Choosing the right case

 

When you're buying a violin, fiddle, mandolin, or bow, the case can feel like an afterthought. You spend all your time thinking about the instrument, and then at the end somebody asks, "What kind of case do you want?"

After years of working around stringed instruments, I've come to think that's backwards. A good case becomes part of your musical life. You may own it for decades. It goes to lessons, rehearsals, sessions, gigs, festivals and airports. It gets put in cars, carried through rain and snow, bumped into doorways and occasionally piled underneath things it probably shouldn't be underneath.

So what makes a good case?

I had an unusual opportunity to think about that when I was Sales Manager at Stamell Strings in Amherst. Case manufacturers and their representatives would come through the shop and present their products, and I saw many more at the trade shows I attended.

I got to examine a lot of cases.

Some were beautiful. Some were remarkably expensive. Some incorporated clever new materials or designs. Some made a terrific first impression.

But the company I kept coming back to was Bobelock.

What I Learned From Seeing So Many Cases

What impressed me about Bobelock wasn't appearance. There were certainly prettier cases on the market.

It was practicality.

Their cases were sturdy. They had plenty of pockets. They came with useful shoulder straps, dependable zippers and sensible closures. The interiors protected the instruments properly. They were affordable enough for working musicians and students, and they lasted.

I sometimes think of them as the truck tire of instrument cases. Not because that's what an instrument case should look like, but because that's how I think about the job it has to do.

It needs to work.

I've put my own money behind that opinion over the years. I own several Bobelock cases myself: double violin cases, violin-and-mandolin cases, bow boxes, and even a green fiberglass case I've used for Irish gigs.

Those aren't cases I bought to display.

They're cases I bought because I use them.

Protection Comes First

The most important job of any case is protecting the instrument.

That sounds obvious, but protection isn't simply a matter of having a hard shell around a violin.

The instrument needs to fit properly inside. It shouldn't move around when the case is carried, but it shouldn't be squeezed into place either. The neck and scroll need appropriate support. Bows need to sit securely without contacting the violin.

The hardware matters, too.

A wonderfully padded case isn't much use if the handle eventually pulls away or a closure won't stay closed.

That's why I encourage students to look beyond the interior when they're shopping. Pick the case up. Carry it. Open and close it several times. Look at the hinges, handles, straps and zippers.

Those are the parts you're going to interact with thousands of times.

Don't Underestimate Storage

This is one of those things you discover after you've actually lived with a case.

Musicians carry an astonishing amount of stuff.

Rosin. Extra strings. A tuner. Cleaning cloths. Pencils. Shoulder rests. Picks. Mutes. Music. Business cards. Spare parts.

And somehow there's always one mysterious object at the bottom of the accessory compartment that nobody remembers putting there.

Good storage isn't just about having a large compartment. It's about having storage that makes sense.

I like being able to open a case and find what I need without unpacking half of it.

Exterior pockets are particularly useful if you carry music, and secure interior compartments keep small accessories from migrating around the case and ending up underneath the instrument.

Think About How You Actually Travel

A student walking from the house to the car has different needs from a musician carrying two instruments through an airport.

This is where shoulder straps become important.

They're not particularly glamorous, but after walking several city blocks carrying an instrument, music and perhaps another case, you begin to appreciate a good strap enormously.

Weight matters for the same reason.

More protection isn't automatically better if the result is a case you hate carrying.

The trick is finding the appropriate balance between protection, weight and convenience for the way you use the instrument.

Sometimes One Case Is Better Than Two

Multi-instrument cases have been particularly useful to me because I've spent so much of my musical life moving between instruments.

A double violin case makes perfect sense if you're regularly carrying two fiddles.

A violin-and-mandolin case can be even more useful for someone playing traditional music. Instead of arriving at a session looking like you're moving into the building, you carry one case.

That's a small thing until you've done it a few hundred times.

The same applies to bow boxes. Good bows are instruments in their own right, and if you're transporting several of them, a dedicated bow case can be far more practical than trying to fit everything into individual instrument cases.

Hard Shells and Fiberglass

My green fiberglass case is a good example of choosing a case for a particular job.

I've taken it to Irish gigs because it's tough and practical.

At a session or gig, I'm not particularly concerned about whether my case looks elegant sitting beside me. I'm concerned about what happens when somebody moves a chair, knocks something over, or bumps into it while I'm playing.

A hard fiberglass shell provides a reassuring barrier between the fiddle and everything happening around it.

For another musician, a lightweight case might make more sense. Someone traveling constantly by air may have an entirely different set of priorities.

There isn't one perfect case for everybody.

Beautiful Isn't the Same as Good

I appreciate craftsmanship. I've seen instrument cases that are genuinely beautiful objects.

But beauty shouldn't distract you from the basic questions.

Does the instrument fit correctly?

Does the case protect it?

Are the handles comfortable?

Are the straps secure?

Do the closures work reliably?

Can you carry the accessories you actually use?

Can you comfortably carry the case where you need to take it?

And is it likely to survive years of doing all of those things?

Those questions matter considerably more to me than decorative trim.

