One of the first things that people tend to associate with Scotland is the tartan. While its association with Scotland is strong, tartan-like patterns have actually been found globally, with examples as far away as the Middle East and Indian subcontinent dating back to 3000 BC. In Scotland, the earliest known true Scottish tartan, the Falkirk tartan, dates to around 250 AD. Although it’s a national treasure, many of us are unaware of the history behind tartan. With this in mind, let's take a closer look into what tartan is, tartan's origins, and its presence in today’s world. 

Today, largely through the power of film and festivals, more and more people are becoming interested in their Scottish heritage. One of the most visible signs of that heritage is the proud tradition of wearing various renditions of Highland Dress. However, as tartan and the kilt became more popular in the last 50 years, it seems that the myths and misperceptions about them continue to spread even more rapidly, especially regarding the history of Highland Dress. William Wallace was portrayed wearing a “great kilt” in Braveheart (yeah, the great kilt actually was not worn in that era), or stage productions of Macbeth with the actors dressed in modern kilts and plaids (which were not even invented at the time), and pipe bands in full military kit performing at “Renaissance” festivals only add to the confusion. 

What is Tartan?

Quite simply, a tartan or plaid is just a type of design on a woven material. The horizontal weft threads cross over the vertical warp threads to create a check. As the check builds, the design begins to mirror and repeat, creating a traditional Scottish Tartan.

The official definition of the word ‘tartan’ according to The Scottish Register of Tartans Act 2008) Section 2 is: “A design which is capable of being woven consisting of two or more alternating coloured stripes which combine vertically and horizontally to form a repeated chequered pattern.”

Tartan fabric is considered a symbol of Scottish identity. It is traditionally made of dyed wool thread, which is woven into a recognizable and repeatable pattern of simple checks, forming a bolt of cloth that is used in clothing and textiles. Initially, the yarns were dyed using natural dyes from native plants, and usually found in only two or three colours, so there was a lot of variance between each thread and weave. Today, with the development of chemical dyes, they can be found in a larger variety of colours and patterns, standardized and reproducible for the mass market. There are so many different combinations of coloured stripes and base colors, so much so that there are roughly 3000 types of tartan now on the official register, and thousands more still used for fashion choices and decoration worldwide. However, despite agencies such as Temu and Shein, only true tartan is used to make a variety of traditional Scottish items including the famous Scottish kilt.

In the Beginning

If one were to go back in time and visit the Highlands of Scotland about 1000 years ago, you wouldn’t see anyone wearing anything that even remotely resembles the modern kilt. The standard garment of the Gael (both in the Highlands of Scotland and in Ireland) was a tunic called a léine, worn over long pants or trews, a Viking invention. Léine is simply the Gaelic word for “shirt” and the styles varied according to the time period. Initially it was a rather simple long tunic, open at the sleeve and pulled on over the head, worn long to mid-calf by the women and either mid-thigh or to the knee by the men, and belted in place with a simple leather belt and penannular clasp.

The trews were considered disposable, because they were woven out of carding scraps, containing seeds, burrs and bits of vegetation that couldn't be easily removed from the fine wool being spun into yarn. Tied around the waist at the top, they were primarily coverings for protection against sharp rocks and other environmental hazards, as well as enclosures for warmth while out on the wilds. They were used hard and washed only when possible, so they obviously became torn, grimy and offensive over time, and were frequently not worn unless absolutely needed for those reasons. Hose made of fine linen thread began replacing them instead - expensive, custom made, and patterned, hose became the mark of the socially successful person.

By the beginning of the sixteenth century the léine had also evolved into a rather elaborate garment that was very full, having sleeves that hung down from the elbow to the knees, and into styles that were either pull-over or that wrapped around and closed with ties and ribbons or leather straps rather like a bathrobe. The belts, too, had become ornate and the buckles complex and decorative, with straps for swords and knives added. The most common color of the léine was saffron, although other colors were possible, but for the most part for all but the very wealthy they were undyed.

So what, I hear you ask. Well, over all this kit, for warmth in Scottish society, a large woolen blanket, shawl or wrap secured by a metal clasp at the shoulder was often worn. This woven mantle was called the brat in Ireland, and in later centuries was called a plaidh in Scots Gaelic (the word originally meant “blanket”). Though tartan cloth was not as common in Scotland then as it would become in later times, these wraps were a woven tartan pattern, because we have archaeological evidence of cloaks of tartan cloth being worn in Scotland from the third or fourth century.

