In a previous book, I examined how Faery had effected human music from classical to rock and pop; in this new book I focus on the music of the faeries themselves, pulling together the many scattered materials on their music and song to try to provide a comprehensive statement as to why the faeries sing and play instruments- and what exactly those tunes sound like.
Many people, over hundreds of years, have heard faery music- and they continue to do so today. Often (predictably) it accompanies the faeries’ dancing, but song is the accompaniment for much of their everyday activity as well, such as the different stages of cloth making. They also seem to have a tradition of purely orchestral and choral music- and it is often this haunting sound that has the most profound impact upon human witnesses. Men and women have often been drawn into faery dances by the captivating sound of their reels and jigs; the almost unearthly and indescribable nature of their other compositions can create an trance-like or spellbound effect upon us- the listeners are rooted to the spot, rather than being lured in to faery rings. Instead of being abducted physically, perhaps they are ‘taken’ spiritually, unable to forget the sounds that reached them from another dimension.
One notable feature of the experiences with faery music across the British Isles is the difference in the degree of interaction that takes place from region to region. In England, the music is certainly heard- and this is often combined with the witness seeing the accompanying dancing or revelries, or even joining in with those. However, that’s as far as it goes. In Wales, Scotland, and on the Isle of Man, musicians will go into faery hills to participate in these events; they may learn their amazing musical abilities from the faeries- or receive from them a special instrument- or, at the least, they may overhear a faery tune and learn it. Why this should not be a feature of English contacts is unclear.
Music is a conduit for direct communication with the faery realm. Alasdair Alpin MacGregor, author of The Peat Fire Flame- Folk Tales & Traditions of the Highlands & Islands (1937, c.2) stated that the Highland faeries played both the bagpipes and (much less commonly) the Celtic harp or clarsach. He knew several people who had heard faery harping and had been able to recall fragments of the melodies they had heard and he even set down several bars of a tune relayed to him by a Miss Annie Johnstone of Castlebay, on Barra. This is just one of several dozen tunes (at least) which are reputed to have entered the human repertory from a faery origin.
Music can connect our Middle Earth and Faery in several ways. Whilst the faeries most commonly played their music inside their knolls (into which they would lure people and musicians) they sometimes used human homes for their celebrations. A story from Winnington Rig in Teviotdale indicates what a nuisance this could turn out to be. The faeries were generally helpful around the house, but one morning they decided to play the bagpipes in the kitchen. This was too much for the human inhabitants to cope with and they rushed downstairs and chased the faery musicians up the chimney. In revenge, the faeries made the farm pigs and donkeys squeal and bray all day- and chased them around inside the house for good measure.
As we know, striking the right balance with the faeries can always be tricky: a Manx cottager who had similar faery parties in his kitchen wisely decided to join in. He went downstairs, but instead of confronting them and complaining, he asked to join the dancing. After a few lively reels he was able to go to bed and sleep soundly through the remainder of the celebrations- for which the faeries respected his good humour- and never troubled him again.
Faery tunes and songs are a fascinating subject and remain to this day one of the commonest points of contact between us. No Earthly Sounds- Faery Music, Song & Verse is available as an e-book and paperback from Amazon/ KDP.
British Fairies 
Hi John,
Though I have fished a number of countrified locations, by day and by night, I can honestly say that I have only heard what I take to be ‘fairy music’ in just the one location – the same location where I smelt the delicious cooking with no apparent source. Naturally, I am speaking about ‘their field’. I would fish the top end furthest from the road and the pub across the road. I would be the only person around. The noises of people and music coming from the direction of the pub was easy enough to discern.
But sometimes, as eventide drew near, I would be able to detect a faint tinkling kind of music quite different from the modern ‘thump thump’ of our music. It was near enough to note the sound but not so close that I could make out a tune or pin down its source.
As so much else had happened in that field, I fancied that I was listening to their revelries. It occurs to me that they are only likely to ‘make merry’ in a place wherein they feel most comfortable, a place that feels like ‘home’.
Phil
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