Buy a Case for Your Musical Life

When you're shopping for a case, imagine your life with it five years from now.

Imagine taking it out of the car on a cold January evening. Imagine carrying it across a festival field in July. Imagine putting it underneath a table at an Irish session or taking it into a lesson every week.

Then imagine doing that hundreds of times.

That's the test.

The best instrument case isn't necessarily the most beautiful one in the shop or the most expensive one in the catalog.

It's the one you eventually stop noticing because it simply does what it's supposed to do.

It protects your instrument and lets you get on with making music.

---

Learn at Sweet Music Studio

I offer private online instruction in violin/fiddle, mandolin, acoustic guitar and double bass, from beginners through experienced musicians.

Students enrolled in the 60-minute private lesson program also receive complimentary access to four weekly virtual group classes: Mandolin Mondays, Klezmer Wednesdays, Celtic Thursdays and Bluegrass Fridays.

For information about lessons, email sweetmusicusa@gmail.com

Adam Sweet
Sweet Music Studio
Granby, Massachusetts

Why?

 

I've been teaching music for more than 45 years.

That's a long time, and experience certainly matters. But if you're considering taking lessons with me, I don't think the number itself is the most important reason.

What matters is what I've done during those years.

I've studied and performed music across an unusually broad spectrum of styles. Classical music, bluegrass, traditional Irish music, klezmer, folk music, mandolin orchestra music and music from other cultures have all become part of my musical vocabulary.

And much of what I learned didn't happen in a classroom.

It happened by going places, meeting musicians and playing music with them.

Sometimes the Best Lesson Happens in a Pub

I remember being in Kilfenora, Ireland, playing bluegrass fiddle for an audience at Linane's Pub.

Think about that combination for a moment.

An American fiddler, in Ireland, playing bluegrass.

But while I was there, I was also learning.

Traditional Irish fiddling has its own vocabulary of ornamentation, rhythm and bowing. One of the techniques I encountered was the traditional Irish treble, that quick right-hand bow movement that gives certain tunes their characteristic articulation.

So there I was, bringing one tradition into the pub and taking another tradition home with me.

That's musical education.

Klezmer at the Great Pyramids

Another time, music took me to Egypt.

I had the extraordinary experience of preparing and performing klezmer music onstage in front of the Great Pyramids.

There is something wonderfully strange about that sentence even now.

Klezmer itself carries generations of travel, migration, celebration and memory. Then you find yourself playing it thousands of miles from home with one of humanity's most recognizable ancient landscapes behind you.

You prepare carefully for a performance like that. You learn the music. You rehearse. You think about the audience and the setting.

Then you walk onto the stage and discover all the things you couldn't possibly have prepared for.

That's part of being a musician, too.

Two Fiddlers in China

One of my favorite musical memories happened in Hebei Province, China.

I was visiting a musical instrument factory and had learned Ashokan Farewell. At the factory, I met a Chinese violinist.

We didn't share the same musical background, but we did share an instrument.

So I played a little of Ashokan Farewell.

Then she played a passage from the Chinese violin concerto The Butterfly Lovers.

For a few minutes, that was our conversation.

I offered her a melody from the American fiddle tradition. She answered with one of China's best-known works for violin.

The people around us listened with obvious wonder and responded with their own version of applause.

I still remember that exchange because it gets to the heart of what I love about music.

We didn't need to explain very much.

We played.

We listened.

We understood.

And Then There's Bach and Mozart

Back home in Western Massachusetts, I've had entirely different musical experiences.

I've performed Bach and Mozart with the South Hadley Mandolin Orchestra at the Porter-Phelps-Huntington Museum in Hadley.

Again, it's a different world.

Different repertoire. Different expectations. Different ensemble skills. Different ways of listening.

But that's precisely the point.

I don't believe musicians have to live inside one little musical box.

A bluegrass fiddler can learn something from Bach.

A classical violinist can learn something enormously valuable from Irish bowing.

A mandolin player can learn from klezmer phrasing.

A musician studying a Chinese melody may suddenly hear something differently in an American fiddle tune.

Music has borders on maps and in history books.

It doesn't have many when you're actually playing it.

That's What I Bring to a Lesson

When I teach someone how to play a scale, hold a bow, produce a better tone or work through a difficult passage, I'm certainly teaching technique.

Technique matters.

But I'm also drawing on decades of playing with musicians in very different circumstances.

I've prepared concerts. I've performed them. I've played formal stages and informal sessions. I've studied classical repertoire and traditional music. I've had musical exchanges with people whose backgrounds were completely different from mine.

I've also taught students for more than four decades.

That means I've had a very long time to discover something every teacher eventually learns:

People don't all learn the same way.

A technique that makes perfect sense to one student may completely confuse another. One person needs to understand why something works. Another needs to hear it. Another needs to watch it. Another simply needs to try it until suddenly the physical movement makes sense.

My job isn't to make every student learn the way I learned.

My job is to figure out how you learn.

I'm Not Trying to Create Another Me

This is important.

I'm not interested in turning students into copies of myself.

Your musical interests may be very different from mine.

Good.

If you want to play bluegrass, let's play bluegrass.

