DON'T: GO (HOTHOUSE FLOWERS)

Me, I bloody loathe Eurovision. Eh, say a whole continent across the pond, Eurovision? OK, the Eurovision Song Contest, to give it the full title, that yearly schmooze through all that's camp and kitsch, all the pop you can possibly bear, the pop that puts the pap in europop. It, like Strictly Come Dancing, a TV show about celebrities learning to dance, is now a very big thing in the UK, as we devolve further and further away from the continent. It hasn't always ben this way: a respectable and somewhat middle of the road song competition, wherein the countries of Europe compete for the honour of the best popular song their best writers can come up with, ballgowns and tuxedos required, an orchestra de rigeur. Pop music, 1950's style, that is. (Mind you, in those days Britain was far less the scourge it is seen by the rest of the continent, even winning from time to time.)

We used to watch it home, en famille, as a child, it's true, so I know all the smash hits from Cliff, Lulu and that ilk. Even good old Clodagh. It went on for hours, as the individual nations, "Good Evening from Helsinki", took ages to deliberate over the selection of tawdry songs. But one year I remember well. 1998. Hosted by the Irish in Dublin, as Johnny Logan had won the previous year, and they put on some craic for  the viewers waiting for the scores. A raggle taggle of ne'er-do-wells lurched onstage and played the best song of the night, a prime example of Celtic soul, with a pounding piano, some raw sawbones sax and a rousing chorus. "Don't Go", the singer pleaded and I didn't. I was glued.

Hothouse Flowers were already a thing in their homeland by that time, their debut release having been the then swiftest selling album in Irish chart history. I confess that, back then, I was too busy with Cowboy Junkies and The Men They Couldn't Hang to notice them at first. (Although, with it being also the year of Van working with the Chieftains and Mike Scott relocating to Spiddal for Fisherman's Blues, I should have had my ear closer to Irish turf.) But, once I heard them play that song at Eurovision, the second single from that first album, I was in. The band, based around singer and pianist, Liam Ò'Maonlai and guitarist, Fiachna Ò'Braonàin, two schoolfriends from an Irish speaking school in Dublin, and Peter O'Toole, not that one, a busker they met in the city and busking is how the band started their career.

For the next year or so they were everywhere, no summer music festival complete without their presence. A second album, not as successful but still worthwhile. Despite no shortage of original material, the best known song from it was a cover, a well received version of the Johnny Nash song, I Can See Clearly Now. They also, unbeknownst to many, contributed to and featured on the Indigo Girls' Closer To Fine. (Unbeknownst? Read uncredited!)

A third record and a bruising touring schedule had them pause for breath, in 1994, taking a collective year out. Or that was the plan, that year extending into four, the band shedding manager and additional members, the core three regrouping in 1998 for a different style, incorporating elements both of electronica and effects to an overall more organic and folkie based feel. 

Since then, and like many bands, they have never formally dissolved, reconvening sporadically, whilst undertaking separate projects apart, Ò'Maonlai having some solo success, particularly with more traditional fare. O'Toole officially left and later rejoined the band, and all three were present, in 2015, when I caught the band at Birmingham's Symphony Hall,  on a tour that took in the UK. Their distinctive tone was all the more characteristic as O'Toole, now playing as much guitar and bouzouki as bass, necessitated the addition of a second bassist, this time on stand up double bass. When both bassists play alongside, the assault is wonderful, as audiences at various festivals this summer, Glastonbury included, were able to affirm. Below is an interesting interview that gives an idea of their modus operandi.

And a taster for how they now sound. And look.

Don't go!!

IN MEMORIAM: LIAM ÓG O’FLYNN

A much more influential individual than the blank expression that meets the hearing of his name in most circles, O'Flynn was the first uillean pipe player to gain notice to a rock and roll audience, as a core member of the first Irish traditional act to really break through to the same. No, I don't refer to either the Chieftains or to Sweeney's Men, pacesetters though they were. I refer to the mighty and majestic Planxty. The Chieftains were important, for sure, breaking down barriers and bringing the music into respectability outside of otherwise hooleys and bar sessions, latterly also for their work with major names in the fields of folk, country and rock. And Sweeney's Men, who included O'Flynns's later Planxty bandmate, Andy Irvine, took the mainstream safety of the Clancy Brothers into a wilder and more bohemian sensitivity. Go compare the difference between the Chieftains handling of this tune, 'Give Me Your Hand' ('Tabhair Dom Do Lamh') by the blind 17th century Irish harpist Turlough O'Carolan, with the altogether more exuberant Planxty version below, the tune kicking in at 2.27, following the song ahead of it:

