Belgium Tour self-review

I relished the Merode folk festival in Diest, singing outside acoustically in the woodland area, playing completely different songs, and deciding not to repeat any of my own to test my memory—and for the sake of my new friend, driver, and photographer Achim, who was present with me at all those outdoor mini-concerts.

(I have many songs) 

-in front of the various large mixed groups of walkers and hikers rambling by, including horse riders outside in the woodland under that hot sun on that dry and thirsty day in front of an old windmill. 

Some folks took dancing partners to dance on the meadow grasses to one of my waltzes and then began dancing a two-step to a polka rhythm I sang to.

I was offered a taste of a rich, dark, deep-flavoured, fruity, honey-sweet dessert, an alcoholic, delicious Port, homemade from Walnuts, by one of the dancers, a bearded man wearing a sombrero cowboy hat to shade his head from the hot sun.

I sampled and savoured a couple of glasses. A drink with a warmth and a hint of a fermented bite. Flavoursome and delectable, Yum!

My new friend and driver at Diest’s Merode festival, Achim, from Germany, lived in Taiwan for many years. He taught Chinese, and we shared stories about our travels to China, discussing language, linguistics, history, anthropology, and many other subjects.

(You can find a road diary on my website describing my travels in the Yunnan province way back in February-March 1987)

Achim sent me photos of myself and the crowds listening, one of which I shall include above here with Achim Kehlanbach’s permission. Thank you, Achim.

I enjoyed sitting around the long, heavy banquet table, chatting and savouring the tasty food, which included a salad with figs, dates, and melon, alongside festival volunteers and musicians.

After my evening concert, I took pleasure in joining in a session of Irish tunes, jigs and reels on my spoons and moothy or ‘mouthy’ ‘shepherds reed’ on my harmonica, then also dancing a little while trying to teach or guide the steps to a small young girl, leading her gently hooking arms at our elbows, birling slowly, improvising in small winding circles in a half time tempo. 

It turned out that the wee girl I encouraged to dance was the daughter of the fiddle player I was jamming along with.

It was good to make new friends, renew friendships, blether, hear Flemish, Dutch and French, share stories, learn a few Flemish words and then mispronounce them on purpose to give funny different meanings, savouring local beers, and hear some superb, thoughtful and colourful arrangements of new and old Fiddle tunes, by Livia Giafredda and Cristina Vetrone, also the Global music enseble listening to a massive silver bass flute as large as the plumbing of a radiator pipe, getting sounds also from the finger pads, also the plucked strings of the middle eastern trapezoid shaped Qanun, the 81 strings are stretched in groups of 3, which resembles the harp, zither or dulcimer, amongst those colours and textures, I also enjoyed hearing the deep physiocal and dramatic pounding of Japanese Taiko drums, and the ringing deep tinkling of a row of percussive bells by Tsubasa Hori. 

Then the Italian singers, one from Naples, sang beautifully with the band, a spirited Tarantella.

Later, climbing up to the back of the arena, high up on the grass, looking down onto the stage with the lights upon it and the performers in the band was another pretty sight to behold; I could also enjoy the horizon, the evening sky And view of the old brick armoury, a historic citadel, the arched tunnel made it look like a railway to me, the red-brown bricks of the bridging tunnel.

I also enjoyed playing in the Dranouter club, returning to the town after many years. 

The green, fertile landscape of hops and cemeteries.

Enjoyed being on the same bill as the colourful duo, Mirja Klippel and her partner Alex Jonsson; Alex uses an electric guitar and Ebow to add muted tones and colour to accompany his partner  Mirja’s delicate poetic songs; she plays the mandolin, which sounded full, with a lot of warm and deep body to the sound. The sound engineer (I think it was Simon, who was also a farm mechanic) also did well getting me a rich sound in the darkened theatre.

In Dirk’s music club ‘TEY, it was fun to sing a couple of my older songs, testing my memory as I hadn’t sung them in some years.

I enjoyed inviting Dirk up to play his deep Flemish bagpipe drones on his doodle-sack on my Slow air, Raga or doina, a song eulogy I made for a friend who recently died, called ‘Didn’t he ramble’ with my harmonica, I loved the wildness of the pipe sound, and the stirring doodling on his chanter, bubbling emotionally between the verses, leaving the stage walking out front together to complete the first half of the concert to begin the interval. Full of Stimmung, Duende, Dread, poignant, passionate feelings.

I imagined we were in a modern version of that Breughel painting that features the doodle sack.

A mother and her grown daughter came up during the interval to show me a photo, taken at the Dranouter festival over 30 years before, of us three, much younger, in which the young woman was a small toddler, a little girl. Of course, we posed for an up-to-date photo, echoing the older, similar Pose and position of our bodies.

I sold out all of my small amount of CDs. This success and demand for my recordings meant I didn’t have to carry any back home to Scotland, and I also had room to bring gifts of three packets of Belgian chocolate back home. As I write this, they are slowly disappearing each day as they are being eaten.

It was delightful to meet and talk with audience members over beers, discussing world politics, their work, music, and history until 3 am, despite having to rise early to drive with Phillipe and catch my plane.

I enjoyed watering the plants around the club and particularly liked to see the rare sight of blooming passion flowers,

Reminding me of my late mum, who grew some. It was lovely to eat together with Dirk and the production team outside and to enjoy a glass of wine. Thank you for cooking, Hilda.

Sadly, the large chestnut tree was unwell; it wasn’t blight or bleeding canker. The brown blotches resembled a fungus or a leaf moth larva on the leaves. Perhaps someone should have ringed the trunk with a sticky band to stop parasites from crawling up to its leaves. Or put mud packs on the canker. Someone might have to cut off its diseased branches, but there might not be a cure. If it’s too late, someone will have to chop it down and burn it. Rake, collect, and burn the infected leaves in the autumn. Keep away from other plants.

Thanks to Philippe Dessauvage for ferrying me from and to the Airport, from Merode to Dranouter and T’Ey, to share his stories about his self-converted campervan adventures and introducing me to his son Sebastian’s collection of art hubs, ceramics, dance, and printing in vacant shops and empty properties in Kortrijk.

Philippe also managed the stage lighting at Dirk’s Pub.

Pieter did a great job on the sound. Thank you.

I won’t mention the tiny, insignificant incident involving the sliding van door accidentally slamming on someone’s right elbow. Luckily, the man survived. It was a close shave, though. 

Will the man ever be able to play guitar while doing a backwards somersault? He asked his Doctor. 

The Doctor told him, ‘Yes,’ which is impressive and fantastic because the man had never been able to do that before the accident.

I look forward to returning to the land and people that produced Pieter Bruegel, René Magritte, Django Reinhardt, Jacques Brel, Adolphe Sax, Eddy Merckx, Audrey Hepburn, Tintin, and many more.

from Rory (McLeod)

This bottom photo was taken in the Dranouter concert, (photographer unknown)