If you're fascinated by Irish music, let's explore that tradition seriously.

If you want to understand classical technique, we'll work on it.

If you've always wanted to play a particular song and don't care whether anybody considers it appropriate "pedagogical repertoire," bring me the song.

There are fundamentals we need to learn. There are physical techniques that make playing easier and prevent bad habits from getting in the way.

But those things are tools.

The goal is music.

Forty-Five Years Is Really Thousands of Lessons

When I say I've taught for more than 45 years, I'm not asking someone to be impressed by the number.

What matters is everything contained inside it.

Thousands of lessons.

Thousands of questions.

Students who learned immediately and students who struggled.

Children picking up an instrument for the first time. Adults returning to music after decades away. People who wanted to perform and people who simply wanted music to become part of their lives.

And through all of that, I've continued learning myself.

Ireland taught me things.

Egypt taught me things.

China taught me things.

Bluegrass musicians taught me things. Classical musicians taught me things. Irish musicians taught me things. Klezmer musicians taught me things.

And my students have taught me an enormous amount.

I bring all of that into the room when I teach.

Your Musical Journey Won't Look Like Mine

Nor should it.

You don't need to perform klezmer in front of the pyramids.

You don't need to play bluegrass in an Irish pub or exchange fiddle tunes in a factory in China.

Your great musical adventure might be playing your first tune all the way through without stopping.

It might be joining a local session.

It might be playing for your family.

It might be returning to the violin you abandoned when you were 14.

It might simply be reaching that wonderful moment when the instrument stops feeling like an object you're wrestling with and starts feeling like a way to express something.

I've had a remarkable musical journey.

What I'd like to do now is help you with yours.

---

Study With Me at Sweet Music Studio

I teach violin and fiddle, mandolin, acoustic guitar and double bass online, working with beginning, intermediate and experienced musicians.

Private lessons are available Monday through Friday. Students enrolled in the 60-minute private lesson program also receive complimentary access to four weekly virtual group classes: Mandolin Mondays, Klezmer Wednesdays, Celtic Thursdays and Bluegrass Fridays.

For information or to arrange a lesson, email sweetmusicstud@gmail.com.

Adam Sweet
Sweet Music Studio
Granby, Massachusetts

Mandolin Picks!

 

Mandolin Picks: Sometimes the Smallest Things Make the Biggest Difference

 

Thickness, shape, material, and finding the pick that feels right in your hands.

We've talked about choosing a mandolin and how different strings can change its sound. Now let's discuss something considerably smaller, considerably less expensive, and every bit as important to the way your instrument responds.

The humble mandolin pick.

I've spent more than 45 years playing stringed instruments, and during that time I've accumulated enough picks to fill a small museum. Thin ones, thick ones, pointed ones, rounded ones, plastic, nylon, tortoiseshell substitutes, and all sorts of experimental materials.

Some I've loved. Others have disappeared into the bottom of a drawer, never to be seen again.

And here's something I've learned: a pick isn't simply a device for striking a string. It's an extension of your hand, and it plays an important role in shaping your sound.

Why Does the Pick Matter So Much?

A mandolin has eight strings arranged in four pairs, or courses. Unlike a guitar, where you might use your fingers to produce individual notes, most traditional mandolin playing relies heavily on the pick.

Every note you play involves a physical interaction between the pick and the strings.

The thickness, shape, material, flexibility, and angle of that pick influence how the string responds.

A thin, flexible pick may produce a lighter attack, but it can also make precise single-note playing and rapid tremolo more difficult. A thicker pick often provides a more substantial feel and greater control, particularly when playing melodies.

But thickness alone doesn't determine tone. The shape of the tip, the way you hold the pick, and the angle at which it meets the strings are equally important.

Sometimes a very small adjustment makes a remarkable difference.

Thin, Medium, or Heavy?

Let's start with thickness.

Thin Picks

Thin picks flex considerably as they pass across the strings.

They can be useful for certain kinds of light strumming, particularly on guitar, but I generally don't recommend very thin picks as a starting point for traditional mandolin playing.

That flexibility can make it harder to develop a consistent attack, especially when moving quickly between courses or working on tremolo.

Medium Picks

Medium picks offer a compromise between flexibility and firmness.

Some players enjoy them for rhythm work or a lighter playing style. They can also be a comfortable transition for guitarists who are beginning to explore mandolin.

Heavy and Extra-Heavy Picks

This is where things become especially interesting.

Many experienced mandolin players prefer picks that are considerably thicker than those commonly used for acoustic guitar.

A thick pick doesn't necessarily produce a harsh or aggressive sound. In fact, when combined with a rounded tip and a relaxed picking technique, it can produce a remarkably warm, full tone.

The pick doesn't have to bend very much. Instead, your hand controls how it moves through the strings.

For students who have been struggling with tremolo or inconsistent tone, experimenting with a thicker pick can sometimes be a revelation.

Shape Matters, Too

Take a look at a handful of mandolin picks, and you'll notice that they aren't all shaped alike.

Some have relatively sharp points. Others have broad, rounded tips. Some are triangular, allowing you to rotate the pick and use any of its three corners.

