other assorted things needed for the event up the stairs of this decommissioned church. I set my things up in my rehearsal space, and slowly began to decrease my heart rate. Don’t they talk about breathing in those birth classes? Something like that. In all my years of being a choir director, I had never been in this situation before. I didn’t know what levels of experience my vocalists had, or if they had even learned their music. Heck, I didn’t even know if anyone would show up. I asked my vocalists to show up at 10am, so we would have a good two hours of rehearsal time all together. In typical musician manner — or maybe it was Scadian manner? — they were tardy. Circa 10:30, we finally got down to working on the music. My vocalists were surprised that I insisted on warming them up, like I was a professional or something. In my own turn, I was pleasantly surprised that I had a well balanced and versatile group. And they had all learned their music!!! If I could work with them every time I had to choose vocalists in the future, I would in a heartbeat.

I was also pleased to find that every section of music that I anticipated difficulty with came up, and I was able to nip it in the bud quickly and efficiently. Proper planning prevents poor performance, right? The only surprise in the rehearsal was the sheer delight and ease of this experience. Every single one of my singers were prepared and respectful. It was beyond anything I could have even imagined. I even got to twirl in my dress.

The autocrat, Lady Olivia, had done a beautiful job with her dream, though through no fault of her own, had difficulties the day of the event, with kitchen mishaps beyond her control. The only reason I bring this up, because it affected performance time. We didn’t know when we would perform, but at least we had prepared a signal. What happened next was also incredible, performance time.

Image may contain: 2 people, people sitting and indoor

My angels took to the loft, and we assembled in the planned formation. Song after song, beautiful harmonies echoed throughout the hall. I got so excited throughout one piece, I lost control of my baton, and it left my fingers. I *think* it missed my vocalists, and landed somewhere in the pews next to us. I was saved the embarrassment of trying to climb beneath the pews by one of my angels, who retrieved said baton and returned it to me. Could a director get any luckier?

Video by : Anna Elisabetta deValladolid.

 

Even during one of the pieces, where it had slightly derailed, they continued to sing like nothing was wrong until we could get it back on track. They were true professionals in my eyes that day. There was downtime for soloist performers as well, which I had arranged, a few of my vocalists had asked me if I would sing that day. At first I refused, because that day was not about me, but I finally decided it was something I should do, if only to stop them from asking.

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Photo by Lady Olivia Baker

I sheepishly approached the front of the balcony and waited for the moment to feel right. When it did, I sang the only Elizabethan solo piece I knew by heart. When I was done, I was glad I had performed, because soon after, I was approached by five individuals who presented me with their tokens. One was chocolatey and delicious.

I am also pleased that after this performance that I gained so many new friends and performers, that I would not give up this experience for anything. Okay, maybe the Elizabethan dress. If I could have done the whole thing in my Viking, the day would have been MUCH better!