The crooked road that leads from the historic First Coast of Northeast Florida to the ivied walls of a prestigious liberal arts college in Connecticut is broken enough, without Celtic music in the background. But one that detours to the midlands of South Carolina, the concrete towers of Manhattan, the majestic mountains and endless deserts of Nevada, the windy streets of Chicago, the hushed grasslands of Kansas, and then back to Florida to wrap around the gentle Red Hills of Tallahassee is “touched by that dark miracle of chance which makes new magic in a dusty world,” even as that music continues to play.
A strange introduction to my favorite Celtic band, but I find I cannot separate its tunes from other aspects of my life. If I call upon the ghost of the favorite writer of my childhood – “O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again” – let it be said, while I am far closer to King Saul than to the Witch of Endor, I must now summon the spirits of the past in my effort to weigh in on the music of ‘Nightnoise.’
Twilight comes early when the late autumn and winter hit Connecticut, at least it did when I attended college in Bill Clinton’s first term. While my college was more than 1,050 miles away from my family home in North Florida, those late afternoons and early evenings had a knack for making that distance seem even longer.
New England, in those seasons, was unfamiliar territory. The shadows of bare trees would entangle themselves on the icy sidewalk and muddy ground. Deep breaths would take substance and ascend into the gray sky. The city, which had seen far better days, seemed deserted. With empty streets, vacant offices and a hockey team playing to a dwindling number of fans. Across the river, on our eastern horizon, stood the “hills beyond,” a phrase I lovingly stole from Thomas Wolfe, perhaps a slight nod to his description of his alma mater Chapel Hill as “that magical campus.”
Normally our campus was magical, but not in the howling days of winter. Even the hills beyond, so green in April, so golden in October, were barren.
Connecticut contrasted with Florida. While Saint Augustine might be decades older than Jamestown or Plymouth – not that haughty Virginians, or Baystaters from the people’s republic of Massachusetts, were aware of this – Florida seems endlessly new, a fountain of youth for the seniors who head south for the winter on I-75 and I-95. The sun dominates the Sunshine State, with its endless beaches and long summers. The magic kingdom of Florida extends far beyond Walt Disney World.
However, Connecticut in general and my campus in particular, seemed old, especially in winter. Walking past rows of imposing Victorian Gothic buildings and the majestic chapel, reinforced my decision to be a history major. Fueling my desire to write about everything and to consume all the books in the library, in the same way I went through an endless array of pizza, Doritos, Dr. Pepper, coffee, cheeseburgers and Yoo-hoo. I wanted to shove as many words as possible onto the page and cram as much knowledge into my brain and as much junk food into my stomach as I could.
“New” music simply didn’t seem to be the appropriate soundtrack to such a setting. I put away the U2, Sting, Iron Maiden, Queensrÿche and Rush CDs that had gotten me through high school. While most of my classmates flocked to hear Dave Matthews, when he played on campus, I simply shrugged it off. Instead, I turned to classical music – Vaughn Williams and Holst, Mozart and Bach – to get me through. Imbibing too much coffee, I would wander through the malls and colossal bookstores, strapping on the headphones to listen to the free music samples the stores offered, taking in as much as I could.
In those days – were they really a quarter of a century ago? – you couldn’t miss the seemingly endless collection of Windham Hill albums in the stores. Windham Hill, which was its own record label at the time, usually offered CDs with striking album covers, quite often with memorable nature photographs. My college roommate had “Windham Hill: The First Ten Years” and I would listen to that double CD set. Trying to pin the music down to a specific genre was near impossible. There were some pieces that contained hints of jazz, while others showed more classical influence. Still other tracks could only be classified as “New Age,” a nebulous term applied to too many artists in the 1990s.
