Fiddle a Dingle

Dingle is a small fishing town on the Dingle Peninsula in southwestern Ireland.  It is most everything a small fishing Irish town should be:  small, quiet, relaxed, beautiful, and blessed with good beer:

While the scenery is enough to quiet my soul all on its own, hearty Irish food eaten alongside some of that good beer is icing on the cake.   As we came out of a pub after enjoying another such meal, we came across a family of fiddlers playing in one of the town squares:

While the younger kids played at large:

The young ladies played with no sheet music and no break into the approaching sunset while one brave young boy danced in front of all the ladies:

I admit to knowing almost nothing about music, my training in that area being on par with my training on art (close to zero).   But, the rhythm of an Irish jig naturally gets the feet and hands moving, tapping along to one or another infectious beat.   I naturally assumed that such fast and upbeat music must surely be accompanied by equally upbeat lyrics.  But, with the assistance of Google and Wikipedia, I found instead, verses splattered with blood, heartbreak, and tragedy, like the following from The Maid Behind the Bar:

"She did not know he was around
  Until the fate of death had struck her
  And now she sleeps beneath the ground"

Or, equally morose, from the Wind that Shakes the Barley:

"But blood for blood without remorse,
  I've ta'en at Oulart Hollow
  And placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
  Where I will full soon will follow"

Typical Irish.   contradictions
Lush, Fruitful Farm Land.   dire famine
Warm, Accepting People.   violent, strife-filled troubles
Even the fiddle is a contradiction.  It is identical to the violin but played in a way that it sounds nothing like it.   No doubt, I have a lot to learn about music, but for this afternoon in Dingle, I am more than content to be reeled into the rhythm of the jig, while ignoring the dark history lying behind it.