Tag Archives: orkney

Happy New Year?

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sunrise

Late winter sunrise in Orkney, from our house

At last 2016 has ground to a halt, and we can look forward to a bright, shiny new year. Of course I know that our delineation of time is nothing more than a device we created, but after this past year I think many of us are grasping for a bit of hope.

There is a sort of comfort in hearing so many people saying they felt 2016 was particularly difficult. I’m sure there is a statistical explanation for why we seemed to lose so many famous or well-known people, though the list of names lost in 2016 does feel quite staggering. And with the proliferation of social media, I was more conscious of the number of people who lost parents, in particular, this year.

For myself, I lost two people who loomed large in my life. As I wrote in my previous blog posting, the death of musician Keith Emerson hit me very hard.

And, not long after Keith died, my father-in-law passed away from complications following a difficult surgery for cancer. While I always suspected he was secretly horrified that his only son married an American, he was always a part of our lives. I have memories of holiday excursions with him as he got older, and his stoical suffering through my early attempts at an English Christmas dinner. He quickly learned to keep his head down when his daughter-in-law was having hysterics in the kitchen. But I am grateful to him for accepting me into the family, and most of all, for providing me with Graham.

I won’t get into politics here, but 2016 was the year for overturned expectations. While I’m desperately fearful for what may become of the USA, my country of birth, I’m clinging to the hope that there are many good people out there who will fight for what it originally stood for. For now, I feel I can only watch and wait. And wonder what our next trip to visit my family will be like.

But there were good things for me in 2016. A year ago I started the slow recovery from undiagnosed Pernicious Anaemia which had meant I’d had to sit out most of 2015. I watched proudly as Graham’s involvement in the HMS Hampshire memorial project played out (links below). We had a restorative holiday in North Wales where I got to fulfill a dream by spending a night in the village of Portmeirion. And we had a ‘family’ holiday to the island of Sanday, where our rescue collie got to be ‘explorer dog’ and dig up some of the most exquisite beaches in Orkney.

This year I found myself really embracing the cosiness of Christmas. Everything was decorated, and I hung lights everywhere. The promise of the light returning at the Winter Solstice was keenly felt. It felt good to be home, tucked up safely, despite the winter storms we had raging outside. I felt it was one I would remember for a long time, because at least for the moment, we’d made it safely through the darkness.

I’ve never been a big believer in New Year resolutions. Aside from the obvious goal of getting my new album finished this year (no, really!), I have decided that I will choose to be brave in the face of what may come. I spent far too much time in 2016 dreading and fearing what might happen next. Now I am going to wait for things to happen before I get afraid – but then I will deal with them with as much quiet strength as I can muster. Bad things will happen. But good things happen, too.

I remember very clearly the morning after I heard the news that Keith Emerson had taken his own life. I was in the car with Graham and I just remember looking around at the cars and people moving through the landscape, and saying ‘Everything looks so normal.’ My world had shattered – but everything was carrying on just the same.

So all being well, the sun will rise again, however changed the world it illuminates, and I will carry on.

And get that album finished.

Kathie Touin

January 2017

Kitchener & HMS Hampshire Memorial blog

Graham Brown’s blog

Portmeirion, North Wales

Isle of Sanday visitor information

 

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Goodbye and Farewell, Keith Emerson

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Keith Emerson and Kathie Touin

Keith and the author at the Wiltern Theater, Los Angeles, in 1993 after an Emerson, Lake & Palmer concert (photo: © Kathie Touin)

Last night I was stunned to hear the news that Keith Emerson had died. This morning it seems that he killed himself. I’m heartbroken and devastated beyond words, but I feel I need to say something about what he has meant to me.

Keith’s music crashed into my life 34 years ago and turned everything upside down. He is the reason I became a professional musician and have spent my life trying to live up to the standard he set for rock keyboardists. His work has kept me going through some of the darkest days of my life, and helped me celebrate some of the brightest.

I met Keith 21 years ago and we became friends. He was funny, kind, generous, silly, occasionally thorny and never anything less than supportive of my music.

Kathie Touin, Keith Emerson and Charlie 1993

Myself with Keith wearing a t-shirt bearing my cockatiel’s namesake, Charlie Parker (photo: © Kathie Touin)

I haven’t seen him often over the past few years, though we’ve stayed in touch. I was delighted to be able to attend his concert at the Barbican in London last July and give him a long-overdue hug.

