Winter is coming....

It began, as does many of the most wonderful things in life, as a coincidence, a serendipitous convergence of time and place.  What some would call chance, I would call Providence, and that autumn day in 2002 would turn out to be one of the better days in my life.   I was attending the State Fair of Texas that day, with my wife of five years and 2 wee boys.  There are a plethora of eating venues and opportunities at the State Fair, but that day we chose to eat lunch at the huge vendor pavilion on the south side of the Cotton Bowl.

As we were eating our corn dogs and nachos, I noticed that a small band was coming out onto a nearby stage.  They took their places on the platform, which was a rectangle a few inches off the ground and barely large enough for the equipment and the five members of the band, and I did note with interest that the attractive lady was holding a fiddle, and just to the side of her was a bagpiper.  The piper began to play by himself, and I remember having the thought that I was rather surprised to see an Irish band doing a gig at the State Fair of Texas.

Don't get me wrong... I love Irish music, Scottish music, and lots of things Celtic.  But I was used to seeing such things at festivals dedicated to those cultures, or around St. Patty's Day.   But then a strange thing happened... after the bagpiper finished his opening monologue, the drummer beat the time measure with his sticks, and the music took off, and carried me with it.

Little did I know it, but at that moment, my life had changed.  I had been exposed to the greatness of The Killdares.

Now, before you accuse me of melodramatic hyperbole, you must understand something about my personality and nature.  I am not, by the very fiber of my being, inclined to be a "fanboy" of anything or anyone.   I am introverted and often taciturn (on the door of my office in my home is a Magic the Gathering card—"Ancient Crab"...I'm trying to collect enough to use them as calling cards); cursed with a sense of literalism, and at times fatalism and cynicism, I just do not become enamored of musicians, celebrities, and the like.  By this point in my life, well into my 30's, I could probably count the number of concerts I had ever attended on both hands.  I can't tell you the current rosters, save for a few famous players, on any of my favorite sports teams.  I enjoy the music, or the sports, or the TV shows and movies but all the extra "fan" stuff was never my thing.  I am more inclined to leave a celebrity alone even if I happen to encounter them.  In fact, I have in the past, sat right next to one and didn't know who it was!

Which makes what happened that day, and over the subsequent years, so utterly shocking to me.  For the first time in my life...I became a groupie.

It began with the music.  As I listened that day at the State Fair, the prevailing thought in my head was "WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?"  It was different.  It was rock and roll with a Celtic twist.  I found that my foot started tapping and I really couldn't make it stop.  I saw young children began to gather in front of the stage under the watchful eyes of their parents, and the kids were dancing and moving and enjoying this unique music I was hearing from that little rectangular stage.

That Christmas, I asked my wife to try to get me some of their music as a gift that year.  This holiday pre-dating the online download era, she purchased me a CD of their "Live" album, and I began to wear that thing out.  The obsession had begun.

Over the next few years, as I attended as many concerts as I could, I began to discover another important aspect of this strange dynamic I found myself in—this band was made up of great people.  Wonderful folks who were down home, friendly, and committed to their craft and to their fans.  As I got to know them, I learned the many things that I would later share with people as I proselytized for "my" band:   their concerts and their songs were clean, no filthy lyrics or on-stage comments to be found;  they were approachable and friendly; they often took gigs that allowed people to enjoy them for free in addition to bigger events at the House of Blues or the Kessler Theater.  And every year save one, there they were at the State Fair, entertaining their fellow Texans at our yearly party.

(About that one year... I wrote a long letter to the powers that be at the Fair, urging them to bring back The Killdares—what were they thinking?!?)

These strange "groupie" thing continued.  I read articles about them on the internet, listened to interviews they did in far-away states while they gigged on the road, and tweeted with the band members.   There was one concert in North Richland Hills... I had invited a friend of mine to join me and see The Killdares for the first time.  He's one of my best friends, a very quiet fellow, a computer programmer with advanced degrees in Physics and other science-y endeavors.  Before the concert began I turned to him and warned him that he might see a Rob he had never seen before; afterwards, he told me that I was right... he was not sure who this "thing" was that his friend metamorphosed into when the music began to play.