The Belted Plaid

It is this tartan wrap or blanket that would later evolve into the kilt. As I stated previously, the fashion in sixteenth century Gaelic Scotland was for very full clothing. Remember, the idea was the more fabric you had in your clothing, the more affluent you must be! However, with the cost of wool dropping towards the end of the sixteenth century in Scotland woolen plaids began to grow larger with the fashion. At a certain point, people began to gather these large plaids into folds and belt them about the waist, finally forgoing the coarse (and prickly) trews forever as common dress. This gathered wrap became the belted plaid. In Gaelic it was called either feileadh-mór, which means “great wrap,” or breacan-an-feileadh, which means “tartan wrap.” In modern parlance, they are often referred to as “great kilts.” The earliest mention of this garment in the historic record comes from the Life of Red Hugh O’Donnell, written in Irish Gaelic in 1594. This work describes Scottish mercenaries from the Hebrides being noticeable among the Irish because of the difference in their dress. The Scots had risen, naked but for hair shirts, taken up their long blankets, folded them about their waists with the extra length pulled over their shoulders to cover their heads and backs, and then pulled and fixed their belts outside their mantles – the belted plaid.

This garment was about 4 to 6 yards long and on average 50” to 60″ wide (made from two lengths of 25” to 30″ wide cloth sewn together). The length of the cloth was simply gathered up and belted at the waist, with the lower part hanging above the knees and the upper part being brought up to the shoulders and arranged in any number of ways. There were many different ways of wearing the belted plaid, and this garment apparently became the ubiquitous dress of the Highland men during the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth centuries (isolated instances of its use can be found as late as 1822, but this was likely for ceremonial purposes only – it had long ceased to be a part of daily dress). The female version was the arisaid, which contained somewhat less cloth, was worn long, to the ankles, and usually was made from a white tartan with a wide spaced setting.

Tartan at this time was becoming almost synonymous with Highland Dress, though plaids in solid colors were also worn (as can be seen in the 1618 portrait of the chief of the Campbells of Lochawe). More about that later.

The Phillabeg

If the belted plaid is the grandfather of the modern kilt, then the phillabeg is the father. Phillabeg is the Anglicized spelling of the Gaelic feileadh-beag, which means, “little wrap.” It refers to a garment that is essentially the lower half of the belted plaid. Many today use “phillabeg” to refer to the modern tailored kilt, but the original phillabeg was untailored. Like the belted plaid, it consisted of a length of cloth, usually about 4 yards long, but only 25” wide. In other words, just the lower portion of the belted plaid, without another length of cloth stitched to it. It also was gathered loosely into folds and belted about the waist, the bottom reaching to just above the knee and the top few inches folded and overlapping the top of the belt. Often another length of cloth (what would have been the upper part of the belted plaid) could be worn separately over the shoulders for warmth or protection from the elements.

Much speculation abounds regarding the appearance of the phillabeg. Most historians feel confident in putting its origins towards the mid-to-late seventeenth century. Certainly by the early eighteenth century it was in widespread use, because the belted plaid was a bother to get into and wear. The phillabeg was worn most definitely in the eighteenth century, its use declining after the 1790s when the modern three-buckled tailored kilt was introduced, though it continued to be worn by some as late as the 1820s.

People are fond of recounting the story of how one Thomas Rawlinson, an English weaver and mill owner, supposedly “invented” a beltless phillabeg in the first quarter of the eighteenth century in order to prevent his male Scots workers from getting their kilts caught in the looms, thus scandalising the ladies and interrupting his business. He decided to take 8 feet of tartan and sew it into a wrap with for buckles, two on each side, so the kilt could be worn with pride as well as safety. Wonderful though the story is, the evidence against is lies in multiple paintings and armorial bearings that depict men in what appear to be buckled phillabegs that long pre-date Rawlinson and his buckled mini-kilt. Most likely the buckled version of the feileadh-beag came about as a natural evolution from the feileadh-mor, and the fashion spread around the Highlands of Scotland over time, with tales about Mr. Rawlinson and others helping it along.

The Kilt

Now we have finally come to it. The universal symbol for the Scotsman—the modern, 8 yard, knife-pleated tartan kilt. The tailored kilt differs from the phillabeg in that instead of simply being gathered and belted on, the pleats in the kilt are actually sewn down.

The first instance that we have of this is records of kilts issued by the British military in the 1790s. These first tailored kilts were box pleated to the line. There was no tapering, the pleats were sewn down about 5 inches, and the length of the kilt was selvedge to selvedge (about 25”). The amount of cloth used was between 3.5 and 4 yards, covered by a separate kilted apron of canvas or leather. During the early Victorian era, tailored kilts for civilian wear soon followed suit, only these initially weren't pleated to anything (i.e. to no particular line or pattern), until about 1820 when they, too, began to be pleated to the line as conformity and neatness became fashionable.

