Foreword usic. It is a word that encapsulates the def.docx

Foreword
usic. It is a word that encapsulates the definition of sound and
challenges the innate
propensity for man to embrace “the artist”. Music defines us as
human beings. It is a representation of
how we choose to communicate the experiences in our lives.
More than a compilation of sounds and
rhythmic patterns, music is a type of language, a gateway to
self-discovery and a universal expression.
The beauty of a musical instrument’s construction hints to the
quality of its sound. And instruments that
are played to their greatest ability are capable of drawing
various emotions and memories from people of
all ages. Inside this book is the emphasis on a remarkable
instrument called the bagpipe. Originating in
Europe, the Piob Mhor (“the great pipe”) became widely played
and deeply incorporated into the society
of Scotland. When the Scottish adopted the bagpipe, it
established storytelling through Canntaireachd, a
beautiful pipe language. Common Scottish stories were about
war, commemoration, and celebration.
Today, when a person listens to the eloquent playing of the
bagpipe, he or she is actually hearing a story
and can interpret its meaning.
In the following book, you will find a collection of phenomenal
stories written by students from
Professor Whitelaw’s music class at the University of
California, Riverside. These students have listened
to a song, performed by a bagpipe, called “Lament For the
Children” by Patrick Mor MacCrimmon. After

hearing their initial impression of the tone and tempo, each
student used their imagination and created a
story. A wide variety of emotion and passion runs through the
entirety of this book. It is important to
note that the Scottish Clan System, a form of feudalism, has
greatly influenced many of the student’s
stories. A reader should prepare for uncensored stories that
may also relate to someone’s personal
memory; there are no rules to interpretation. Since music has a
manner of expressing emotion, you may
read about depictions of anger, sorrow, joy, or excitement. This
book will have a strong impact on its
readers, and hopefully make them more cognizant of the
Scottish tradition of storytelling.
Rachael Escobedo,
2009 First Year Student
M
Story written by Nicholas Vincent
nce upon a time, there was a young boy who lived in
Scotland. He lived in a house nestled in
the highlands, with his mother, father, and siblings on a farm.
The young boy was restless and often
dreamed of what it would be like to leave his home. At first,
his parents told him to dismiss these ideas of
leaving and told him that the best life for him was life on the
farm. Being only seventeen, the boy had
neither means of making money himself nor any other place to

go. His parents recognized this and hoped
that these simple facts would keep him on the farm, at least
until he found a wife. Gradually, as they saw
how eager he was to leave and as they realized that his only
desire was to see the world outside their
home, they started to entertain the idea of letting their only son
go.
One day, he went a village not far from his home. His mother
had sent him to buy food and
supplies to last them for the upcoming month. While he was in
the village, he heard two men talking
outside the pub. They were both members of a resistance group
that fought in the wars against the
English. Eager to leave his home, the boy asked if he could join
the men in fighting for their country.
Amazed at his patriotism, the men said he could come along if
he wanted to. He excitedly ran back home
to his family to tell them the great news. His parents were
proud, but worried for their son. Before he
left, his father gave him a special kilt. The hand woven kilt was
made of his clan’s tartan. His father
instructed him to guard it with his life and told him that it
would comfort him and remind him of home.
He said his goodbyes and started his journey with the two
warriors. Since he was only seventeen and had
no training in warfare, he became the piper of his battalion.
This was a most highly regarded position and
was very important as well. He learned traditional tunes from
other pipers and as time went by, he started
to compose tunes of his own. At his first battle, as the men
were being pushed back by the English, he
started to play a cadence. It inspired the men so much, they
were able to gain more ground and actually
won the battle. He became well known and liked by all of the
men because his music was so inspiring.
The years went by and the boy that was only seventeen when he

left home grew into a man. After
the wars were over, he started the journey back home. Along
the way he saw all of the destruction that
had been caused by the wars. He then finally arrived at the
village that was closest to his home.
Although it was nice to be in a familiar place, he seemed not to
recognize any of the people there. After
spending the night at an inn, he trekked back home. The man
could hardly believe his eyes when he
arrived. What was once his home was now a pile of ashes. The
house in which he once played as a child
was gone, burned to the ground. His family was nowhere to be
found.
Suddenly, out of the brush came one of the servants who had
lived with him, and his family.
“What happened?” the man asked. Overcome by grief, the
servant, who was now an old man, sobbingly
told the soldier the story of how the English had killed his
family and burned and pillaged their lands.
The man thought himself foolish to have left his home all those
years ago. As much as he had wanted to
leave before, he now wished that he had stayed. The servant,
who had not seen him in several years, then
told him how proud his family was of him and how they
believed that he would be great right down to the
O
end. After the recount of all this, the man stood up. With tears
in his eyes he pulled out the piece of
tartan that this father had given to him before he left. He kissed
it, and draped it over his shoulder. He
lifted his bagpipe and began to play a tune that he had
composed himself. The bagpipe wailed as though

it were voices weeping in the wind. It rang through the
mountains and echoed across the land.
Story/Feeling
Written by Hannah Lim
April 2009
hile I was listening to this music, I first felt a sense of
sadness; a sadness that came from
deception and betrayal. I could sense that their had been a long
series of many battles that led up to a war
and that this song was dedicated as homage to those who died
for Scotland. I also felt feelings of
mourning, pride, respect, loyalty, a sense of joy for the future,
and inspiration.
The story takes place in Scotland, a nation of a culture of
nature and pride. There was a war that
was taking place in the time of approximately the fourteenth
century, by a notoriously ambitious king
from New Zealand. Before the war had even begun to conjure
or develop, there was a time of peace and
joy. The men of Scotland were known to be of loyal blood to
their families and friends, as well as to their
country. This story tells a tale of betrayal and deception, as
well as a broken bond of brotherhood.
In the year 1309, a man by the name of Redonk was a soldier of
fortune. He was the pride of the
Scottish army and was ranked second to the legendary General
Kirk. He lived his life with such joy and
passion, and everyone who knew him found hope and
inspiration in him. There was nothing that could
stop him from achieving anything he put his mind to. He had
the support and love from all he knew and

was perfect in the eyes of his country.
Although Redonk seemed to have lived a successful life in all
its abundance, the world around
him was filled with corruption and destruction. It was only a
matter of time until he would choose to
discover a life of shame and regret. However, he would not
actually feel those emotions until the end of
his life. In the Scottish world, there was peace and harmony.
Anything else was considered taboo and
hardly ever spoken about. But an enemy of Scotland came
lurking in the city where Redonk lived, and
gave him his first temptation. The first taste of evil came in the
form of a woman, who was the enemy.
She tempted him in sexual ways that Redonk could not even
imagine, and he fell into it so fast in a
moment’s blinking. As he lay in bed with the evil temptress, he
felt shame and guilt and ran to his wife
and children in confusion. He never revealed his first fall to
evil and life went on with darkness in his
heart.
The evil temptress comes to visit Redonk with another taste of
evil. She offered Redonk a rifle in
the disguise of a bagpipe and Redonk took it. Little did he
know that the evil temptress had set a spell on
him at that moment and he found himself to firing the first
murderous shot to kill his brother-in-law.
Redonk’s wife’s family was furious and wanted Redonk’s life in
return for their lost son’s life. This was
where the war began.
Redonk had convinced the King of Scotland, through his
newfound conniving ways, to send his
in-laws off to the land of New Zealand where they would be
exiled. Meanwhile, a half-breed slave
approached Redonk’s in-laws to take them to the New Zealand
King for a time of acknowledgement. The
King of New Zealand somehow found out that Redonk had been

tempted with sexual pleasures and
W
questioned his in-laws about the situation. They had no idea to
what he was inferring, but just then a
messenger came before the King and reported that his wife, the
Queen was with child. However, the
King thought this to be shocking because he had not lay with
his queen in two months, due to travel. The
Queen had then came to the King and confronted him, revealing
that Redonk had impregnated her. The
king was furious at this point and agreed to join forces with
Redonk’s in-laws, declaring war on
Scotland and Redonk.
There were a long series of battles, but the first and greatest act
of revenge was when the
King of New Zealand killed his own wife by poisoning her food.
When Redonk found out that
the Queen of New Zealand was murdered with his child in her
stomach, he felt such despair and
agony. It was then that he realized that everything that was
happening was because of the evil
that he had fallen into. Redonk died an honorable death after he
made amends with his in-laws,

