Eileen Ivers
Strings Magazine, June 2016
I’ll never forget that night, when Riverdance didn’t rock the Radio City Music Hall.
I remember it because I’d seen the Irish musical spectacular a week or so before at the same venue. It was flashy, gaudy, a little overwhelming. The choreography was tight. The dancers didn’t miss a step. The band, led by the American-born fiddle virtuoso Eileen Ivers, was note-perfect. In short, it was a fit for Broadway but not quite for a Dublin pub.
Eileen was probably my source for the tip that they had a night off coming up, during which she would perform with her band at Makem’s, a few blocks uptown on 57th Street. So when the show began at this more intimate venue, I was there, standing among several dozen lovers of Celtic music a few feet from Eileen and her band, which included a phenomenal left-handed guitarist named John Doyle and an African percussionist whose name I can’t recall. I didn’t know that the crowd included most of the dancers from the show, but that became clear after the musicians began playing a reel, whose title also escapes me.
The performance intensified steadily, irresistibly. Then Eileen smiled and nodded at a couple standing near me. They smiled back, stepped forward and began to dance. Obviously they were from the Riverdance production, but here they were unscripted, able to improvise interactively with the Afro/Celtic groove. In a few seconds others from the show joined them. There was no stage at Makem’s, only the open floor and the swirl and the magic of the music.
I’d never experienced anything like that. I probably never will again.
Years later, on learning that she was about to release an ambitious new album, I pitched the story to Strings Magazine, who quickly approved. They knew her history: Born in The Bronx to Irish immigrants, she would eventually win the All-Ireland Fiddle Championship nine times, solo with maybe sixty orchestras, perform with an array of artists including Sting and the Chieftains, inspire The New York Times to call her “the Jimi Hendrix of the violin” (an odd but well-intentioned honorific) … and earn a mathematics degree magna cum laude to boot.
You might say this was “the Jimi Hendrix of music interviews,” but I’d prefer to compare our phoner to a chat between friends.
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Did you ever take classical instruction?
I never got into any bad habits [laughs]. I learned music through the folk idiom, in the back of a pub or this little place called the Shamrock Club down in the Bronx. There would be piano accordion players, button accordion players, of course fiddles, flutes, tin whistles. And it was taught mostly by ear.
How were technical issues dealt with through folk instruction?
Because I was brought up more in an oral tradition, I had to glean from recordings of players I admired. Of course this was pre-YouTube as well. I remember distinctly one moment where I heard an amazing fiddle player from the north of Ireland. His bow technique was just incredible to me. He was doing so many bow trills, as we call them in Irish music. I remember trying to get my bowing to be as tight and compact as his triplets were. Something developed that I didn’t even realize at the time but then of course years later I was doing master classes in other countries around the world, people asked me about how I hold the bow. It’s interesting: I put a lot of pressure on my index finger and thumb. I explain to the class that you want the triplets to be as tight and short as possible and percussive as well, especially on the one of the one-two-three. So I started to loosen my wrist by throwing the other three fingers off the bow and having this little flick as I went into it. That came because I wanted to achieve the sound and that was a technique I came up with myself to get that sound. It’s what you hear and how you can get that sound out of it.
Tell me a bit about Martin Mulvihill.
Martin was my only teacher. He was a beautiful soul, gentle spirit, gentleman, very kind. He embodied Irish music and an Irish heritage in so many ways. He was from the west of Ireland, County Limerick. If you were learning the tune but it wasn’t going too well, he’d make a joke about it to loosen up the class. I always wanted to do well for him and impress him and really try hard because he was just a wonderful person. At the end of the class, he would play a tune or two into the tape recorder, slowly at first and then a little bit more in tempo. Martin wouldn’t have had great technique but he embodied the music and imparted it even through this twinkle in his eye and a little smile in his face. You could just feel the love he had for the music and the spirit and the honesty of emotion in the music. That impressed me more than anything.
He was always a very rhythmic player. He did stress getting that together first. I love to chat about that when I teach because “it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.” That’s so true in Irish music as well, especially in the dance music part of our repertoire: You want to lift that dance. You want to lift the song to really feel the groove, to feel the swing. It’s a little subtle in Irish music but that’s what makes it Irish. And then of course you add technique, ornamentation and bow trills and all the infinite possibilities to reinvent the tune. That’s added later. It’s very creative and it’s a wonderful part of it, but it’s all about the swing.
