Live music: Maighread & Tríona Ní Dhomhnaill / Andy Irvine & Dónal Lunny

"Well that was fucking awful," was a harsh verdict I heard applied to this concert. Harsh but fair? I will let you be the judge. The concert took place as part of Tradfest, an annual festival of trad-like music that takes place in a various venues in Dublin. This saucy foursome were playing in St. Patrick's Cathedral, the olde cathedral in Dublin that is not Christchurch. It is actually a terrible venue for large-scale gigs and I fear this may have contributed to a certain dissatisfaction with the performance. The venue has the fundamental church problem of having a flat rather than a banked floor, meaning that you do not have to be very far back to start finding the stage hard to see. The problem is exacerbated by St. Patrick's being long and thin, so nearly everyone is back behind the cheeky line. From a purely subjective point of view, it did not help that that the venue boasts unreserved seating and that although we arrived down just as doors were due to open we still ended up sitting right at the back in the "probably shouldn't have bothered" section.

What of the performance? It began with the two Ní Dhomhnaill sisters, who come from Donegal. They do vocal stuff together while one of them plays on the piano. The piano and the perhaps over-deliberate singing style made this a bit too reminiscent of a recital rather than something from the world of traditional music, though if you know what you are getting yourself in for that it is not necessarily a bad thing. I was struck though by the strange sexual politics of some of the songs (something not uncommon in the lyrics of traditional music). One warned women against the dangers of slighting young men who express admiration, lest the man refuse the woman's advances should she subsequently fall in love with him. Another described a worrying encounter between a beautiful child on her way to school and a mysterious stranger who seemed to be intent on luring her away to a terrible end. Although the song has a happy ending (the stranger is revealed as the Devil himself, who then spontanaeously combusts), the endlessly repeated line about the beauty of the child disturbed me somewhat.

Dónal Lunny joined the Ní Dhomhnaills for a song and then as the sisters left Andy Irvine took the stage. As you know, Irvine and Lunny have been musical collaborators since their time together in Planxty. Their setlist was like a redux version of what you get at an Andy Irvine concert, focussing in particular on Planxty tunes but also delving into tunes from his solo career, including such favourites as 'A Close Shave' (the one about the miner who is swindled out of his gold and his clothes by a mysterious golden-haired lady of easy virtue) and his song about hanging out with other musicians in O'Donoghues in the early 1960s (the one featuring the shocking revelation that so-called true Dub Ronnie Drew is actually from Dún Laoighaire). I enjoyed the musical interplay between the two of them and their roffley chit chat, though I was thinking continuously how much more I would be enjoying it if I was not sitting a long way away from them at the back of a church. Irene pointed out that all the political songs seemed to have been excised from the set, with 'Never Tire of the Road' (Irvine's celebration of Woody Guthrie, which features Guthrie's own chorus of "All of you fascists bound to lose") being a particularly odd omission, given our troubled times and the fact that Irvine played it in the same venue a few years ago at a gig by the reformed Sweeney's Men.

Being at the back meant that we were able to get out quickly and make our way back home with despatch (which might just mean that we missed an unexpected encore of 'Never Tire of the Road', where we were greeted by a wet cat who regretted her decision to spend the evening out having adventures.

Homelights

Homelights was this folkie festival thing taking place in Whelans over a couple of days. We bought tickets for just the Sunday and then only came down to see what was on in the evening. When we arrived, Adrian Crowley was playing. It was nice to catch him, as my understanding is that he had organised the festival. He seems to be one of those singer songwriter fellows, and he played tunes accompanying himself on guitar. He also had some woman with him playing fiddle or something like that; I think she might have been temporarily recruited from another band playing at the event.

I am not sure Mr Crowley was that great, with the tunes being not all that, and what was good about them live was often the stringy arrangements, possibly lacking when he plays on his own. I did like one song that he played near the end, but I thought it might be a cover; discussions with my beloved suggested that it might just be one of those songs that sounds very like a song by someone else. I straightforwardly liked the last song he did, something about three saucy sisters where he liked the shy one best (matron), even if the lyrics seemed a bit odd. And it is only fair to say that Mr Crowley has an appealingly understated stage manner.

Next up was Andy Irvine. Handy Andy always delivers the goods live, and here he treated us to something of a greatest hits set – so we had 'Arthur McBride (And Then We Bate The Shite Out Of Them)', the one about Woody Guthrie, the one about the farmer whose crops have dried up, the one about the soldiers, the one about the gold miner who meets a lovely young lady, etc..

The gold miner one is a particular favourite. I remember him saying a while ago that he has never recorded it, because it is the kind of song that loses its magic once preserved in such a format. I could not but agree with him, on seeing the reaction of an audience who seemed largely to be hearing it for the first time. The one about Woody Guthrie also went down well, with everyone loving the 'All You Fascists Bound To Lose' sing-a-long refrain.