I can never sit through a whole concert, no matter how tired I am, nor how hot or humid it might be.  In the early years, the song that always triggered it was "Long Island High," but when the band added "Gravelwalk" to the end of "Secrets of the Day" in live performances, that usually became the point at which my personal "Mr. Hyde" would make his appearance.

But my favorite song in their repertoire has been and always will be their rendition of "Whiskey in the Jar."  Begun with a long, mournful intro by six-time National Fiddle Champion Roberta Rast, it is a beautiful and engaging rendition of an ancient Irish tune in its own right;  but one magical night at the House of Blues, when the Killdares were playing in the small, intimate, Pontiac Garage room, served to forever imprint this song, and that experience, into my memory.

But that night is one of a multitude of memories.  This is my blog, and my farewell to this band, so indulge me while I share a few:

• Sitting on the grass next to the Dr. Pepper Stage at the State Fair of Texas, in a circle with several of the band members and assorted "usual suspects" of their fans, talking for almost an hour.  It remains one of my favorite memories.
• Tim Smith telling a joke on the first day I saw them about why he no longer wears a kilt while playing drums.
• A picture of Matthew (who plays guitar) with Tim at the State Fair, doing the "rock on" symbol together.
• Being at the State Fair one year, and running into an online friend that I had never met, who was from Honduras.  I knew she had gotten married and moved to the U.S., but didn't realize she was in Dallas!  And I saw her IRL for the first time at a Killdares concert.
• The night in Bedford when the rain started gushing at the very end, and Roberta missed the visual signal from Tim that they needed to wrap up the final song without another coda.  She blew right into another one with an increased tempo, and then when it was over, they had to scramble to cover the equipment.  A few of us fans stayed and helped them put things away after a long delay to wait out the shower;  we pulled our vehicles around the stage in a circle and turned on the headlights so we could see to work.
• That night at Lochrann's in Frisco, with that tiny little stage that really was only 2 inches higher than the floor.  I had my usual spot right up front, next to Roberta.  One of my "Killdare's Friends" said his mother, safely ensconced back at the bar, said I looked like security as I stood up there with my black Killdares t-shirt on... that was the same night that I played Roberta's fiddle during intermission—she insisted that I play her a song, and I forgot that she plays a 6-string fiddle, so I played "Turkey in the Straw" on the wrong strings.  Thank goodness it was unplugged and the intermission music was so loud.  It must have sounded awful.  We were so close to the stage I could see the f-post inside Roberta's fiddle as she played, and at one point, I had to do a Matrix-style backwards bend when Matt whirled around with his bagpipe.  Had I not bent backwards, the longest drone would have whacked me in the face!
• The look at Matt's face when I showed up at the Mucky Duck in Houston one night.  I had traveled down there to see some friends and take them to see my band.
• The night the DVD was made.  I think my sons have still not forgiven me that we did not take them that night.   We were so exhausted as fans after that concert... the energy was overwhelming.  When the final curtain went down, I just kind of laid my head on the stage to rest, and then a pair of lovely hands snaked out from under the curtain and took my hands in a friendly grasp.  Roberta knew who was there on the other side of the heavy curtain.  Tim tried to throw me a drumstick after the concert, but my wife snatched it out of the air before I could grab it.  THIEF!  She later gave it back as part of a Killdares shadowbox she gave me for a Christmas gift.
• The night that Allison and I were invited by Tim and Roberta to attend a screening of The Devil's Box, a documentary on Texas Old-Style Fiddling in which Roberta and her sisters were featured.
• Opening a package that came in the mail one Christmas holiday season.  It was from Tim, and inside was a recently-dusted off copy of Broken with a Word, the debut CD of the Killdares from back 20 years ago, which could not be purchased anymore.  That completed my CD collection.
• Watching Tim's younger sister, and one other young lady, who often did Irish dancing during some songs.  It was always a treat when it happened.
• Seeing mine and Allison's name in a list of fans that the band wished to thank, inside the booklet that came with the DVD/CDs from the concert at the Grenada Theater.
• All the wonderful people I met at these concerts.  After a while, it became a bit like Casablanca:  "round up the usual suspects".  I've made some good acquaintances over the years, and these are people, scattered all over the state and country, that I don't run into except at Killdares concerts.   Should the busyness of life make it unfeasible for us to cross paths again, rest assured that I cherish you all, and look forward to keeping up with you on social media and the like.
• Being insanely jealous of one of those friends when he won the backstage pass for a House of Blues concert.  Dog.
• And last, but certainly not least...the band themselves.  
• Tim Smith (founder, drums, lead singer), with his quirky t-shirts, his stuffed "Animal" tied to his drums, and the great sense of humor 
• Robert Rast (fiddle), with her charming smile, engaging stage presence, and easygoing friendly nature.. no one should ever be gifted with fingers that long or that can move that fast—it's just sick, I tell you!
• Matt "The Mad Piper" Willis (Highland bagpipes + anything that has air moving through it) with his commanding presence on stage and absolutely stunning skill with the pipes (who has ever heard Jethro Tull or Black Sabbath on bagpipes?!?  He makes it work!), and he's just a nice guy.  I call him "The Mad Piper" because he always has some of the greatest facial expressions as he wrestles that Scottish Octopus under his arm....
• Mike Urness and Gary Thorne rounding out the group on guitar and bass guitar
• Former guitar player Brek Lancaster, who played for a good deal of the time I knew the band,  and his precious wife hold a special place in my heart.

