Between Afro-Celts tours, this po-mo Cuil Aodha seannoser produces fine evenings of old Gaelic songs, some unaccompanied, others hovering over compacted drones of harmonium and harpsichord.
Even if you haven't the faintest notion of Irish, you'll be deeply affected by the slicing emotion in the voice: the pure, honed, open attack, the swelling volume, the minimal fishtail-flickers of ornament.
To finish up, O Lionaird went unaccompanied into Aisling Gheal, revisiting a song he recorded with O Riada at age 14, now sung with a hard, keen slamming edge. There was no encore. "When a man is done, he's done," he said, and certainly, I'd nothing to whinge at.