Finally, this gentleman Dan Collins, the president of Shanachie Records back in the day … they had some great recordings of all kinds of world music, Irish being one of them. Dan was an adjudicator in the local feiseanna, a Gaelic term for the competitions around the area here. Back when I was twelve, thirteen or fourteen years old, really getting immersed in the music, Dan was so kind. He invited me out to Shanachie Records and gave me so many LPs: great players from pipers back in the Thirties and Forties, Michael Coleman, the great Sligo fiddle player, one of the very first recording artists in Irish music who came over here. He played a Stroh violin, the trumpet violin. It was amazing. All these great players that Dan introduced me to … That really developed my playing.
Did you also pay attention to fiddlers from other traditions or classical violinists?
I didn’t. I really got immersed in Irish music. Maybe psychologically or for whatever reason, after I won the senior All-Ireland, I just turned eighteen that summer, I allowed myself to really enjoy the big world of violin and go down to the Blue Note as we chatted about last time for Chick Corea and Grappelli. I was always of course aware of it. In those years Jean-Luc Ponty was another one I listened to. I just thought, “Oh, my God, how can you improvise that stuff? It was so out of reach from where I was back in the day.”
Did you play a miniature violin when you were learning as a kid?
It was a three-quarter size rented from a shop here down in the Bronx. That violin has been passed around through so many different little kids’ hands! I love that! It’s banged up but it’s great. Right now it’s with a little girl across the street who’s a good friend of our little guy Aidan. My niece and nephews learned with it and many friends throughout the years.
You were an early user of the Zeta violin and there was even an Eileen Ivers signature model. How did you learn to be comfortable on the electric violin?
I started playing electric with the Barcus-Berry model when I was eighteen or nineteen. Manny’s Music was down on 48th Street in New York City back in the day. The blue violin was in the window of the shop. I remember being drawn in and going over to the violin. There was a guitar tech guy working on the effects pedal side. I guess he didn’t get much fiddle traffic back then. He suggested, “Man, why don’t you try running it through some effects pedals? That would be so cool!” I was like, “Okay, absolutely!” I ran it through a bunch of Boss stomp boxes, a Crybaby, octave dividers. It blew my mind to hear the different palette you could all of a sudden have out of this instrument. After playing for ten or twelve years, all of a sudden, oh my goodness, there’s more! I ended up buying the shop! My account was drained. I came home with all the pedals. I drove my friends crazy on the club and pub gigs, being very obnoxious. But through the years I learned to refine it.
Even just physically with the bow on the electric violin, proper violin technique would frown upon it, by drawing the horsehair up toward the bridge to get that feedback effect, coming down hard on the bow to get that crunch sound that I wanted to get. You could now put the violin in even more diverse collaborations. I remember in the mid Nineties, I played a track on Patti Smith’s record “Gone Again.” It was a tune she had just written and she wanted violin with this angst of the Crybaby and the electric. She absolutely loved that sound and hugged me after I put it down and said, “Thank you, that’s exactly what it needed.” It wasn’t like this beautiful violin part but I used the violin to gather an emotion that was within the heartbreaking lyrics. That’s one of the greatest things we can do as instrumentalists, to work with a lyric to get to the emotion. Even if it’s an ugly sound, that’s great.
What’s the story of your acoustic violin?
I smile when I think of that. My wonderful teacher Martin’s son Brendan is a fantastic fiddle player based down in the Baltimore region. There was a great violin shop down there, the House of Weaver. Brendan picked up three violins. Martin had one, I had its sister or brother and another student of Martin’s had the other one. I started playing that instrument when I was eleven or twelve. Martin was so kind: He put those three fiddles out and asked me to pick the one I wanted. Immediately I just loved the one I did take. My folks got it for me. It’s just my buddy. I’ve tried amazing violins since. I’ve been privileged to play a Stradivarius. There’s just something about my little guy.
Walk the Bog Road
What was the first step toward undertaking this project?