A pointed pick may offer a more defined attack, while a rounded tip can encourage a smoother sound and feel.

Neither is inherently better.

For traditional mandolin playing, I particularly encourage students to experiment with rounded picks. They can be wonderfully comfortable for tremolo and melodic playing.

But don't take my word for it. Try several shapes on the same instrument and listen carefully.

You may discover that the pick you initially thought looked rather strange produces exactly the sound you've been looking for.

What About Pick Materials?

Most modern picks are made from synthetic materials, but there's considerable variety within that category.

Celluloid: A traditional pick material with a familiar feel and a wide range of available shapes and thicknesses.

Nylon: Often associated with a slightly softer feel and varying degrees of flexibility.

Delrin and similar engineered plastics: Durable materials that offer a relatively consistent surface and response.

Specialty synthetic materials: Used in many premium picks, sometimes designed to reproduce particular tonal and tactile characteristics associated with older pick materials.

You'll also encounter picks made from wood, metal, stone, and other materials.

They're worth experimenting with, although unusual materials don't automatically produce better musical results.

The important questions remain the same: How does the pick feel? How does it sound? Can you control it comfortably?

And does it make you want to keep playing?

Let's Talk About Tremolo

One of the mandolin's most recognizable techniques is tremolo, the rapid alternation of downstrokes and upstrokes that allows us to sustain the impression of a long, singing note.

Because the mandolin's natural sustain is relatively short, tremolo plays an important expressive role in many styles.

A suitable pick can make developing this technique considerably easier.

But the secret isn't simply finding the thickest or most expensive pick available.

It's learning to maintain a relaxed hand, use an economical picking motion, and allow the pick to move smoothly across the strings.

If you're gripping the pick as though someone is about to steal it, you're probably making things harder than necessary!

Try holding it firmly enough that it remains secure, but loosely enough that your wrist and fingers aren't unnecessarily tense.

Experiment with different pick angles and listen to how the sound changes.

A good tremolo should sound musical, not like a small motor struggling to start.

Bluegrass, Celtic, and Different Musical Traditions

Different styles of music place different demands on your picking technique.

In bluegrass, you may move between powerful rhythm playing, precise single-note passages, crosspicking, and improvisation.

In traditional Irish music, you may be concentrating on the rhythmic character of jigs and reels, ornamentation, and the phrasing of individual melodies.

A slow air may invite an entirely different touch from an energetic bluegrass breakdown.

That doesn't mean you need a separate pick for every style.

Many musicians find one particular pick that works comfortably across their repertoire. Others keep several favorites available for different situations.

There's nothing wrong with either approach.

The important thing is to develop enough control that the pick serves your musical intentions rather than dictating them.

The Most Expensive Pick Isn't Necessarily the Best

Specialty mandolin picks can be surprisingly expensive.

Some are beautifully manufactured, carefully beveled, and designed to produce particular tonal characteristics. Many are excellent.

But a high price doesn't guarantee that a pick will suit your hand, instrument, or playing style.

I've always encouraged students to experiment before becoming loyal to a particular product.

Try a few inexpensive picks in different thicknesses and shapes. Compare them with a heavier, more carefully finished specialty pick.

Listen for differences in attack, warmth, clarity, and responsiveness.

You may discover that a relatively inexpensive pick is your favorite.

Or you may find that a premium pick offers exactly the feel and control you've been missing.

Either result is perfectly fine.

A Simple Experiment for Your Next Practice Session

Here's something you can try at home.

Find three picks with noticeably different thicknesses or shapes.

Choose a familiar tune, preferably something you can play comfortably without concentrating too much on the notes.

Play the tune with each pick, paying attention to:

• How comfortably the pick sits between your fingers.

• How easily it moves across paired strings.

• Whether the tone is bright, warm, sharp, or mellow.

• How much control you have over dynamics.

• Whether your hand remains relaxed.

• How the pick responds during tremolo and faster passages.

If possible, record yourself using each pick and listen afterward.

You might be surprised by what you hear.

And remember, what feels best isn't always what sounds best. Ideally, you're looking for a combination of both.

Don't Forget the Human Part

It's tempting to believe that the next accessory will solve every technical difficulty we encounter.

A new pick might improve your tone or make certain techniques more comfortable, but it won't replace thoughtful practice.

Your grip, wrist movement, pick angle, timing, and overall physical relaxation all contribute to the sound you produce.

Two musicians can use the same mandolin, identical strings, and the same pick and still sound completely different.

That's one of the wonderful things about playing a musical instrument.

The equipment matters, but the musician matters more.

Find the Pick That Makes You Forget About the Pick

Ultimately, that's what I'm looking for.

A pick that feels so natural in my hand that I stop thinking about it.

One that allows me to play softly when I want to, dig into a lively tune when the music calls for it, and move comfortably between rhythm and melody.

It doesn't have to be fashionable. It doesn't have to carry a prestigious name. And it certainly doesn't have to cost a fortune.

It simply has to work.

So the next time you're in a music shop, spend a few minutes exploring the pick selection. Buy several different shapes and thicknesses, take them home, and experiment.

