The Mist Covered Mountain

De Danann, outmoded by the Celts. Supplanted by the Iron Age. So they retreated into the hills and mastered their magical powers. The true traditionalists who still had the suss on the newcomers, and for all their old-fashioned ways were able to out-manoeuvre the modernistic and industrialised Celts. More traditional and yet more advanced.

For this group its just about perfect, because, while De Danann are part of what the sleeve notes refer to as the new wave of Irish traditional music, (all fans of that great contemporary American folk music called rock'n'roll), they also derive much of their immediacy and strength from the… uh traditionality of their approach to the music they play. The depths of their roots.

De Danann make rich music, but it is based on a simple, pared back form, derived from the seisiun and the ceili band. But it's presented with a cheek, a suss and a swagger that is, and can only be, truly contemporary. If one were to think of analogies in rock and roll it would be a cross between The Band and Rockpile, with a touch of Cooder.

To many traditional fans they are the real thing. And that's a two edged sword – to receive an imprimatur from a purist, a 'connosser' as Rocky de Valera calls them, is all very well, but it's ultimately the most repressively limiting form of accolade. Do something impure, like, say a version of 'Hey Jude', and you have them up in arms wailing 'sell-out', (which anthropologists have recently recognised as a form of territorial claim… )

So, when Frankie Gavin cornered me in the Arts Club, (said by some to be a museum, but in fact far closer to an exhibition of taxidermy) and cavilled about something in Hot Press with the complaint 'the person who wrote that knew nothing about traditional music, I couldn't respond with warmth I felt a lot closer to Alec Finn who laughed at the scene and said any publicity is good anyway.

The point being that you could, if you wanted to, get into the innards of this music, and annotate where its every squeak comes from. The dance music of Kerry, the songs of Galway, the ensembles and sessions of Clare and Galway. Or whatever.

But to brutally frank about it, I couldn't give a brass crap where the music comes from or what particular threads are woven into the tapestry because, you see…

In its own way that's nearly all that needs to be said. Roots and origins may be important in this and that, but they are incidental to greatness, and that is a collective fact: the sum of all the parts, the band as an association of fine and sometimes great players, the roots of their music, the tunes they choose, the spirit and ire that inspire them and burn through their performances and the grooves of this record. It should be a top 5 record.

In the end the secret is to do what the others do, only better. And that includes drawing in two 'distinguished guests', as the notes put it, "two of the great masters of traditional song".

Sean O Conaire, a fiery man from Rosmuc, who also belaboured me at the Arts Club, in a tired and emotional state, dancing around jab-jab-jabbing with the left, and ranting about big-city smartness… (Well, it was funny afterwards)… he sings two songs, 'Mo Sheamaisin' and 'Maire Mhor'.

Tom Phaidin Tom, who died at the age of 85 a few months after he recorded with De Danann, contributes 'The Banks of the Nile' and 'Henry Joy', two fine ballads delivered in a voice that for all its age still communicates with a rare and moving strength.

De Danann handle the ballads with acute sensibility too – all contributions simply serve to project the song and the singing to best effect. The greatest ensemble players know this secret – virtuosity may be its own reward, but in a group you need to know when to layback.

Laying back, however, is not much in evidence elsewhere, as De Danann turn their might on a collection of jigs and reels through the album. The interplay between the remarkable fiddler-of-all-parts Frankie Gavin and Jackie Daly's accordeon, the contrast between Charlie Pigott's lean steel-bodied guitar, mandolin and tenor banjo and Alec Finn's luxurious bouzouki backdrop, all make the music as memorable as it is – and point to one unusual aspect, that Johnny Ringo's bodhran has been dully mixed and doesn't rock through as it should, and as his bones do on the reels (Cameronians' and 'Doon').

Ah well, Perfection must have a flaw so that the rest can be seen the more clearly. And a word about the packaging – the cover, designed by Alec Finn is one of the most attractively presented ever produced in Ireland, and the notes and lyrics are most helpful. Muchas gracias.