His was an immense talent, and I’m struggling to accept that his voice is now silent. It’s unthinkable that I won’t get a ridiculous email in my inbox, or be able to pick up the phone and listen to his wild tales of life during ELP’s heyday.

I was recording the string part on a song for my new album yesterday, probably at the time this awful event was playing out halfway across the world in Santa Monica, California. Though I’d written the song about someone else, the lyrics seem almost eerily appropriate now. But then Keith and I always had an uncanny connection.

I thought I’d post the lyrics here as a tribute to Keith, though the song won’t be completed for a little while yet.

Thank you, Doctor Emo. I will miss you terribly. But we will still connect every time I sit at the piano and play your music.

Lotsa luv,

Kathie Touin

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND THE SKY

The leaves were drifting down
when I heard the lonely sound
a barren fruit tree in the wind
that lost its voice that once could sing

And underneath a rosy moon
I knew that you’d be leaving very soon
but you were never meant for me
You were far too rare a thing

You always moved through the world
like a ghost
Darker than ocean
and paler than sky
Like a cup that has broken
you fill me but I lose you
somewhere amongst all the stars
where you shine

I never thought you’d come to stay
an errant star that rainy day
but how was I to ever know
How deep your footprints on my soul

You always moved through the world
like a ghost
Darker than ocean
and paler than sky
Like a cup that has broken
you fill me but I lose you
somewhere amongst all the stars
where you shine

Somewhere between heaven and the sky
I hope you have found the answers why
You dog-eared the pages of my past
I hope you’ve found calmness and peace at least

And now I wander here alone
beneath a sky so wildly blown
but I can hear you calling me
that cloudy voice I’ll always know

You always moved through the world
like a ghost
Darker than ocean
and paler than sky
Like a cup that has broken
you fill me but I lose you
somewhere amongst all the stars
where you shine

© K. Touin 2014/2016 (BMI)

Thank you, Sir George Martin

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Sir George Martin, Sir Paul McCartney and John Lennon in the studio (image © Rex Features)

Yesterday I was working on a string trio arrangement for one of the tracks on my new album. This morning I woke to the news that Sir George Martin had died. I would probably never have thought to use a string trio on this song without the influence of Sir George.

I became obsessed with the Beatles at the age of seven. When I was 10 I formed a group with three of my best friends – myself on piano, with all of us singing. We were going to perform Beatles songs. I called the group Sgt Pepper’s Mini Hearts Club Band. Apparently, as musical director; I was a bit of a tyrant, as everyone quit not long after. Clearly, I was already a musical genius, destined for greatness. If everyone else would just listen to me.

Pretty much everything I know and understand about production and arranging I learned from listening to Sir George’s work with The Beatles. I religiously worked out the vocal harmonies listening to their records (yes, records. I am that old). I was fascinated by how they all fit together. I listened avidly with headphones, working out the strange sounds of the Revolver album and was ecstatic when I heard the stories about randomly-assembled tape loops, microphones in buckets and other adventurous techniques they pioneered in the studio. Most likely to the horrors of the engineers.

I badgered my parents about buying me the Holy Grail of sheet music – the massive, Beatles Complete in its Bible-black cover with gold lettering. Badgered and badgered as only I could as a child, until my dad snapped one day and said, ‘You’re getting it for your birthday! Now shut up about it.’ Then I felt guilty for weeks because I’d spoiled their ‘surprise’.

My copy was literally falling apart before too long as I worked through the songs, learning the chords and being simply amazed by the perfection of the harmonies in If I Fell, and the heart-rending beauty of For No One. It still makes me cry. I was outraged to discover some of the songs had been transposed to make them easier to play. But that was probably the first time I truly understood how transposing worked, as I set myself the task of learning them in the correct key. I made notes in the margins, corrected incorrect chords or melody lines. I analysed it until I understood the bones of the songs.

And only then I began to understand how it was the cladding of those bones which made them more than well-crafted and unique. It was the production that made them stratospheric. Yes, the Beatles themselves contributed massively to the sounds of their albums and arrangements. McCartney’s insistence that the strings on Yesterday be played without vibrato for instance. But it was George Martin who gave them the means and the insight.

