Colla Mo Rún: A Celtic Masterpiece That’ll Knock Your Socks Off
Let’s get one thing straight—folk music isn’t for everyone. It’s raw, unfiltered, and sometimes feels like it crawled out of a misty Highland glen just to slap you in the face with its authenticity. And Colla Mo Rún? This album doesn’t mess around. Released in 2001 by Margaret Stewart and Allan MacDonald under Greentrax Recordings, this sucker punches you right in the soul with its mix of Gaelic vocals, bagpipes, fiddles, and enough traditional Celtic flair to make your head spin.
The genre tags say “Folk, World, & Country,” but that’s underselling it. This is pure Celtic fire wrapped up in a Folk blanket. Tracks like "Road To Loch Nam Bearnas" and "Óran Fear Ghlinne-Cuaich" are so vivid they feel alive—like if you close your eyes, you can almost smell peat smoke and hear sheep bleating somewhere off in the distance.
Now, let me tell ya why these two tracks stuck with me. First up, “Road To Loch Nam Bearnas.” The opening track kicks off with bagpipes from Allan MacDonald, and holy crap, does he know how to play ‘em. Those pipes don’t just wail—they scream. They cry. They laugh. By the time Ingrid Henderson’s voice joins in alongside Margaret Stewart, I was ready to grab a sword and march into battle myself. There’s something primal about this tune—it’s not polished or perfect; it’s real. You can practically feel the mud on their boots as they trudge through the Highlands.
Then there’s “Óran Fear Ghlinne-Cuaich,” which flips the vibe entirely. Here, Iain MacDonald takes center stage with his flute work, weaving melodies so delicate you’d think they were spun from spider silk. But don’t mistake softness for weakness—the percussion (courtesy of James MacIntosh) sneaks in halfway through and BAM! Suddenly, the whole thing explodes into life. It’s haunting yet uplifting, kinda like watching dawn break over some forgotten loch. Honestly, after hearing this, I wanted to drop everything and move to Scotland. Or at least buy a kilt.
What makes Colla Mo Rún stand out isn’t just the musicianship—it’s the passion. Every note drips with love for the culture, the language, the stories. Hell, even the credits read like a family reunion. Malcolm Stitt laying down guitar licks? Check. Rona Lightfoot chiming in on vocals? Double check. Even the mastering engineer, Nick Turner, gets a shout-out because clearly, everyone poured their heart into this project.
But here’s the kicker—this ain’t background music. If you try to listen while scrolling Instagram or whatever, you’re doing it wrong. This album demands your attention. It grabs you by the collar and says, “Listen, damnit!” And once you do, you realize how rare albums like this really are.
So yeah, Colla Mo Rún might be two decades old now, but it still hits harder than most modern releases. Maybe that’s why no one talks about it much anymore—because we’ve forgotten how to appreciate raw talent without all the bells and whistles. Or maybe people are just intimidated by its sheer power. Either way, give it a spin. Just don’t blame me if you end up booking a flight to Glasgow afterward.
Oh, and one last thing—don’t skip the Jew’s harp bits. Trust me, they’re wild.