I don’t think there was a specific moment. It was really a lifetime of experience from not even being one year old and going to Ireland for the first time and every single summer through my childhood and spending two months of summer vacation in Ireland. My dad, God rest him, used to work for KLM airlines, so it was a perk that he would be able to get the family over to Ireland every summer. That whole experience of growing up in the Bronx but then being able to shoot on over and be in the middle of the bog and the fields and helping grandpa with the cows and the sheep and bringing home the turf … That childhood started to build and build. I always felt very familiar being in Ireland, very comfortable learning traditional Irish music. It felt very natural. So it was a slow build. And then playing, especially through my twenties in many different folk festivals and world music festivals, jamming with people as you do after performances and starting to see all the musical similarities coming together, it just fascinated me and I knew it would be a dream project to try and somehow connect all of these dots.
So this was a different kind of development than your previous albums.
Absolutely, yes.
Did you come back from Ireland with an Irish accent?
I think it softened the Bronx phonetics [laughs]. That might be a bad thing, but yeah, people always said, “Where are you from?”
“You have to follow your heart. You have to follow the gifts you might have been blessed with.”
Someone who grew up exclusively in Ireland might not have the perspective you’ve had from been raised in New York. How did that affect your approach to this album?
You found something before we started rolling! Things like the Blue Note, like seeing Stephane Grappelli and being mind-blown over what a violin can actually do and being able to improvise, to have a bigger vocabulary in a musical sense, that really did help start my brain expanding a little bit. And then my heart and soul accepted that I don’t have to be confined by this wonderful tradition that I respect and would never want to dilute. But I was also feeling that you have to follow your heart. You have to follow the gifts you might have been blessed with.
Living in an urban environment, New York … what a great place to have sessions, to play with an African percussionist, a Dublin-born guitarist and really expanding the brain and speaking hopefully intelligently to an African-born percussionist, “Hey, a 6/8 is an element of 3. Three is a jig. It’s Irish music. It’s the heartbeat. It connects all things. And a 4/4 is something in that rhythm that can be accessible. We can incorporate these things and hear where beats lie. In bluegrass music the beat is obviously more syncopated. Irish is a little bit on the and. Hopefully, coming upon this project from a cerebral kind of way as well as from a musical and a heartfelt way were all things that definitely helped.
Among traditionalists in Irish music, would this album be considered controversial in its tendency to borrow freely from other genres?
I used to concern myself with that an awful lot but again you just have to follow your heart. Honesty in music is essential and makes for a very special project when you come from that angle. It comes out in the playing. It’s also historically relevant: This is what happened. Traditionalists have opened up a little bit more through the years. You may even hear an old-timey American tune in a little pub in West Mayo or West Connemara, which is a great thing. But there are folks in any ethnic music or tradition who feel it should be dated back to a certain time period, whenever that is — an arbitrary number maybe before harmonica accompaniment or the bodhran. Who knows? I look at it as a living tradition.
On this album there are great examples of both fidelity to tradition and experimentation. The “Mackerel Sky” medley is an example: Right toward the end, you take off into almost a linear jazz improvisation. This departure actually added to the intensity of the traditional sound.
Yeah, that’s a good example. If anything, I actually reined in some of my wilder improvisations that I’d been recording in the past. I stayed a little bit truer to melodies. But that’s a nice example that you quoted because I did write all of those tunes. It was a buildup that I intended to be on that particular track. “Mackerel Sky” is the kind of strathspey that you might hear in Cape Breton, so I’m kind of envisioning the kind of journey, the crossing, that those folks made all those years ago when they came to Canada. So it did start that way. “Waiting for Aidan,” the second-to-last tune in the medley, has this anxious quality to it. I meant for angst to be in there because it came out of a very anxious moment, waiting for our son. When I recorded that very last song, “Chasing Butterflies,” I wanted to still rein in the improvisation that I did within the melody but still be very joyful on it. I remember recording it with Fionan Debarra, the wonderful guitarist, and feeling very joyful. There was a little effervescence because you’re just kind of giggling and feeling the joy that’s in that tune. That went down completely live.
Family Matters
How did family milestones affect the production of this album?
It’s amazing how that does happen. I didn’t expect it because I like to think I’m a fairly thoughtful person. I had a big roadmap of the record and the history points I wanted to hit, maybe even mapped out in a colder way before really getting into it. Right around the middle of recording, these life events were hitting us. As you’ve pointed out, the nature of this record was leading up from a lifetime, so these tunes were a part of me, a part of memories and all these things that were coming out.
What would be an example?
