A personal tribute from Myron Bretholz
I was fortunate to host a folk music radio program in Washington, DC, USA in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and it was then that I first began developing an interest in what ultimately would become my passion, namely Irish and British folk music. Tony Cuffe's name first became familiar to me at that same time, since I was always on the lookout for good music to air on my program. A group called Alba, with a solitary album to its credit, found its way into my collection, and, like so many others music fanatics who like to track song titles, band personnel, and other related information, I soon found my way to albums by Jock Tamson's Bairns and then Ossian. All of those groups were of the first order, and all of those groups had Tony in common. Even among the many talented personages who made this music so magical an experience, Tony stood out.
Tony and I eventually found ourselves at a folk music summer camp where we were both employed as instructors (Tony being one of the camp's resident guitar gods, and I having graduated from radio deejay to itinerant bodhrán thumper), and it wasn't before long that we got to be good friends. Despite the distance which separated us (Tony being in Boston, and me living in Maryland), we managed to hook up as often as our schedules allowed, usually but not always with our respective gigs being the impetus for the meeting.
I came to value Tony's friendship as one of life's gifts, and I counted -- and count -- him among my dearest friends. I suspect that many who knew him probably felt the same way about him - if you were in his company, he made you feel as if you were the most important person on earth. Tony was one of those rare individuals who completely transcended his ego - indeed, he seemed absolutely without ego himself. It is said of some folks that they can fill a room with their presence; Tony was much the opposite, in that he had the talent of bringing everyone else to the fore whilst somehow managing to stay comfortably in the middle ground himself. No one I've ever met was more comfortable in his own skin.
This
virtue even extended to his relationship with Donald MacDonald, Tony's
frequent
performing partner, whom Tony always referred to in terms which indicated
that Donald was, if anything, Tony's musical superior. Donald was a
limberjack, a wooden dancing puppet, and only!
Tony could conjure up the irony and humour appropriate for sharing the stage
with a dummy. For instance, Tony was always fond of introducing Donald by
referring to his impeccable lineage: 'He is a descendant of that great Scottish
hero,
Robert
the Spruce.'
Which is all by way of remarking that Tony was also one of the funniest people who ever walked on this planet. Onstage, without fail, he always delivered performances which were musically staggering (whether on harp, guitar, whistle, or harmonica, all instruments which Tony had mastered) had the requisite humour in their introductions ('this is a song called "Jenny Dang the Weaver," dang being the past tense of ding') and yet personally self-deprecatory. Tony had a gentleness of spirit and a talent for listening to others, traits which aren't always stereotypically identified with those who produce great comedy.
That was the Tony I know and love - he had a joke for every occasion, and some of the moments I treasure most in my memory have to do with his reducing anyone around him to tears with his latest yarn or joke. Hand in hand with his sense of humour was his love of the language, and he was forever punning and making plays on words which would have the effect of making anyone within earshot collapse in apoplectic fits of laughter. I could summon up a dozen other great memories here, some of which might include: Playing at the White House for President Clinton on Saint Patrick's Day, along with our friends Billy McComiskey and Dave Abe and John Skelton. Driving in my dilapidated van from Boston to Fort Ticonderoga to the Irish Catskills. Performing at a concert for Charlie and Mary Lou of Ossian USA with our friends Laurel Martin and Kathleen Guilday. Playing music for his fellow patients at the physical rehabilitation facility when he was recovering from surgery...
I mentioned that I had been fortunate to host a radio show, but that good luck pales beside the greater gift of eventually making Tony's acquaintance. Never in my wildest flights of fancy could I (a Yank of non-Celtic extraction) imagine meeting, much less befriending, and still later playing music with, any of the folks whose music I worshipped, but such is the happenstance of the great and extended musical community which binds and sustains us.
Tony, though physically no longer of this earth, continues to be a vital spiritual force in my life -- and in the lives of all who knew him. One more than one occasion since his death, I have become acquainted with wonderful folks to whom -- I can say it no other way -- Tony introduced me. One such person is Stuart Eydmann, who did a masterful job in coordinating the CD project which this website supports. I don't have words to describe what it was like to sit, along with Stuart, Laurel Martin, and Tony's widow Cath (herself an awesome woman who, along with their three children, constitute one of the most wonderful families in the world), in the room where he had breathed his last breath, listening to his voice and instruments coming over his own speakers, and reading his own notes, in order to bring the present project to fruition.
Tony left behind an incredible legacy, not just with his music, but also by the standard he set, as a man who loved his fellow humans and always put others before himself. Tony, thank you for being on this planet for even a brief while, and thank you for leaving us with a lot of great music, great stories, and memories which will not fade, but only grow stronger with the passage of time.
Myron Bretholz, February 2003