The amount of cloth used in the kilt grew to about 5 yards in the mid nineteenth century, as the pattern of the tartans became larger and the box pleats became narrower. In 1853 the Gordon Highlanders were the first regiment to adopt the knife pleat. By the year 1900 knife pleating was the de rigeur in all civilian kilts, and the idea of “pleating to the sett” (i.e. arranging the pleats so that the pattern of the tartan was unbroken) became popular. This new form of pleating caused the amount of cloth used in a kilt to grow to six, seven, even eight or more yards of tartan cloth!

There is a myth today that a true kilt should contain 8 yards of cloth—no more, no less. Any kiltmaker worth his salt would tell you otherwise, but it’s actually a false claim, because what truly determines the amount of cloth in a kilt is the size of the repeat of the tartan, and of course the size around the wearer! The modern civilian kilt has anywhere from 6 to 10 yards of cloth. Recently kilmakers have begun to also offer options that have 4 and 5 yards, a much more comfortable choice that hearkens back to when the kilt was worn as part of the daily dress.

Also, the details of the tailored kilt itself have evolved over time. Waistbands, linings, straps and buckles were added as fashions changed to make it easier to put on, hang up and launder. And what was worn with the kilt changed as well, to reflect the changing fashions of society. We will not delve into such matters as jackets, caps, hose, sporrans, brogues and the like here, but suffice it to say that money and fools make a party.

Dating back to the medieval era, to a time when the Norsemen were driven out of the Highlands and Islands by the Scottish kings, the clan system shaped the political landscape of Scotland for centuries. The modern history of Scotland – including its relationship with England and Ireland – is inextricably linked with the ferocious and fiendishly complicated feuds and fights between these groups as they battled for control of fiefdoms.

Historically there were hundreds of clans spread across Scotland and Ireland, all with their own distinct chiefs, holdings and politics, but the system also included ‘septs’ – families that shared land with a clan and swore allegiance to the chief.

 The Standing Council of Scottish Chiefs, an organisation established in 1951 that claims to be the primary authority on clans, recognises 135 distinct existent clans, while the Lord Lyon King of Arms, a position that has existed since at least 1377, officially oversees Scottish heraldry.

Clanship still exists in many forms, not least in the surnames of many millions of people of Scottish descent around the world. The word stems from the Gaelic clann, meaning ‘children’, and even today, around a third of families living in Scotland are connected to a clan.

KEY CLANS

The powerful Clan Campbell controlled much of western Scotland around Argyll and Loch Awe (but also Perth and Kinross, and Nairn) and played a pivotal part in the major events in modern Scottish history, including the Wars of Scottish Independence, during which they fought on the side of Robert the Bruce at the Battle of Bannockburn (1314) and elsewhere.

However, they opposed the Jacobite Risings and, infamously, soldiers from Clan Campbell of Glenlyon turned upon and slaughtered members of Clan MacDonald, who had been hosting them, during the Massacre of Glencoe on 13 February 1692. At least 30 MacDonalds were murdered that morning, in an event that still scars Scottish history.

The Campbells also fought on the side of the British crown at the decisive Battle of Culloden in 1746 and were instrumental in the suppression of Highland Uprisings in the 18th and 19th centuries. Clan Campbell members formed the basis of The Black Watch, along with three other clans, an infantry battalion of the Royal Regiment of Scotland established initially by the British to patrol the Highlands and suppress insurgencies.

Arguably Scotland’s biggest and oldest clan is Clan Donald, also known as Clan MacDonald or Clan McDonald. With roots that are Norse-Gaelic and join up with ancient Irish royalty, the clan’s name (Clann Dhòmhnaill, children of Donald) originates with Domhnall mac Raghnaill, a powerful Hebridean noble active in the mid-13th century, whose grandfather Somerled was a Norse-Gaelic warlord and the original Lord of the Isles.

The Donalds also fought for Scottish independence with Robert the Bruce before a destructive civil clan war between John MacDonald of Islay and his son, Angus Og MacDonald – which came to a head in the Battle of Bloody Bay in 1481 – weakened the clan and resulted in loss of the Lord of the Isles and Earl of Ross titles in the late 15th century, leading to a great fracture in Highland society.

The Wars of the Three Kingdoms (1639–1651) and Jacobite uprisings put the MacDonalds and the Campbells on opposing sides, and the Massacre of Glencoe cemented the blood feud. The various branches of the MacDonalds supported the Jacobite uprisings in 1715 and 1745.

Many clans spanned the Irish Sea and some wielded power beyond the British Isles. Clanship still exists in many forms, not least in the surnames of hundreds of thousands of Scots. The word stems from the Gaelic clann, meaning ‘children’, and even today, around a third of families living in Scotland are connected to a clan.