“Crossroads” came out from being where my father was born, at a little crossroads triangle in the pre-famine village. The seed of that melody came out so quickly like a stream of consciousness. Once I got to the end of that melody, it was like, “That’s a complete thought. That’s it.” There was a killer famine song in Gaelic that I actually didn’t put on the record because Aidan came and that became “Coming Home” and that transformed the record from something that was a little more calculated into a highly personal thing. Thankfully, it fit the thematic element of the record, but to me it just came to life. The bass player who performs with us now commented, “When we perform these songs live, they do take on a different energy when they come from your heart and your soul and your head.” How many times have I just been smiling while I play “Chasing Butterflies” or “Coming Home.” Audiences know when you’re really feeling it.
How will you perform these songs that were born from such emotional moments?
That’s a great question. Thank God, the gift of fate for me is to have moved on. Obviously, it smacked me so much that I did have to halt the whole process. I didn’t want to play music. We were such a close family.
A quick aside: My father and my parents-in-law were all in home hospice. They were a good age. I was holding my father’s hand on one side when he passed; my sister was holding his other hand. And my mom was there, in his home. And so gently he went, the Irish way: My sister cracked the window. She’s a beautiful nurse and an amazing woman. And we saw the passing. My husband was with his father and his mother and their immediate family. I was there moments after my mother-in-law passed. All these things hit so profoundly. And we feel very strongly that they all waited for Aidan, our son. It was such an amazing smack of reality that hit our family. But with the gift of faith, we came out the other side. We know they’re angels and that’s a little bit of “Chasing Butterflies.” We laughed: It was butterflies galore when my father passed away and came into the house. It’s craziness: My son will just put out his hand and they come to him. So my approach to these songs live as a beautiful, infinite line of life, a journey through the living tradition through our own life, our own loved ones. It just keeps going and coming back. There are angels and they’re looking out for us.
You’ve got so much variety on this record. So how much of a challenge was it to choose the right musicians for each track?
It was very big, actually. I was really lucky to have played through the years with players I just knew would work. I originally went to a studio in Dublin. James Riley, very much like John Doyle a Dublin-born guitarist, was just the right part for “Green Fields of America,” “Farewell My Love and Remember Me” — beautiful, soulful finger-picking. Niamh Parsons just came in and knocked it out of the park. And they went down so seamlessly that we all knew, bang, we are rockin’! Others, quite frankly, did not go down as I envisioned. I love this record. It’s meant so much to me, Bob. Was it 95 percent there? Absolutely. But was it good enough for me? No … not that I’m this wacky perfectionist, but I pulled some and redid them. I used different players, which kind of pains me because I’d never done that before. But it had to be right.
The unaccompanied fiddle at the beginning of the first track, “Walk On,” is idiomatically correct yet so emotionally deep. Did you have Cajun people on that track?
From those wonderful folk festivals through the years and just hanging with amazing musicians like Dirk Powell and Bruce Molsky. I was fascinated with the open tuning of a violin. We don’t have it in our tradition. It’s very Americana. I wanted to try and get that in there. When we toured in Norway and Denmark through the years, the hardanger and that empathetic string — again, that old-timey feeling. I said, “Oh, geez, there’s something to all of this stuff!” It was always in my mind to do that.
Actually, that went down first; that was the first track I put on there. I detuned the fiddle and based it on playing with these players and hopefully getting into that zone. It came pretty easily to put it down. And then I overdubbed a regularly-tuned fiddle on there. There’s a little bit of an Irish/Cajun tune that came later in the song, which was more the lead of the Irish fiddle tune in the regular way. The percussion came a little bit later. Ben Whitman, who plays drums on that track, was laughing. He just loved the inside humor. He described it well where that rhythm fell on the fiddle and he dug it right in there. I was hoping to get Dirk to play some five-string but I ended up doing tenor banjo on it. I was pleased with how it was percolating. So that one was a little bit of an overdub.
You have several medleys on this album. How are medleys created?
It’s a very good point. In Irish music we do tend to do medleys of jigs and reels or maybe a slow tune with something faster. “Canbrack Girls” is a set of three jigs. That is maybe a good example to your point: I really liked the feel of that opening tune but the second one just slid in there nicely. I wanted that particular one to follow it, so again more from a cerebral cutaway, “Let’s stay in A minor here.” I just thought that would be a nice second one. The last tune, I wanted to end very much in a happy, major, positive way. So I went to G, which is such a strong key. I love a lot of tunes that go to different keys within the tune, so it was that kind of thought but definitely on the A part of the tune, which was G. So that was driven by the point of creating a medley that was so satisfying within itself.
