PAT: SHAMROCKS, SNAKES, STAFFS & SPEAKING WITH THE PAST

Did Green Day derive their name from the Green Day of March 17? And I know I am a day or two late in nailing it, but it is one of many questions I don't plan to investigate too deeply, because it wasn't, but it's as good a place to start as any. It seems strange to me how St Patricks Day has become such a big thing in the U.S., certainly compared to his supposed homeland of Ireland. Even if, in the same way life imitates artifice, it is now catching up. I'm not sure the Liffey has ever been dyed green like Chicago's Chicago River, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were for the future. Not this year mind, but in the same way that Irish bars have become such a big thing all over the world, what the US identifies with as a merchandising exercise today, catches on, well, everywhere, in due course. Hell, even Thanksgiving is becoming a thing over this side of the pond, which seems more than a little counter-intuitive.Too much like turkeys celebrating Christmas. (Which is when turkey is supposed to be eaten, I should add.)

But it is St. Pat of Paddy's Day we are here to blether about, and the abiding myths and legends seem as good a place to start.

Paul Brady is, for me, the consummate Irish performer, and I would place him above Van Morrison, Christy Moore, Phil Lynott, Bono, any of them. A soaring and piercing voice, a human equivalent of uillean pipes, and capable of bringing forth similar tearful emotions, allied to a masterful guitar technique and, if his majesty with the traditional canon isn't enough, a glorious songwriter to boot. This traditional lament has been covered by him at many stages of his career, but it is this version that is the best, from his first solo album, and also his last to fully feature only trad.arr. Shamrocks were said to have been an essential part of St. Patricks preaching, using the three leaves as a metaphor for the Holy Trinity. It may also have been that pagan Ireland already held sacred this plant, and so used that regard as a link between old divinities and the new. It seems plausible, and probably why this plucky little plant is the national emblem of the land. But, tell me, does the shamrock ever have four heads, or is that a clover led question?

Let's stick with Irish artists to tackle the next topic, the tale of how St. Patrick rid Ireland of snakes. It seems that, whilst meditating and fasting, he was disturbed by one, and was so outraged that he henceforth banished all snakes and drove them into the sea. This strikes me as an ultimately dodgy story, and seems hard to swallow. That was, however, ahead of my appreciating that neither are there snakes in Iceland, Greenland, Hawaii or New Zealand. And never were, at least once they became islands. So unless Saints Thorlak, Arnaldur, Damien or the Virgin Mary were responsible for a similar banishment in those countries, I suspect it pure supposition. There are snakes, of course, in Ireland, but only in zoos and as pets. (What if one, or two, I suppose, escaped?) Shane McGowan is a learned and erudite soul around all things Irish, his songwriting awash with imagery and legend. The snake here is a ring, but one feels a whole lot more too. This is from McGowan's post (and between) Pogues project, the Popes, after he had become too unreliable for his bandmates, but before his muse had succumbed entirely to the ravages of his lifestyle.

So this is the one where St. Patrick's staff takes root and grows into a tree. I think we have all been to church services where the sermon has gone on so long that that would seem an entirely expected phenomenon, but I am not sure that is the message the legend imparts. The staff was made of ash, I gather, and, rather than down to the length of the discourse, was about the length of time the locals took to latch on to this Christianity lark. There are lots of songs about trees, especially in the folk idiom, and the piece chosen is only part provided by an Irishman, the wonderful uillean pipes prodigy and singer, Jarlath Henderson. With a vocal tone not dissimilar from that of Paul Brady, he combines a career as a musician, often in cahoots with fellow gael, the Scottish piper and whistler player, Ross Ainslie, with qualifying and working as a medical doctor. (Here is the duo with another song, an instrumental of the same name, from when they were both teenagers.)

The final story is how St. Patrick apparently met with two ancient Irish warriors, Oisin and Cailte Mac Ronain, who had somehow managed to survive the centuries and be there for him to try and convert from their pagan ways. They didn't get on, it seems, and it all gets very complicated as to why they met, other than for him to contrast the sunny lit uplands of the calm and Christian life, as compared to their roustabout fighting and brawling. St. Patrick seems to have prevailed as, given their great age, they died and he lived. It all sounds like the later episodes of TV boxset Vikings, which became progressively less fun as Heaven overtook Valhalla as final destination of choice. And there couldn't be a better illustration of pagan irish ways than by Horslips. The track above comes from The Tain, their 1973 musical re-telling of the legend of Finn MacCool, from whose warrior clan came the two elderly relics who met up with St. Patrick.

Slainte!

Brady, McGowan, Henderson, Horslips.

Snow & Ice: Ice Cold Ice

Hüsker Dü: Ice Cold Ice
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There are many truisms in the world of music fandom, and one of them is that when a “punk” band starts releasing well-produced albums, particularly on a major label, and particularly when the songs and playing show craftsmanship, the band’s early fans scream “sellout.” For example, The Clash were accused of “selling out” at least as early as London Calling, and certainly by the time of Combat Rock. Of course, other critics at the time, and more recently, have pointed out that another word for that is “evolving,” or that it was possible for ambitious, talented bands to want to transcend the purity of punk for a broader artistic vision and, possibly, a larger audience (and yeah, probably more money.)

Hüsker Dü emerged from Minneapolis in the late 1970s-early 1980s, and their initial approach of playing music loud, fast and hard was made clear from the name of their first album, Land Speed Record. But relatively quickly, you could hear through the aural assault (and poor production values) that songwriters Bob Mould and Grant Hart were able to write melodic pop songs. Even if those songs were played at punk rock speeds and volumes, and often dealt with difficult themes.