as well as the Kind of New Zealand.
The music thus reflects the long battle between good and evil
and the overcoming of the good
over evil. Because Redonk was a good man to his country and
made amends with his
temptations, he was paid homage and respect. He became an
inspiration for the people of
Scotland to strive in all ways away from evil and to find pride
and joy in their hearts, despite
such sadness and grief.
Story written by Kimberly Rice
hen I first heard this I felt as though it was a lament. I felt sad
and melancholy for the
one who this song applied to. My story is about a man who had
to go to war and die for the one he loved.
This song was written for her.
One day a young couple was walking down a Scottish lane.
When they got home they heard that
the call had been sounded and every man was to report for war.
As long as he was of age he was to
report. The man in our couple had willingly joined many
months ago. His grandfather was a piper, his
father was a piper, and he would serve with pride.
The young woman on the other hand knew that she would never
see her husband again. As a
piper, he would be targeted because he was the heart and spirit

of the regimen. All she could feel was
pain and sorrow. All she knew was that she wanted to have
more of him, even though she could not.
When he left she didn’t want to let go. When she did she knew
that was the last time she would
ever hold him. During the fight he did all he could not to think
of the love of his life. He was the piper
and he must be the spirit and that he was. He fought and when
he died the tunes of his pipe never really
died. They would always live on in this place; just as his
father’s and grandfather’s had.
When the lady in our life was told how her love was stolen
from her she felt sorrow and pride.
Her husband did die, but he died doing what he believed was
right and in no circumstances would she had
let him go otherwise. Over time the one gift that he had left
behind, a child would become a piper himself
who would eventually find love. When that happened she
would be there to support every decision and
be happy for him. Until then she would be sorrowful that he
would have to miss the memories that he
could have had of his father.
W
Canntaireachd Music Segment Story
Written by Fusholange Taylor
April 2009
imagine a piper, playing his song to lament over fallen
warriors and friends; the deaths
have caused great sadness in the hearts of those that knew them.
They were great men. The piper would

stand near the sea, along with others in the village that loved
the men, and play about their hard work and
diligence in the town. I can imagine the sun shining over the
ridge on the early morning, lining the clouds
with spots of light. A battle has just ended and the villagers are
paying their respects to those that have
passed.
The tale would begin with a brief sorrow for those lost in the
battle, expressing a deep
melancholy for those who have passed. Then it would turn into
a song about how gloriously they fought,
and that deaths of their close friends and family were not
shameful, but sacrificial and courageous for the
sake of protecting the village it’s inhabitants.
Then it would move on to the lives of the warriors, and how
they performed their daily activities
in their society, helping their society and even telling small
anecdotes about funny things that their fellow
citizens performed, going in to detail on some of those that
especially had a funny situation or moment.
Then they would speak surely of how dearly they would be
missed, by the townspeople and by
the loved one’s as well. They would bid good-bye to them and
shift them off into the waves of the ocean
that climbed the beach. The song would mimic the sound of the
waves that the caskets float upon as the
warriors went out to sea, floating in a calm and very peaceful
end.
The people would continue, in mourning, visiting and drinking
their sorrows away, but speaking
highly and longingly of those that were lost.
I

Story written by Erin Banks
bout the tune: I thought it was a tune to gather people
together. I pictured a large village
beside the shore. There, the pipers signal everyone to the beach
and await the ships at sea. The tune also
had a romantic sound, strong and persistent, so I thought about
a reckless love…
On the marble seashore, everyone from town was waiting.
Accompanying them were the pipers
that played the song of gathering. It was fluid yet choppy, just
like the waves in the sea. It was autumn
and everyone rejoiced in happiness. Five large ships danced
towards the shore as the music played on.
Everyone in town was there to greet the ships except for one
young lady. She chose to witness the scene
from a cliff nearby. Her hair swayed with the wind as her arms
wrapped around her body. She at long
last was to meet her love. He was an heir to the throne and she
was the town blacksmith’s daughter.
Just before his journey to conquer new land, she and the Prince
had shared a romantic bond of love. He
told her that when he came back they would be together.
When the ships arrived her heart began to beat faster and
faster. Men piled out of the ships like
overflowing soup. As the masses simmered down, her heart
began to beat slower and slower. Her hands
slowly moved up to her lips and she let out a panicked breath.
Her Prince never came out.
She ran down to the sea line and began asking her neighbors
about him. They answered her. He
died trying to save another man from drowning at sea. Luckily
the ground was cool and soft for her
feverish body to lie on; she fainted.
She woke up in the village at the doctor’s house and demanded

to know what she was doing
there. When she heard what happened she just fell silent. Her
love was gone in a valiant attempt to save
someone’s life. Here she was alive when all she wanted was
death. She had a sudden burst of selfish
words and stormed out of the house.
For the next four weeks she learned the ways of the warrior.
She made the decision to go to sea.
She was headed out to the vast open sea, the sea that took her
life away. She made a pact that she would
die out there someday when the time was right and join her love
in heaven.
It was now time for the ships to part the land again. It was
morning. The chill winter breeze
brought an eerie feeling to the shipmates. She was the only one
that didn’t mind. She had completely
changed after a month of knowing that her soul mate was gone.
Once a lovely lady and a charming
daughter, she was now a bulky, heartless warrior ready for
action. Nothing could stop her from her goal.
As the ships set off, the pipers played a song of farewell. The
sound was strong and fluid. It was
persistent and romantic. All she could do was hear that tune.
She remembered it from when her love left
for battle. Now she was listening to it this time. She began to
think about the song for a little while
longer until the song was out of reach by the sound of waves. It
was going to be the last song that she
would hear.
A
Months passed and she fought a few wars. She did very well
and everyone enjoyed her company.

Everyone was happy except for her. All she thought about was
when her time would come and when she
could see her love again.
A couple days later, her wish came true. Evening was fast
approaching and the ship was
homeward bound. The waves were gentle and the breeze was
fresh and salty. Many of the men were on
deck playing cards when a man came out with a bagpipe. He
began to play the song of farewell, just
because that was the only one he knew. That’s when she
decided it was time to finally rest.
As the tune went on through the evening light, she walked
slowly to the bough of the ship. She
replayed memories of her Prince as she climbed on the edge.
She leaned over the edge and hit the icy,
cold water. She took in her last breath of air and started sinking
into the ocean. Down, down, down she
went. She could still hear the song she and her Prince had last
heard on shore in the deep, frigid water
that was to be her grave. Everything went black soon enough.
She died with the memory of farewell.
Story by Lu Clinton
believe that the music is telling the story of victory during a
war. The tempo of the song
is slow, which hints at the fact that many were lost during the
war. The war, which was probably very
brutal, left many dead. As a result this song was used to
commemorate the passing of many brave
soldiers. The victory of a war cannot be determined by the song
itself, but since there is mourning for the
lost soldiers, it can be assumed that the war was won. However,

people died in the process. Of the
people that died, a high-ranking official was probably one of
them: one that was loved by everyone, one
that not only had the loyalty of his troops, but the respect also.
A leader that was ruthless in battle, but
came home to support his family.
The long notes played in the song tell me a sad story that is
likely about people’s death. Even if
the story was not about the death of a high-ranking official, it
was the death of someone. Perhaps it was
the death of a family member. I can picture many people
gathered around a corpse paying their respects.
While this is happening, a person is playing the bagpipe in the
background because the bagpipes were
such and important part of the dead person’s life.
I
Canntaireachd
Written by Seham Nabilsi
lay. Not knowing what to expect when the canntaireachd
would begin to play, I assumed
what I would hear. My assumption turned out to be wrong
because in the past when I heard bagpipes
being played they were always tunes of happiness, victory, or
love. The many movies I have watched that
had taken place in Scotland or had a Scottish actor in them
always had bagpipes playing, of course.
Whenever the bagpipes were played they were always happy
tunes of many kinds and even happy stories.
I know I should not have assumed that this canntaireachd would
be a happy tune, but with my past

experiences of hearing bagpipes that is what they always were.
My assumption was wrong even though I
knew it from the start. This canntaireachd was, I believe,
telling a story, not of happiness or love, but of
recognizing someone very noble. When I heard the first three
seconds the first thing that came to mind
was you Professor Ian. The way it started off reminded me of
those times in class when you would play
your bagpipes for us and want us to sing along with you to the
notes on the board. You would play the
same notes, then say stop, and then begin again. Apart from
that the rest of the song I listened to in
curiosity. I had to play it a second time and that is when I
realized what was being told.
After those three seconds I listened to the canntaireachd very
closely with curiosity because I was
trying to make out what was being said through these tunes. I
listened in silence and with no thoughts,
but the tunes rang in my ears for the rest of the song. When I
played it a second time that is when I
believed I knew what kind of message it was trying to get
across to me. I believe that it was telling a
story of a noble man’s life. This man, according to the tunes,
had a peaceful and quiet life at home with
his people. He had an exciting life as well which I got from
other notes being played during the
canntaireachd. The low notes throughout the song, which are
many, told the story of the noble man’s life
when at home in his village. The soft and low notes I believe
told me the parts of this noble man’s life
when he was at home, away from all the danger and difficult
times of his life. They sounded as if, when
he was at home, he would just relax and enjoy the time he had
for himself and not worry about anything
around him. He would not even worry about his people since it
was his time to relax and for others to