On some medleys, like the “Mackerel Sky” track, you do a key change that really ramps up the energy. This was also the only medley where there were clear breaks between each tune.
It was definitely a dramatic device. That’s not the traditional way where you jump into the next tune on the next downbeat. But I really wanted that effect. It’s great when you play that live. Another side perk of it is that if the audience is along for the ride and they’re clapping with you, you really want to shake them out of that trance and go, “Whoa, we’re going to a 7 here, guys [laughs].”
A number of these songs have very strong narratives — “Farewell My Love and Remember Me” — stories of emigration, the famine and so forth. “Paddy on the Railway” and “Linin’ Track” do so as well. How important is it for listeners to know these backstories?
I think it is, I would hope especially in a record kind of like this, where I was trying to pull all these things together. That’s kind of why I felt this one was important. On other records I haven’t done as extensive liner notes. That’s also because at times there wasn’t as much to say, just maybe a little bit of background. But I really do hope that this one connects the dots. I took on a few hundred years of history as well [laughs]. Usually you wouldn’t hear a tune in 7 like “Waiting for Aidan” on an Irish recording, with some jazz voicings. But there are songs from the early 1800s and on, so it was important for me to have extensive liners.
I love telling folks a little bit of a background especially with instrumental music because then they’re part of the party. They’re going to listen, for example, for “Kitty’s Wedding” to know that second tune traditionally came out of “Kitty’s Wedding.” The second tune is less ornamented with a little more double-stopping and how American music really came from these Scots and Celts and Irish roots. I know for a fact that audiences appreciate when I go through some intros live because I always go out to the lobby after a show and I love hearing feedback. I keep growing from feedback and change some things accordingly. But to hear how much they appreciate the backgrounds of songs, it lets them in from the very beginning. They listen for certain things. They feel like they’re more involved in a song. That’s nothing but a good thing.
It was great to shed most of these songs live before recording. That was another big part of the process and why it took a little longer on this record. A lot of the little bumps were taken out for the recording. For example, when I chat about “Green Fields of America” and the famine time and talking about how some of these were refurbished slave ships, a lot of that wasn’t in American textbooks, at least when I was growing up. A friend of ours, Joe Crowley, the Congressman from Queens, was a big part of getting the famine to be more recognized in what it was — the starvation of the Irish people. The feedback was just unbelievable from chatting about this through the times we played these pieces. There was one woman in particular: She’s a great buddy of mine now. I met her in Milwaukee. She’s African-American, maybe thirty years old. And she said, “Eileen, I’m blown away.” She’d never heard Irish music before but couldn’t believe the parallel journeys that Irish and African people have had. I think that’s great, if you can entertain and educate a little bit around the way, man, that’s a good day!
As you arrange “Green Fields of America,” “Crossroads” and “Farewell My Love,” do you talk with the musicians about their meaning and their history?
Absolutely, you betcha! On those early sessions with Niamh and James, sitting around Niamh’s kitchen in Dublin and working on it, I kind of wrote the lines that connected the songs just to make it a little more moody. It’s hard to hear some songs a cappella or, as Niamh unearthed “Green Fields of America,” it’s actually like 21 verses. We’d be here for a week to hear all the verses! You want it to be accessible for the folks to grab onto for maybe an instrumental break where you can reflect and digest the words a little bit. It was great to have all the ideas out there but then to get with these amazing musicians and put it together, again, I was so blessed.
I imagine there must have been a few silent moments after recording those songs.
That’s always the best, when you hear silence and maybe [she exhales] and you let it out. It feels really good to get to that place.
“Irish Black Bottom” is an example of where African-American and Irish influences interact. But the medley of “Paddy on the Railway” and “Linin’ Track” is the only medley on the album that comes from thematic rather than musical connections. One is in 6 and the other in 4.
It came out of one thought: gandy dancer. When you think about these immigrants working on the railway and combining those rhythms. That was the thing that got them all to synchronize. That was the common language. Of course they had similar struggles, but to get there and build America, I could envision it all. That was such a powerful vision. Then just thinking about the various rhythms and getting into all these train songs and traditional songs … I wanted something about the working songs. I looked at coal mines; there are lots of great songs about mining in our American tradition. But “Linin’ Track” is just because of that whole idea of gandy dancers; that’s what got me to focus on railroads and putting those two songs together. They’re just two great songs in the tradition.