As their music evolved, their influence increased, and in the mid-80s, Hüsker Dü became the first band of their “scene” to sign with a major label (during a period when major labels were taking risks, looking to find the next big thing(s). Of course, the complaints of "sellout" rang out (as they did years later when Green Day transcended their punk roots and became more mainstream and popular.)  I saw Hüsker Dü tour in support of their first major label album, and it was a great, if incredibly loud show. Their second album for Warner Bros., 1987’s Warehouse:Songs and Stories, was a double album filled with well-produced, well-written songs that still had the energy of punk. It wouldn’t be a stretch at all to say that this album was one of the precursors of the “alternative rock” movement that became popular in the ensuing years. 

However, despite the quality and influence of Warehouse, it was also the end of Hüsker Dü. Over the years, Mould and Hart had developed a rivalry that was both artistic and personal, fueled first by their substance abuse, and later by Mould’s cleaning up and Hart going in the opposite direction.

One of the highlights of Warehouse is Mould’s “Ice Cold Ice,” a typically bleak and depressing but incredibly powerful song that uses cold and ice both metaphorically and literally.

In 2011, Mould was honored with a tribute concert at Los Angeles’ Walt Disney Concert Hall, mostly featuring Mould and his band playing with a series of guest stars, and it included this great version of “Ice Cold Ice,” featuring Dave Grohl:



The concert was, through a Kickstarter campaign, turned into a movie, but it doesn’t appear to be streamable at this time.

Beware: Warning

Green Day: Warning
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Having a Broadway musical based on your songs is not generally a sign of “indie cred.” Green Day has to be considered one of the greatest “sell out” bands ever. I mean, they were just a bunch of punks, right? Who played loud, fast music with a remarkable pop feel. So, of course, they shouldn’t want to be successful, have millions of people hear their music and make lots of money. No, the purity of their art demands that they refuse to change, reject popularity, play shitty hole in the wall clubs their whole career, and have trouble paying their bills.

Bullshit.

From their earliest days, Green Day exhibited extraordinary songwriting talent, and I think that it was a great thing that the world ultimately appreciated it. Why is it that fans turn on bands they love when they become popular? Why is it so important for so many fans to think that they are the only ones who can appreciate a band, and when more people like them, they feel betrayed? I understand when an artist changes their sound significantly so that what you liked about them is gone, but I always wonder why fans often take success as a personal affront.

I write these blog posts because I enjoy doing it. It makes me feel good, and I like to think that there are people out there who enjoy my work. And I do it for free. But, if Mojo Magazine, for example, offered me a bunch of money to write blog posts, you can bet your ass that I would take the checks. And if they did that and told me to write about more popular bands every week, I’d certainly consider it. Would I write about REO Speedwagon? Not unless the check was for a very, very large number. Which reminds me of an old story, the punchline of which is: “We’ve already established that. Now we’re just haggling over the price.”

So, has Green Day changed so much due to their success (or to cause their success) that their fans should reject them? I say, no. Yes, they have broadened their palette a little, and yes, they wrote "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)," which was overplayed, and probably overused in photo montages, but you know what? It’s a good ballad. And yet, the band is obviously concerned about their image. They released an album under the pseudonym “Foxboro Hot Tubs,” in part, I believe, to see if they could still be successful without the power of their name, and their recently released trilogy has been billed as a return to their punk roots. But they have moved on, a little, and the three albums show that they can’t fully return, and that’s O.K. Artists grow, mature and change, and fans can follow or not. But in my mind, they should not just walk away because they resent success.

So, maybe that’s the “Warning.”

Drinkin' Songs: Blood, Sex, and Booze

Green Day: Blood, Sex and Booze

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This well-crafted, no-longer-adolescent ditty was released in 2000, in the dead zone between the punk resurgence of Dookie and the mass commercial pop appear of American Idiot, when everyone was still buying Green Day records but no one remembers the song. Pity, that -- this is a steady rocker perfectly poised to take us out of this week, and into the Green, with a good head and a touch of that old Irish bitter.

Shorties: Dookie

Green Day: Coming Clean
Green Day: Emenius Sleepus
Green Day: In the End

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When I heard about this week's theme, the first thing that came into my head was punk music. Being a teenager in the mid-90's, my introduction to punk came by way of Green Day and their album, Dookie.

I bought the album a few months after it was released and quickly became hooked. I had never heard anything so raw that still retained such a melodic quality. There was a certain finesse behind the fury. I went out and bought their first two albums as well (Kerplunk is still my favorite), and they became one of my favorite bands during my high school years.

The last few songs off Dookie (the album ending "F.O.D." excluded) all clock in at less than 2:00 and are all included here. I still pull this album out from time to time on a late night drive when I need a little extra something to help keep me awake. It always does the trick.

Civics Lessons: Minority

Green Day: Minority

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Protest as a civic responsibility? Dissent as a vital underpinning of a vibrant democracy? Supporting the underclass as a matter of course? You better believe it. I may not agree with what you say, but I stand by your right -- and your responsibility -- to say it. Here, Spinner does this one better than I could ever say:

In which rambunctious Billie Joe Armstrong goes explicitly political, pledging eternal allegiance to society's misfits, the downtrodden and the outnumbered. Since this song, the poster band for juvenilia has been active in alternative energy advocacy, Hurricane Katrina relieve and a rock opera about nonconformity.

Most of you know me as a folkblogger, but I can't resist the the almost celtic beat on this perfect punk paean to the underclass from Green Day circa 2000. Once upon a time, I listened to this stuff far more often. Here's a coversong on the same topic from a decade earlier, when Green Day were truly raw.

Green Day: My Generation (orig. The Who)

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