 Historically there were hundreds of clans spread across the Scotland and Ireland, all with their own distinct tartans, crests and mottos, but the system also included ‘septs’, families that shared land with a clan and swore allegiance to the chief. 

How many Scottish clans are there?

The Standing Council of Scottish Chiefs, an organisation established in 1951 that claims to be the primary authority on clans, currently recognises 135 distinct existent clans, while the Lord Lyon King of Arms, a position that has existed since at least 1377, officially oversees Scottish heraldry.

FOLK HEROES

Other major clans include the MacLeods, who were famed for their warrior traditions and were caught up in the civil clan war that tore Clan Donald apart. They continued to feud with Clan MacDonald of Sleat through the 15th and 16th centuries.

Clan MacGregor, meanwhile, is famous thanks to the antics of one of their kin, Rob Roy MacGregor, who fought with the Jacobites (as did his clansmen) before becoming an outlaw and leading a campaign against the Duke of Montrose and the British Crown in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. He is heralded as a Scottish folk hero, largely thanks to Sir Walter Scott’s romanticised accounts of his exploits.

Clan Stewart were a historically powerful force directly connected to the Royal House of Stewart, which ruled Scotland (and later Britain and Ireland) for centuries. 

Rivals of Clan Stewart were Clan Douglas, who were involved in multiple feuds and once laid siege to Edinburgh Castle. William Douglas, 8th Earl of Douglas, was murdered by King James II of Scotland who stabbed him in the throat during a dinner at Stirling Castle in 1452 when Douglas refused to swear fealty. 

Although famous for one of its members, Clan Wallace is actually a small Lowlands Scottish Clan originally from Wales (the name of Waleis was common in England and around 1300 meant simply “Welsh-man”. The family held lands in Shropshire an may have come north with King David I of Wales in 1278). The most famous member of the clan was the Scottish patriot William Wallace of the late 13th and early 14th centuries, a Scottish patriot and freedom fighter, whose freeholder family was part of the larger Clan Wallace. Wallace was the laird holder of family estates in Ayrshire.

 -- Pat Kinsella, BBC History

When you think "witch", what comes to mind? A wart faced old woman in a black dress with a broom? Actually, all it took was a birthmark or freckle, or singing and dancing outside, or simply someone's accusation that could have you executed as a witch.

Between 1563 and 1763 Scotland was a country in flux and the resulting paranoia fueled the Scottish Witch Trials. Belief in witchcraft was common during the Middle Ages, but the leaders of the Catholic church were largely skeptical, seeing it as folklore rather than something sinister. Lawyers were only interested in cases where harm was alleged to have taken place and some high-profile political cases have been recorded including the case of John Stewart, Earl of Mar for allegedly using sorcery against his brother King James III in 1479. Cases like this were few in number. However, as Scotland was plunged into the turbulence of the Early Modern Era, attitudes began to change, new laws were formed, and Scotland found itself in the grip of several witch trials and hunts.

Although there have been stories of witchcraft since the beginning of time, persecutions didn't begin until the 1500s. The Witchcraft Act of 1563 in Scotland made it illegal for anyone to be or consort with a witch. The first major persecution, the North Berwick Trials, began in 1590 with King James I and VI. Returning from Denmark with his new bride, a powerful tempest almost killed them. The King believed witchcraft was the cause of the storm and had nearly 100 people arrested. Many were tortured and burnt alive.

The Forfar Witch Hunt of 1661 and the Auldearn Trials of 1662 were prolonged by accusations made by "witches" in order to save themselves. At the Aberdeen Trials, 7 women were accused of using magic to murder others and using body parts from the victims to create potions. The Pittenween Trials of 1704 were based on the word of a 16 year old boy. Each of the accused was tortured. One was even crushed to death under large stones. It was later discovered that the boy had made it all up.

The Renfrewshire Trials of 1695 began when 11 year old Christian Shaw caught a housemaid drinking forbidden milk and threatened to tell her mother. The housemaid told the girl that the devil would take her to hell. Christian began having fits and visions, claiming that the maid was torturing her. She vomited up feathers, hay, wax, stones, even a hot coal. There were accounts of her floating around the room and moving things without touching them. She also accused several others of witchcraft. Over 20 men, women and children were imprisoned and examined by "witch prickers". Several children and one minister were found dead on the morning of the trials. Fourteen of the charged were found not guilty. The remainder were hanged and burned. Christian was cured after the executions.

In Scotland, most witches were hung or strangled before their body was burnt. Burning their mortal remains was an important part of their punishment. It ensured that the devil could not resurrect their bodies for his nefarious purposes. However, sometimes a witch would be burnt at the stake or in the case of the witches in Forres, they would be put in barrels filled with spikes and rolled down the Cluny Hill.  The barrel would then be set on fire where it rested. A stone lies at the base of Cluny Hill today, marking where one such execution took place. 

