It's an old story, but perhaps WAV would like to read it, and ponder thereupon.

There was once a young Irish fiddler, the old country jigs and reels and all that. Nobody thought much of his music, there were always plenty of good players over there. Then, one night after being ignored once more in the pub session, he was walking back through the woods, when he heard a tiny voice cry out: "Help, for pity's sake, help!"

He looked all around, and at first he couldn't see anything. But a shaft of moonlight lit up the glade for a moment, and he saw a tiny little man dressed in green, caught in a huge spider's web.

It was the work of a few moments to free him, and the little man's gratitude overflowed. Of course, he was a leprechaun, and he granted Kieran his dearest wish as a reward. "I'd love to be a good fiddler", said Kieran. "Done as soon as said!" cried the leprechaun, "But tell me, do you want to play to please yourself, or to please everyone else?"

"Well, I'd be happy just to please myself", said Kieran. "Well, if you're sure about that, so be it", said the leprechaun, and in a twinkling he was gone. Kieran walked home bemused, perhaps it was all a dream, too much Guinness.

But the next evening, he got out his fiddle and thought about what had passed. "I wonder, will it make a difference?" he thought. He tentatively tried a tune... hey, that was good.. another, the Rakes of Mallow, pouring out of his fiddle like nothing he had ever heard. It was true!

You can be sure he could scarcely wait for the next session. He waited for a lull in the music, then launched off into the Spinning Wheel, lovely tune, perfect.... "Aw, shut the f*** up, Kieran, give us a break!" People were actually leaving, what had gone wrong?

Walking back home disconsolately, there in the woods, who should he meet but your man the leprechaun again. "Ah, I thought ye'd be back", he said. "It didn't go according to plan then?"

"No, it sounded fine to me, but they all hated it", said Kieran. "Well", said the leprechaun, "You could always try the other choice." "I'll give it a try," replied Kieran. And once more the leprechaun vanished.

It was days before he had the heart to get out his fiddle again, in the kitchen of his cottage. And the foul scraping noise that he made! He persisted for perhaps half an hour, but each tune was worse than the last, and in the end he put the fiddle away, vowing never to touch it again.

No sooner had he done so, than there was a hammering at the door. Opening it, there he found Mick McGowan and Jimmy Moloney, the two best musicians in the session. "What was that record you was playing there?" they asked, "We've never heard fiddling like that, who was it?"

"I don't know what you mean, I was just scraping on the fiddle," said Kieran, "I haven't got a record player or a radio." "God, man, that can't have been you? Play it again!"

After much persuasion, he got out the fiddle again, and started a tune. Boys of Blue Hill, as bad as any beginner, he stopped half way through. "There, I told you," he was saying. "Go on man, that's marvellous," gasped the others, "You've been putting in some practice on the QT!"

Kieran couldn't believe it, but they hauled him out to the pub, got all the musicians of the area together, and the session that night was remembered for years. Only Kieran hated every minute. Scrapes, missed notes, forgot the tune ("Jaysus man, that's a wonderful turn you've put on it there!"), everything was wrong, and everybody was screaming for more.

And that man the fiddler Kieran Mulligan (google for him) is renowned to this day. And widely known for his modesty, patience with learners, and reluctance to put himself forward. And the moral is that the true artist is his own harshest critic.