Craving something different in a somber collegiate setting, I grasped on to Windham Hill as the likes of guitarist Will Ackerman, one of the founders of the record label, and pianist George Winston drove my mind towards new horizons, much like Wolfe’s writings did when I was in high school. Listening to Windham Hill music, my roommate and I ventured away from the campus, spending weekends pursuing the unknown, enjoying quaint towns, taking in old churches, trampling over mountains and hills, fields and forests. The music helped propel me to explore a setting that should have been familiar – I was born not too far from the college and spent my first five years in the area where I still had family – but wasn’t.
Instead of keeping me in the dorm, the music spurred me into motion as I made tyrannical demands to my friend, urging him to drive us into the hills, to explore dots on the map and make them real to me.
Nightnoise was my favorite Windham Hill artist and, like so many acts signed to that record label, it was an impossible task for a would-be musical cataloger to pin them to a certain genre. Partly jazz, with classical and Celtic thrown in along traces of chamber music and American folk, Nightnoise was impossible to peg, but just as impossible for me to resist. Years later, I found that, like me, the band had one foot in America and the other in Ireland and things made a little more sense. Even so, “Nollaig,” a stirring, even uplifting piece, about Christmas of all things, by Nightnoise may have been the most played track of my college years.
After college, I listened less and less to Nightnoise and Windham Hill in general. They simply didn’t seem to gel during the long Lent when I was in grad school in South Carolina. Or when I was chasing every horizon, not realizing they were hemmed in by the towering juggernauts that overshadowed Manhattan. There were moments when I yearned to hear Nightnoise, namely in Kansas, of all places. But hearing the music would only upset me, make me yearn for distant memories Finally, well nestled in my 40s, comfortable and content for the first time in decades, I could return to Nightnoise’s music and at last find it as magical as I did in college.
Back in 1984, American violinist Billy Oskay and Irish guitarist Michael O’Domhnaill teamed up on an album entitled “Nightnoise” and would later expand their efforts to form a group under that name. After three and a half decades, this remains a gem of an album as the two musicians blend Celtic music with jazz and even traces of classical and chamber music. The title track, “19 A” and “Menucha” all stand out, but there is not a single misstep on the first album. It holds up remarkably well after three and a half decades.
By 1987, Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill, a talented pianist and singer, joined her brother and Oskay. As did flutist Brian Dunning and the four musicians formed Nightnoise. Their first album “Something of Time,” showed that the band had some growing pains and this album simply is not as strong as some of their later work. However, there are some fine pieces here, including “Toys Not Ties” and “One for the Lad,” a rollicking piece to close the album. Still Nightnoise’s distinct sound – a fusion of influences including Celtic folk and New Age – can be found on this album.
Now three decades old, “At the End of the Evening,” which Nightnoise released in 1988, remains a fresh and engaging album. “Hugh” is the best-known piece on this album, followed by “Of a Summer Morn.” But there are plenty of other great tracks including the upbeat “At the Races,” the gentle “Bring Me Back a Song,” and the haunting “Snow on High Ground.” A personal favorite of mine from this album is “Her Kansas Sun,” which is one of the band’s hidden gems. Listening to it brings me back to the fall of 2005 when I met a young woman during my short time in the Sunflower State. She’s never so alive in my memory as when I hear that song. Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill shines when she sings on the lovely title track. While a few pieces are forgettable – particularly “Forgotten Carnival” – there are no bad tracks on the album even as the band was continuing to gel.
Released in 1990, “Parting Tide,” marks the end of an era for Nightnoise. This marks the last album for Oskay, who shines on violin here. Dunning is great as always on flute. Mícheál Ó Domhnaill is in his usual excellent form on guitar in most of the pieces on the album. Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill is on keyboard and sings three of the pieces, including the haunting – if somewhat long – “An Irish Carol,” “Snow is Lightly Falling,” and the charming and inspiring “Island of Hopes and Tears.” There are some fine pieces – “A Jig of Sorts” and “The Abbot” in particular stand out on this charming album.
The “Shadow of Time” album, which came out in 1993, captures Nightnoise during a major transition. Fans of the earlier albums might be a little put off as Oskay was replaced by Johnny Cunningham on violin. There are some differences to be sure, but Cunningham generally fills in admirably, though it does lead to a far more Celtic/Irish sound for Nightnoise than past albums especially in pieces like “Silky Flanks.”
