But it's not just heartfelt vocals that make The Blue Idol so effective. Half of the album's tracks are exuberant jigs and reels, no two of which sound the same. The utterly contemporary arrangements -- at one point mixing in a jazzy sax solo -- fit seamlessly with the underlying ancient voice. In the end, the success of this music probably stems largely from brilliant studio engineering that not only captures each instrument's clear tones but also locks in on a spirit of play as immediate and human as a sweaty arm and a thumping heartbeat. Relentless rhythms, sparkling with the surprise fiddle flourish, rip by with feverish intensity. However, the album's finest moment is neither a song nor a jig or reel; it's "Slainte Theilinn (A Health to Teelin)," a quiet air Ni Mhaonaigh wrote for her father. The song's tender melodic refrain sets up a breathtaking three-note countermelody, and the arrangement builds on that simple foundation with such open-ended promise that it seems to end too soon, as does the album.
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