watch over him. The tunes that carried on for more than in the
original I believe also related to the parts
in his life when he was relaxing and had nothing to worry about.
When he was just walking or lying
around thinking of nothing other than the wonderful life that he
lived. Also, the notes that lasted longer
than in the original told the story of his life at home. The long
notes symbolize the peaceful and non-
chaotic place he lived in. It was all quiet with just the wind
blowing along the hills, making the grass
sway back and forth, giving the scenery of where he lived. The
high notes in this canntaireachd I believe
told the story of when his life was in danger and the high points
when death was just around the corner. I
believe this noble man was a warrior and sometimes he had to
leave his peaceful home and his people to
fight for their protection. When the notes switch from low to
high that is when I knew that duty was
calling and he had to leave. He had many heroic adventures and
he always seemed to return with no
P
difficulty and continue living the peaceful life after danger was
dealt with. In the last few minutes it
sounds like he had very little time to relax in his peaceful home,
and that he had to go to war often. I
believe this because of the many high notes that were being
played in the end. Then as the high notes
were mixing with one another I believe that showed the pain
and difficulty he had to go through to live,
but he was not successful. The noble man died at one of his
battles because the last note was a high one
symbolizing his death. When there are high notes I believe that

they were battle tunes. When there were
low notes they were laments. In general, the tunes all combined
were supposed to be saluting a noble
man who did good for his people and kept them safe until his
life was taken away.
My Story of the Urlar
Written by Rachael Escobedo
hile listening to this song, a variety of emotions, images, and
thoughts came over me.
The beginning opens with long sequences of sound and
continues the same rhythmic pattern of sorrow
throughout the entirety of the song. The tune was not fast-
paced, exciting, nor joyful. Thus, I
immediately eliminated the happy stories of Scottish pipers
playing their bagpipes for a birth, marriage, or
a dance. I believe that this song was performed at funerals
because it made me feel thoughts of sorrow
and remembrance; I pictured grey skies and the downcast
appearance on a family’s face. So, that being
said, here is my story:
On a very gloomy and bitter cold afternoon, a young boy
feverishly kicks a small grey stone while
holding the hand of his mother. He keeps his mind occupied
with the continuous kicking in order to
suppress his feelings of complete despair. His tiny green eyes
are fixated upon the movement of his feet,
the scuffing of his toes against the dirt, and the sharp pain he
feels each time he strikes the rather sharp
edges of the rock. His mother looks down upon her son and
wonders whether or not he’s old enough to
understand death and the reasons for his beloved grandfather’s
passing. She observes a difference in his

demeanor. Her child does not laugh, but does not cry. He
refuses to speak to anyone and only talks to
himself. He has been like this for days, ever since grandfather
Cormick died tragically from a mysterious
disease. The mother and her son approach a congregation of
family members on top of a lush green hill
surrounded by the markers of the dead. Garbed in black, the
family circles around the burial mound of
their treasured relative.
The background of this scene only enhances the mood of the
people. The sky is the greyest it has
been in months. Rain clouds gather and taunt the world below
with a chance of precipitation. Birds are
hiding in their nests, refusing to share the sweet wound of their
voices. All the while tears are forming in
the eyes of Cormick’s family and the pipers begin to play.
Everyone stares at the mound in the center, paying their
respects and listening carefully to the
song emanating from the bagpipes. It is clear that each person
is starting to recollect memories with
Cormick as the tune flows from ear to ear. The grandmother
looks upon her husband, trying her hardest
not to break down to the ground, and remembers the first time
they two of them met. She recalls the
smells and sounds of when she laid eyes on Cormick. She
remembers their first kiss and then his proposal
of marriage to her and to the Patriarch. Now, she must face the
rest of her life as a widow, still holding
onto the belongings and memories of her dead husband.
The scene shifts to the daughter who is the mother of the little
boy. Her lips tremble with goodbye
as she quietly chokes back heavy tears so that her son will not
see. He was the father of her dreams.
Although strict and firm at times, he had a big heart and soft
side for his little girl. She would always be
his little girl, she thought, and not even death could change that.

The little boy looks up at his mother and
sees that she is breaking inside. His small hand tightly grips his
mother’s, hoping to give her some
W
strength. Meanwhile he remembers his grandfather and wishes
more than anything in the world that he
will somehow come back to him. Cormick was his best friend
and taught him many things about life. His
favorite time was when his grandfather would pick him up and
hoist him high pretending that he was a
bird flying through the air. He refuses to speak to anyone
because he does not want to know about the
reality of life. He only talks to himself because no one around
can understand his pain as an abandoned
grandson. He has not cried because he is in shock, and still
prays before bed each night that God will
bring back his grandfather.
The melody continues in the background, bringing everyone
closer together. Emotions leap out of
chests and leak onto faces. Each tune strikes the heart with
great sorrow. The little boy looks to the sky
as the song closes to and end, and tears finally flow down his
cold red cheeks.
Story written by Brian Lee
he bagpipe music piece reminds me of a time long ago, 1994 to
be exact. I was a wee lad
at the tender age of seven boarding an airplane en route to
Seattle. The flight took around three hours but

I was asleep most of the way there. I remember lifting up the
armrests that were adjoining my parent’s
seats and mine and sleeping across horizontally on both their
laps. It was a time of comfort and little
meaning, but it was a very happy time. The time literally flew
by as I closed my eyes and drifted off into
a land of imagination. By the time I woke up, the plane had
touched down and we were at the car rental
terminal.
After we touched down in Sea-Tac, we rented a White Ford
Taurus. We proceeded to drive the
rented vehicle into the north towards Vancouver. This was the
first time I have ever left the country but I
did not think of it as a groundbreaking feat. After three hours
of windy mountain paths and beautiful
scenery we arrived in the metropolis that was home to relatives
whom I have never met before. It was
odd meeting my uncle Jojo who was only a few years older than
I.
My parents became reacquainted with my other relatives for a
couple of days before we all went
out for a family outing. It is than that I am reminded of a
bagpipe playing on the huge park, which name
escapes me. It was when my family was having our portrait
taken by a street artist whose painting still
hangs above out fireplace to this very day. While I do not
explicitly remember what tune was being
played, I do remember the sounds of a bagpipe ringing in my
ears as I was sitting there with my brother
for upwards of an hour while the artist sketched away.
Once that was all said and done, the next vivid memory that
comes to mind was walking across a
suspension bridge. To be honest, what this has to do with the
bagpipe melody is beyond me, however it
remains a feint memory at the back of my mind that is triggered
when I hear any unfamiliar bagpipe tune.

This suspension bridge was quite a ways up, and is much like
those shown on cartoons: swaying to the
slightest blowing of the wind. There were a lot of people
crossing the bridge, which made the bridge
sway even more. It was heart pounding; walking across this
rigid bridge trying not to stare down, but it
was also an adrenaline rush like none I have ever experienced at
such a young age. It was quite the
departure from sitting down and having my portrait drawn to
say the least.
About a week later we drove back down to Seattle and returned
our rental car. Oddly enough I
remember our arrival to Seattle with crystal clarity, but the
departure back to Los Angeles is as hazy as a
foggy morning. It would not be for another nine years though
that I would return to my Uncle Jojo’s
humble abode in Vancouver, but the memories I made there are
enough to last me a lifetime’s worth. The
loud sounds of a bagpipe in action while my portrait is etched
onto paper, and the haunting scene of
walking a shaky bridge all arise in full detail when the sound of
the bagpipe… sounds. A mixture of
serenity and anxiety will always rush into my mind when I hear
the powerful sounds of a bagpipe in
action. It brings me back to a time when I did not have to
worry much about life, a time I would most
certainly pay a return to.
T
Story written by Sandra Vargas

