Thursday, November 27, 2014
There's brandy in Quebec at ten cents-a-quart boys
The ale in New Brunswick's a penny-a-glass
There's wine in that sweet town they call Montreal boys
At inn after inn we will drink as we pass.
And we'll call for a bumper of ale, wine and brandy
We'll drink to the health of those far far away
Our hearts will all warm with thoughts of old Ireland
When we're in the green fields of Amerikay.
In my personal opinion by far the finest of all modern folk groups to come out of the British Isles was neither Pentangle nor Steeleye Span nor even Fairport Convention but Ireland's Planxty. Formed in 1972 the core of the group consisted of Christy Moore, Andy Irvine, Donal Lunny and Liam O'Flynn - other musicians were temporary members including Paul Brady. They released six albums between 1973 and 1983 - the eponymous debut being surely being surely one of the greatest in the entire genre.
The last time the original line-up played was between late 2004 and early 2005 at gigs in Galway, Dublin, Belfast and the Barbican in London. Planxty produced a truly extraordinary body of work - my personal favorite is their version of the Scottish folk song Johnnie Cope about the second Jacobite Rising and the Battle of Prestonpans.
A week ago I was listening to a live album recorded at the Olympia Theatre Dublin in 1980 which included the magnificent Emigrant's Farewell to Ireland - there is another excellent version of this on youtube by Andy Irvine alone. The lyrics talk about the leave-taking of Ireland from the port at Derry to a future which promises more than a feudal struggle for survival against inconceivably difficult odds. Although in more cynical days I would consider the lyrics to be a wee bit hackneyed to the point of parody, the fact remains that the diabolical collapse of social mobility and financial security today makes them sound like nothing more than reasonably accurate journalistic reportage. Also, having grown up and fucking wised up over the years, I find the song very moving in turn regarding the Presbyterian and Roman Catholic labour movements from Ireland to North America in the late 18th and 19th centuries away from tithe extractions, rack-renting and hunger.
2014 seems to have been the defining critical mass moment whereby so many hard working British people have come to realise that the prognosis for the next twenty years - after the previous decade of prolonged recession - looks truly bleak beyond comprehension. Hence the toxic labour market proudly stands watch alongside the unparalleled Ponzi property scam over mass public disorientation, fear and alienation emanating from the population surges of the past ten years across the geographically small and industrially bereft British archipelago.
Life is certainly not gauged within clear and expectant parameters of love, warmth, light, protection and hope for most working people in such Future Shock circumstances. Meanwhile the mainstream press continues to present middle class life in the UK as resembling that of your average highly paid and well-groomed Scandinavian graphic designer and says naught as to the transformation of our capital city alone into something resembling a screaming and obscene hologram of Lucifer's own creation.
With this kind of disconnectivity in the loop already from our folk past in the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies it really has taken no particularly radical leap of rationale to now witness the genocide of working class Europe at the Somme, Passendale and Verdun - including thousands upon thousands of brave foot soldiers from Belfast, Dublin and all four provinces of a then British Ireland - transformed into a crass and fundamentally vile advert for doomed Christmas turkeys.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Though normally very reticent about cinematic depictions of the Ulster Troubles, I found the recent 71 to be a superb recreation of the times as well as being a very well-paced thriller in its own right. Released last month, it is written by Gregory Burke who was mentioned some posts ago in light of his earlier Black Watch play performed by the National Theatre of Scotland across the UK.
There were a handful of historical inaccuracies such a "pig"-style Royal Ulster Constabulary vehicle which never existed and reference to an Ulster army regiment that was defunct by the year that the drama was set. I would perhaps also question the scale of bricked-up and abandoned buildings that would have been in existence at such an early stage of the conflict though the threatening chill of the silent Seventies Belfast night was captured to perfection. Likewise for the muddied morality of political violence and the labyrinthine security stratagems surrounding the Troubles.
October also saw the end of the re-run of the late Stewart Parker's acclaimed Pentecost at the Lyric Theatre in Belfast - arguably one of the greatest works in Irish theatre and set forty years ago exactly during the Ulster Workers Council strike of 1974. It focuses on the interplay of five lost souls - four metaphorical and one literal - in the last remaining house in a terraced street long given up to urban decay, interface violence and population flight. Incidentally Parker's collection of rock album reviews for The Irish Times between 1970 and 1976 as compiled as High Pop are certainly worth investigation as well.
I have also recently finally got around to reading The Last Ditch - an entertaining 1982 thriller written by former Ulster Unionist politician Roy Bradford. It looks at the political fallout surrounding the Westminster withdrawal of security powers from a Northern Ireland government with some barely disguised portraits of Vanguard leader William Craig, the Reverend Ian Paisley and the last Northern Ireland Prime Minister Brian Faulkner. Bradford was a Stormont MP himself in an East Belfast constituency, served as Minister of Commerce and Minister of Development and also was a member of the 1973 Northern Ireland Assembly - he was a member of the power-sharing Executive itself in charge of the Department of the Environment. A graduate of Trinity College Dublin he worked in Army Intelligence in France and Germany during the Second World War. At one point he co-owned a Covent Garden restaurant in London with film director John Schlesinger and co-wrote a biography of SAS legend Blair Mayne with the writer Martin Dillon. He died in 1998 some months after the signing of the Good Friday Agreement.
The most famous literary portrayal of the Troubles still remains Gerald Seymour's Harry's Game which was published in 1975 and made into a highly successful ITV television drama in the early Eighties starring Ray Lonnen who died during the summer. This story was about an undercover British army officer sent into Belfast to find information on a leading IRA gunman. Of the vast sweep of other fiction on the conflict four particularly stand out in my opinion - Maurice Leitch's Whitbread Prize winning Silver's City from 1981 about a veteran loyalist paramilitary commander sprung from imprisonment, Brian Moore's 1990 Lies of Silence about an IRA assassination attempt on leading Protestant militants, Eoin McNamee's 1994 Resurrection Man which was based on the Shankill Butcher killings of the mid-Seventies and Glenn Patterson's incredibly moving The International from 1999 on the daily life of a central Belfast hotel soon to be touched personally by the mounting waves of civil disorder and terrorist violence.
All reflections of desperate times, grotesque political miscalculation, undiluted hatred, wasted years and a wrong war.