As civil war raged in England, the independent kingdom of Scotland was forcibly incorporated into a commonwealth with England in 1652. Now occupied by Cromwell’s troops, the Privy council and courts were disbanded. English judges were put in place and there was a sharp decline in the number of witchcraft cases. With the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660, Scotland once more gained her freedom and her judicial independence. This prompted a flood of over 600 cases of people charged with witchcraft. The Privy council were alarmed at the rapid rise in trials and banned the use of judicial torture and insisted on the necessity of its commission for an arrest or prosecution.

Largely due to the work of Sir George MacKenzie, the Lord Advocate, standards of evidence were raised. Sir George believed in the existence of witchcraft and that those found guilty should face the death penalty. However, he felt that many innocent people had been sent to death. Although not opposed to the use of torture under certain conditions, he felt that it was inappropriate to elicit confessions from people accused of witchcraft. He felt that many of the local authorities trying witches did not have the appropriate knowledge of the crime and that often the witnesses used were not qualified to participate.

Then in 1662, the witch prickers were finally and publicly exposed as frauds, thus removing a major source of evidence against those accused of witchcraft. The British parliament repealed the 1563 Act in 1736, imposing fines or imprisonment on people who claimed to be able to use magical powers. It is estimated that over 4000 people were executed as witches in Scotland alone. Only 4 "witches" are recorded as being executed in Ireland, and only 3 in Wales. So for those of you with freckles or birthmarks, be thankful that things have changed!!

It's Easter Sunday morning here in Ocean Springs. The sky’s a bit overcast, the usual chores are done, breakfast and coffee have been enjoyed with proper appreciation, and everything feels just right. A perfect moment to relax and reflect on the whirlwind of the past few weeks filled with travel and music. First up, Selma's Ren Fair.

I missed the opening weekend in March due to a prior military commitment, but the first weekend in April, we packed up old Gloria (our trusty 2005 Winnie camper) and headed to the Dalwhinnie Fields to meet our friends and employers, the site owners. It’s a five-hour trip from home in our not-so-speedy, older RV, and we relied on GPS for the fastest route—not necessarily the best one.

The last ten miles were on some truly rough county roads, crawling at about 5 mph, dodging potholes that turned our cabinets into a chaotic mix of pots, pans, clothes, and fridge contents by the time we arrived. Free massages included! Of course, once we shared our bumpy journey with our friends, they said, “Oh no, you definitely don’t want to take that route.” A bit late for that advice, guys! For the brave, avoid any route involving County Road 3 off US 80 near Selma unless you want to test your suspension and nerves. Instead, go through Selma.

Once there, we set up camp. Thursday night was all about catching up with fellow cast members, swapping stories about the weekend we missed (Saturday was a huge hit, Sunday got rained out). We sat by the fire, shared great conversations, played a little music on the small pipes, and enjoyed plenty of whisky. Simply wonderful.

Friday, we toured the site. I got a walkthrough of my joust role and lane performances, plus a basic rehearsal. Then back to our vintage RV for food and company. The fair’s owners have invested hundreds of dollars to make the Ren village and surrounding areas accessible. Everything’s walkable, and there’s plenty of space so it never feels crowded. Lots of seating for those of us who need a break, and the whole site is thoughtfully planned for future growth. Keep an eye on this—it’s going to be a major attraction in the next five years. Plus, it’s close to good hotels and food.

Saturday, I played for the jousters—sun, humidity, and adrenaline made it a short but exciting day. The opening drew a huge crowd, but rain moved in that night. We woke to squalls, occasional thunderstorms, and gusty winds. By 11am Sunday, it was clear the day was a washout, but the 1pm joust still had a good crowd, and the pipes sounded great despite my soaking. I’ll admit I snoozed through the 4pm show—unprofessional and poor planning on my part. I apologized to the troupe, but thankfully, all was forgiven. I really love these folks.

Monday, we packed up wet and drove home—this time taking the Selma route my friends recommended, which was much quicker and easier. We dumped tanks at the Moss Point Welcome Center, then headed home for showers and a much-needed sleep-in. Later, we aired out the RV, cleaned and dried all the damp gear, fixed a battery issue, and ordered new flags for the RV.