You may discover that one of the least expensive accessories in your instrument case makes one of the biggest differences in your playing.

And once you've found a favorite?

Buy a few extras.

Because no matter how carefully you look after them, mandolin picks have an extraordinary ability to disappear!

---

Learn Mandolin at Sweet Music Studio

I offer private online mandolin instruction for beginning, intermediate, and experienced players. Lessons include technique, tone production, flatpicking, tremolo, repertoire, improvisation, and traditional music.

Students enrolled in our 60-minute private lesson program also receive complimentary access to four weekly virtual group classes.

To inquire about lessons, visit our Contact page or email sweetmusicstud@gmail.com.

Adam Sweet
Sweet Music Studio
Granby, Massachusetts

How Irish Is the Irish Jig?

 

I grew up playing traditional fiddle music, but here's something that seems strange in retrospect: I didn't grow up playing many jigs. They weren't part of what I learned from Mellie Dunham's Merrie Melodies. Although I eventually encountered O'Neill's enormous collections of Irish music, jigs weren't initially what I took from them either. And when I entered fiddle contests as a kid and teenager, nobody particularly wanted to hear a jig. The world I knew revolved much more around breakdowns, reels, waltzes, hornpipes and tunes that showed what an American fiddler could do.

Then I started playing contradances, and suddenly there were jigs everywhere.

That has always struck me as a little odd. If the jig is one of the great forms of traditional fiddle music, and particularly one of the defining forms of Irish traditional music, how had I managed to spend so much time around fiddling without really encountering it? Recently I began digging into the history of the hornpipe and discovered that much of its popular origin story doesn't survive close examination. That made me wonder whether the jig had acquired a similar mythology. It has, and the answer to the question "How Irish is the Irish jig?" turns out to be much more complicated than the usual story suggests.

The Jig Before Ireland

The earliest secure use of the word as a dance name appears not in Ireland but in Scotland around 1560. The Scottish poet Alexander Scott used the Scots word jeigis in work preserved in a manuscript dated 1568. In England, John Foxe referred to "Scottishe gigges" in 1570. The evidence therefore points toward Britain, particularly Scotland and England, for the earliest documented jig. Even the English reference associates the form with Scotland.

There are older European words that look tantalizingly similar. Medieval French gigue and German gîga, for example, existed earlier, but those words referred to a fiddle or bowed instrument rather than securely identifying the dance we now call a jig. The ultimate etymology remains uncertain. What matters for the history of the dance is that we currently have no securely dated French, Italian or Irish dance called a jig that predates the Scottish and English evidence.

This becomes particularly important when we look at some familiar stories about the Irish jig. Claims are sometimes made that Irish jigs were known during the reign of Elizabeth I. One story cites a supposed 1569 letter by Sir Henry Sidney mentioning Irish jigs in Galway; another claims that Elizabeth herself enjoyed Irish jigs. If genuine, these would be tremendously important pieces of evidence. When the references are followed backward, however, they appear to lead to W. H. Grattan Flood's 1905 history of Irish music, where the claims were presented without a usable citation to the original source.

There is a genuine document that may have helped give rise to the story. In 1602 the Earl of Worcester wrote that "Irish tunes are at this time most pleasing." That's fascinating evidence for the popularity of Irish music in England, but he said tunes, not jigs. At present there is also no documentary evidence for the frequently asserted medieval Irish jig. The claim appears to be another example of a later assumption gradually acquiring the appearance of established history through repetition.

Early Jigs Didn't Necessarily Sound Like Jigs

To a modern traditional musician, the word jig immediately suggests compound meter, particularly 6/8, with its characteristic ONE-two-three, FOUR-five-six pulse. But the earliest surviving musical jigs weren't defined that way. Some were written in duple meter. Giles Farnaby's Nobodyes Gigge is one example, and the three pieces identified as jigs in the first edition of John Playford's The English Dancing Master in 1651 likewise do not conform to the standardized 6/8 form a modern fiddler would expect.

The early jig therefore seems to have been identified more by character, function and association than by one mandatory meter. The transformation into the form familiar today happened gradually. By the 1690s, 6/4 had become common, and between roughly 1680 and 1750 the jig increasingly settled into its characteristic compound-meter identity. By the middle of the eighteenth century, 6/8 was becoming standard. In other words, something called a jig had existed for well over a century before it became quite the musical thing modern traditional musicians mean when they use the word.

The continental gigue and Italian giga complicate the story further. Anyone familiar with the Baroque suite knows the gigue as the lively movement that often concludes the sequence, and it's tempting to draw a simple line connecting the British jig, French gigue and Italian giga. The evidence isn't nearly that tidy. There were clearly relationships among these forms, but exactly how the music travelled between Britain and continental Europe remains unresolved. The evidence currently suggests transmission from England to the Continent sometime around 1630–1650, although no document records a convenient historical handoff.

Even the often-repeated claim that Johann Jakob Froberger introduced the gigue in 1657 doesn't withstand scrutiny. A lute gigue by Wolfgang Ebner survives from 1648, while Froberger's own autograph contains one from 1649. Traditional music history is full of wonderfully precise statements that become considerably less precise when someone goes looking for the primary sources.

