#scottish fiddle

[thatnerdyqueer]

MY FUCKING GOD if I find ONE MORE spotify playlist that says 'trad folk' or 'jigs and reels' or 'fiddle tunes' and then ITS JUST POP MUSIC GIRLIES SINGING ABOUT MOLLY MALONE IM GOING TO THROW HANDS

like dont get me wrong, love me some folk song arrangements or even modern takes on the style, but when you're looking for fiddle music and spotify JUST hands you pop music????????

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HELP

[weepingwidar]

Helen Flockhart (Scottish, 1963) - Fiddler (2015)

[twnj]

Shikamru singing at a Trad session in his local pub, somewhere in the NorthEast of Scotland.

Song is Caledonia by Dougie Maclean - brings a tear to your eye everything.

International Shika 🦌

(This is your fault @unioncolours )

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday one Scotlands finest musicians' fiddle player Aly Bain, born in Lerwick, Shetland May 15th, 1946.

Bain began playing the fiddle at the age of 11 and studied under influential Shetland fiddler Tom Anderson. In the late '70s, he played on two of Anderson's albums -- The Silver Bow and Shetland Folk Fiddling, Vol. 2. Honing his craft in a series of local bands, Bain attracted international attention after joining Irish/Scottish band, the Boys of the Lough, whom he met at the Falkirk Folk Festival in 1969.

Aly released his debut solo outing, First Album, in 1985. Three years later, he traveled to Louisiana to record the album, Aly Meets the Cajuns. The same year, he met Phil Cunningham at a pub near Edinburgh and they agreed to tour together. Their first duo album, The Pearl, released in 1994, was followed by The Ruby in 1997.

Bain has hosted several musical series for BBC Television. Down Home explored the spread of the Celtic fiddle tradition from Ireland and Scotland to North America. Push the Boat Out, shown in 1991, was taped during the Mayfest celebrations in Glasgow. The Shetland Set, shown the same year, was taped at the Shetland Folk Festival. Bain's autobiography, Fiddler on the Loose, co-written by Alistair Clark, was published by Mainstream Publishing in 1993.

Aly had a wee health scare in 2019 and had to undrgo a triple heart bypass, but was soon on his feet again and is keeping himself busy.

Today, Aly continues to be an ambassador for Scotland abroad and a powerful advocate for traditional music.

Aly Bain & Phil Cunningham are currently touring, you can catch them next at Backstage at The Green in Kinross, on May 23rd The two will be at Sidmouth Folk Festival in August and will return to Scotland for gigs in Forres and Lanark, two concets in Glasgow's Òran Mór in September, quite fitting as the rough translation for the Gaelic name of the venue is 'great melody of life' or 'big song',

[the-busy-ghost]

'The Rowan Tree' played by Bill Garden's Highland Fiddle Orchestra, led by David Smith

[muirneach]

just had good spontaneous blues night bar crawl i actually love life. my friend texted me at 4:30 saying we Had to go out so me and my other friends sprinted to the bus stop to catch the last half hour of a blues show at one bar, walked to the next one and got dinner to see the second blues show, got frozen yogurt and then sat at the bus terminal for 40 minutes. social life… so back??

[chrisburke]

Visiting the Moray Coast and Bow Fiddle Rock 🪨🌊

[scenicworlds]

May 18, 2024

Scottish Fish! Portland, ME.

[deltakig]

Happy St Andrew's Day

Xユーザーのでるたさん: 「今日はSt. Andrew's Dayという事で🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿の曲を。元々はバグパイプのマーチですがこうしてダンスのリズムでも演奏します。アニメやゲームに出てきそうな賑やかな曲調なので特に日本では人気な気がします。 https://t.co/usGlYA6KIk」 / X (twitter.com)

[billyclicks]

📍 Bow Fiddle Rock, Scotland

[twnj]

Shikamaru playing at a weekend Trad session at his local pub, somewhere in NorthEast Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

International Shika 🦌

(This is your fault @unioncolours)

[scotianostra]

On November 16th 1700 James Macpherson, the famous fiddling freebooter, was hanged at Banff.