The Pensacola Celtic Music Festival was another first for us, and hopefully not the last. The Maguire Pub Pipes and Drums were joined by Hub City Highlanders, Santa Rosa Pipes and Drums, and two seasoned pipers from St Johns Pipers. At 1pm, after some tuning and rehearsing, we marched in to STB repeatedly until we formed our arc, then played medley after medley. And yes, we did play A Grazing Mace. Boo. But hey, it’s a crowd favorite, so…

Red McWilliams and I did a set—he sang, I played the pipes—and it was well received. There were plenty of other performers, from beginners to pros, making for a really fun and eclectic day. If this becomes an annual event, you can bet your donkey I’ll be there. Big shout out to the Pensacola Celtic Society for organizing the Massed Bands—great job, Mike.

The past few days have seen us settling back into the hot seasonal weather with events like a funeral, a fire department graduation, a LEO academy graduation, and other gigs we do for hire. I’ve treated myself to a few impulse buys for the RV and my pipes and am working on several projects for the H&I leadership in preparation for the 2025 games and festival.

Just a reminder—no matter what, even 10 minutes of practice a day adds up. That’s what I’m aiming for, despite all the other curveballs life throws at us.

Happy Easter! And take a moment to remember the real reason for the holiday. Here’s a hint—it’s not about bunnies and eggs.

April is a month filled with the sound of bagpipes! It's a great time to put on your kilt and play a tune or two on your pipes.  This is what is coming up this month:

All of April — Scottish American Heritage Month honors the contributions and influence of Scottish immigrants to North America. 

April 6 – National Tartan Day — This date marks the anniversary of the Declaration of Arbroath (1320), a document asserting Scotland's independence from England. It's a great day to wear your family tartan, or a kilt.

April 12 - Massed bands with the McGuire Pub Pipe Band at the Pensacola Celtic Music Festival at 1pm. The event is at the Pensacola Fairground Exhibition Hall, and features music and dancing for 12 hours, along with food and other entertainment in support of the Special Needs Olympics. Come and play with us!

April 25 – Anzac Day — A day of remembrance for the Canadian, Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) who fought during World War I, particularly at the Gallipoli Campaign (1915). Many of those who fought were Scottish immigrants, and battling alongside Scottish regiments cemented a strong cultural connection.  Anzac Day reinforces the important role of bagpipes as a symbol of honor and remembrance.

March 10 is International Bagpipe Day — Whether you play the Great Highland pipes, smallpipes, uilleann pipes, or any other variety, you are one of the lucky few who play one of the world’s most distinctive instruments. This is our day to remind everyone that piping is alive, thriving, and absolutely worth celebrating.

So, it's been a while since we posted last, and we all have really been busy during that time. I've been cruising, playing at festivals, traveling and teaching, and I know that the others have been playing events and parades as well. March is St Patrick's Day and Mardi Gras parades, weddings and funerals, so it's one of the busiest months on our calendar. Our student pool has exploded, with new pipers starting lessons since January, with several more advanced students beginning to play the full Great Highland set, and the old hands honing new tunes and arrangements. Some of the events we have done in the last few months are police and fire department graduations, funerals and memorials, music festivals, Highland Games, our very own Highlands and Islands Celtic Festival, the Gulf Coast Mardi Gras parades and parties, festivals in Alabama and Pensacola and several private events that were requested through our website and through third party sites. 

Like I said - busy! Thank you all for following us!

Have you ever felt like your piping skills are plateauing, or that you just can't seem to have a 'breakthrough', progress or improve?

The reason could be your own fear of failure.

We see this everywhere - among students, friends, colleagues, and bandmates. It's unfortunate to see, but many pipers fear looking “stupid” by exposing themselves to critique. 

You've likely encountered this feeling if you've ever recorded yourself. After playing perfectly well for several minutes beforehand, the instant that recorder goes on, even though no one is watching, the idea that someone might watch you sometime in the future makes you tense up, overthink, or panic when the smallest thing goes wrong. And then it’s a self-perpetuating train wreck.

Why is this? I have a bunch of theories.

First, the bagpipes are a notoriously complex instrument, requiring us to simultaneously manage many different and distinct skills, and where mistakes can be both musical and mechanical. It’s a lot to learn, and it takes quite a while to master. And the possibility of embarrassing yourself when a drone reed falls out while you’re on parade - or worse, playing a solo gig, or when you blunder into entirely the wrong part to the rest of the band in a public gig, or you play that early E during the strike in in a competition, can be very stressful.  

Second, pipers who are regularly listening to great players can find themselves constantly trying to reach a standard that's far above what they're currently capable of, which can lead to a feeling of inferiority and self-consciousness about their own performances. That’s common, but it is also quite worrisome. Unfortunately, some avoid seeking feedback altogether, even when they’re paying for lessons. Others refuse to admit weaknesses, resisting constructive feedback and denying any need for improvement - and we have all dealt with ‘that guy’ who is just arrogant and awful. But not even being able to admit you’ve experienced a failure in the first place is like trying to drive a car that’s stuck in neutral – you’re not going to go anywhere, but you’re going to grind some gears and annoy people in your immediate vicinity when you try. 