Becoming Irish

The evidence for the jig in Ireland becomes much clearer during the eighteenth century. A jig or "gigga" appears in Irish print in 1724 in the Neal collection, with further examples appearing in eighteenth-century collections including those associated with Thumoth around the 1740s. By the later eighteenth century we also have direct descriptions of jig dancing in Ireland. Arthur Young, travelling through Ireland between 1776 and 1779, provides one of the earliest eyewitness accounts explicitly describing the Irish jig being danced there.

During the following century Irish musicians and dancers did something enormously important: they made the jig thoroughly their own. An enormous repertoire developed, along with increasingly recognizable varieties. By the nineteenth century writers such as George Petrie and P. W. Joyce were documenting distinctions familiar to traditional musicians today, including double jigs, single jigs and hop or slip jigs.

This is why saying that the jig probably originated in Scotland and England does not mean that the Irish jig somehow isn't Irish. Culture doesn't work that way. Musical forms travel. Musicians adopt them, change them, compose within them and sometimes develop them so extensively that the adopted form becomes inseparable from the new tradition. Ireland may not have invented the jig, but Ireland became one of the places where the jig truly flourished.

Listen to Woodkerne performing "Johnny Williams" Jig: https://audius.co/vervemusic/johnny-williams

This would be a good place for one of my Woodkerne recordings. The history stops being an abstraction when we can hear what generations of musicians ultimately made from the form.

How Old Is the Irish Jig?

Another common statement is that the jig is the oldest surviving Irish dance form. That can be true, but only if the sentence is carefully defined. The jig appears to be the earliest attested of the major tune types that make up today's Irish traditional dance-music repertoire. In that particular sense, the chronology is jig first, followed by the duple-time hornpipe in the later eighteenth century and the reel, arriving from Scotland, later still.

That's quite different from saying that the jig is Ireland's oldest dance. Long dances, country dances, sword dancing and other forms have earlier documentary histories in Ireland. Calling the jig an ancient indigenous Irish dance goes considerably further than the evidence allows. This may sound like a small semantic distinction, but the two statements describe very different histories.

There are similar problems surrounding the famous story of Will Kemp. In 1600 the actor and clown danced from London to Norwich and subsequently published his account as Nine Daies Wonder. Kemp often wanders into histories of the jig, but his own title page tells us what he was doing: a morris dance. Playford later published a tune called Kemps Jegg, but the shared name isn't evidence that Kemp jigged his way to Norwich.

The Elizabethan stage jig creates still more confusion because it wasn't necessarily a single dance at all. It could be a comic theatrical afterpiece combining song, dancing, dialogue and farce, traditionally performed after the main play. It became sufficiently notorious that the Middlesex Sessions suppressed such afterpieces in 1612. Even in Shakespeare's England, therefore, asking "What was a jig?" doesn't produce one simple answer.

The Jig Comes to America

This part of the history unexpectedly brought me back to my own experience as a fiddler. Jigs absolutely crossed the Atlantic, and nineteenth- and early twentieth-century collections such as Howe, Ryan, O'Neill and Cole contain plenty of them. But printed collections tell us what publishers and collectors chose to print. They don't necessarily tell us what an ordinary rural American fiddler was actually playing on Saturday night.

In much of American fiddle culture, duple-meter music increasingly dominated. Breakdowns and hoedowns suited changing dance traditions. Commercial recordings reinforced that repertoire, radio reinforced it again, and bluegrass inherited much of the same rhythmic world. Fiddle contests helped institutionalize it. Major American contests generally didn't require a jig; the expected categories instead became things such as a hoedown or breakdown, a waltz and a tune of choice.

That was very close to the musical world I encountered growing up. Nobody told me that jigs didn't exist. They simply weren't particularly important to what I was being asked to play.

Yet there is evidence that the jig hadn't disappeared nearly as completely as the conventional history might suggest. Samuel Bayard's enormous collection of traditional Pennsylvania fiddle tunes, based on music collected from actual musicians and eventually published in 1982, contains a surprisingly large body of music in 6/8. Roughly thirty percent of the collection falls into that rhythmic world. The musicians, however, didn't necessarily call these tunes jigs. Some were known as quadrilles or cotillions.

That's a beautiful warning about studying folk music through terminology alone. Search historical sources only for the word jig and you might conclude that the form disappeared from a particular community. Listen to what the fiddlers actually played and it may be sitting right there under another name.

And Then I Walked Into a Contradance

This finally helps explain something about my own musical history. Jigs remained particularly healthy in New England contradance music, as well as in Irish-American communities and the Canadian Maritimes. The structure of contradance doesn't demand that every tune be a reel. Its familiar 32-bar dance forms work perfectly well with both reels and jigs.

So when I entered that musical world, suddenly the jig wasn't an historical curiosity or something buried halfway through a tune book. It was working music. Someone called the dance, someone called the tune, and you played the jig.