I never intended to get into production myself. It happened a bit like singing for me. I didn’t like the way others sang my songs, so I did them myself. Still the musical tyrant I was at 10, I like having control. I like taking my time, and getting it to sound like it does in my head.

So aged 18 I started with a slightly-defective Tascam four-track, multi-tracking vocals until the tape was so saturated there was more noise than signal. I moved on to ADAT, working with a partner then who taught me a lot about the basics of production. Several experiments with reel-to-reel tape of various widths followed, and then my ex bought a 16-track digital hard-disk recorder which I worked hard to understand.

When I married Graham and moved to London, our tiny spare bedroom became my studio and I was able to indulge in a then state-of-the-art 24-track hard-disk recorder and Roland Fantom S-88 workstation (both of which I still have). I did my Butterfly Bones and Dark Moons & Nightingales albums on that 24-track.

Then we moved to Orkney in 2010, and I set up Starling Recording Studio. I’m now fully immersed in the digital world, using Pro Tools, plug-ins, virtual instruments and strange sample libraries. I love my studio, and am never happier than when sat here messing around with sound. The songs are still the focus but, now more than ever, the production has become an amazing playground for me.

I fully credit Sir George Martin for my interest in all this. He made messing around with sound full of limitless possibility. He was the first person to make the production almost as important as the music, but always made it serve the song.

I started out devouring Beatles sheet music, and now find myself scouring Mark Lewisohn’s The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions for ideas and techniques. Even now, some 40 years after I first became obsessed with them, I still hear things in the new Beatles mixes Giles Martin has done with his dad that make me wonder ‘how did they do that?’.

 

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The author at the Steinway grand piano in Abbey Road Studios Studio Two

A few years ago I was lucky enough to visit the inner sanctum of Abbey Road Studios where The Beatles recorded most of their tracks. I stood on those stairs in Studio Two and played the Steinway grand that just possibly Sir Paul McCartney may have recorded on. It did indeed feel like a pilgrimage, and it was magic.

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The famous stairs of Studio Two

Thank you, Sir George, for making our world a more aurally fascinating place. You were amazing and brilliant, and I’m so grateful for everything you helped to create. And that means everything from Right Said Fred (as recorded by Bernard Cribbins) to A Day In The Life. There aren’t very many music professionals who have actually changed the world. But you certainly did. Thank you.

Kathie Touin

Kate Bush and Me

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Hounds Of Love

Kate Bush’s Hounds Of Love album

9:29 am. Hit refresh. Repeatedly.

9:30 am. I’m in! No, wait, I’m in some sort of queue. It’s counting down… 5 4 3 2 1 –

This is it! I’m in. I click furiously. Go! Go! C’mon, computer, hurry up!

Husband tries to speak to me, I shush him. Dog comes over, picking up on my stress, whining for a pat. I actually yell at him to go away.

My hands are sweating. That’s it – they’re selected, time to put in the credit card number. I can’t believe it – my hands are shaking so hard I can’t actually type. Finally, it’s in. I press ‘enter’.

Credit card declined’. I scream slightly. Try to get my hands to keep still. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. I type slowly and carefully. Hit ‘enter’ again.

And there it is. ‘Thank you for your purchase. Your order number is…. We hope you enjoy the event.’

I’ve got them. Two tickets to see Kate Bush live in concert in September. I weep with relief.

Extreme? Yes. It really took me by surprise just how much it meant to me to get tickets to see her. I thought it might be worth sharing why.

I decided to become a professional musician when I was 15. I had seen a concert video of the Canadian band Rush and suddenly knew that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to stand on stage, playing brilliantly, under swirling lights in a cloud of smoke effects.

As Rush aren’t exactly known for their keyboard playing skills, the next epiphany came when I stumbled onto a King Biscuit Flower Hour – a brilliant Sunday night concert programme on my favourite rock radio station – featuring Emerson, Lake & Palmer. When I heard Keith Emerson I realised there was a whole world of keyboard playing out there I needed to learn about.