I bloody loved them. They were hitting their prime in the early 70s, just as I was hitting mid-teens and expanding my then musical palette from the pop charts to anything and everything I could get my ears on, usually directed by the inkies, the music influential press that governed all the hip from the non hip. Planxty were seriously hip. With a line-up of O'Flynn, Irvine, Donal Lunny and Christy Moore, they played traditional irish jigs and reels, airs and ballads, seamlessly integrating their own material into the same. With two fine singers and an instrumental prowess encompassing guitar, bouzouki, mandolin, bodhran, hurdy-gurdy, whistles and, most importantly, uillean pipes, that irish bellows driven bagpipe, capable of a plaintive wail, swirling and bending notes, like nothing on earth, one part banshee, one part lullaby. Yes, I had heard a little of this instrument before; the aforementioned Chieftains had introduced me to it, and Horslips, the Dublin folk-rockers had deployed it a little. But nothing like O'Flynn, who could make it sing, scream, howl and lilt, sometimes simultaneously. This is his description of the instrument. And I haven't even mentioned his whistle playing, both normal whistle and low, a few blasts thereof instantly evocative of joy or sorrow, dependent on mood.

It would be no hyperbole to say this band revolutionised how the world had previously seen irish music. From a twiddley diddley dee diversion, this was suddenly to be taken with the utmost seriousness, alongside and in the same breath as the Stones and Bowie. But with more fun. O'Flynn was possibly the quiet man of the group, more soberly attired and less hirsute than his compadres, but it was his solos that had the crowds in awe. A number of incarnations of this band took place over the years and the decades, as individual members peeled off and others joined in, Paul Brady and Matt Malloy to name two, the band formally breaking and re-forming twice, the last such being 20 odd years after their debut, in 2003-5. But whenever it was called Planxty, so always there was O'Flynn.

After the final demise, and in the earlier breaks, O'Flynn was never short of work, with a who's who of session work that ranged from the folk circles he began within to Kate Bush, Mark Knopfler, Emmylou Harris and more. With Planxty no more there was a short period as and in LAPD, he, Irvine, Lunny and Paddy Glackin, the title being to represent Liam, Andy, Paddy and Donal. Hell, on past form they could have called it Planxty and got away with it, but they didn't. However, health was beginning to cause concern, and O'Flynn left in 2013. A private man outside music, he died in March after what was called a long illness. Here's a video of the song featured a little above, 'As I Roved Out', in a live and later setting, Planxty at Vicar Street, Dublin, in 2004, the pipes part transposed to whistle.

His legacy lives on through the wave of younger players who have followed him and been inspired by him, with both pipes and whistle commonplace in the repertoire way beyond any silo of trad. arr.

Rest in peace.

Interested?

Hard: Hard Times Come Again No More

Hard Times Come Again No More is a song that dates from well before the Great Depression, but it’s easy to see why you might not think so. The song is a secular hymn, a plea directed to the comfortable for compassion for those less fortunate. It speaks to times when those in power would have the poor and the middle class compete against each other, rather than risk us joining together to find common solutions to our problems. We are in such a time now, and the Great Depression was a period that brought about such a joining together for an all-too-short moment. The song, however, shows that the need for compassion is much older. Stephen Foster wrote Hard Times Come Again No More in 1854, and it became a favorite on both sides of the Civil War. In seeking out versions of the song for this post, I found that some of the best versions express the idea that none of us are alone in the way the song is arranged.

Jennifer Warnes: Hard Times Come Again No More

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Jennifer Warnes finds a stark beauty in the song with the sparest arrangement here. She gets a small group of friends together for an a capella version that expresses solidarity with the sounds of human voices alone.

Mavis Staples: Hard Times Come Again No More

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Mavis Staples is best known for her work with the Staples Singers, although her solo work has become better known lately. Either way, she is a gospel singer at heart. Even a secular song like this one becomes a prayer when she sings it. This jibes perfectly with Stephen Foster’s intent, and results in a powerful performance.

