Times: Fidil

March 14th 2008

Ciarán Ó Maonaigh and Aidan O’Donnell & Maighread and Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill at the Project, Dublin.

From their opening exhortation to the audience to treat the black box of the Project as if it were "just a big kitchen", the duelling fiddlers, Aidan O'Donnell and Ciarán Ó Maonaigh, hit the ground running. Although their repertoire could never deny their Donegal provenance, they're no hostages to fortune, opting instead for bold interpretations of classic tunes borrowed from the likes of John Doherty, Francie Mooney and Vincent Campbell.

They relished the cross-fertilisation of German barn dances with native companion pieces, such as Francie Mooney's bequest, If There Weren't Any Women in the World. Far from the lament that its title might suggest, O'Donnell and Ó Maonaigh jousted with the skeleton of the tune, merging and diverging from the basic melody line, and delighting in the rhythmic bow-play it encouraged them to explore.

Keenly attuned to the night's headliners, a pair of singers who between them (and their late brother, Micheál) have come to embody the quintessence of Donegal song, Ó Maonaigh tackled the Donegal song, Mo Shean Dún na nGall, with the ear of a musician who knows that, to truly inhabit it, he had to understand its every syllable and nuance. O'Donnell's delicate bowing and intricate finger work glistened, an unexpected discovery in a night packed with superb musicianship. He is a first-rate musician in the making, with a dry wit that merely embellishes his tunes further.

Languishing beneath the weight of a hefty chest cold, Maighread Ní Dhomhnaill's speaking voice struggled throughout the evening, yet as soon as she sang, all traces of ailment were lost in the ether. Her and Tríona's voices could hardly be more different, Maighread reaching for the upper echelons while Tríona's bass notes colour and shade, ebb and flow, along an invisible boundary that could only be navigated by siblings.

Maighread's reading of Dónall Óg, a heartbreaking tale of co-dependency more evocative than all the counselling tomes in print, was a reminder of just how effectively she has made it her own, her instinctive phrasing and genteel delivery underscoring the essential trauma at its core. Tríona's humour made a welcome return with Kitty from Ballinamore and The Factory Girl, while her own composition, Sun on the Water, whispered of a musician savouring her music now more than ever.

Refreshingly, the sisters Ní Dhomhnaill chose to close with a delightful version of the bawdy love song, Still I Love Him, wisely resting the overworked The Spanish Lady, a song with which Maighread will ever be associated. It was that kind of occasion, a chance to cast off elements of the past and revisit some others, rejuvenated and invigorated by yet another swathe of finely wrought songs from Rannafast and other points north-west.