Forget Riverdance: The Best of New Irish Music

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Scotland's Capercaille has been around for more than a decade, purveying tradition-minded music with a modern twist. But the band's latest CD, Beautiful Wasteland (Rykodisc), marks a brilliant leap forward as the group draws in an unlikely element: African music. This seemingly odd fusion has already been attempted by the Afro-Celt Sound System, but Capercaille pulls it off with unprecedented aplomb. When singer Karen Matheson teams with the Guinean duo Sibeba on the slowly building, transcendent "Co Ni Mire Rium" ("Who Will Flirt with Me?"), the musical connection crackles.

There are loads of Celtic compilations out there, but Heart of Ireland: A Collection of Traditional and Modern Celtic Songs (Music Club) is the best one in quite a while. Focusing on the Gaelic-language music that has seen a resurgence within Ireland itself, the collection takes a deliberate stand against commercialized, inauthentic versions of Irish music. As the liner notes proclaim, "There are no Aran sweater-clad Kingston Trio clones heard here, no bathetic neo-Vaudeville balladeers or fey harpists from anachronistic 'medieval banquets.' " Instead, the CD showcases artists who record for Ireland's Gael-Linn label, among them the accordionist Carl Hession, whose "Morning Gallop" jig is brisk and lovely; Brian Hughes, whose haunting whistle solo on "Turas Go Tir Na Nog" will stop you in your tracks; and Aoife Ni Fhearraigh, who could probably be the next Enya if only she'd sing in English.

And there's the rub: The acts that are most successful stateside are often those that are least noticeably Irish. People magazine editors, please note: The Corrs, a rawly careerist quartet with fashion-model looks, are currently trying to conquer the United States with bland, slightly Celtic pop buffed by Michael Jackson's producer, David Foster.

But remember this: Even in the "old country," the culture is not as untouched as romantics might hope. A couple of years ago, I thought I had found the pure heart of Ireland in a pub on the Aran Islands, where a local Gaelic-speaking band was playing a Friday-night dance. Except for the electrical fixtures, I thought, the scene could have taken place a century ago. I was jolted out of my reverie when the group launched into the most rousing dance number of the night: "The Chicken Dance."

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