Nanci Griffith: Hard Times Come Again No More

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Nanci Griffith makes a specific connection to the hard times that have been experienced by the Irish people. Her version includes notable Irish musicians such as Dolores Keane and Sharon Shannon. Griffith starts with a small ensemble, and gradually builds to the full arrangement, which is a great musical device for expressing the theme of the lyric.

Paolo Nutini and the Chieftains: Hard Times Come Again No More

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Finally, I could not resist closing with the Chieftains’ version with Paolo Nutini. The universality of the theme of the song is still very much intact, but the Irish connection is now explicit. The Chieftains find a perfect fit for the song as an Irish ballad, and deliver a version that lingers after the last note. Stick around for the coda played on pipes and drums; it really takes this one home.

Pipes and Woodwinds: Behind Blue Eyes

The Chieftains with Roger Daltrey: Behind Blue Eyes

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To finish out my posts for this week’s theme, I wanted a song that had both pipes and woodwinds. For that, I knew I would need The Chieftains. The Chieftains began life as an Irish traditional band, one of the best. But, in 1991, they were looking to make a live album, and leader Paddy Maloney wanted to do something to make it special. So he invited Roger Daltry of The Who and Nanci Griffith to participate. It was a decision that would turn out to be very important to The Chieftains. Since then, most of their albums have included collaborations with artists who wouldn’t normally be thought of as traditional artists of any sort. In the process, The Chieftains have made fascinating connections between their music and those of their guests. It doesn’t always work, but the results are never dull. With Daltrey and Griffith, it did work beautifully.

Behind Blue Eyes, as rendered here, shows that Roger Daltrey could have been an Irish ballad singer in another life. The woodwind here is Matt Molloy’s flute. The pipe is the Irish version of the bagpipe, the uilleann pipes. It is played by Paddy Moloney.

Street Names: Down The Old Plank Road

Holy Modal Ramblers: Down The Old Plank Road

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The Chieftains w/ John Hiatt: Down The Old Plank Road*
*Link removed due to hotlinking. Please don't steal our bandwidth!

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The Highwoods String Band: Way Down The Old Plank Road

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The Mammals: Way Down The Old Plank Road

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The Old Plank Road was exactly what it sounds like: a 6.5 mile road built of wooden planks, without which it would never have been possible to traverse the sandy Algodones dunes between San Diego and Yuma, nor indeed the gap between Southern California and Arizona. Difficult to maintain, hard to drive, and too narrow for cars to pass in opposite directions, the splintery roadway only lasted from 1915 to 1926, when it was replaced by a mix of asphalt and concrete built on sand pilings.

California's Old Plank Road would eventually become part of US Route 80, and then Interstate 8. But the idea of the plank road, which had taken hold in culture long before as rural travelers and highway companies sought ways to cross soft or boggy ground, would live on in this old traditional tune, first recorded by Uncle Dave Macon on 5-string banjo, with guitar by Sam McGee, in 1926, and subsequently covered by a whole mess of my favorite tradfolk performers, including all of the above. Technically, I suppose, the tune could refer to any number of "plank roads" - but its title contains the name of one in particular, so we'll let it stand.

Domestic Violence and Sexual Abuse: The Magdalene Laundries

The Chieftains (with Joni Mitchell): The Magdalene Laundries

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“Today, if you walk into the centre of Stephen's Green, just to the right of where a magnolia is stretching in full blossom sits a new wooden bench. On it is a metal plaque enscribed with small faceless heads and the words: ‘To the women who worked in the Magdalen laundry institutions and to the children born to some members of those communities - reflect here upon their lives.' “ - Meadbh Gallagher

There can, perhaps, be no greater violation than when an institution whose ostensible purpose is to protect victims is itself the source of abuse. In Ireland, starting in the early 1800s, institutions were set up by the Catholic church to house “fallen women”, those who had bourn children out of wedlock. Some of these were victims of rape or incest, but all were considered sinners who needed their souls saved. They were put to work in what came to be known as the Magdalene Laundries, and the women came to be known as Magdalens. Of course, Mary Magdalene was a prostitute who was forgiven by Christ. So this all sounds noble, if misguided.