Dunning simply excels in pieces like “The March Air” and “Night in that Land.” Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill takes considerably more of the limelight on this album, showing her fine soprano voice in songs like “Shadow of Time” and skill on the keyboards on songs like the title track and “Water Falls.” There seems to be something of a consensus among Nightnoise fans that, after Oskay left, the band took on a more Irish sound. That certainly seems to be the case here. However, even with all the transitions, this remains a strong album with “Sauvie Island,” “Night in that Land,” and the chants of “Mouth Music” ranking as some of the band’s more popular outings. This is a great album of relaxing, pleasant and sometimes haunting music.
Released in 1995, “A Different Shore” ranks as one of the best albums Nightnoise ever crafted. The album starts with the stirring “Call of the Child” and the hypnotic “For Eamonn,” two of the strongest pieces Nightnoise ever assembled. There are also some gentle pieces here like “Another Wee Niece” and the title track. Rollicking tunes like “Morning in Madrid,” “Clouds Go By” and “Mind the Dresser” provide some energy. And Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill excels in vocals on “Falling Apples.” The haunting “Shuan” closes the album. This is Nightnoise at its peak, a mature sound of musicians who simply gell and know how to work together.
Originally recorded in 1995 and 1996, before being released in 1997, “The White Horse Sessions” seemed to hint at a new direction for Nightnoise. There’s an energy and passion on this live album that doesn’t often come through in the studio sessions. This can be seen right from the start as the band sprints out with “Silky Flanks” and “Jig of Sorts.” Even “Shadow of Time” follows suit. As Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill excels on vocals though, things slow down with a reflective take on “Shaun.”
Nightnoise offered some new material in the middle of this album, including the engaging “Do We” and “Murdo of the Moon” where their Irish folk influences have never been stronger. They also offer a different, slower take on Van Morrison’s classic “Moondance” – which listeners might have a hard time recognizing with its change of tempos – while offering a fascinating version of “Hugh” which will engage longtime fans familiar with that song.
The last third of the album opens with Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill singing on the beautiful and evocative “Heartwood.” The album ends some of the band’s most popular songs including a solid take on “The Cricket’s Wicket.” The melancholy and lovely “Night In That Land” follows and the band has never sounded better than they do here as they revisit that classic. The album ends with an energetic “At the Races.”
As their contract with Windham Hill ended with this album, Nightnoise seemed poised to focus more on traditional Irish music, instead of their trademark blending of other genres. However, this was the last album the band made. It’s unfortunate to say the least, but Nightnoise offered seven albums most of which, including this one, are excellent. Unlike too many bands, Nightnoise went out on top as this album clearly indicates.
Still, it took the band more than a half decade to officially call it quits. Cunningham left in 1997 after the “The White Horse Sessions” and was replaced by John Fitzpatrick. While the band didn’t produce any new albums, they produced a wealth of Christmas songs, often in connection with Windham Hill’s popular “A Winter’s Solstice” and “Celtic Christmas” series. Their original pieces like “Nollaig,” “‘Bring Me Back a Song,” and “No Room at the Inn” as well as their takes on traditional tunes like “The Wexford Carol,” “The Sussex Carol,” “The Flight Into Egypt,” and “The Holly and the Ivy” ensured Nightnoise was a part of many people’s holidays.
The band officially called it quits in 2003. Right after that, Johnny Cunningham died of a heart attack in December 2003 at the age of 46. Two and a half years later, Mícheál Ó Domhnaill died from a fall at his home in Dublin. He was 54.
While Nightnoise has been off the stage for a decade and it’s been more than two decades since their last album, their music remains as fresh and inspiring as it was when it was first released. The term “Celtic music” has grown almost as nebulous as the phrase “New Age music.” But if you are looking for some of the best Celtic inspired music out there, Nightnoise is sure to deliver.