Listen to Celticado performing "A Kilfenora Set", medley of jigs: https://audius.co/vervemusic/kilfenora-set

I'll put a Celticado recording here because this is where the historical story intersects with my own musical one: not the jig preserved as an artifact in a collection, but the jig as something musicians still play together.

The Jig and the Hornpipe

I began this investigation because I had just been researching another supposedly ancient dance form, the hornpipe. The parallels are striking. Both names have early British histories. Both musical forms changed substantially over time. Both eventually became deeply embedded in Irish traditional music. And both accumulated origin stories that became tidier and more certain through repetition.

But they're not identical histories. The hornpipe underwent its great metrical transformation from triple to duple time relatively abruptly around the 1760s. The jig's evolution was longer and more diffuse. After its basic compound-meter identity emerged, musicians continued reinventing it in Ireland, England, North America, Québec and Métis communities. By around 1800, jig and hornpipe could even function fairly loosely as terms for solo step dancing rather than the precise musical categories musicians use today.

That's one of the things I find most fascinating about traditional music. The tradition is real, but that doesn't mean the music has been sitting still for five hundred years. Change is part of the tradition.

So How Irish Is the Irish Jig?

Very Irish, but probably not because Ireland invented it.

The best documentary evidence presently points toward a jig emerging in sixteenth-century Scotland and England, with the musical form gradually acquiring its familiar compound-meter identity between roughly 1680 and 1750. Ireland adopted the form during the eighteenth century, after which Irish musicians and dancers transformed it into one of the defining sounds of their own tradition.

Centuries later, that tradition carried the jig around the world. Meanwhile, in parts of American fiddle culture, the jig faded from prominence. It survived strongly in particular communities and dance traditions, sometimes even surviving under other names, while breakdowns, reels and waltzes increasingly occupied the center of American fiddling.

Which finally explains something I've wondered about for years. I didn't somehow fail to learn one of the basic forms of traditional fiddle music when I was young. I learned the repertoire belonging to the fiddle culture around me.

When I eventually walked into an American musical tradition where the jig had remained alive, useful and necessary, I found it.

It was waiting at the contradance.

Mandolin Lessons at Sweet Music Studio: Learning to Play Together

 

There's something wonderful about the mandolin. It's small enough to take just about anywhere, versatile enough to find a home in dozens of musical traditions, and has a voice that can be bright and cheerful one moment, warm and expressive the next. Whether you're drawn to bluegrass, traditional Irish music, old-time fiddle tunes, folk, or simply want to learn an instrument you've always admired, the mandolin is a terrific place to start.

At Sweet Music Studio, I offer private mandolin lessons for beginners through advanced players, along with a virtual group class designed to bring adult musicians together to learn, practice, and develop their playing.

I've been playing and teaching mandolin for more than 45 years. My musical background includes bluegrass bands, traditional Irish sessions, folk music, classical training, and years of performing and recording with other musicians. Along the way, I've learned that some of the most valuable musical education happens not in a practice room, but when people sit down together and play.

That's the philosophy behind my teaching.

Private Mandolin Lessons

Every student comes to the mandolin with a different background. Some have played guitar or another stringed instrument for years. Others are picking up an instrument for the very first time. Some want to learn bluegrass solos, while others would be perfectly happy sitting in a circle of musicians playing traditional tunes on a Sunday afternoon.

Private lessons give us an opportunity to work on what interests you, at a pace that makes sense.

Depending on your experience and musical goals, lessons can include:

• Getting comfortable with the instrument, tuning, picking, and basic technique.

• Learning chords, rhythm, and accompaniment.

• Developing right-hand technique, timing, and tone.

• Playing melodies and traditional fiddle tunes.

• Bluegrass flatpicking, improvisation, and understanding chord progressions.

• Learning to play by ear as well as reading music.

• Building a repertoire of tunes you can share with other musicians.

• Developing the confidence to participate in a jam session.

I don't believe every student needs to follow the same musical path. The important thing is to develop a solid foundation while making music you genuinely enjoy.

Private lessons are currently offered online while we work out arrangements for returning to in-person instruction.

Why Playing With Other Adults Matters

One thing I've noticed over many years of teaching is that adults often learn an instrument in isolation. They buy a mandolin, find some instructional material, practice at home, and gradually build up a collection of tunes. But eventually, many reach a point where something is missing.

They need other musicians.

Music is, after all, a conversation. You learn to listen, respond, follow someone else's lead, find your place in the rhythm, and occasionally take a chance on something you haven't played before.

You also discover that everybody makes mistakes, even people who have been playing for decades!

For adults especially, having a community of fellow learners can make an enormous difference. It gives you a reason to keep practicing, an opportunity to share what you've learned, and the encouragement that comes from knowing other people are working through the same challenges.

I've spent many years participating in and organizing traditional music sessions, including a long-running Sunday session that brought students and experienced musicians together. Those gatherings reinforced something I've always believed: learning music should lead toward making music with other people.

That's why Sweet Music Studio offers more than individual instruction.

Our Virtual Mandolin Group Class

In addition to private lessons, I offer a virtual mandolin group class through the Sweet Music Studio YouTube channel.

The group class is intended to complement individual study while creating a shared learning experience for adults interested in the mandolin.