his is the story…of the man who here in front of us lies,
a man who did not know the word
defeat, and a man who in the worst face of peril showed no fear.
For he who owes nothing, fears nothing.
He was born not to a wealthy family but to that of misfortune.
Since his early days his troubles
started, bad colics and sickness seemed to be the only thing that
he was born for, but a fighter he was, and
he grew stronger everyday. Nonetheless this would only further
his suffering, for he was a poor being
who would struggle to do what most of us take for granted.
Walking was never so hard for anyone as it was for him. First
steps took longer to take than to
any other boy his age, wobbling and falling—it just seemed as
if he was not destined to be amongst the
rest of us. For years he fell, and continuously failed but never
gave up. On one particularly good day for
him, any regular day for the rest of us, he managed to maintain
his balance taking a few awkward steps,
but they were steps nonetheless.
At school the rest of the children laughed at and mocked his
funny way of walking, for he took
extra time to assess each step, making him the last to arrive and
first to be dismissed from any activity.
Not only was this done by his fellow classmates, but by his
teachers as well, for in their eyes a child with
such difficulties should be left at home and not be exposed to
the dangers that he could face by being left
to wander freely.
As the years went by he learned to improve his walking and
was able to endure the laughs and
names that people around would call him. He was not the
smartest fellow, so assignments and homework
were a difficult task. Being held back was common to him now,
seeing people he knew, people his age

move on… leaving him behind, crippled and alone.
Middle school proved to be too difficult and being the oldest in
his class, he decided to move
forward and get a job. This, to say the least, was one of the
hardest things he’d ever had to face, but with
the notion of being able to walk he kept his head up and went
from employer to employer. He never let
go or dimmed down his spirit no matter the laughs, mockery or
jokes that people who interviewed him
would offer.
One if these people, a kind, blind old man who was only blind
physically, heard from his voice
something that only a person who shuts his mouth and eyes and
opens his ears can hear; something that
requires no previous judgment of the person. He managed to
hear in his voice the commitment that he
had toward accomplishing his goals, and he knew that his was a
valuable person though he was slow,
could not walk properly, and was difficult to understand. He
knew that he would not rest until his job had
been perfectly executed.
For years he worked at the same station with the same routine,
watched and slowly learned, until
no one could do a better job than him in that station. Carving
wood in such a high detail, he managed to
make himself noticed and appreciated by his co-workers and
others. But at the highest point of his life,
being at the top meant he could only go down, and down he
went. He came down with a horrible
T
sickness from breathing in all the dust from the wood, his lungs

clogged up and he had incredible trouble
breathing, to which the doctor said there was nothing he could
do. All that was left was to wait.
He stayed in bed for weeks. People from work came to visit, as
did customers he had made fine
furniture for, people who respected him and his work, people
who learned bits of his life story and were
there for whatever reason they felt. Those who had taken the
time to know him knew that even though
the doctor said it would only be a matter of days, they were sure
that he would not give up so easily. And
he never did. And so it was, what was supposed to be days
turned into weeks, and weeks into months and
still he held on, bound to his bed, enduring the hardships each
day brought, though he was finding it
harder to breathe and stay awake.
The day he passed was incredibly calm and silent. There was
this aura over the small town that
seemed to have left everybody empty; people just passed each
other on the street and would gently nod to
say hello, but no one would say a word. He had died alone,
resting in his bed, and was found later that
morning by the son of the old blind man, who had gone to take
him some fruit for breakfast.
The young man was overcome by emotion, yet was determined
to honor his father’s old friend.
Using his wealth and power, he acquired the finest clothes and
casket and had a ceremony at which the
town was invited to say one last goodbye to a lonely fellow
whom everybody took for granted, whom
they thought would never amount to anything, but had the
strongest conviction than any of them there.
So here we are in front of this grave, and in it lays a man, not
an extraordinary man, not even and
ordinary man, but a man with only one talent, only one gift. He
had the conviction to overcome anything

on his path, to be able to keep going even in the worst
circumstances, and a man who besides everything
else had no regret for anything he’d done and no resentment for
the life he had been given or for the
treatment he had endured from others. A man whose life was
not wealthy, lucky, or even fortunate but the
life of a man who made his own way by the power and
conviction of his unwavering will.
Story for the Urlar
Written by Matthew Pak
uring the Middle Ages, young men were required to learn
how to fight to help defend their
country. At times, soldiers would come and take these young
men from their families for years and years
to train and to eventually be a part of a country’s army.
Families could not hide their boys for fear of
losing their homes and belongings. A young boy, younger than
most, was taken from his family as well.
This boy grew to be a strong fighter. His name was Rocket.
Upon completing what he understood as his duty to his country,
he and several other boys from
the same village that were taken around the same time came
back to the village where they were born and
raised. Rocket felt it would complete him to add some peace to
his troubled nights and an easier life.
Being back in his village, he soon became accustomed to this
new lifestyle and began helping out families
with anything possible. After several months, this man became
attracted to one of the daughters of a
family he would constantly help out with. Not knowing what
exactly he should do, or if he even had a
chance, he went about his life, ignoring his feelings. The girl,

who noticed the man’s kindness, began to
have the same feelings, yet he was still unsure about what to do.
The girl’s family had invited Rocket one
night to their dinner knowing that he was living by himself.
There, Rocket finally met Faith. After
dinner, Faith and Rocket talked all night.
In the middle of the night, members of a nearby village caught
the village where Rocket and Faith
were by surprise and raided them. Rocket and his friends were
forced to defend their village with
whatever they could in order to prevent a total loss. He and his
friends and other villagers were able to
fend out the invaders although they suffered some damage. The
next day, Rocket and his friends decided
to make a pact to carry their weapons and to always stay alert in
case of another invasion. Although times
were tough and people needed to survive however possible, the
village and Rocket and his friends
decided to not retaliate and instead to always stay alert, to carry
their weapons, and to defend their village
in case of another raid. In the meantime, Rocket and Faith grew
very close together and developed a
relationship. Soon after, Rocket and Faith got married in their
village, had their own farming land, and
started a family in the same village
Time after time, the village that Rocket and his new family
lived in defended and fought against
many raids. Every time something would happen, Faith would
become very worried, knowing the
dangers that Rocket had to go through. During one raid, Rocket
lost one of his friends by a member of a
different village. This was the line for Faith. Faith no longer
wanted Rocket to be a part of the fights, and
wanted to move away with Rocket. Faith felt as if this wasn’t
their duty anymore. Faith told Rocket
about her feelings, but Rocket felt the exact opposite. Having

been raised to fight and to defend, and
being back in his home village, Rocket wanted to continue to
help however possible. The village needed
any skills they could have or else the village would no longer
exist.
D
The members of the village began to complain and concurred
that they had had enough of the
raids and wanted to retaliate, especially since they had lost so
much and they felt like they were
continuing to live in fear. So one night, Rocket and his friends,
as well as other members of their village
decided to raid another village to get food and supplies. Faith
didn’t like this idea, but if the raid were
successful, they would have somewhat of an excess amount of
food and supplies for the village. That
night, the villagers went out to begin their raid. After many
stressful hours, the villagers finally returned.
Faith went outside to greet her Rocket. To her surprise, she
could not spot Rocket. Something was
wrong. Faith ran towards those villagers and his friends that
went on the raid, asking where he was. She
then noticed Rocket’s weapons in the hands of their friend.
Faith dropped to her knees, and began to cry.
She kept thinking of what she would tell her kids and what she
would do with her life. The friends told
faith what had happened. The next day, the villagers held a
huge ceremony for Rocket. His friends
brought their bagpipes and began playing a song. It began like
this… Faith felt as if she could tell
Rocket’s life story through this song and celebrated the life that
Rocket lived with the rest of the villagers.

Urlar
Written by Vanessa Lopez
listened to the Urlar a few times. The first time I
listened to it, I just wanted to get an
overall feeling from it. After that, I looked at the categories of
different tunes that it could fall into. I
narrowed it down to a lament, salute or rowing. I didn’t think
that this piece of music could be a battle
tune because it wasn’t something that put courage or honor in
my head. I think if battle tunes as being a
little upbeat, but slow enough to bring seriousness. I didn’t
think this could be a gathering tune either
because it wasn’t upbeat enough. Gatherings are meant to have
a good time and I didn’t feel that from
this tune. I finally listened to it for a second time thinking of a
lament, salute, or rowing. Rowing did not
seem to fit because I just couldn’t imagine rowers doing work
as this is playing. Rowing was the hardest
to listen for, still having trouble on how a rowing tune should
sound. I listened for a salute type of feel
and I did not get that. I feel like a salute is like an honoring of
some good deed a person has done. This
tune did feel a little like a salute, but I couldn’t get over the
sadness feeling I got from it. A salute has
absolutely nothing to do with sadness, but a lament could be
honoring someone’s life as well as being
saddened by their death. So I came to the conclusion that a
lament would fit right into this tune.
A lament is supposed to be sad and sorrowful. This tune is at a
slower pace. When I was
listening to it, it reminded me of the type of tune you would
hear at a cemetery when the casket is being

