The principal is simple and exquisite: put five, brilliant and collaborative musicians in a room, empower them equally, and then set them free. And when they choose a piece of music, it is not the tune’s provenance that matters, not its musicological era, nor its country of origin. It is the story being told, leading to the journey that the musicians embark upon, together.

Predictably, Scottish fiddlers will bring Scottish music. Irish pipers may bring slow airs, jigs and reels. Early music wind players might bring 17th century variations. But then, the harper brings a Polska from Sweden. The gamba player brings a drone that apparently has its origins at the center of the earth, and after 35 years of being an instrumental ensemble, someone starts to sing. Go figure. 

A new melody shows up, written in grief. Another, written in love. The words of Frederick Douglass are set to a tune by Turlough O’Carolan, a poem by Jim Harrison, set to a hymn from Southern Harmony. 

The connective tissue is not a genre, it is a passion. Theirs is commitment to remarkable music making, and indeed, this is where Ensemble Galilei dwells, sharing the journey with audiences, decade after decade.