Before I heard Kate Bush all of my musical heroes had been men. The only exceptions were Katia and Marielle Labèque, two sisters who are known for their classical piano performances together as a duo. I loved them because they didn’t act like typical classical concert performers – they wore velvet pantsuits (this was the ’80s) and appeared on TV chat shows. Best of all, I used to say, they played ‘like men’ – strong, powerful, passionate. It’s sadly telling that this was my frame of reference. They don’t ‘play like men’. They just play brilliantly, as you can see on this clip of them performing Leonard Bernstein’s ‘America’.

The only female keyboard player I knew of was Christine McVie in Fleetwod Mac. I have a lot of respect for her. She’s a very tasteful player and terribly underrated. She writes and plays parts that work perfectly within the structure of the band and has a soulful voice. She’s unique – no one plays or sounds like her. But you rarely hear her mentioned as a keyboard player, she is mostly referred to as a Fleetwood Mac vocalist.

When I was in high school, I subscribed to Keyboard Magazine. I would scan it eagerly when it arrived for some mention of the keyboard players I looked up to – Emerson, Rick Wakeman, Eddie Jobson, Patrick Moraz, Tony Banks…

I could be wrong about this, but for the entire time I had a subscription I don’t recall there being a woman on the cover. Or there being much mention of women inside it, either.

One day, not long after I graduated high school and was getting ready to depart for the Berklee College of Music in Boston, a new issue of Keyboard arrived. To my astonishment, there was a woman on the cover. A young woman, with huge hazel eyes and a mass of auburn hair, sitting on the floor in front of a keyboard that looked like it was set up in a flat. It was beneath a window, and low enough it could be played from where she sat in the photo. Which I thought was a bit strange. But she was captivating. The magazine said her name was Kate Bush. keyboard kate

I’d never heard of her. While she’d been an instant sensation in the UK, somehow her first four albums had completely passed me by. I started reading and was stunned. She worked with a Fairlight – one of the first samplers to come out; insanely expensive and even more complicated to operate – and she was using this on her recordings. Herself. She was writing and producing the albums herself. The songs sounded intriguing. I decided I’d have to look out for her. In the rush to leave for music school, she disappeared to the back of my mind.

Until one day I was sat in a Supercuts in Boston, having unspeakable things done to my hair, and a song came on the radio. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before – a pounding insistent drum machine beat, a weird repeating riff on an indescribable sound and then this voice. This amazing voice.

I asked the hairdresser if she knew who it was. “Some new artist. Kate Bush, I think.” Here’s a video of the song that started it all for me.

And that was how it started. Kate Bush’s album Hounds Of Love came out at a pivotal time for me as a musician. I was trying to find my own identity, and had spent far too long trying to be ‘one of the guys’ in order to fit in and be accepted by bandmates and colleagues. If you were a female musician and at all ‘girly’ they dismissed you as a joke. I worked so hard to be accepted in this way that one of the security guards at Berklee decided I was a lesbian.

If he only knew how it felt to be in a hive of musical activity made up of only 17% women – all those gorgeous, talented guys that I felt I couldn’t take an interest in sexually or they wouldn’t take me seriously as a musician. It was awful.

And suddenly here was this gorgeous, alluring, beautiful woman with a tiny, soft speaking voice who was a genius at writing, producing and recording her own incredible music. Kate Bush has an astonishing ear for arrangement and production. And thank goodness she chose to make Hounds Of Love as an album she was proud of, rather than worrying about how famous she was, as she said in an interview I listened to recently.

She looks tiny and delicate, but has a voice that could pin you to the wall when she wants to, or whisper in your ear and tell you stories. She showed me a whole world of possibility, of what can happen when you’re true to your own musical soul. So, yes, getting those tickets was a milestone for me.

I don’t sing like Kate Bush, write or play like her – I have too many other influences. But she’s woven into my songs and production. She’s the main reason I now have a recording studio and produce my own albums. And I’m profoundly grateful for her influence.

Kathie Touin

To learn more about Kate’s work visit her website: www.katebush.com

Visit: www.kathietouin.com for more about Starling Recording Studio and my own music (and to see if you can spot Kate’s influence)

For more on Katia and Marielle Labèque, visit their website: www.labeque.com

Invasion of cute, fluffy things

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Grey seal pup

Ridiculously cute seal pup

Lately in Orkney we’ve been having a serious of storms and gales. They haven’t been dangerous or life-threatening, just coming in one after the other. Yesterday we had a break and a lovely day of chilly sunshine. Time for a trip out!