put in the ground. The feelings that stirred up in me when
listening to the tune were sorrow, mixed with a
little happiness and relief. These feelings reminded me of being
at a funeral, specifically my
grandmother’s funeral. I was eight years old and I remember
being very sad. I started thinking of my
grandmother and all the times I had with her. Every time I was
with her I was happy and she was very
nice. As I was thinking sad thoughts, I started to remember the
good times, which brought a little
happiness. I also felt relief because she was hurting before her
passing and I knew she was over it.
I imagine a ceremony of someone who has just passed a painful
death. This tune sounds like the
person is very meaningful, but then again everyone is
meaningful to somebody. The setting is a cemetery.
The sky is gloomy. The sun is not out. The grass is very green
and when you look around, it seems like
the cemetery never ends. The people are all close friends,
family, and also people who admired that
person. The casket is sitting there and all the people are
looking at it. You can see in their eyes that each
of them is thinking of a good memory of the person. It is kind
of like that scene from Watchmen when at
The Comedian’s funeral, there is a close-up of each of their
faces and a memory suddenly appears on the
screen. This memory is of how that person sees the Comedian.
The people at the funeral are all thinking
of that one memory that tells everything they know about that
person who has just passed.
These people are thinking of memories and mostly all the
memories are bringing up good times
that they had with that person. This person’s life story is being
told in their memories alone. This tune is
playing as those people think of these memories. Somehow,
this tune is bringing out memories that they

have not thought of in so long. This tune is a catalyst for their
thoughts. The music is playing, the people
I
are thinking and the casket is lowering. The scene is just of the
funeral but the whole story is in the
memories. Through the memories we see that this person had a
sense of humor and was very kind to
others. Most people did not think this person should have left
them in that way. The death was very
painful and slow.
Towards the end of this person’s time on earth, they were
comfortable with what was about to
happen and accepted it. This is the relief that people were
feeling. The fact that this person was brave
enough to show courage in a very rough time like that, gave a
little courage to everyone else at that
funeral. Throughout this person’s life they taught many life
lessons to people. These people were at the
funeral that day. This person’s death, somehow, also showed
them a lesson. Each person gained
something different from the departed.
Robert Wilkinson Story
highlander is standing tall on the side of a mountain
overlooking a glen looking at the
sunset with melancholy, wishing he were in his homeland. Even
as he’s walking down through the valley,
he still wishes he were back in the heather glens of his

hometown. In his sorrow he decides to head back
to where he’s from and where his clan is. As he’s walking
through the forest, the music changes to a
happier sound: the highlander is coming home.
He eventually reaches the village and there is a sad timbre while
he wishes all of his friends
farewell. There is sadness but also joy in the anticipation of the
return. He eventually has set off
however, beginning a journey of a lifetime. He gathers his
sword and cloak and starts to walk the journey
that would change his life forever. He looks around at the
purple and green of heather and hills and can’t
help but begin to think of his wife at home. The purple of the
heather reminds him of her violet eyes. His
heart turns on a cheery note when he thinks of the family and
livelihood they were going to start together.
Before he left, he was just beginning to understand the basics
of smithing that his father taught
him. He still had a long way to go but he hoped that one day,
he’d have the skill to make beautiful Celtic
swords from those rough iron implements. Maybe eventually he
would save enough so they could have a
small herd of sheep. As he said this, the thought of him and his
wife standing together with sheep near his
smithing forge came to him. It filled his heart with longing and
his mind with hope.
He stops to sleep finding a place on the edge of a riverbank
near a waterfall, after building his fire
and making a lean-to shelter with his tartan. After he gets his
accommodations squared away, he begins
the hunt, looking for a tasty meal. He takes an old trail to head
deeper into the forest and walks through
progressively thicker underbrush. He walks deeper and deeper
in the moon-dappled light until he comes
through a clearing and spots a huge white stag across the river.

He fits an arrow to his bow and moves
closer to the stag through the shadows. Getting within range he
draws an arrow to his bow and pulls the
cord feeling the strain as every pound of muscle in his 6’1’’
body burns with the effort.
For an instant that seems to last forever the stag stares at him
with deep eyes that seem to have
lived unnumbered years. The highlander lets the arrow fly,
breaking that moment of trust between man
and beast. The arrow strikes true, hitting the stag in the center
of his side. Although it is a wound that
would have felled a lesser beast, the stag still has the strength
to run, even as his lifeblood gushes from the
wound in his side. He flies through the woods, leaving a trail
of blood and thrashed brush behind him.
The highlander follows at top speed; his feet seem to barely
even hit the ground.
The stag takes him to the deepest parts of the strange wood; he
runs through this forest in pursuit
of the stag until the stag finally pauses for a moment to catch
his breath. In a flash the highlander is upon
him grasping at the stag’s throat with his bare hand. When he
finally has a hold he pulls with all his
might ripping the throat out of the beast. He holds it high,
blood dripping down his hand as the stag gives
forth his final gurgle of a death rattle through the bloody gash
in his neck.
A
In a quick practiced move, the highlander swings to cut the
head of the beast off with his massive
sword. Lifting both the head and throat high over his head he
gives a huge roar, one of the sounds that

makes birds fly, one of the type of sounds that you can hear for
miles. Shouting in a loud clear voice
“There can be only one!”
Canntaireachd Project
Written by Stephanie Vincent
calm wind blew in the early hours of the day. The sun hid
from the awaiting clouds, but
illuminating rays sprung from the hidden sun to join the clouds,
waking life on the valley as it travailed
upward. The air was cold and moist and the plants weighed
down with morning due. The day had just
awoken.
The small village to the north was a quiet uninterrupted one,
with a small population of clans that
seemed to all be weaved together in their craftsmanships. The
cottages were small and limber and
allowed the cold of the morning to seep in and awake the flesh
of a young girl of no more than thirteen.
She slept calmly beneath her animal fur and her long curls
shaded her blue eyes from the harshness of the
morning rays. The cold slowly crept up her legs and to her
neck. She awoke slowly, allowing the very
day to seep into her whole body. She drew a faint smile upon
her pale oval face. Shutting her eyes and
taking a deep breath, she exhaled the long night, and inhaled the
new beginning day.
The air was quiet and the animals hadn’t awoken yet. She was
the only one enjoying the very
serene morning. The sudden eruption of the horses running
from the falls broke her subtle awakening.
She jumped from her bed, grabbing what garments she could
and ran outside to see what all the noise

was.
The rest of the village had awoken to the sound of twenty some
odd horses in the distance. The
young girl with the pale face was the first to make it to the top
of the hill awaiting the company of large
overbearing ogre men. She could smell the beer and whisky
before she could make out their faces. The
dust and dirt behind the men made it look as though they were
near-gods coming from the falls with their
tall muscular figures and heavy hoofing. They all seemed to
stop at once landing a single blade of grass
upon the young girl’s foot.
“Where be the main hall little one?” asked the large giant in
front of the small girl. She was
nearly speechless at the low baritone voice the man had
approached her with. In a disgruntled manner,
the large man and his group pushed the girl aside and proceeded
to the village hall. They stumbled over
their feet and their horses. It was very apparent that these men
had had a long night of celebration. Their
kilts were stained with blood, vomit, and other fluids that were
unknown.
The eyes of every villager were either in pure astonishment or
pure disgust. They did not
question why the men were there and how they came across this
small hole in the mountain kind of
village. They just all tagged along behind the men to the main
hall.
The hall was not a large one and was able to only hold up to
about forty people at most and was
rarely used for celebration, for there was such a small amount
of people that there was not much to
celebrate. The air seemed more cold and chilling on the girl’s
flesh. The day that had stirred beauty from
her now grew a disgusted blackness in the pit of her stomach.
Something was not right about these large