We'll explore traditional tunes, playing techniques, rhythm, accompaniment, and the musical skills that help prepare you to play with others. The goal isn't simply to learn another song. It's to become a more comfortable, confident, and capable musician.

And because the class is virtual, you don't need to live in Western Massachusetts to participate.

Whether you're returning to an instrument you put aside years ago, exploring mandolin after playing something else, or just beginning your musical journey, you're welcome to join us.

Visit our YouTube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/@sweetmusic413

It's Never Too Late to Start

One of the pleasures of teaching adults is the range of experiences they bring to music. Some have wanted to play an instrument since childhood but never had the opportunity. Others are rediscovering something they enjoyed years ago. Still others are looking for a creative activity that gets them away from their daily routines and connects them with new people.

You don't need to be preparing for a concert or aspiring to become a professional musician to take lessons.

You can learn simply because you love the sound of the mandolin, enjoy traditional music, or want to experience the pleasure of playing alongside others.

There is a great deal of satisfaction in learning your first tune, discovering how two instruments fit together, or realizing that you can finally keep up with a piece that once seemed impossibly fast.

And there is always something new to learn.

Come Play With Us!

Sweet Music Studio welcomes new mandolin students for private online instruction and our virtual group class.

My hope is that students will develop not only the technical skills to play the mandolin, but also the confidence and enthusiasm to make music with others. Whether that eventually means joining a local jam, playing with friends, or simply sharing a few favorite tunes with another musician, that's where the real enjoyment begins.

For information about private lessons, please get in touch with Sweet Music Studio.

For our virtual mandolin group class, visit and subscribe to the Sweet Music Studio YouTube channel.

Keep playing, keep learning, and most importantly, play with other people!

Adam Sweet
Sweet Music Studio

Why It’s Never Too Late: The Benefits of Learning an Instrument After 50

Many people believe that learning a musical instrument is something you have to start as a kid — but I’m here to tell you that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, picking up an instrument after the age of 50 might be one of the most rewarding decisions you can make.

I recently shared a video on this very topic, which I’ve included below, but I also wanted to put some thoughts down in writing for those considering the idea.

It’s About More Than Music

Learning an instrument later in life isn’t just about playing songs — it’s about keeping your mind sharp, improving your coordination, and giving yourself a creative outlet. Numerous studies have shown that playing music engages multiple areas of the brain, which can help with memory, cognitive function, and even emotional well-being.

Music Builds Confidence and Community

Many of my adult students come to lessons thinking they “missed their chance.” But within a few months, they’re playing tunes, building confidence, and often connecting with others who share their love of music. Whether it’s sitting in on a jam session, playing for family, or simply enjoying your own progress, music brings people together in a way few other hobbies can.

It Keeps You Young at Heart

Let’s face it — staying active, engaged, and curious is the key to staying young at heart. Learning to play an instrument challenges you in the best possible way. It’s a journey, not a race, and every small improvement feels like a personal victory.

You Control the Pace

One of the biggest advantages of learning music as an adult is that you set the pace. You’re not trying to prepare for auditions or competitions — it’s about your personal goals, your enjoyment, and your progress.

 

Songwriting, Teaching Music and The State of Music Educating

In the years leading up to 2020, private music instruction was the heart of my professional life. I taught violin, mandolin, and guitar to students of all ages, both in person and online. The rhythm of weekly lessons was steady and familiar — a tradition as old as music itself. Then the pandemic hit, and everything changed.

At first, there was a flurry of interest in online lessons. Parents and students were at home, searching for structure and creative outlets. Chat became a lifeline. But as the months turned into years, the fatigue set in. Slowly but unmistakably, the demand for private music lessons began to taper off. Post-COVID, it never really bounced back.

The world had shifted, and so did I.

Today, I find myself leaning fully into songwriting. It's not a retreat; it's a return — to the part of music that first lit me up. Songwriting allows me to process, reflect, and connect. It gives voice to the stories that matter most to me. I'm still teaching, just in a different way. Every lyric, every phrase, every melody carries the lessons of a lifetime in music.

And yet, I mourn a little for what we’ve lost. The music education landscape feels fragile now. Schools are cutting back. Budgets are tighter. Fewer kids are picking up instruments. Private teachers across the country — especially those who teach traditional or classical instruments — are feeling the pinch. It's not about competition or pricing. It's about shifting priorities. In a world of screens and scrolls, attention is harder to hold. Commitment to practice is rare.

But I still believe in the power of music education — maybe more now than ever. Music is one of the few disciplines that connects mind, body, and spirit. It builds patience, self-awareness, emotional intelligence. Whether I'm writing a song about a summer hike, a piece of New England history, or a memory I want to preserve, I carry those values with me.

This isn't the end of teaching for me — just a new chapter. I’ll always welcome students who are curious, who want to learn, who are willing to dig into the process. And I’ll keep writing songs that speak to where we’ve been and where we’re going.

Thanks for being part of this journey. If you're still teaching — I see you. If you're writing — keep going. If you're listening — thank you.

Let’s keep the music alive, in whatever form it takes.