The outlaw’s father was a laird and his mother a tinker. How he became a criminal is as unclear as some of his activities, but his career appears to have culminated in “a reign of terror” on the Banff, Elgin and Forres markets. He seems to have enjoyed the Laird of Grant’s protection, but was captured in Keith when, according to his own account, a woman threw a blanket over him and he was disarmed before he could free himself.

He was tried in Banff where he was especially disliked. The jury was packed with the dependants of Lord Duff, who had previously organised a group to capture MacPherson, but as on many other occasions, he escaped.

MacPherson was found guilty, but a reprieve was said to be on its way to Banff at the time of the execution. Duff turned the clock 15 minutes forward and MacPherson was hung before the pardon arrived. There is a traditional account that says the clock was kept 15 minutes fast for years and Macduff has its west-facing town clock covered so the people of Banff can't see the right time.

The story goes that in the week before his hanging, Macpherson reportedly composed an air variously described as “Macpherson’s Lament” or “Rant” or “Farewell” which he then performed on the gallows.

In the most picturuesque version, he played his own fiddle in this exit performance, then dramatically smashed the instrument.

By all accounts MacPherson was a big muckle man, this is justified by his sword, which is preserved in Duff House, at Banff as seen in the second pic, and you have to question the story a wee bit.

The first pic is a depiction of MacPherson playing before they hung him, now would they have given a Goliath the free use of his hands at such a desperate moment?

Well there are, as always different versions of the song, I will post my favourite afterwards, which was written by oor Bard Rabbie Burns, this is an earlier version:

Fareweel, ye dungeons dark and strang, fareweel, fareweel tae ye,

MacPherson's time will no be lang on yonder gallows tree

Chorus

Sae rantinly and sae wantonly, sae dauntinly gaed he

For he played a tune and he danced aroon, below the gallows tree

It was by a woman's treacherous hand that I was condemned tae dee

Above a ledge at a window she sat and a blanket she threw ower me

There's some come here tae see me hang, and some come tae buy my fiddle

But before that I would part wi her I'd brak her through the middle

And he took the fiddle intae baith o his hands and he brak it ower a stane

Sayin, nay other hand shall play on thee when I am dead and gane

The reprieve was comin ower the Brig o Banff tae set MacPherson free,

But they pit the clock a quarter afore, and they hanged him frae the tree.

Additional verses

The Laird o Grant, that Hieland saunt, that first laid hands on me,

He pleads the cause o Peter Broon, tae let MacPherson dee

Untie these bands frae aff my hands and gie tae me my sword,

And there's no a man in all Scotland but I'll brave him at a word.

[csswingandeasy]

i practiced violin today lmao

[unofficialchronicle]

Tom Spiers plays and introduces Cruel Mother (Child Ballad) 

[quillcraftconquer]

John “Soap” Mactavish x Female reader

TW: Smut, spanking, (kinda) rough sex? Bj, piv.

Soap deserves more x reader content. Just sayin.

WC: 1.9k

Maybe a WIP? Idk

—————-

You didn’t intend to go out tonight and get unequivocally drunk, especially the night before you were deploying with a new unit.

But here you were, a couple beers deep, watching the muscled back of the man with the short, dark mohawk as he attempted to catch the attention of the bartender.

You didn’t intend to try to bring anyone back to your hotel tonight, but damn if that man didn’t look good. He was leaned forward over the bar, palms splayed out on the sticky wood. His thick, Scottish accent was carrying over the other voices around him as he got more and more frustrated at being ignored. The bartender, your poor friend Feliks, continued to ignore him, bustling around the bar to serve the rowdy regulars who ordered in his native language, occasionally glaring at the Scot who threw his hands up in exasperation each time. It didn’t help as the night went on, the regulars were getting rowdier, pushier, shoving against him.

You looked down into your empty glass.

Fuck it

You approached the bar, sliding into the empty space next to the man and called out to Feliks for another drink.