A
men. The stumble in her small footsteps allowed the young girl
to stay a long distance behind the group
of men followed by the quizzical villagers.
A sudden flock of birds flew over the distant hills. The young
girl grabbing a pail of goat’s milk
made it to the main hall just at the point that the men seemed
impatient. She handed the pail to one of the
larger of the tall men, his hand engulfing hers and returning a
thank you with a toothless grin. This sent
shivers up the young girl’s spine.
The men celebrated for three long days, and the villagers were
running out of whiskey and food
for the large men, along with themselves. So they sent the
sweet small girl to tell the man what the
situation was. They noticed that some of the men had taken a
liking to the small child and that they
would not harm her if she were to give the bad news.
The girl was shaking in her little slippers going up to the main
hall where the men were all strung
out drunk and asleep. The large doors were heavy and hard to
open and the moist air added weight to the
wooden doors. Barley opening the door wide enough, the small
white figure ventured into the dark, large
hall full of drunken man. She fell over a few feet before she
finally reached the largest man of them all.
Lightly tapping him on the left shoulder, the man rose to meet
her eyes with his own. Then, he knew she
came bearing bad news. Before she had said anything, there
was a large amount of sound that bounced
off the mountaintops, and flooded the valley. The girl in fright
attempted to hide behind the large man,

but he was already up, along with his twenty some odd men and
was out the door. They were breathing in
a battle breath fierce enough to scare an average man off of his
feet. The girl finally made it up the large
hill where she had first met the barbaric men and stared at the
valley below. It was not a sight she had
anticipated. There had been another group of men that came
into the valley bearing arms and ready for
war.
The air was so cold, and the wind made it difficult to awake the
stiffness in the young girl’s joints.
She had seen a battle unfold below her of these giant men. The
village was a peaceful one and never seen
war on the front, she had no clue as to why these men were here
and why these other men came following
them and hunting them down like food. The wind made her
cheeks numb and her nose red. She was as
stiff as the hills behind her. She closed her eyes to run from the
images of the lush green valley, the red
blood in the valley below her, and the golden curls that blew
across her face. Though her eyes could be
shielded from the overwhelming pain that was occurring below,
her ears could not run as far as her mind.
The sound of clashing blades and yelping men spread from the
valley below to the top of the hill where
the young girl stood. Though she was too far up from the men
below, she could hear the sounds of death
as if she were experiencing death itself.
This went on for close to and hour, till it could safely be said
that the visitors that first came to the
village were becoming triumphant. When the fighting had
ceased and there was no more blood to be
spilt, the men now ranked in fourteen, losing about eleven or so
men. The young men of the village
helped the remaining ogres clear the valley and give proper
burial to the men that fought that day. The

rest of the afternoon was calm and quiet. There was no reason
to celebrate, for there were more lost in
battle than the tall stonewall ogres had anticipated.
The night swept over the sky to blanket the village. The air
was heavy, but felt refreshing and
soothing. The ogre men slept outside, so as to take in all the
night starts, clouds, and dreams. They all
slept peacefully, exempt for the leader of the pact. He sensed a
cold chill run down his spine and could
not set the feeling to calm down beneath his thick skin. At
close to dawn he sat up, gendering at the
valley, and then knew what was tearing his blacked hide of a
heart apart. He sprung up ad stormed
through the village, pounding on every door looking for the
little child with the golden curls. She was
nowhere to be found. He awoke the village in such a rage that
each knock on the village doors could have
toppled them to the ground.
The search went till the sun finally danced high in the sky,
hiding behind clouds and
mountaintops. The clouds grew thick and black, and the sky
began to shake with a pulsating force to
awake the tears he held to mourn. Finally, the big man found a
string of golden hair drifting in a puddle
on the far side of the village. The hair led to a pale face, even
paler than ever, and the blood stilled in her
cold body. She lay there in the puddle, wet and alone.
She had ran from the fighting and slipped down one of the
hills, hitting her head on a sharp stone,
and left lifeless at the bottom of the hill. The day grew dark in
the mid afternoon. The big rough hands
picked up the young girl and carried her across the village to a
small hut next to the main hall where the

young girl slept. She had no family to mourn her, and no one
close to cry for her. She was truly alone.
Rain began to spill upon the shoulders of the tall once beast of
a man. He gently laid her down
and began to clean her face and hair. He never cried during this
process, just remained quiet. His men
had never seen him so fixated on a single task as this with such
intensity, and they had seen his battle cry.
They all knew to stay away. By late afternoon, the girl was
prepared for a funeral. She was wrapped in a
see through cloth that gave her angelic appearance. She was
placed on the ground far from the other
graves made that day. She was specially placed on a quiet small
hill to the back, where yellow flowers
only grew. She was placed in a way that everyone could grieve.
The day was quiet. Only the sound of
thunder disturbed the silence of the hills. The rain grew thicker
and the people grew few. Soon all that
surrounded the child was the only person that shed a tear. The
rain was so thick that the tear could not be
seen running down his coarse face. He quickly placed her in the
shallow grave, then slowly placed the
rocks, one by one, over her cold body.
Never once in his life had he killed someone unintentionally.
She was pure to him, the only
connection to innocence the man had left, and he lost it in a
ranging grudge between a rebellious army.
He stood up, walked to his men, and rode out of the village with
the darkened sky behind him.
Canntaireachd Project
Written by Diana Vincenty
T

he Urlar of this tune was very enjoyable to listen to. I
believed it to be rather peaceful. Even
though I do not think of it as sorrowful, there is a definite hint
of sadness to it. I am not quite sure that I
would be able to put it under any one category with my full
confidence. But I feel like it could be a salute
and a lamentation in one. Is that possible? I do not know, but I
get both of those feelings when I listen to
the song. I feel like it is a salute because it sounds powerful in
some of the sections. A reason for it being
a lament would be because it sometimes has that trace of
sadness in it. I thought about it more and I
realized it could be a salute to a fallen warrior. That made more
sense in my mind. They would be
celebrating his life by saluting him, but there would also be a
tinge of sadness to the tune because of the
fact that he is gone.
It made me think of someone who longed for something. I
could see people missing someone
and longing for a life back and to be with that person. When
the song came to the higher notes I felt those
were more positive, hopeful even. When the notes went down
on the scale I thought those were a bit
sadder, almost like an acceptance of what had happened.
The actual story I visualize is a mother who is at home and who
is going about her daily business,
but her son is constantly on her mind. He is at war for his
country and she longs for him to come home to
her. She hears a knock. She finishes her task and walks to the
door. She opens it up and she finds two
men in uniform standing in front of her. Immediately she
knows what has happened and falls to her knees
in agonizing pain. She knows her son is dead. The two men
have yet to deliver the news to her, and once
they get the words out it is like another blow to her already

crushed heart. The soldiers are not there to
comfort though, only to deliver news. They help her up and
give her a medal her son earned while
fighting for his country.
There is a service for him later and a huge crown has gathered.
The mother watches on as his
coffin is carried through the street by men in uniform. He
understands that what she is feeling is normal:
sadness, depression, anger. But seeing all those people
gathered to honor him and his life lets her know
that he did not die in vain. He died for something that he
believed in. There is a hole in her heart that
was emptied when her son died, and it has now been filled a
little to know that the men he served with all
have honor in life and in death. He is only dead in a physical
sense, but she knows that all the people he
knew and had an impact on will carry his life with them
throughout the rest of their lives. She realizes
that he would be beyond proud to look upon what she sees now.
The song reminds me that life is about rejoicing even in times
of sadness and depression. Life
should be about celebration and not about suffering. Even
though there are circumstances out of our
control that test us every day, we have the choice to overcome
them and become stronger for it.
Story written by David Ng
felt this song was very relaxing and peaceful. It makes
me think of a morning breeze and
the fresh scent of a brand new day. I hear the birds chirping
and the quietness all around. I look around
and see a very peaceful scene and I realize that all that wake up

late are simply missing out. It makes me
take a moment to treasure all that is great in life. The following
is a story that the song tells…
In a far away kingdom, people lived in harmony and peace. It
was actually a very special
morning as everyone awaited the birth if the newborn prince.
Outside in the main hall, courts men and
alike all gathered to celebrate and congratulate the king for the
newborn prince. Everybody waited
nervously. Minutes passed and announcements of a safe
delivery were been made. The people laughed
out of excitement upon hearing the good news. It was indeed a
spectacular day for everybody of the
kingdom.
I
Listening Response
Written by William Terry
hen I listened to the assigned Urlar, it stirred feelings of
sorrow and mourning within me. It
is difficult to specifically identify the type of tune it is,
however based upon the feelings that I
experienced from listening to the recording, I would classify
this piobaireachd as a lament. Laments were
written to commemorate the death of someone important, the
remembrance of an event or in general to
express moods of sorrow and longing.
The Urlar reminded me of the movie Braveheart after Mel
Gibson’s character, William Wallace,
was drawn and quartered. The tune stirs up mental imagery.
One could imagine a lone piper silhouetted

against the craggy hills of Scotland playing this lament for the
fallen William Wallace.
I believe that the tune was written to commemorate the loss of
a chieftain. Chieftains, being the
patriarchal leaders in their clan, were honored and respected
men. I believe that this piobaireachd was
written after a chieftain had died.
I imagine his death as a slow coming. Well into his years, the
elderly chieftain with blue eyes and
white hair sets out on a journey to visit a neighboring clan. The
trail is a long and weary; eventually he
must stop for a rest. After two days travel, his preexisting
illness gets the better of him and he can’t break
camp. Slowly, he perishes alone in the highlands away from
home.
The neighboring clan, after not hearing form the chieftain, sets
out to see what has happened.
During their expedition they discover his horse still hitched to a
tree and his tent with the chieftain inside.
To his discoverers, the chieftain appears to be sleeping, but
after trying to rouse him they learn that he has
in fact perished.
Returning to the chieftain’s clan, the search party informs the
clansmen about the untimely
demise of their beloved patriarch. The small farming
community is overcome with anguish. The bard
recounts the stories of old; of when the mighty chieftain was a
strong young man. He bravely defended
his people from invading tribes in the area. He single handedly
united his small band against their
common enemy and led them to victory.
The piper, in conjunction with the bard, composes this lament
piobaireachd for the fallen
chieftain. It is played during a remembrance ceremony held by
the chieftain’s family. The ceremony is
attended by people from all across the countryside. The stories

