Eclectic Company: Cruising and Grooving

I think it was a few years ago that I wrote about taking a Caribbean cruise vacation with my friend Heather, the famous English traditional folksinger. On that ship we spent lots of time shopping, a small amount of time swimming, exercising, or in the spa getting weird detox treatments you would never think of trying at home, and of course, as you all have sussed, eating, eating, eating like we were orphans in a Dickens novel, and drinking, drinking, drinking, with a sideline in snacking and lattes, while watching seemingly normal adults caper around on make-believe golf courses in front of a giant screen Wii. The Chicago comedy troupe Second City had sent their third- or maybe fifth-string road company of six including musical director to entertain us, and besides them, a few big stage shows and a few bands of all sizes (reggae, Filipino party band playing all the ‘70s hits (and singing them phonetically), a Broadway show band, a salsa and flamenco trio, a classical trio, a jazz trio, a torch song pianist, a classical recitalist, and various guitarists) beguiled the time between meals and naps.

One truly bright light on that cruise was a Canadian folksinger (whose name I can no longer recall, to my shame), who sang not only the acoustic singer-songwriter stuff that you all know from the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s, but some obscure trad ballads familiar to Heather, and then a wonderful sea song we both knew, written by the late, great Canadian folk songster Stan Rogers. The Unknown Folksinger played out of doors at a topside tiki bar during the wee hours; we drifted by most nights, and stayed until we closed the bar down.

Well here I am, only weeks out from the Italian cruise captain debacle (“Get back on that ship!” ordered the Coast Guard. “But I can’t get back on the ship, it’s so dark!” said the Captain.), and I find myself on another such voyage with 3,000 Brits, this time in the company of my POSSLQ, Frank, sailing a different cruise liner (Royal Caribbean's Independence of the Seas) in different waters (Canary Islands, Spain and Portugal), but once again, it’s the late night folksinger plying those ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s tunes who’s the brightest light among the always-twinkling cruise ship entertainment firmament. Ian Millar, from Ballymena, Northern Ireland and Vancouver, Canada, but most recently, Fort Lauderdale, Florida is a fine solo performer who’s also taken his dad’s place in that well-known Irish-Canadian sextet, The Irish Rovers, still going strong nearly 48 years since forming in 1963, and hitting on all burners with Shel Silverstein’s “The Unicorn,” a perennial Christmas classic, Randy Brooks’ “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer,” and Tom Paxton’s “Wasn’t That A Party,” among many other charting tunes.

I went alone to hear Millar the first night in the onboard pub to check him out for the POSSLQ whose tastes in folksong are pretty specifically traditional, leaning heavily on sea chanteys. And he wowed me. Millar was wearing a tuxedo t-shirt with a pinned-on white bowtie and his name misspelled on the back. He was white haired, trim-bearded and bespectacled, completely filling a pintsized stage next to a fake fireplace and mantel lined with empty whiskey glasses, mutely testifying to a night of Jameson’s toasts. Perched on a stool behind a music stand on which rested the folksingers’ fakebook (or maybe just some loose song sheets) when I sauntered in and ordered my usual seltzer and grapefruit juice cocktail near the end of his night, Millar was singing The Eagles, Paul Simon and a couple of lines of a skiffle number by England’s late master of the form, Lonnie Donegan, in a muscular, manly-sweet rolling baritone, firmly chording his crisp, clear Takamine dreadnaught with warm, ringing overtones that decayed just slowly enough for either melancholy or cheer.

When I brought Frank to the pub the next night, we heard Stan Roger’s “Barrett’s Privateers” in quickstep tempo, a cappella except for Millar’s fist hammering on the spruce top for percussive emphasis. Later he tossed off a couple of Irish songs so effortlessly and evocatively I could almost hear a plaintive tin whistle air between verse and chorus. Most nights on the high seas, and one lunchtime matinee, I or we wandered into the pub for Millar’s last half set, and each time were rewarded with new songs, whether they were requests teased out of a vast repertoire of crowd pleasers, auld sod material shouted out to the many Irish men and women in the audience, or songs that he just likes (“here’s one I haven’t done in a while that I really love,” he said, then sang Peter, Paul and Mary’s tearjerker “Leaving On A Jet Plane” with not a whiff of irony), all performed with energy and intentionality. When he covered first Michael Smith’s “The Dutchman” (made popular through the work of the late Steve Goodman, composer of “City of New Orleans” made popular through the work of Arlo Guthrie), then later, with great sensitivity and sympathy for the misguided heroine, Richard Thompson’s “From Galway To Graceland,” and one charmed lunchtime, Paul Siebel’s “Louise,” I felt lucky to be in the room. Check out the Irish Rovers’ website for their summer dates, and catch Ian Millar’s share of the home runs.

One music act drew me to the mainstage: Soul Sensation, paying tribute to Motown (and a few iconic non-Motown soul and R&B acts) backed by the Royal Caribbean Independence of the Seas Orchestra, were slamming. Just put it this way: Three African-American singers — one tenor with major falsetto chops, one baritone with tenor overtones, and one not bad hanger-on — tore it up as they sweated, bumped, twirled, strutted, and stepped their way through the choreography of ‘50s and ‘60s classic hits that ALL of us boomers in the audience knew ALL the words to. I grew up on Motown, dancing to the Temps and the Supremes and listening to the kids at the pizza place singing along with the jukebox after every Saturday morning All-Queens Chorus rehearsal. When Soul Sensation urged us up on our feet to chime in on R-E-S-P-E-C-T, that was me in the front row, styling.