This tune is a wild wee creature from a set of solo violin compositions in 2023. A proper tongue-twister; it came about through explorations of dominant-lydian modes, mixed meter melodies and left-hand pizzicato. Initially it seemed to me to sound like a cross between Balkan and Baltic fiddle styles so I opted for the highly scholastic title Ball-kic, before settling on the less lofty Partick Partita, named after my neighbourhood in Glasgow. 

Partick Partita

In November 1933, Béla Bartók visited Glasgow, staying with composer Erik Chisholm near Byres Road. In November 2014, John Maxwell Geddes heard a Hungarian busker playing on the same street, like an echo, and this piece emerged - the score is headed with the dedication “for Roo (plus any of his cellists - Molly, Tricia, Nicky, Gran).”

In the middle section, as Nicky plays a sonorous air, the fiddle sneaks in whispering distant harmonics —a spectral presence, weaving between worlds, elusive and ephemeral. The two characters coalesce for a fleeting moment before the visitor disappears and the cello leads us back to the beginning. 


Bartok In Byres Road

When I was twelve, my mum convinced me to join her at Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas’ Skye fiddle camp at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig. Despite my initial teenage reluctance, I tagged along, but upon arrival we found ourselves immersed in a beautiful community and returned for years. Now spread all over the world, I owe my love of traditional music to this big musical family and to my mum’s quiet perseverance. 

Leaving While Waiting was written as mum left this camp for what we’d later find out was the last time, while Sunny Commute popped into her head on a sunny walk to work through Kelvingrove Park.


Leaving While Waiting

For as long as I can remember, a tiny, handwritten fragment of my grandad’s music has hung in the hall of our home. Recently, I opened the dusty old frame, hoping for a title or clue, but only found another slip of paper with “JMG” and a couple delicate sketches of starlings. I’ve rifled through the achieves and called up old composers the length and breadth of the country, but this one remains a mystery for now…

Ane Fragment O His Ain

Written the day I was born in December 1999, this was the first tune to welcome me to the world. Written by my grandad, it fits well on the fiddle, though it was written long before he knew that I’d eventually end up playing his grandad’s fiddle…  The score is marked with diminuendo “al niente” as the music gradually falls asleep. 

Lullaby For Ruaridh

Snowed in and recovering from Covid in a wee holiday home in the north of Scotland, this tune comes from having an abundance of time on your hands and catching your breath. 

Fechlin Cottage

In 2024, I spent a few months travelling in Aotearoa (New Zealand), trekking the wilderness and living off the kindness of strangers. This tune, written on the train after staying with two truly wonderful people in the North Island, is a thank-you to everyone who offered food, shelter, and friendship on the road.

Chris And Tom

A version of this tune appears in the Patrick MacDonald Collection of 1784, as “Skye Air”, a title it shares with many other tunes in the book, though it’s likely much older. This arrangement came about leisurely over the course of a sunny day on the beach by Loch Linnhe. Gran and I have been playing together for as long as I can remember, but this is our first recording together. 

Unkown Air

We start with a couple of new jigs. The first, Eriska, was born with some friends after a magical walk on the island of the same name and the second, Trip to Wexico, took shape between adventures in Wexford and Mexico, partly inspired by flirtations with the raag Kaushik Dhwani.

Trip To Wexico

Sunny Commute

These two reels are vignettes of simple treasures – the first, Leek and Tattie bubbled up while making soup, while the second Take the Back Roads came to me on a slow woodland wander in Argyll. 

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