of his glory days are told. The piper plays
his lament and there is much eating, drinking and crying. The
ceremony ends in the late hours of the
night after darkness has fallen upon the land and the only light
comes from the warm glow of the small
fires which dot the area. The council, derived from men from
the village, has gathered. These men are
the eldest in the village and they meet to discuss the future of
the people. They decide that the eldest son
of the chieftain will be promoted to the position of head
patriarch: the prime chieftain. After the
successor is named, the people retire as the fire dies down. The
village goes to sleep still mourning the
loss of their great leader with the haunting drone of his lament
fading in the distance.
W
Mystery Piobaireachd
Written by Jade Flenna
he song is a lament comprised mainly of slow, sustained
notes. The tone of the song is very
sad. Although it begins at a medium tempo, tension is soon
created as the notes become drawn out. The
pitch and the combination of the notes seem to suggest danger.
Although I cannot identify notes by ear, I
assume that what I am hearing are tritonals. If that were the
case, this song would have been written
before the Inquisition. Hearing the song gives me the mental
impression of a sense of loss so great that it
has changed one’s outlook. Its notes are reminiscent of long

sighs, or pain playing out and recurring in
the mind.
Perhaps this is a lament written about a patriarch whose fate
was similar to Lochiel’s. It seems to
speak of suffering great loss at the hands of one’s enemies; not
a simple defeat, but total oblivion to a
place that has always been identified as home. I feel as if it
describes a horrible moment being
experienced by someone, the intensity of which seems to make
the scene play out in slow motion,
stretching time. Or, perhaps the song describes the very
moment when a patriarch realized that despite all
of man’s efforts and casualties, the situation was futile. The
slow pace suggests that the army is
exhausted, and perhaps overwhelmed by weapons, which they
have never seen the likes of before. The
mournful notes seem to describe the decline of power, or loss of
stamina and life. Even without lyrics,
the song is haunting and emotional. Perhaps a patriarch has
faced the English army many times and now
has run out of luck. This could be his last stand but the enemy
is too large and unrelenting. It may be
morbid, but I feel as if the song describes a moment of
hopelessness.
On the other hand, the very mournful, sustained notes may
suggest the very struggle to survive.
Perhaps the patriarch of the song is dying after receiving a
mortal wound, and is now exposed to the
elements while slowly bleeding to death. This could
commemorate a valiant battle that now has come to
an early end. Perhaps he is looking for the last time at his
home, as it is littered with war dead. Perhaps
he has been fighting for some time, ignoring his wounds, and is
now unable to continue. He cannot
believe that this is the end or that events have turned out this
way, and is not ready to die. Yet, he can no

longer cling to life and his vision is fading.
Listening to the tune for the first time made me feel like
crying. It felt as if the song itself was
crying over an unforgettable event, and so compelled all
listeners to join in. It caused a sense of unease in
my mind. The notes are very different than those of other songs
I’ve heard, and are fascinating. The tune
“feels” very old, and makes me attempt to visualize what war at
that time must have been like. However,
I am a bit confused about what is so sad in the song. It seems
as if the song may be meant to capture the
doubt within torment.
Through my Ears
Written by Rosy Hernandez
T
W
hen I first listened to the track, my very first reaction
was that I really couldn’t hear the
music in a relaxed state of mind because the sound didn’t feel
relaxing. However, as it kept playing it
made me feel relaxed, but sad at the same time. The feeling
was somewhat depressing. Then it started to
remind me of a movie that I had seen when I was in the fourth
grade. It was called “The Little Princess”.
It was about a little girl who was sent to an orphanage because
many thought that her father, who was in
the military, had died in combat. She was treated like a slave in
the orphanage. Her caretaker would
make her clean every single room in the building and she would
make her cook and clean after the rest of

the girls would finish eating. Her actual room was in the attic
with another girl who was also a slave.
The movie was very sad because the little princess suffered a
lot. There was a scene that made me cry
and that’s what the track really made me think of. It was the
scene when the little girl found her father.
She screamed and yelled at him, but he couldn’t recognize her
and he asked to have her removed her from
his home. The little princess then started to cry a lot and that
really broke my heart, that her father did
want her anymore. Eventually towards the end of the movie her
father did recognize her and he removed
her and the other slave from the orphanage.
The story that would go through my head if I were to write
some lyrics to the track would be a
love and hate story. It would take place far away from the city,
in the country. A young girl is walking
along a cracked old road when an old car passes by and stops
next to her. She becomes frightened and
she starts to walk even faster. The young man in the car gets
out and runs towards her to explain to her
that his intentions were not to scare her, he only wanted to offer
her a ride to wherever she needed to be.
She trusts him right away and feels that he is telling the truth.
She gets in his car and he drops her off.
He doesn’t ask to see her again and she feels she has done
something wrong. She figures he didn’t think
she was pretty so she forgets about him. She doesn’t really
know that he actually fell in love with her as
soon as he laid eyes on her. However, he feels she might have
gotten the wrong impression of him when
he picked her up. As the days pass they both think about each
other without the other knowing.
About two months later she runs into him at the drugstore. He
is surprised that she would even
speak to him. She has a huge smile on her face and so does he.

After they both ask each other how they
have been, she figures she will ask him if he wants to hang out.
To his surprise he just says yes and she is
really happy to hear that. He tells her that he feels she disliked
him from the first day they met and she
says she feels the same. Both feel relieved to hear that they felt
the same way from the first day that they
met.
Soon after, they have many nights together. They both feel as
if they are in lala land, up in the
clouds when they are together. She says he is perfect and he
always reminds her that she is the love of his
life and that he will never leave her. She, however, has
forgotten to tell him that she is soon leaving out of
town to pursue a career. Once he hears this news he feels
betrayed because he was thinking she only
wanted to be with him. She tells him that her intentions were
not to hurt him because she really does love
him a lot. He doesn’t believe her so he goes on and starts to see
another woman. She doesn’t believe it
when her friend tells her about it, until one day she sees it with
her own eyes. She tells him she feels so
stupid to be in love with the one man who doesn’t understand
that she has to leave.
From then on she leaves town early. She can’t be there
knowing that he is there. She cries many
nights when she moves away and he never speaks to her after.
She never understands why he would have
reacted the way he did. She feels she has wasted her time with
him. He never apologizes for betraying
her and she feels that he never really loved her.
A few years pass and she receives a letter from him. He
explains to her the reasons he never

called or wrote. She is already married by the time she had
receives the letter. It is too late, she writes.
She says she has moved on with her life and that she is happy
with the person she is with. He is never
able to forget about her and he loves her till he dies.
The story had a sad ending because that is how the track made
me feel. In the beginning it was
really nice, but as the end of the track arrived it became a
depressing feeling. It was as if the feeling that
was first felt no longer mattered because it had to end.
Story written by Dulce Padilla
his man is intelligent, handsome and accomplished, with
runny hair like the flowers on the
meadow, and eyes that reflect a life’s long journey. He is an
aged man who feels accomplished, but at the
same time he is anguished. He thinks about the way his life is
and the hopes and dreams he once had. He
reflects on the major events of his life, and the one minors ones
that almost seem insignificant. He begins
to think about his family, beginning with his parents; his mother
always caring for the family; his father
always busy, working and providing moral and materialistic
support. He thinks of his siblings as they
used to play when they were children, and how things changed
as they got older. Then he thinks of the
first day he met his wife. From there all he sees are his
children and their children.
He is sitting down on a hillside. His surroundings are all
green; it is the beginning of spring. The
weather is warm with a touch of a light, refreshing breeze. His
surroundings all express a sense of

