Traditional Irish song, AKA sean nos or “old style”, is characterized by an eschewing of harmony. When multiple singers perform together (not common; most sean nos is solo), they typically sing in unison. This is beautifully demonstrated by the brothers Lionáird. Tune in and listen:
This keening lament chills the hearer not only by the story sung, but the technique of impeccable unison. The loneliness of the maiden is reflected by the lack of musical harmony. How can one be warm alone?
In typical fashion, the young have decided to buck tradition. But, in Ireland, they buck it respectfully. The siblings Flatharta added harmony to a venerable Passiontide lament.
In less capable hands it might have been blasphemy. But prepare to be stunned.
There is no more grave subject matter than the suffering of God and his mother, a sword piercing her heart. The unison technique would have been perfect for this song.
But from the tongues of Seamus and Caoimhe, a strange thrill creeps, unbidden, up the spine. How could the stations of the cross be sung in such a manner as to have an alien spark of hope glimmering somewhere in the periphery?
The effect remains choking and depleting, as intended. But there is something there which could never have been conveyed by a solo voice, or voices in unison.
This harmony is the Lift of which the Proverbs speak.
When God died, he died alone. But he died for the hope of not being alone. I can think of no better old song in which to break the old rules.
Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
A Pheadair, a Aspail, An bhfaca tú mo ghrá geal? Óchón agus óchón-ó! Chonaic mé ar ball é, Gá chéasadh ag an ngarda. Óchón agus óchón-ó! Cé hé an fear breá sin Ar Chrann na Páise? Óchón agus óchón-ó! An é n-aithníonn tú do Mhac, A Mháthrín? Óchón agus óchón-ó! An é sin an Maicín A hoileadh in ucht Mháire? Óchón agus óchón-ó! An é sin an Maicín A rugadh insan stábla? Óchón agus óchón-ó! An é sin an Maicín A d'iompair mé trí ráithe? Óchón agus óchón-ó! A Mhicín mhúirneach, Tá do bhéal 's do shróinín gearrtha, Óchón agus óchón-ó! Cuireadh tairní maola trína chosa 's trína lámha, Óchón agus óchón-ó! Cuireadh an tsleá Trína bhrollach álainn. Óchón agus óchón-ó! Óchón agus óchón-ó! ...
Peter, Apostle, Have you seen my bright love? Alas, and alas-o! I saw not long ago Surrounded by his enemies. Alas, and alas-o! Who is that good man Upon the Passion Tree? Alas, and alas-o! It is your son, Mother, Don’t you recognise me? Alas, and alas-o! Is that the wee son That was nourished at Mary's breast? Alas, and alas-o! Is that the son That was born to me in the stable? Alas, and alas-o! Is that the son I carried for three quarters? Alas, and alas-o! Darling little son, Your mouth and your nose are cut, Alas, and alas-o! Blunt nails were pushed through His feet and his hands. Alas, and alas-o! And a spear pierced Through his beautiful chest. Alas, and alas-o! Alas, and alas-o!