And then Vashti Bunyan. She is one of those people who recorded one folkie album back in the 1960s before disappearing off into obscurity, only to have come back to musical life in the last few years with new recordings, concerts, and suchlike. She has some oddly contradictory qualities – she is obviously a bit shy and nervous about playing live, yet she seems to really enjoy playing and gets a real thrill from bringing her music to an appreciative audience. The contradiction actually contributes to how enjoyable her music is live. The delightful songs are also an obvious help here.

Sadly I could not pay too much attention to Ms Bunyan, as the heat and close atmosphere of the venue (in stark contrast to the cold and damp outside) meant that I became a little bit faint and had to go and sit down at the back. I am so un-rock and roll.

an Inuit Panda production.

Andy Irvine & Paul Brady

As a Christmas present, my beloved got me the album Paul Brady and Andy Irvine did together back ages and ages ago. From this far remove, it is hard to think of Paul Brady ever having been a credible figure on the folk-trad scene; musically he is more associated with stuff like the title song from the Eat The Peach soundtrack or Tina Turner album tracks. Back in the day, though, he seems to have been a serious tradder, having already made a bit of a name for himself before recording this record with Handy Andy. The record (produced by Dónal Lunny, who may also play on it here and there) features the kind of tunes you would be familiar with if you have had any exposure to the Planxty/Irvine songbook. So, lots of songs about soldiers, though not so many about young ladies being relieved of their maidenhead by same (though not for want of trying – see 'Martinmas Time'). There is 'Arthur McBride', which features soldiers but is primarily a tune from the And-Then-We-Beat-The-Shite-Out-Of-Them songwriting tradition. I understand that people sometimes point to the oddness of that song appearing here (sung by Brady) as Irvine had already sung it on a then-recent Planxty album, though the two version are quite different.

I am still only getting used to this record. One thing I find a bit odd is the contrasting voices on it. Brady's voice is quite different to Irvine's, and I have not entirely warmed to it yet. But even on early listens one can see the excellence of this album.

image from Claddagh Records

Handy Andy

I often think that what Andy Irvine needs to do is ditch all the mopey tunes and Balkan influences and instead re-brand himself as a one-man boy band. I often think this – when I have synthesising my own ersatz crack cocaine out of household cleaning products. When I saw Irvine play a concert just before Christmas such thoughts were furthest from my mind. Annoyingly, I missed the very start of the concert, thanks to the annoying practice in Whelan's of making gigs start and end early so they can have some kind of disco for the young people on afterwards. This gets me every time. It seemed to get a lot of other people too – the place was not that full when we arrived, but became considerably more so later in the evening. Still, we were pleased to discover from friends Lisa and Brian that he was only on his first song when he arrived, so no problem.

Irvine has a lot of songs, and he played a lot of them. He did play a few of his "and then we/I beat the shite out of them/him" repertoire, one in particular being about this guy who beats a Scottish cop to death for making fun of his Irishness. Such other key Irvine themes as regret and nostalgia also reared their head. It is funny for me, I am not *that* familiar with Irvine on record, but from seeing him live I have become quite familiar with many of these songs, so that when he starts playing one I go "Oh yeah, that one". At the same time, it is not like he plays the same songs in every set – the one about Woody Guthrie did not get a look in this time, but he did play the one about the unfortunate gold miner* (never recorded, as he feels that would kill this song for him). He closed the set off with the one about how he started off in music by hanging out in O'Donoghues, played as a tribute to the late Ronnie Drew (though a somewhat backhanded one – this is the song that reveals Ronnie to have not actually been a true Dub**).

There are a couple of things that make Andy Irvine such a compelling live performer. He is an impressive raconteur, someone whose between song anecdotes merge effortlessly into the songs themselves. Talking between songs is something a lot of singers do, and most of the time you wish they would not. But with Andy Irvine, it is no problem. Another astonishing feature of his live performances is his playing – he has a mesmerising skill with the guitar, bouzouki, or any other such instrument, much of which comes from his exploration of Balkan musical traditions. One could happily sit there forever listening to him playing away. For all his skill as a singer, sometimes I wonder if he should not sometime record an instrumental album. The third strength of Andy Irvine is the songs, both the ones he writes himself and the ones he takes from other people. He neatly mixes the jollier tunes with the more introspective ones that are perhaps his forte.

One song I enjoyed greatly was 'The Highwayman'. This is some 19th century narrative poem (about a highwayman) set to music by somebody. I gather that everyone in Ireland except me studied this in school, with friend Brian having previously extolled its lack of virtues. It might not be up to much as a poem, but as lyrics to a narrative song it was most excellent, being an exciting story in which the evil authorities lay a cruel trap to ensnare the bold highwayman. Another was the song 'The Girl I Left Behind', a wistful number in which this guy who has married this seemingly quite nice woman (with bags o' cash) is nevertheless spending his time moping about some other woman back in the village he came from; 'Love the one you're with' it is not.

As I was leaving, I reflected on the strangeness of a world where Andy Irvine plays Whelan's while the Kings of Leon play the Dublin Enormodome. I also bought an Andy Irvine album, Rain on the Roof. If has two total classics on it that I know well from live performances, these being 'The Plains of Kildare' (about a horse race; Andy Irvine can make anything sound great) and the one about Woody Guthrie. I'm not certain about the record's production, but it is great to have those two songs on record.

image source


* He comes into town to sell his gold, but drinks himself into unconsciousness in the company of an attractive young lady of easy virtue. You can guess the rest.