The change in the weather coincided with two things I’d been looking forward to: the Orkney Book Festival book sale and grey seal pupping season. A strange combination, you might think, but nowhere near as strange a combination as the pile of books I came home with from the sale.

If you must know: Douglas Adams, Margaret Atwood, two books of beginners’ violin pieces, a biography of Daniel Boone, a book about piano playing, a lovely old collection of Washington Irving’s writings, Konrad Lorenz’s study of greylag geese and, most embarrassing of all, Alan Partridge’s autobiography. Should get me through the winter.

As both events were happening on the island of South Ronaldsay, we ventured across the Churchill Barriers that connect the southernmost islands of Orkney. These causeways were built by Italian prisoners-of-war to protect the natural harbour of Scapa Flow following the sinking of HMS Royal Oak by German U-boat U47 in 1939.

We perused the book sale, got a very nice lunch from the women at the cafe in the Cromarty Hall, where the festival was being held, then headed further south to look for seal pups.

Excellent camouflage

Excellent camouflage

Britain has roughly 40% of the world’s population of breeding grey seals, and Orkney is the most important breeding centre for these lovely creatures in the UK. Females come ashore from October to December to give birth, and the fluffy white pups spend about three weeks nursing and putting on weight before heading out to sea.

Grey seal pup nursing

Grey seal pup nursing

The autumn after we’d moved to Orkney, the Scapa Flow Landscape Partnership Scheme put on a walk to see the seal pups at a particular bay in South Ronaldsay. There are many sites around Orkney where the seals pup, but as we knew this one we decided to head there. As you can see from the photos, the pups were at various stages of development, some obviously  older than others.

Mum and baby

Mum and baby

I want to point out that these photos were taken with a zoom lens from a safe distance, lying down on the cliffs above. Even with being quiet and careful not to disturb them, it’s obvious in the photos that we were spotted most times. We moved on quickly and quietly, to minimise disturbance.

Protective seals

We’ve been spotted!

They are ridiculously cute, and make the most mournful sound. Hope you enjoy the photos.

Kathie Touin

Bull seal

Bull seal

Lovely spotted female

Lovely spotted female

Uncomfortable baby

How does this baby make this look comfortable?

Nursing newborn

A very new pup nursing

Rocky nursery

Not very comfy for a nursery

Cute sleeping baby

This was taken through the grass on the cliff edge, but this baby looked so cute asleep…

You can find more information about grey seals here:

http://www.snh.org.uk/publications/on-line/naturallyscottish/seals/sealsinscotland.asp

http://www.orkney.com/seals

http://www.smru.st-andrews.ac.uk/documents/954.pdf

The Scapa Flow Landscape Partnership Scheme website:

http://www.scapaflow.co/

And information about the Churchill Barriers:

http://www.orkneytourism.com/barriers/churchillbarriers.htm

I see you!

I see you!

Summer Adventures, Part 1: Rousay

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Autumn has arrived in Orkney already. So it’s a good time to re-visit some of the events of this past summer.

First, I’ll tell you about our trip to the nearby island of Rousay, known as ‘The Egypt of the North’ for its wealth of archaeological sites. Rousay is only a short 20-minute ferry ride away across the mysterious Eynhallow Sound, a stretch of water known for its spectacular tidal race called the Burgar Rõst, or Roost. Rousay’s name means Rolf’s Isle in Old Norse where many of Orkney’s names come from.

The view from Rousay across Eynhallow Sound to West Mainland

The view from Rousay across Eynhallow Sound to West Mainland


The owners of
the pretty one-bedroom self-catering barn conversion we stayed in were away in Canada, but had told me over the phone to just come in and get settled. Someone would be overseeing work on the farm in their absence so would be able to help if we needed anything.

Essentially Rousay has one main road encircling the island. The interior of the island is high, rough moorland, with terracing on the hillsides that looks man-made but was etched by glaciers.

We missed the turn to the farm the first time, gave up and went back to the newly-opened Craft Hub near the pier to ask for directions. There was much consultation between the three people in there and it was agreed that we needed to look for where the road began its curve around the island to the left, and take the turn just before the post box on the bend.