Over the past few years, the demands of being the father of multiple teenage sons have decreased my attendance at their concerts.  Every season, I would put their gigs into my calendar, and time and time again, something would arise that made it impossible to attend.  It saddened me every time time I had to delete that item out of the calendar.  But I never stopped listening.  I would play their concert DVD  in places like Maine, at our summer camp, on the big projection screen in the field house.  I even purchased and sent a copy of the DVD to a friend in Australia!

And then, this year, the unthinkable happened.   A post showed up in my Facebook timeline, from the band.  In the year of their twentieth anniversary, they were calling it a day.  They would play gigs through the fall, and then... there... would... be ... no ... more .... Killdares.  Except as a memory.

Tonight, Friday the 18th of November 2016, I will attend the last Killdares concert ever.  It will be at the lovely venue of the Kessler Theater in Oak Cliff.  This time, the whole family is coming (lest my sons kill me in my sleep); we have had the tickets since a matter of minutes after they went on sale.  This concert is going to be a very special night—I know of people flying in from all over the country to be here.. many of the usual suspects.  It will be, I am sure, breathtakingly enjoyable and poignantly bittersweet.  "I swear to you, I will get very choked up.  Honestly, there could be tears."

To my friends in the band:  thank you.  Thank you for 14 years of incredible memories and fantastic music.   Thank you for somehow being the key that unlocked a different side of me, a side I did not know ever existed, nor was even possible.  It has been fun being your groupie.  It has been fun being your friend.  I will miss these moments with you, both as the music played, and the quiet moments before and after.  I will cherish every single memory that I made during this journey.

In the last year or so, the band has incorporated a new tune into their repertoire—the theme song to "Game of Thrones."  (Yes, it works with fiddle and bagpipe... trust me).   I've been a fan of George R.R. Martin's books long before the HBO series, and I have a particular fondness for House Stark.  In the world of these books, the seasons are not like ours... they are not regular, neither in occurrence nor duration.  The Starks, who live in the far north of this imaginary land and must deal with the interminable cold season, adopted as their family motto "Winter is Coming."

Indeed.

Winter is Coming.   It falls tonight, and it will be long and cold.  If you are a Killdares fan, may the warm embers of the many wonderful memories sustain you.

If you have never heard the band, come on over.  We'll put the DVD on and have a grand old time.  It will have to suffice, for never again will I be able to introduce a friend to the greatness of a Killdares concert.

Winter is Coming.   Bundle up.

The shadowbox.  Notice the Christmas
card and the purloined drumstick, now
returned to its proper owner.

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