I've seen Bob Dylan perform live twice in my life: once at Memphis in May on Cinqo de Mayo on Beale Street along the Mississippi River in 2002 and the other at the Missouri State Fair in Sedalia along the dirt racing track a few weeks later. Now, I've seen Roy Gullane twice in my life also: once in Tulsa at the performing arts center years ago and last night at Forest Park in St. Louis. For me, both Dylan and Gullane have voices that have become symbols of two distinct genres of music: the American Folk and the Scottish Folk scenes. Both voices have been instrumental in my perception of what it takes to make a brilliant songwriter and vocalist.
My perception of songwriting and singing has, no doubt, become biased by many years of listening to the music of the Tannahill Weavers, who were formed almost forty years ago in Paisley, Scotland. (Paisley is a district know for weaving - think "Paisley Pattern" - and the Tannies take their first name from the Scottish Romantic poet Robert Tannahill.) I have learned many more of the songs performed by Roy Gullane over years of listening and singing along, but have only recently begun to appreciate Bob Dylan after seeing him live. Furthermore, Gullane's fantastic vocal range, powerful ethos and tender pathos would be enough to make Dylan envious even on his best days. Yet, both singers share the unique gift of being able to make a personal connection with the entire audience.
The Concert
The Tannies first performance of the highland games was a wonderful cross section of 40 years of music together: at least one sing along ("The Final Trawl"), lots of excellent piping, flute, fiddle and bouzouki instrumentals PLUS those fantastic bass pedals! I realize now how much Les Wilson's use of the drone-like bass pedals has influenced my idea of how a perfect folk-rock song is brought to a dramatic crescendo.
When I approached Gullane after the set, I fumbled with words – where do I begin to converse with a person whose songs have taught me more about Scottish history than my 20+ years of playing highland bagpipes? Finally, I was able to carefully enunciate words between mumbles "I would like to talk to you between sets tomorrow. Did you get the email from your manager?" He nodded and seemed agreeable to the idea. "See you tomorrow," he affirmed.
"I'll be here," I enthusiastically replied, and then I was compelled for some reason to add, "the hair really makes you look like Dylan!"
"We have the same hairdresser," he piped without missing a beat.
Getting to the Hotel
Even if I had printed the directions from Forest Park to the hotel off of Mapquest, it still would have been one giant leap of faith between the labrythine Forest Park, the dark night, the confounding construction detours and the all-too-eager to accelerate upon a clueless tourist city drivers. In spite of my unfamiliarity with the route, the construction, the darkness and the big city drivers, I found the hotel without a hitch.
I checked in, parked my car, slipped the key card into the slot and started to open the back door. Just then, I heard some voices and had the sudden compulsion to slip through the door, find my room and just go to sleep. However, as I glanced over my shoulder I viewed the familiar silhouettes of the band. With great honor, I held the door open for all as they struggled to lug suitcases and instruments. Gullane's eyes twinkled beneath his Dylan-esque salt-and-pepper curly nimbus and he nodded as he walked by.
In the next issue: Chatting with Roy Gullane
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