calmness and unison. The wind is soothing, with just the right
touch of comfort. The sun blazing over he
sky is neither hot nor cold, but content. The few clouds that are
present are dispersed with no real
meaning, just passing over as the wind blows.
As he sits looking at the scenery, he is relaxed, yet troubled.
He looks around. In his
surroundings he sees all the colors blossoming on the
mountainside. The different shades of blue, green,
orange, yellow, pink, purple and black, all make him think of
the intricate parts of life. He sees every
color and carefully tries to place them in his memory. The bugs
crawling around make him think of how
simple yet complicated their lives must be. He wants to cherish
this moment in life, as if there won’t ever
be anymore like it. In the back of his mind he sees constant
flashbacks of the good, bad, difficult, sad,
happy and pleasing moments; the day his very first pet died, the
day he met his wife, and all the recurring
events in between. This mixed pattern of emotions stirs
curiosity that he doesn’t understand.
He begins to think of a new way to advise those in his life that
he cares for and wishes to pass
wisdom to. He wants to tell his life story and warn people. He
wants to tell them to enjoy life, but at the
same time warn them of the dangers that exist in this world. He
wants to prevent them from doing
anything now that they might regret later in life.
Putting together all the words and trying to express himself in a
way that those around him will
understand makes him feel frustrated. He feels as if he might
just say the opposite of what he means. He
feels that he has so much to say, but no word to truly express
his point. There is a difficult pattern he
follows in trying to put his emotions into words. The fact that
he is thinking of his emotions is new to

him; he never really stopped to think about his feelings. As he
gathers all his thoughts, he finds that there
are no human words to truly express some of the things he is
thinking.
He is trying to provide guidance to a path of happiness and
wisdom. He fears that if he cannot
guide those around him he will never forgive himself, and never
achieve his goals and duties as a human
being, which may cause him to never live in peace in his
afterlife.
T
So, he thinks for a couple of hours. He remembers how life
was once full of responsibility. He
begins to admire the simplicity of things and how it is highly
overcomplicated by the world around him.
Everything done is worked up so much that it obscures the
initiating concept. Right then, a light bulb
flashes in his head as to how he will express his thoughts and
feelings. He begins to write this song in
hopes of enlightening us and simplifying everything he was
frustrated about.
He carefully picks out the melody and the notes he will play
and express. He finds a pattern that
he feels is best suited to emphasize certain points. As he plays
his music he doesn’t stop to think about
changing anything and keeps playing until he feels relieved and
accomplished once more.
This song reminds me of myself in a constant time of
frustration and confusion, always trying to
figure out what life is all about and what the role of each
individual is in my life. It reminds me of
myself trying to figure out the essence of why things happen the

way they do. At the same time, thinking
of this aged man having a small hope of being able to find a
way to express himself gives me hope that
maybe the world I live in is all wrongly looked at. His struggle
as a mixture of hope and despair is all a
constant struggle I see in many people. The song reminds me of
a man who would begin to play the
bagpipe every night at six o’clock across the street from where
my father once worked. It also reminds
me of my grandpa during his last few months of life and his
frustration with not being able to
communicate as he had all his life. He would never admit that
he was suffering through anything, but in
the end he gave in to let people around him know he would just
be fine. The wise man, until his last day,
always kept his family united and they all remember him
because of the wisdom he passed along to his
children, grandchildren, neighbors, friends, and visitors.
Music Story
Written by Michael LeClair
he piece of music provided seems, in my opinion, to have
a rather solemn and sad, but
peaceful sound to it. While listening to the piece I began to
imagine an image of a rural farming town,
very early in the morning, with the sun just barely peering over
a low mountain range, which
encompasses this village. The morning is wet, with a sheet of
thin fog lying across the acres of greenery.
The clear sky allows the rays from the sun to shine down upon
the tall blades of grass dripping with dew,
creating a vast twinkling field that shines like the stars from the
night before. There is a single log cabin

style house in the middle of the field, barely big enough to
house a family, with smoke still rising from its
chimney, created by the embers left over from last night’s fire.
There appears to be no sign of anyone for
miles around, other than a small shed in the distance, which
probably belongs to the family living in this
cabin.
A young man is just waking up, quietly, as to not disturb his
mother or sister. He pulls off his thin
bed sheets, his hands and feet quite numb from the freezing
night and cool morning air, and takes them
into his baby sister’s room. He notices that she is shivering in
her sleep, so he gently lays his sheets over
her and kisses her on the forehead. He quickly gets dressed and
grabs a change of clothes, which he stuffs
into a hand woven pack that his mother made for him when he
was a young boy. Then he goes into the
kitchen, where the smoldering ashes of the fire remain, and
places the last two remaining logs from the
log pile into the fireplace, hoping that it will provide warmth
for his family while he is away. A small
basket of apples is sitting on the kitchen counter. He grabs one
and places it in his already overstuffed
pack. As he heads for the front door, he stops himself to ponder
whether or not he should go see his
mother one last time before he leaves, but quickly continues
toward the door realizing that he will
probably only succeed in waking her and delay his inevitable
journey.
As he leaves, he closes the door before him softly and breathes
in a deep breath of the crisp
morning air. An icy breeze blows against his face sending a
shiver down his spine, but he continues out
nonetheless, wrapping a scarf around his neck. The muddy
grass makes a squishing noise under his boots
as he heads out towards the road a few miles to the west. As he

is walking, he glances down to his
elongated shadow on the ground caused by the still low sun.
His heart fills with a sense of sadness as he
sees his shadow walking alone, with no other shadows anywhere
to be seen. He turns his head back to
take one final look at his house, now about a mile in the
distance. With smoke rising once again from the
chimney, the sight of his peaceful home brings his mind to
peace, knowing that his journey is a one that
he must partake in for the sake of his family.
T
Urlar Story
Written by Jason Kurosu
he Urlar struck me as an overall somber and solemn piece.
It certainly had its more positive
sounding moments, but even these moments felt overwhelmed
by the slow, sad tone. Whenever I hear
slow bagpipe tunes like this, mind immediately recalls images
of police funerals. I myself have never
been to one but depictions on television and in movies seem to
indicate that this bagpipe tradition
transcends the ethnicity of the slain officer, whatever that may
be. Either way, this image of the cop
funeral has given tunes like this more than a sad overtone, but a
tragic one at that, a sadness that could
have been avoided. I would definitely categorize this as a
lament.
At the same time, however, there are prettier (perhaps not
necessarily happier) moments in the
song. As stated before, these moments seemed overwhelmed by
the sadness, and so my feelings on those

happy moments were reflected through that sadness, as one may
feel while attending a funeral, and
reminiscing on those happier moments while the deceased was
live. The joy was there, but serene, stable,
passive, like happy memories of someone long lost.
So, I’m going to try and reflect those feelings through my
story…
Michael Mcphee abhorred bagpipe sand would have been one
of the last people to want a
bagpipe song written about and dedicated to him. Any of his
family members could have attested to this,
and yet they all agreed that a proper bagpipe tune be composed
in his memory. Such a thought may seem
like damn near blasphemy to some, but Michael never directly
expressed any wishes against the use of
bagpipes at his funeral.
His children remember how he would look disapprovingly upon
friends brought to the house who
were known pipers, or children of known pipers. His wife
remembered his sitting up in bed many a
morning, ears attuned to the distant buzz of pipes from several
houses or so over, grumbling, as many do,
from unpleasant noises at those most sensitive, early hours.
But to not play any music at a man’s funeral was tantamount to
blasphemy in its own right. To
have those crushed by loss merely standing, staring at a
rectangular ditch yet to be filled by a father of
their household, in nothing but dead silence just felt…
inappropriate. Funerals are, despite what they
seem, for the service of the living rather than the dead. It was
in this frame of mind that the decision to
have music played was made.
His children suggested perhaps an alternate instrument, such as
the harp, but there was an
abundance of able and willing pipers, including Michael’s

brother-in-law, his children’s friends, and
several of their neighbors. His wife didn’t know Michael to be
an enthusiast for any instrument at all, so
the bagpipe was more of a practical choice.
Michael’s distaste for song made the music choice difficult.
While one might say he would then
care less about the choice of a song in these circumstances,
Michael’s wife found the matter of choice
T
difficult, for no song seemed to match Michael well. The only
ones about grumpy, strong men usually had
him turning around and realizing all the joys of life, and how he
could have spent all that time savoring
every last moment. Michael didn’t do that.
Her brother, having met Michael many times over, wrote a tune
that he felt better matched
Michael’s personality. It was solemn, as was appropriate in
light of a man’s death. Its melody was long
and drawn out as was Michael, always grumbling, and long-
lived enough to display some distaste for
every facet and topic. Yet, underneath all of that, he was a
loving husband and father. Even if that love
was seldom expressed, it was always felt.

Foreword usic. It is a word that encapsulates the def.docx

Recommended

Recommended

More Related Content

More from shericehewat

More from shericehewat (20)

Recently uploaded

Recently uploaded (20)

Foreword usic. It is a word that encapsulates the def.docx