But, in the mid 1970s, part of the High Park Convent in Dublin was sold by its owners, the Sisters of Our Lady of Charity, to developers. At that time, 133 unmarked graves were discovered on the grounds. Denied forgiveness or a Christian burial, this had been the fate of the Magdalens there. An investigation, which eventually involved 250 state supported institutions run by the church, and most of which housed children, was launched. Survivors began to come forward and tell their stories. It turned out that boys in orphanages had been raped. The girls and women, including the Magdalens, were beaten and emotionally abused. One victim reported that the nuns’ weapon of choice for beatings was wooden rosary beads. Another told of punishments that awaited any girl who failed to get her period on schedule. And there is much more.

Although the story began to break 30 years ago, resistance from both the church and the government slowed the flow of information. A commission was finally established, and, nine years later, in May of this year, it issued its final report. In the mean time, laws were passed that shield the perpetrators from punishment for their crimes.

Joni Mitchell caught up with this story in 1994, and wrote The Magdalene Laundries. At that time, the full extent of the abuse was not known. But Mitchell had enough information to create one of her most heartbreaking portraits. The Chieftans had been collaborating with artists from the world of popular music for some time. It is only natural, this being an Irish story, that Mitchell’s song would resonate with them. As a bonus, I have included Joni Mitchell’s original version of the song for comparison.

Joni Mitchell: The Magdalene Laundries

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The Bountiful Feast: A Christmas Feast

If it hadn’t happened to you before now, and if you went anywhere at all today, you experienced your first assault for this year of Christmas music. Now, some of the best music of any kind ever written was written for or about Christmas, but, for the most part, that’s not what you heard. You heard grotesquely overproduced versions of familiar carols. You heard original songs that were corny/ maudlin beyond belief. And you heard arrangements of familiar holiday fare that were beyond ill-advised. And, if you were lucky, amidst the dross, you heard a tune or two you actually liked.

Certainly, this is what happens to me every year. And I cope with it by resorting to counterprogramming. I collect holiday-themed songs that are the furthest thing from any of the abuses described above, and often have a cynical edge. And it happens that three of my favorites have a food theme.

Riders in the Sky: Sidemeat‘s Christmas Stew

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Riders in the Sky have made a career out of keeping cowboy music alive. And they have done it with a wonderful sense of humor. Here, they tackle the question, how does a trail cook produce a Christmas feast with the limited resources available to him on a cattle drive?

Mick Moloney and Eugene O‘Donnell: Miss Fogarty‘s Christmas Cake

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Mick Moloney and Eugene O’Donell are Irish musicians whose musical careers have developed entirely in the United States. O’Donell is a wonderful fiddler, while Moloney sings and plays guitar and bouzouki. I had the great pleasure of seeing them perform a few years ago, and I recommend it highly.

A short time ago, we were cleaning out a part of our house that had not been used in many years. To our great surprise, we discovered a fruitcake that must have tucked in the back of a drawer around 1965, still in what was left of its tin. The tale told in “Miss Fogarty’s Christmas Cake” is not nearly that drastic, but it captures the fruitcake phenomenon perfectly. If anyone knows of other fruitcake songs, I’d love to hear about them in the comments

The Chieftains with Elvis Costello: St Stephen‘s Day Murders

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By now, the Chieftains are well known for their collaborations with seemingly most unlikely musical partners. The Bells of Dublin was the first album where the Chieftains did this. Of all the artists who participated, only Elvis Costello and Jackson Browne contributed original songs.

If you enjoy the arrival of swarms of relatives for the holidays, but wonder what you were thinking when they are all still there three days later, you may enjoy Elvis Costello’s unique, (I hope!), solution to the problem.

Boats: Lukey

Great Big Sea/The Chieftains: Lukey


I am unable to find a purchase link for the album this comes from; in fact I can't even find a picture of it online! You can get a copy of Great Big Sea singing Lukey on this album but, in my opinion, it isn't as good as their collaboration with The Chieftains.

The version above comes from a sampler album I picked up for free some years back, called Deep Roots and Future Grooves, which features some great songs, including Fissiriwaly by Alpha Yaya Diallo and Lauren McDonald's Wing and A Prayer. It's an album of world music, celtic influences and some tasty dub rhythms and is highly recommended if you are able to find it anywhere!