“You’re losing a customer.” You joked to him in Russian, nodding your head to the Scot who guffawed when Feliks set another beer down in front of you.

“Tell him to leave a yelp review.” Feliks barked out, swatting the wandering hands of a patron who was reaching over the counter.

“Am I fucking invisible?” The Scot grunted, stiffening his shoulders as another person bumped into him.

“He doesn’t speak English.” You laughed, turning to face him. Finally, the Scot peeled his eyes off the bartender, glancing down at you. His eyes darted from one of your eyes to the other, to your lips, and back to your eyes.

You were an interpreter, and you could definitely interpret that look.

“What do you want?” You asked, glancing down at the beer he was holding.

“Same thing.” He answered, and you flagged Feliks down, who begrudgingly passed another beer your way. You slid it to the man, letting your eyes wander over his chest before meeting his eyes.

“You’re a ways away from Scotland.” You joked.

“Military.” He grunted, fiddling with the tab of the beer until it popped open, raising it to his mouth to take a long drink.

“Mm.” You hummed in response, resisting the urge to crinkle your nose. You definitely didn’t intend to take one of them back to your hotel.

“Like a man in uniform?” He asked, giving you a cheeky grin. You wanted to groan and roll your eyes, but if you were going to get laid before being in the middle of fucking nowhere for months, you had to take what you could get.

“I like when they take them off.” You said, lifting an eyebrow, hoping he could take a hint. The way his grin widened you knew he was picking up on what you wanted.

“Yeah?” He smiled, eyeing you over the can, fingers tightening on the tin as his gaze fell over the tight dress covering your body.

“Too bad you’re not in yours.” You said, running your hand up the hard muscles of his chest, resting it there as the patrons around you bumped your bodies closer.

“Still looks pretty good outta this, if you want to try it out.” He breathed, catching your waist in his hand and idly grazing his thumb over your hip.

And just like that, you’re letting him lead you through the crowded bar, out the door and to his car. A car that is much too clean to be used daily. You punch in the address to your hotel, tossing the phone down as it loads the ETA.

9 minutes.

You can work with that.

You wait until the gravel is crunching under the tires as he pulls out of the bar, driving through the dark, illuminating the interior of the car when it passes under the occasional street light. You unbuckle, and he glances over to you suspiciously until your fingers graze against his waist band. His eyes widen and his hands squeeze the steering wheel, shifting his hips to give you better access. You unzip his fly, fishing his cock out as it hardens in your grasp. You let a small smile fall across your face when he moans, working your hand up and down his thick length, the precum beading at the top.

“Condom?” You ask husikly, and he nods.

“Wallet.” He groans, bucking his hips into your hand.

You reach into his pocket, fishing out the brown leather wallet and opening it. Your eyes dart over the I.D

John MacTavish.

One condom.

“Just one, John?” You ask, holding it between two fingers with your eyebrows raised. You didn’t want to put this strangers cock in your mouth without protection, but god, it looked delectable. He smiled at you sheepishly, and you tucked it back in the wallet, tossing it on the dashboard. You returned your hand to his cock, leaning forward to press your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Make it count.” You whispered, giving his earlobe a playful nibble. He groaned, and you dipped your head lower, drawing your tongue across the mushroom head. You sucked him further into your mouth, jaw aching as it stretched to accommodate him. You could hear the squeak of the leather on the steering wheel as his grip tightened.

“Fuck.” He moaned, laying a hand tentatively on the back of your head, gathering your hair into his fist. You nodded, allowing him to move you freely up and down his cock, eyes watering when he bucked up, groaning as he attempted to fit all of him into your mouth.

“You’ve arrived at your destination”

He sighed when you pushed up against his hand, pulling him from your mouth with a pop. You led him up to your room, his hand resting on the small of your back, occasionally dropping lower to give your ass a squeeze. You opened the door to your room, tossing the key on the dresser and turning to face him. His hands were immediately on you, his length straining against the denim of his jeans. You reached for the hem of his shirt and he paused, pulling away from your touch.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning to face the dresser and digging under his shirt, pulling out a holster and laying it on top. He bent, pulling up the pant of his leg and unclipping another from his ankle and placing it next to the other. He reached into the other boot, pulling a knife out, laying it with his other weapons. He rose up, gauging your reaction.