** Foreign readers may not be familiar with Ronnie Drew. He was one of popular Irish folk group The Dubliners, and very much played on being the most heart-of-the-rowl person imaginable, but, according to Andy Irvine, he was actually from Dun Laoghaire. He died earlier this year, after a battle with cancer that saw him lose his hair and celebrated beard to chemotherapy. In his own words, this left him looking like "fucking Nosferatu".

Andy Irvine Salutes The Magic Of Woody Guthrie

This was not what this concert in Whelan's was actually called. Rather, it was an event where Andy Irvine paid tribute to Woody Guthrie and his music at a fund-raising event for the Simon Community and a support group for people with Huntington's Disease (and their families). This was quite some time ago, naturally. One useful thing about the concert is that I now know all about Huntington's Disease. It basically makes you go mad* and then lose control of your body, and it is hereditary and has no cure. Guthrie eventually died of the disease, after being progressively more invalided by it. His mother also suffered from the ailment, leading to some grimly gothic moments in his childhood.

Irvine probably did more talking than singing in this show, telling us all about the life of Woody Guthrie, which was handy for me as I knew next to nothing about him. Guthrie was one of those American folky types who stick up for The Working Man and the plain people of America against the interests of Big Capital and the like. He is meant to have been heavily influential on the Bob Dylan, before he went electric. Guthrie's songs seemed to exist in a world of people whose lives had been destroyed by the Depression, apart from some later ones where he sings about killing Nazis and the like (these were written during World War 2). He also had it in for dodgy crypto-Nazi Charles Lindbergh, star of that The Plot Against America novel by Phillip Roth.

All but one of the songs tonight were by Guthrie, and to be honest they did sound a bit like they were just different words to the same tune, but you could see how they would work as vehicles for the social commentary of the lyrics. The one song not by Guthrie was the encore, 'Never Tire of the Open Road', Irvine's own song about Woody. By now this has become one of my favourite songs ever, to the extent that maybe I would prefer it rather than 'Ouija Board, Ouija Board' to be played at my funeral. You have to love a song that name-checks the IWW, and where the audience are required to join in with the refrain "All you Fascists bound to lose / All you Fascists bound to lose/ You're bound to lose / You Fascists bound to lose".

One thing I am a bit curious about, though, is Woody Guthrie's politics. Irvine's description of his life made him out to be a Communist fellow traveller, for all that he never actually joined the party. However, Irvine's song about Guthrie implies strongly that he was a supporter of the International Workers of the World (better known to some as The Wobblies), an anarcho-syndicalist organisation. I am curious as to how this contradiction can be resolved, and may write a letter of enquiry on the matter to Mr Irvine.

*I have been unable to come up with a less offensive term that does not lack explanatory power or sound like a euphemism.

A concert where people remembered Palestine

The Ireland-Palestine Solidarity Campaign managed to get former Planxty star Donal Lunny to headline a benefit concert for the organisation. They titled it Remember Palestine, because there is a sense in which Palestine has dropped off the radar what with the Iraq War and Lebanon stealing the headlines. Even the relatively recent shooting into a crowd of apparently unarmed women by Israeli soldiers elicited little more than reactions of "sure that’s hardly news, they’re always at it".

The first act up on stage was Roisín El Safty. She is from Galway, and sings songs written by her mother, in an Irish old time styleeee. She played three of these, finishing with one called 'An Phailistín'. This was entertainingly incendiary. Next up were some outfit called Band on an Island, who apparently feature some niece of Donal Lunny on an instrument. They played three songs and seemed to improve with each, though my favourite was the one about being chased by the Gardaí. They were not tradders. Shaz Oye is not a tradder either, but a woman who sings and plays guitar. She had a very loud voice about which I was undecided, but I was warming to her when she left. All of the acts from before the interval played three song sets, making opinion formation about them difficult.

After the interval, Iarla Ó Lionaird came out and did some of his sean-nós unaccompanied singing. Or maybe he had some accompaniment, it's so hard to remember. He was followed by the other Planxter on the bill, Andy Irvine, who played on his own for a bit before being joined by Donal Lunny. The two of them played away together like musicians who are comfortable in each other's company, which was just as well. If you know anything about Irish music you will understand that these two are giants, and not people who play together every day of the week, so it was nice to see them together. It was also interesting to see how Lunny, the ostensible headliner, never actually played on his own, played lead, or sang lead vocals. Yet, having seen Irvine on his own previously, I could see how Lunny filled in the spaces in the sound.

They finished with a rousing rendition of Irvine's song about Woody Guthrie, the one that 'samples' his 'All You Fascists Bound To Lose' chorus. Old Wobbler Irvine explained that, having recently been dubbed a fascist for playing the gig, he took especial pride in singing it. I did wonder, however, if given all the Indymedia posters in the audience it might have been better to change the line to 'all you facists bound to lose'.

So there you go. I went home and remembered Palestine.