What would guess you might be the name of a pub where you could buy literature encouraging the overthrow of the state, watch groups regularly denounce the Royals as butchers and oppressors (particularly those on the throne during the Famine years) and which once emptied as a National Front Demo crawled past in order that the clientele could shower the pro UVF marchers with empties provided by the crateload by a willing bar staff? Might you call it the Victoria?
One of the bonds between past and present is the physical space within which events occur and this pub on the Holloway Road has such resonance for me. Here I watched heart beating faster by the minute as act after act at a Frre The Birmingham Six fundraising event fell like Booky's regiment in that old Dubliners ballad tale of Boolavogue. Some managed to get a few shots off as they fell - indeed the Jacket Potatoes even finished their set. I guess if you had interrogated some of the audience at Castelreagh (holding cell for suspected IRA members) the next day one or two of the several hundred or so present might have registered there were any acts on at all:
Really. I wondered why the pool table was covered up - comedy? Aye -maybe... Live? I taught that was the feckin telly
Among one of the hundreds of ironies gigging can throw at you is the equation that the mildness of the acts as human beings only increases the grimness of some audience members.
Brenda Gilhooly, John Moloney, Steve Gribbin, Brian Mulligan - them was the acts all from Irish backgrounds, all giving up the opportunity to gig for money (albeit not much) to raise awarenes for a cause dear to our hearts. I had organised the evening's cabaret and Steve and I had agreed to headline for no economic gain and the ever nearing prospect of dimunition of esteem, now suddenly partnered as the evening wore on by loss of limbs.
Of course the working class backgrounds of us all meant that we all had memories of pubs like this - more accurately the ouside benches of such hostelries whether here, liverpool or "Home". I could download any photo of curly haired young kids in tanktops and flares clutching their red lemonade and Tayto crisps (purchased as part of the deal to escape sanctions by a father who fancied another glass) and show it to any of these people and they would instantly recall the very place and the funny sounding names of their cousins.
One of the key features of the early CAST gigs which were pretty much all there were beyond Store/ Earth Exchange/ Chat's Palace was that they took place in Irish pubs in Cricklewood etc so we were none of us shocked by the venue although the site specific treats this place offered included: a paper seller touting his wares to the audience (the paper in question being Sinn Fein's An Phlobacht which was then banned in the UK); an ultra agressive and drunken glass collector who screamed Empties as he carted his milk crate around the room offering his thoughts on life the acts on stage, laughing to himself and commenting on the chances of her going home with yer man - as in No...the landlord's pies steaming hot from the kitchen distributed by a team of five foot nothing tall and wide neckless kitchen staff with full decibel negotiations around cutlery/ sauce requirements - plenty of Ayes, Good girl yourself
I can't speak for the others but I have rarely felt so physically intimidated before stepping on to a stage. I was normally able to focus well at gigs apart from towards the end of tours or month long shows with the same set (Edinburgh Festival runs) and after about 5 minutes of arriving at Glastonbury. On such occasions you might find me struggling to solve Araucaria's latest in the Guardian or figuring out how the sax riff in Bowie's version of Here Comes The Night differed from the original guitar solo. Bowling shirts were a favourite too - right length, mix of colours, embroidered or screen printed...
This night though I was thinking of the many times I had been here watching my Dad's best mate perform with his family for The Maurice Lynch Showband were the headliners in our family home. How do you evoke the showband life to someone unaware of the phenomena. As usual with me ,I'll try but not too hard...
The Maurice Lynch Showband from Castleblaney
The Boys from Castleblaney put on a highly professional show,
playing everything from hard driving rock 'n' roll to sentimental Irish ballads,
intermixed with top-ten pop, singalong standards
and country and western numbers.
Some musicians believe, probably with justification,
that Maurice Lynch founded the Country 'n' Irish tradition
which has been popular for so long
Maurice Lynch the Band Leader died September 3rd 1987
It was a bit to do with country- Kris Kristofferson, Tammy Wynette Dolly Parton and I sing their music today not ironically not as a guilty pleasure for where is the guilt in pleasure you Puritan killjoys.