“Two guns, a knife, but one condom?” You said sarcastically, shrugging the dressing off your shoulders and peeling it down your body.

“Use those more.” He joked, pulling his shirt over his head, his jeans and briefs quickly joining the discarded clothes on the floor. He pressed his naked body against yours, his hard cock trapped between your stomachs as he kissed you, tongue dipping into your mouth. You moaned as he backed you up until the back of your knees bumped into the bed. You sank into the mattress, expecting him to join you. Instead, he knelt on the carpet at the edge of the bed, gripping your hips and dragging you to him.

“What’re you-“ You started, gasping when you felt his tongue lap at the wetness that had pooled between your thighs.

“Thought I’d return the favor.” He said, drawing a long lick up to your clit, his hands wrapping around your legs and pulling them over his shoulders. You moaned, tossing your head back into the bed as you fisted his dark mohawk, grinding into his face with need.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped as he dragged two fingers across you, pressing against your entrance. He curled them inside of you, thrusting gently as he focused his mouth on your clit.

“Oh god, please don’t stop. Fuck, John.” You moaned, and he groaned against you when you said his name. You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, bucking against his face as you felt your orgasm hit, clenching around his fingers. You sighed when you felt him pull back, opening your eyes as he rolled his one and only condom on. You scooted up the bed until your head hit the pillows, his body draping over yours, knees pushing your legs further apart. He reached behind your head, grabbing a pillow and placing it under your ass. Your lips twitched at the corner, fighting a smile.

This was a well practiced man.

He leaned forward, his dog tags jingling as they dangled by your face. You felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance, and his eyes met yours.

This was much more intimate than you intended.

You both groaned in unison when he pressed forward, his length causing you to tingle with a burning stretch that felt so good. He pressed his forehead against yours, panting. Your nipples hardened when the cool metal of his dog tags brushed against your chest, arching your back into him.

“Fuck, you feel good. So good.” He mumbled, drawing back a few inches before driving into you again, the top of your head gently bumping against the headboard with each thrust.

You weren’t into military men. In fact, you did your best to avoid them. You were in the military, you knew how terrible these men could be.

But holy shit, this man was working your body in ways you didn’t know it could be worked.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, dragging your nails across his back.

“Harder.” You begged, clasping one hand on the back of his neck. He grabbed one of your ankles, maneuvering your leg over his shoulder as he drove deeper, harder, smashing his hips against yours. But it wasn’t enough.

“More, please.” You pleaded, embarrassed at what this man was turning you into. He choked out a laugh, pausing his thrusts.

“What do you want?” He asked, using the opportunity to catch his breath. You placed a hand against his chest, pushing him back off of you, out of you. He stared at you in question, eyes darkening with lust when you flipped around, raising your ass to him and burying your face into the mattress. You felt his hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto his cock. You gasped as he pulled back, ramming into you again roughly. A small smack on your ass made you moan into the pillow, and encouraged by the sound, he did it again, harder this time.

“Better?” He asked, massaging the spot his hand had connected as he thrusted. You nodded, unable to contain the small whimpers that escaped your throat each time he surged forward and hit that delicate spot inside of you. Your ass tingled with each smack, followed by the massage from his calloused hand.

“Feels so fucking good, god I can feel you gripping my cock. I’m not going to last long.” He moaned, hips quickening as if to make a point. You nodded again, your eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion and pleasure as another orgasm overtook you.

“John…” You moaned out, for the first time wishing there wasn’t a barrier between you.

He groaned as you felt his fingers tighten against your hips, draping his body against your back, pressing his sweat drenched forehead against your shoulders blade as the condom filled with his release. He stayed like that for a moment before pulling out of you, the mattress creaking as his weight left it. You felt the comforter fall over your body, the faint rustling of clothes and keys filling the silence as you kept your eyes shut, body spent.