How did you become aware of “Irish Black Bottom”?
That was just a bit of luck. I was looking at music from the Twenties and Thirties. Again, there was a big flux of immigration that came into America. I was looking at the Flanagan Brothers and a lot of tunes, just to get that element in there. Then I just happened to come across this very obscure Louis Armstrong song. When I read the lyrics, it blew me away. I’d never heard of it; again, it was just luck as I was researching the record. There was a ton of tunes I loved that didn’t make the cut, but it was incredible to come across this one. And I wanted to hopefully challenge that bit of Grappelli inside of me [laughs]. I played the fiddle in different ways. I even played it on a Stroh violin, the trumpet violin as they used to call it. It’s a violin body with your tuning pegs and fingerboard, but a brass horn comes out of one side. They used to record with it back in the Twenties just for pure volume, to get it to cut through the recordings. I came up with that idea of putting it down that way. You can’t mimic Armstrong so I figured I’d just go for that.
“Coming Home” was dedicated to Aidan. When did you write it?
That came about later in the recording. We actually adopted Aidan from Russia. It was amazing because when this whole thing was going on with our parents, we made four trips to Russia. Aidan came home in May of 2012. Dad passed in August of that year, father-in-law Barney in September and then my mom-in-law Alice in October. So those three months it was this bizarre timeline. The record took this personal turn in a way and “Coming Home” came right then. I wrote it in Ireland during that process. It just came out very quickly. Fionan Debarra did some gorgeous guitar. We kept it fairly simple.
You wrote about building a house on your father’s land in the liner notes, “on top of the hill rising from the bog road.” We’ve touched on this idea of completing circles of life.
The idea came like a thunderbolt. I was in Riverdance in the late Nineties. After the show one evening, we were just playing tunes as you do, with no mics around. We got to talking about how much Mayo and Ireland meant to me. A gentleman named Jimmy Higgins played bodhran in the show; he played with the Saw Doctors, this Irish band. He quoted a Saw Doctors song about “the land” and how much it means, how it’s intertwined with history. I told Jimmy about how much it meant to me to go back to Ireland. And he put it in my head. He said, “Eileen, that’s your family land. That’s your father.” I came home to New York and asked Dad in person, “Dad, what would you think about us asking Uncle Jimmy” — who took care of my ailing grandma back in the day — “for one of the fields?” Back in the famine time, they called it “striping the land,” so the family land would have been cut up. This particular field wasn’t the one of choice. My dad said, “Ask for this more modest field.” But this was the hill he loved all his life. It was his hill to farm. My uncle said, “This is the one, Eileen! Please, I’m thrilled!” My other uncle on my mom’s side was the architect. He dug this road up through the bog up on this hill. I look out that window and those songs like “Coming Home” and “Mackerel Sky” came.
It’s a place to write and think and put new things together. I know all the villagers. There are a few little pubs. You talk to the old fellas. It’s a magical part of the world. It’s a real getaway, emotionally and in every way. It was very important. My family and I all go back. My sister and her kids love it. It just connects us to Ireland because it’s a bit harder for the next generation. It’s a privilege to be an American to have that connection and know where your people are from.
You have two audiences you’ll be addressing with this album, one informed about Irish music and another who may be coming to it for the first time.
They’re very similar. The way I put down the arrangements and like to perform, I love — again, that word — accessibility. I want to give a little background and say “come along for the ride.” I actually love hearing folks who may never have heard Irish music and didn’t know my stuff say, “Hey, man, I felt that emotion. That rang true to me. And also, it felt familiar.” A lot of Americans have commented on how Irish music does feel so familiar and that’s a part of what I hope people from the record as well. Why does it feel familiar? You can hear why on there.
Anything else?
I feel great! You spoke so much about the record, which is so vital right now. Thank you for digging in so deeply to it.
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We are experiencing Irish weather here on Lake Murray in South Carolina right now, so listening to Eileen’s “The Orphan” as we walked the dogs along our boardwalk. I will share a 30 second video that you may enjoy on my page. Thank you for the soundtrack to our morning!