There was some trad jazz - Maurice could play a mean trumpet
Suits and bow ties - velvet for both was in vogue then; stack heels and flickbacked hair, suits hung up on pub walls and the dressing rooms of the grander places Gresham and The Forum where there were foyers and dress codes for punters which seemed to include what looked like Heinz sandwich spread on shoes/ bottoms of trousers. The trend at the time was for the bell bottoms to conceal the platforms completely as though humankind had evolved into a kind of new species homo Sap which had moved beyond the need for feet.
Cover versions - they would work out tunes and play arrangements of what they called Pop as well as standards which led me to be wary of what they would cover next - "Midnight Rider be the Allman Brothers" was one. One of the biggest selling bands was a group called the Indians who worethe above velvet with native American head-dresses and played covers so well Charles the drummer in the above band old me it was like listening to the radio (or being at a disco?)
An eclectic mix and way before fusion/ dub etc all geared for dancing - no matter what the beat one thing all Irish parents seemed to be able to do was dance a kind of jive/ waltz/ quickstep whatever the Orange speakers could hurl at them. At gigs by Maurice you could see them strut their stuff to Me and Bobby Mcghee (sung by bass player James Mason - always seemed to be the four string specialist's tune) - no discernible change in movement - When The Saints Go Marching In -(Maurice blowing for glory despite years of Majors/ Carrolls) and,still no change - Knock Tree Times (As Marlene sang the backing vocals while tickling the Farfisa). I wonder how and where they learnt this for I have been at weddings over the years and everbody's folks can do it but not us...surely time for Nintendo to bring out a dance mat based game for the Wii so we can learn - they could call it MegaMicks...imagine being able to travel through rave, house, electric boogaloo, dub, two step, grime, from the heaviest blues party in Sheffield to the hippest block jam in Brooklyn, the highest energy Heaven night to Aboriginal dance of sacred rites with the same steps and still look good. Of course, most of our parents met at a dance - go on, ask them, so not only does it give you a chance to feel the music it also helps populate the world.
Just about the last time I saw Maurice perform I had begun to play some recognisable chords on a Hofner guitar my old fella had purchased from one of his contacts (I even had a lesson from a huge star on the circuit - could it have been Dickie Rock? when I was in Castleblayney where Maurice was based along with Big Tom and others - it was called the Nashville of Ireland by all in the know ), the Sex Pistols had just exploded on to So It Goes (another North London Irish boy) and I was completely full of it - possibly even seen the Jam and Clash and Stranglers and Eater and Chelsea...Anyway I was all punk this and punk thatand Maurice thought it would be great to invite me up on stage to play a song, hence an announcement over the PA
Brian, get up now and play the Pogo...
Punk = attitude not a fashion says 17 year old Brian
The embarrassed teen couldn't do it Maurice but the older version could and I like to think I displayed your kind of courage that night as we blasted onto that stage and left...minutes later ...thirty or so ... yes to a thoroughly deserved standing ovation. From our U2 bluster of an opener
Same song, bloody same song - if you've bought this you've been done
to our Coppers With Attitude finale
You make a statement and we'll remix it
via our mock DUP fundraising single - Orange Aid which included the line (to the tune of the Okey Cokey)
Freemasonry Lodging - Kincora Boys Home shush shush shush
Only pausing for to add extra carriages of our rewrite of Wearing of the Green and a quick run through our celtic rap, Ceilidh Minogue, you could say we had found our niche. The encore of Cops On 45 could barely be heard above the cheering.
Just a flavour of Irish club culture not actual gig referred to - if this was scratch and sniff you'd really get the tone nb figures not supplied. How many other acts can say they appeared at the Markets Workers Party Social Club Belfast in 1985? Really hope Maurice Lynch did... Tonight then Maurice , gone since 1987 but who introduced me to life on the road and music, I will think of our Victoria gigs as I strum the G chord and in my best Pogo voice sing
Busted flat in Baton Rouge, headed for a train, feeling bout as faded as my jeans...1,2,3,4
