farrandy: (Randy and Dogs)
[personal profile] farrandy
So yesterday, I went to the Scottish festival here in Tulsa, mainly because for the price of admission (note: do not buy your tickets online; they add on a $2.00 "service charge" which gets you nothing. Just pay at the gate) you can listen to a lot of live music.

[Okay, admittedly there were a number of fair lassies wearin' kilts, but this was somewhat offset by the number of big hairy guys wearin' kilts. It should be noted here that while there is some Scot in my ancestry, that was some ten or twelve generations ago, so I've never gotten the whole wearin' of the kilt thing. Nothin' against it, mind, but I'd just rather see 'em on fair lassies than big hairy guys. Anyways, back to the point of this entry....]

Yeah, live music! Aside from the traditional celtic folk groups and battling bagpipe armies, they also had some celtiod rock. Screamin' electric guitars mixed with fiddles, bagpipes and didgeridoos(!). There was also a band that consisted of one bagpipe and three guys on drums. It's really no wonder that these things were carried into battle; after about 45 minutes of that, I was ready to grab a sword and start whackin' at something.

I'm getting closer to the point here, trust me.

Many (actually most) of the bands would ask the audience to sing along to a song every once in a while. Usually just helping out on the chorus, but sometimes saying, "If you know this song, join in!" Sometimes all they wanted was a "Hey! Hey! Hey!" or some similar noise.

So why was it that I seemed to be the only one belting it out when asked?

Crivens, people! Why wern't ya fookin' singin' when they asked ya ta? Ya weren't watchin' nae fookin' television!

Er, sorry. I've been re-reading Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books with the Mac Nac Feegle and after the Scottish fair, that just slipped out.

Anyways, admittedly our culture teaches you to stop singing after grade school, or most people don't think they can't sing well--and, okay, some can't, but if everyone is singing, they'll get drowned out (especially at the celtiod rock stuff, it wouldn't matter--it was too loud for anyone to complain) Also, again admittedly no one payed to hear you sing when they came through the gate, but when the band asks you to join in, do so, dammit! Make a joyful noise.

Or at least a rowdy one.

Crivins!
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