Fear of failure is a natural human instinct. But staying in this mindset is limiting. The only way to improve is to put yourself out there, embrace mistakes, and learn from them. Failure pushes you closer to future success. Even small mistakes can be valuable learning opportunities.

Consider tuning - a skill many pipers shy away from, or become overly fixated on the meter without actually listening to the instrument. Tuning the reed to the chanter, then tuning the drones to the chanter is a skill that must be learned and practiced. Mastery comes through repeated attempts and learning from failure. At most piping camps, we encourage students to tune their drones 1,000 times before seeking help. This “try, fail, adjust” approach is crucial in developing an ear or the nuances of our remarkable instrument’s sound.

Don't believe me? I can assure you, even top pipers fail far more often than they succeed. In fact, the reason their immense skill seems so effortless is because the number of times they have failed at that skill you're struggling with far outnumbers the number of times you've eve attempted it! 

If you want to get better, you really do just have to accept that we all fail sometimes. Humble yourself, and submit the 'imperfect' recording with a few crossing noises or mistakes. Play in front of your tutor or bandmates and ask for their feedback. Notice - feedback, not criticism. Feedback is constructive and helpful. Criticism is deliberately punitive and unhelpful - a power move, not a teaching technique. Listen to the feedback, own the mistakes, and redo th piece or the tuning and ask again. If you can embrace that failure, you will get better. Avoid failure, and you guessed it, you'll get nowhere.

If it's any comfort, every piper faces these challenges, regardless of their skill level. And generally, everyone else is so busy and preoccupied with their own lives, that they won’t be judging your weaknesses anywhere near as much as you think they will. 

For the most part, other people won’t notice or be thinking about you at all. Unless you ask for feedback, you won’t get it.

Do we have any tunes in our repertoire that we don’t play well anymore? I do, and it is really, really irritating when I suddenly remember one of them and get about half way in and forget what I was playing. Or, worse, forget all the technique which made the tune memorable in the first place.

Perhaps we learned them when we weren’t as experienced and practiced in bad technique. Perhaps we’ve been playing them for so long that our embellishments and rhythm have become less than ideal. Or perhaps we’ve been working on the same sets for so long that we just aren’t getting any better as a player! 

First and foremost, let's address the elephant in the room: mastery takes time. Remember when learning our early tunes seemed like an insurmountable task? Over time, as our skills grow, we find ourselves picking up new tunes more quickly. Think of it like riding a bike; it’s awkward at first, but we eventually find our balance and begin to enjoy the ride.

Imagine reading the same book over and over again. While we might notice new details each time, eventually, it stops being as exciting. The same applies to music. Repeating the same tune ad nauseam can lead to burnout. Instead, why not explore new tunes and styles? By broadening our musical repertoire, we not only find joy in the variety but also become a more well-rounded musician.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that we need to perfect one tune before moving on to the next. But here's the thing: we really don't have to! It’s about striking a balance. Focus on getting a tune to about 80% polished, then move on to the next one. I find that when we revisit these tunes later, they’ll come more naturally because we’ve grown as a musician.

Most top-tier musicians don’t spend their time perfecting one tune to the nth degree. Instead, they cultivate the general skills that make them good at any tune they pick up. The secret to their success lies in diverse practice. Think of it like learning to cook. Once we understand basic techniques, we can apply them to any recipe and it will come out well.

Pull out the pipes, then, and play those old tunes, but listen to how you play them, and go back to the written score. After all, we learned the tune because it sounded so good. Why not revive it properly? It’s the general skills that need polishing, not just remembering the tune.

Unless you've been living under a rock the last couple of years, you've no doubt heard of artificial intelligence (AI). 

Whether you think it's an amazing tool that will change all of our lives, a herald of the robot apocalypse, or you just don't really care, there's no denying that it's completely revolutionized many industries in the last 12 month - including music. But will it have an impact on our beloved little niche of the music world here in bagpiping and pipe bands? 

Undoubtedly... yes.

Look, the possibility of AI generating music isn't just a futuristic dream - it's already happening. But could an AI ever write a completely original bagpipe tune? Well, it's not only possible, it's already in practice. It doesn't exactly do a great job... yet (because, I’m told, the datasets are too small so far), but it won't be long until that's a reality.

While AI may struggle to compose a flawless bagpipe tune, its potential as an assistant is undeniable. Suppose you need to harmonize your bagpipe compositions. AI could easily handle this by drawing on its vast music theory database, likely exceeding the average person's capabilities. AI can also tidy up rough drafts, transforming bullet points into well-structured paragraphs, making the creative process more efficient. It can also be programmed to omit embellishments or simplify scores, or to compose new ones.