We got to the curve and nearly missed the post box because we were distracted by some spectacular home-made sculptures decorating a front garden. There was a highland ‘coo’ made out of rope, a huge, plunging whale’s tail disappearing into the ground, a dolphin leaping out of the grass and too many other things to take in as we passed. Directly opposite this was our turn.

We had Roscoe with us and he had a wonderful time playing Explorer Dog, Neolithic Dog, Bronze Age Dog and Forest Dog. He did have a painful run-in with the farmer’s electric fence (curiously mounted on the outside of a field wall), but other than that enjoyed himself thoroughly.

Roscoe takes in the view

Roscoe takes in the view

The Westness Walk

The Westness Walk

One of the highlights of our stay was the incredible Westness Walk, a path down a sloping hill and then along the coastline through so many time periods it was dizzying. We began at the Midhowe Broch, a well-preserved Iron Age fort. There were two nearly-grown hooded crow chicks sat on a nest in the wall of the Broch, watching the tourists wandering in and out.

 Midhowe Broch

Midhowe Broch

Hooded crow chicks watching the tourists

Hooded crow chicks watching the tourists

Just a few metres away is the Midhowe Cairn, enclosed in a barn-like structure to protect it from the Orkney weather. It was dazzling inside – a huge stalled cairn, around 5,000 years old. The remains of 25 people were found in it when it was excavated. Similar to other stalled tombs in Orkney, it is the longest. I couldn’t help wondering what the Bronze Age people living next door in their broch must have made of it.

Midhowe Chambered Cairn

Midhowe Chambered Cairn

We then passed Brough Farm, dating from probably the 18th century, along to The Wirk, the remains of a grand ceremonial hall from the 13th or 14th century. There isn’t much to see there now, just a ‘ruckle of stanes’ as they’d say here, but it must have been impressive in its day.

Brough Farm

Brough Farm

We didn’t do the complete walk – my ankle isn’t up to such things – but we got as far as St Mary’s Church, which was abandoned in 1820. Although there was an earlier Medieval church on the site, the remains here are thought to date from the 16th or 17th century.

St Mary's Church

St Marys Church

Struggling to get my head around the vast span of time we’d just traversed in less than half a mile, we made the long slow climb back up to our waiting car.

The next day we explored the other chambered tombs that are open to the public. First was Taversoe Tuick, an unusual tomb in that it has two entrances, one ‘upstairs’ facing the hill, and the other ‘downstairs’ facing out to sea. You can now only enter by the upper entrance, but  Graham was brave and climbed down the rickety-looking ladder to explore the lower level from the inside.

Taversoe Tuick chambered cairn

Taversoe Tuick chambered cairn

We were walking around the outside, Roscoe in his ‘Neolithic Dog’ guise on his long-lead, when he promptly disappeared from view over the side of the cairn. We rushed over to see that he’d managed to fall into the lower entrance! He bounced back up and carried on exploring, undaunted by his rather graceless tumble.

The lower entrance to Taversoe Tuick chambered cairn - the bit Roscoe fell into

The lower entrance to Taversoe Tuick chambered cairn – the bit Roscoe fell into

Next we went to the fabulously named Blackhammer tomb. This required stepping down a few steps on a vertical ladder to get into. I was determined to do it and, after a bit of hesitation, managed to get inside the tomb.

Blackhammer chambered cairn

Blackhammer chambered cairn

I’m always struck in these tombs in Orkney that they never seem unpleasant, or gruesome or scary. They don’t really seem to feel of anything. This one, however, did have just a little bit of a darker air about it. Might just have been the name. I got my pictures, climbed up the ladder – and promptly got stuck.

With my problem ankle, my balance is very bad. So I couldn’t step up out of the tomb onto my bad foot, in case I unbalanced and it wouldn’t support me, and I couldn’t stay on my bad foot and step up with my good foot for exactly the same reason. I was convinced if I moved, I’d fall straight over backwards into the tomb, whacking my head on the stone lintel as I went. After a few minutes’ panic and much encouragement from Graham I was finally able to make myself take the step, and emerged perfectly easily.

Our last day was wet and unpromising. We chose to go to Trumland House Gardens, risking getting soaked because I didn’t want to miss it. Once up the long curving drive and past the house, which must have been very grand in its day, we entered the walled gardens and I was very excited to see lots of plants that I can’t possibly grow in the exposed location where we live.

