Starting in August, 2010, I'm offering violin and fiddle lessons out of my new house in Seattle!

Rates:

30 Minutes: $30
45 Minutes: $40
60 Minutes: $50

First Lesson is FREE!

House Calls Welcome!   

If you're interested, visit my website at brandonvancestudio.com or email me at brandonvancestudio@gmail.com

Cheers,

Brandon 

I'm really excited about a few upcoming performances ... two with Nadia Tarnawsky and Mark Minkler at the Seattle Folklife Festival this weekend (May 29th), and another with Nadia, Alex Fedoriouk and Brano Brinarsky, at the Ukrainian Museum in New York City next month.  I hope some of my friends from either coast can make it to one of these concerts, because they promise to be unique, and a lot of fun!  See you on the road ...  Brandon  

I met Ed Pearlman at the Keflavik airport and we talked shop about fiddle music as well as some of the historical texts that we had both been reading in preparation for the trip.  The following is an interesting factoid about Scotland's legal history.  In most legal system's there can be only two possible outcomes of a trial: guilty or not guilty.  However, in the Scottish legal system there third possibility: not determined.  Apparently one of the only other countries to have this "undetermined" sentence is Israel.  

The flight to Glasgow (via Manchester) required us to go through customs again to get our passports stamped (I had to get it stamped two times at two different stations at Keflavik).  Once Ed and I arrived in Manchester (about a 2 hour trip from Iceland), we had to disembark the plane, go through security again, and get little passes to get back on the same plane for Glasgow (45min flight).  It was a lot of waiting in line, but Ed got out his mp3 player and we listened to some good tunes.  Once we got to Glasgow they wouldn't let us off the plane for 30 minutes.  Apparently, someone didn't communicate to ground control that an Icelandair flight from Manchester was flying in at 1:30pm.  Once we got out of the plane, we had to go through yet another security checkpoint, this time giving them detailed information about our intentions for coming to Scotland.  At this point Ed and I got separated, because he had to wait at the other side of the checkpoint for someone, and I realized too late that he wasn't coming.  

I got my passport stamped again, and retrieved my luggage at the the "baggage reclaim."  I was still waiting for Ed to get past the checkpoint, so I decided to christen my arrival in Scotland with a couple tunes: The Laird of Drumblaire, and John McNeil's Reel.  I think the only person left at the baggage reclaim was the currency exchange clerk, who seemed to enjoy it in a quiet, friendly sort of way.       

This poem is dedicated to my oldest sister, Erin.  I am currently in the process of writing music for four voices and "celtic" instruments/string quartet.  The final order is still to be determined, but this poem will probably be the finale. 

Awaken Hope and gather force

On thundering hooves of steel,

Come hard upon this black remorse

Which binds me where I kneel

Bright Eyes through darkness blaze the way,

While laughter shatters fetters,

And pain's fierce hounds are held at bay 

By Love's pure gift to debtors

As ghostly silence swirls beyond

In mountain sanctuary,

The snap of life-blood's icy bond 

Echos and seems to carry

The dragon breath of spring does slip

Heavily upon the glen,

Thawing winter's deathly grip

Resurrecting life again

A silver mist entwines about 

Clumped needles of myrtle green,

Each pierce a crystal beadlet stout, 

Shimmering an emerald sheen

Lamenting Pipes drone no more,

But cleave the skies in victory,

The dancer springs as once before

A fling for all Eternity.

~Mark Vance

Born on a whistful wind

Weaving playfully upon the harper's strings,

The haunting melody of child-like laughter brings

A tear to weary eyes

Child of a cursed clan

Released from the shackles of our mortal life,

Drawn from the bowels of an existence of strife 

Into strong arms of Love

Spirit of freedom fly,

Mounted upon silver winged steeds of pure air

Marking passage by souls stirred in a wake of care,

A sense of hope renewed

~Mark Vance

Moonstruck Eyes entranced in wonder, 

Softly shimmering pale and blue;

Mirrors of that celestial body gently glowing, radiant, true

Outside bitter winds are biting,

Clawing at the cabin door;

Sleet and hail fiercely pounding hellish rhythms, more and more

Hark, the merry rant of fiddles,

Joyfully it fills the night;

Drawing near the weary traveler closer to the portal bright,

Look through the window and into the room,

Pale blue mirrors reflecting the gloom,

reflecting the light of the moon

Hark the merry rant of fiddles,

Joyfully it fills my ears

Drowning out my futile cries, confirming all my fears

Outside bitter winds are biting,

Clawing at the cabin door,

Here I stand, fiercely pounding desperate rhythms, more and more,

resigned to weeping,

tired and sore

~Brandon Vance

Scottish Hospitality

From Armadale to Stirling Castle,

Never did I see or know

A lot so friendly as the folks in bonnie old Glasgow.

I come here nigh a for'ner

And leave a wee bit warmer,

I canne say I've ever felt this gentle touch before.

Perhaps a touch of melancholy

All wrapped up in youthful folly,

Puritans and heathens both are humans through and through.

So let us toast to health and peace

Before this life her bonds release,

Because, as Providence demands, we may not meet again.

                                                 ~Brandon Vance~