 Its usefulness isn't limited to composition alone, either. Imagine recording a bagpipe performance and wanting to improve its quality. AI could be your mix-and-master tool, elevating your sound to professional levels. Need a social media strategy for your band? AI can already devise you a reasonably decent plan, and even write the posts for you (you probably want to edit them before posting though - it's still not the plainest writer unless you give it very specific prompts). 

All of this does raise some interesting philosophical (or possibly ethical) questions, though - should we be adding more data to AI's dataset, possibly at the expense of our future by making our current lives a bit easier? Will that speed up AI's inevitable rise as the dominant composer, producer and social media magnate of the piping world? Will the artform evolve and flourish or die and be replaced as a result? And could AI ever replace the raw emotion of a human piper playing human-composed scores? 

And how would this affect live performances, or competitions, perhaps with judges decisions subjected to AI review? Or perhaps even eliminating human judges altogether? 

I would love to hear your feedback about the impending AI-driven future of our ancient artform. Send your comments to billthedoc (at) yahoo.com - I’ll publish these as a collection if we get enough feedback!

So, pipers (and drummers), here’s a question asked nowhere - would you rather perform at a wedding, or compete solo in front of a judge? 

Most, if not all, pipers would tell you they'd infinitely prefer the first. After all, it's far less nerve wracking to play in front of a crowd of appreciative – and already emotional – family members - and you’re usually getting paid for it, too, always a plus - than to perform a technically challenging tune for an expert listener in front of fellow pipers looking to score higher than you.

So what are the dangers of solo competing that our fight-or-flight response would tell us to avoid? 

Will you have to... perform under pressure to an educated audience of skilled pipers? 

Will you have to... face your nerves in a stressful performance environment, and see how your skills hold up under pressure? 

Will you have to... receive targeted critiques that expose your weaknesses?

The answer to all of these is, of course, "yes". But they aren't the "dangers" our fear would tell us they are. 

They're actually spectacular opportunities. 

Competing as a solo player can be daunting – at first. It’s costly - you have to get there, pay an entry fee, stay somewhere, and make the return journey as well. 

And it’s nerve-wracking because your pipes must be perfectly ready with no leaks and great reeds, they must be in tune, your tune must be automatic and polished, and then there is the judge… judging you. 

But it's also an incredible chance to perform for an educated, attentive audience, who can offer unique insight to help you improve as a player. 

At weddings or funerals, the crowd might not notice or even care about whether you play a D throw consistently, or hit that hornpipe strike completely rhythmically. But at a solo competition, you're playing for people who truly understand and appreciate the nuances of bagpiping. Where else can you enjoy this opportunity to demonstrate your abilities, learn from mistakes in a (mostly) supportive environment, and refine your abilities by tackling areas for improvement head-on?

 Adjusting to the competitive environment can be tough, especially if you've had negative experiences in the past, as we all have. Reading critical feedback on a judging sheet can be disheartening, but it's important to remember that the goal is to improve. For the most part, judges' comments will be constructive and supportive. But even if you do receive negative feedback, if taken constructively, it can still help you develop as a performer. Discussing your results with your teacher, pipe major or mentor helps here. 

Another common trap some pipers fall for in solo competing is playing solely for the prizes. Music is a form of self-expression, not just a means to win medals – because at the end of the day, what have you really won? A subjective prize for playing the best on the day in one person's opinion? From personal experience, most prizes don’t begin to reflect the time, effort or funding you have poured into this little hobby of ours, despite the ego feedback “winning” gives in the moment.

If you hang your hat on winning, you're leaving yourself open to major disappointment the time you have a great run at your tunes, but don't place. Maybe the other competitors had better runs that day. Maybe the judge preferred a different tune or was focused on different issues to the ones you felt you nailed that time. Either way, focusing too much on accolades (over our progress as a musician) can lead to burnout and a loss of passion. Instead, enjoy the process, focus on improving your playing, and let any placings be a natural byproduct of your hard work and passion.

It's also important to manage how you receive feedback. Judges aren't there to be mean – they're providing you with feedback to help you grow, not to demoralize you. Consider that they have to listen all day to several dozen pipers at multiple levels of talent playing multiple tunes with pipes that may not be perfect, all nervous as cats, with very few opportunities to stand up, stretch, go to the bathroom, drink a water or even to eat, and you’ll understand why the judge’s comments on your score sheet are often brief, terse and critical. Consider those comments thoughtfully, however, look for patterns or consistent pickups about your playing, and integrate objective, achievable adjustments to improve them into your practice routine once you’re back in your own environment.

If you're considering stepping into the world of solo competitions, embrace the challenges and enjoy the ride!