Roscoe and Graham and friend at Trumland House

Roscoe and Graham and friend at Trumland House

But even better was when we got into the forest, along the stream. It didn’t feel like being in Orkney at all! It felt like a dark, damp forest in the South of England, full of huge trees, lush ferns and plants, rhododendrons and all sorts of amazing things. I was so delighted to find this place – it’s so good to know that if I need a forest fix (and I sometimes do) I can just nip over to Rousay without going very far at all!

The Birdcage in Trumland Woods

The Birdcage in Trumland Woods

 

Roscoe in the woods at Trumland Gardens

Roscoe in the woods at Trumland Gardens

 Lastly we did a lovely long walk up over the moorland towards the interior of the island to a large loch called Muckle Water. It was a nice steady path, with magnificent views back over to Mainland Orkney. We saw several groups of breeding bonxies (great skua) and the highlight, a common sandpiper – something I assumed you only found on beaches. I was also pleased to find a clump of the carnivorous sundew plant, something which I’ve always wanted to see in the wild.

The walk back from Muckle Water

The walk back from Muckle Water

Muckle Water

Muckle Water  

 

Sundew

Sundew

Each night we had dinner at the excellent Taversoe Hotel. I would definitely recommend the Taversoe – excellent food, lovely staff and very reasonably priced. On the second night we had dinner with a friend of mine, who lives in Rousay, and her husband, who is the engineer on the ferry. She’d sent a text that they might be delayed as the ferry was late getting in. This puzzled me as it’s not the kind of ferry that usually suffers from delay. It turned out that a pod of orca whales had been travelling through Eynhallow Sound and the boat followed them so the passengers could have a look. My friend’s husband had marvellous pictures on his phone of the whales just feet away from the side of the ferry. It’s things like this that really make me love living in Orkney – that a ferry can be late because it’s showing people wild orca in the sea. Brilliant.

Saying goodbye to Rousay

Saying goodbye to Rousay

It was a lovely long weekend and there were still many things we didn’t get to. But it’s nice to know Rousay is so close by and we’ll be back to visit.

Kathie Touin

Isn’t this where we came in?

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Ellen Grieve, Tom Ashman, Hannah Bown, Kathie Touin, Fiona Driver

Kathie Touin (top) with fellow UHI students before Celtic Connections gig
(photo: Gemma Hahn)

Now then. Where were we? Ah, yes, I was just about to embark on life as an adult student at the University of the Highlands and Islands through Orkney College on the Applied Music BA degree. A journey which I was going to detail and follow in my blog as it progressed.

Only it took far more time then I expected, even though I was part-time, and the blog fell by the wayside in my effort just to keep up.

It was fascinating and I learned more from it than I expected, though not always through the coursework. It was more a case of realising what I really want from music at this point in my life.

And sadly being a student again was not what I wanted after all. This felt a bit strange as I’ve spent the years since I attended the Berklee College of Music secretly wishing I could go back and complete the degree I left half-finished. I still regularly have dreams that I have gone back, usually involving the scary elevator we had to use to get to the dorm rooms.

I think the idea of a music degree consisting almost entirely of practical skills that presumes a certain level of musical knowledge is a good one and I wish everyone I was on the course with the best of luck with it. If I was only just starting out it would be great.

But the amount of time I spent on the work showed me that I should be spending that time on my own writing and recording and developing my new business, Starling Recording Studio.

I opened my home studio to the public last month and am enjoying working with local artists. Between sessions I’ve at last started on my own next recording which I’m finding very satisfying, especially with all the new gear I have.

It was stimulating working with other musicians on the course and the residentials I attended in Inverness and Glasgow were challenging and helped me understand aspects of my own musicianship that need work.

Being at Celtic Connections in Glasgow in January was a wonderful opportunity and I’m grateful for the chance to have been a part of it.

So, the blog is back and I have some catching up to do. Husband Graham, Roscoe the Rescue Dog and I have been on some brilliant adventures lately here in Orkney, so I’ll be reporting on those, as well as keeping you up to date on the new album’s progress and any developments at the Starling Recording Studio. You can also follow the studio on Twitter @StarlingOrkney as well as on Facebook at facebook.com/StarlingRecordingStudio.

See you soon!

Kathie Touin