By CHRIS MacKENZIE
The great irony of the pipe march is that despite it being one of the cornerstones of our competitive world, both solo and band, and it having some of the most outstanding melodies in our repertoire, it is vanishingly rare these days to hear it, outside of the MSR, at concerts or on recordings. You are far more likely to hear pipe marches on a Scottish dance band recording than on a solo piper or pipe band one. Back in the days of the Masters of Piping or World’s Greatest Pipers recordings the pipers would always include sets of 4/4s, 6/8s and indeed often 9/8 or 12/8s alongside the obligatory MSR and piobaireachd, now they have vanished in a tidal wave of hornpipes, jigs and reels.
Na Caismeachdan, translated as The Marches, John Dew’s latest release, his third, looks to remedy that with a recording consisting mainly of marches across the different time signatures. While this may conjure up pictures of the old Masters of Piping CDs this is a world away from that. Dew, a graduate of the Royal Scottish Conservatoire, plays both pipes and whistles on the album and is accompanied on piano by Michael Biggins. The tunes are mainly his own compositions, and their quality shines through across the sets. The quality of tune, and indeed the playing, is demonstrated on perhaps the ‘straightest’ set on the album where Dew plays the Great Highland Bagpipe for a set of 2/4 marches – Compliments to the Teaching of Willie McCallum, The Glasgow Caledonian Fiddle Orchestra and Freeland House, three melodic 2/4s beautifully played.
Dew is also very adept on the whistle as he showcases of the Makers Marches, another brace of his tunes, Dalhousie Court and The Mark of the Maker, sweetly played with the most sympathetic of accompaniment on piano from Biggins. Dew’s love of polyphony (more than one melodic line) means that he plays multiple bagpipe parts on Angleland parts 1 and 2 to give a layered complex sound that always stays the right side of listenable.
Throughout the album Dew is accompanied by Michael Biggins on piano and his playing is a crucial part of the arrangements. Mainly in the background, providing a restrained but dynamic accompaniment in a way that accentuates Dew’s playing, the roles are occasionally reversed to add to the deep richness of musical colour this recording has.
The penultimate set, Red Castle, sees Dew bring in string accompaniment and looks to meld his love of classical and folk music together in a what he describes as a ‘film music’ style. The result is a gentle, slightly plaintive piece with swirling strings that could easily be the background music to a moving film scene, although the moment is somewhat shattered as the Highland pipes kick in for the last set, a rendition of PM Donald MacLeod’s piobaireachd The Sound of The Sea. This is, as you would expect from a piper of Dew’s calibre, is a delight.
This is an adventurous album that manages to avoid the usual traps that go with that phrase and remains very listenable throughout. Where the musical experimentation takes place, it is well harnessed by Dew to ensure that the tracks captivate rather than confuse. Dew has placed the humble march front and centre, and it, and indeed he, has not been found wanting.