Dictionary: Warning – a cautionary notice; Bhéal Átha Seanaidh – a place called Ballyshannon; hurling idols; path – pathway; musical score; bass guitarist; studying meticulously – poring over diligently; cellar – basement; magician; sorcerer.
In the spring of 2022, the constraints of the pandemic were slowly loosening, and I found myself in the gents’ restroom, eavesdropping on a man lauding Rory Gallagher and his melodies that resonated in the air, with neither of us adorning a protective face covering.
In the adjacent pub, an ensemble was playing a rhythm of rock and blues. Over the last two years, we had all adhered to the advice steering clear from compact spaces and this was my inaugural attendance at any type of social gathering since the spring of 2020.
In hindsight, that was a slip up on my part. I was scrubbing my hands clean, on the verge of exiting when a young gentleman entered, and curiosity led me to inquire about his hometown. “Kilkenny,” he responded, igniting a conversation about Brian Cody and the county’s revered hurling champions, that somehow veered towards Ballyshannon and its Cork native.
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The youngster from Kilkenny was in his mid-twenties; he was born after Rory Gallagher’s demise in the summer of ’95, yet was profoundly influenced by the late musician and his songs.
His admiration was both startling yet expected, and it filled me with joy. Many of us grew up with Rory Gallagher’s symphonies in the ’70s. It was our era, but as we’ve matured, so has the music of the Fender Stratocaster artist.
Half a century prior, the ‘Live in Europe’ album release of May ’72 became the vibrational backdrop of many adolescents. The following month, David Bowie’s ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust & The Spiders from Mars’, bearing suggestive instructions “To be played at maximum volume”, were displayed in music stores. Indeed, Live in Europe certainly resonated loudly in bedrooms and various other rooms across Ireland in the 1970s.
My friends and I used to enjoy listening to the tracks of a certain album in the recreation room located in our boarding school’s basement. I can still recall how the narrator, speaking in a distinct English accent, introduced our hero at the start of the album by stating, “Rory Gall-ager.” The moment the initial chords of the first track, Messin’ With the Kid, played out and Gallagher bellowed the opening line “What’s this I hear goin all around town…,” we were all captivated.
The album’s release coincided with the announcement of Rory Gallagher’s performance at Dublin’s National Stadium, scheduled for Saturday, the 13th of May, 1972. Tickets were priced at £1.
A coach was arranged by the school to transport us to the concert venue. For reasons which I no longer recall, I was unable to attend, perhaps I was studying conscientiously for the upcoming Leaving Cert Media exam.
How disappointed I felt when the group returned from Dublin, still spellbound by the stunning concert performance. Following the show, Rory Gallagher himself, along with his band, exited the National Stadium. Seizing the moment, my friend Brian boldly asked Gallagher to autograph the back of his concert ticket, a request which was graciously granted. Gallagher was such a person – a man who commanded respect and admiration from his fans, reciprocating the same respect and generosity with his time.
This character was evident in the superb documentary ‘Rory Gallagher: Calling Card’, directed by Brian Reddin, which was recently aired on both RTÉ and the BBC. The day after it was shown on RTÉ, a flurry of messages from my old schoolmates populated our shared WhatsApp group, reminiscing about our encounters with Gallagher.
This fondness for him remains strong, even today. It took me 15 years since that particular concert at the National Stadium to finally witness Rory Gallagher performing live. It was on a New Year’s Eve around seven in the evening, at Hughes House in Spiddal, that a random passerby commented, “I thought you would be in Leisureland tonight watching Rory Gallagher.”
I had not known about the concert until that time. Gallagher had vanished from my world and it seemed he had been overlooked by many others as well. He didn’t produce any record for a solid five years until the release of his album Defender in 1987. During a 1987 interview with Hot Press, Gallagher confessed that during his period of silence, people might have believed he had taken up sheep farming. In the same interview, he shared his struggle to get a fair contract from any of the major recording labels during that time. As for the control over his work, he commented that everything was under his project’s control, adding that nothing creative and spontaneous seems to hit the streets anymore. The detailed discussion, available online, provides insight into Gallagher’s challenges as a rock artist in the late 60s and underlines the barriers set by the music industry for anyone trying to stick to their core values.
On the final night of 1987, I bid goodbye to the pub, headed home, and informed my younger brother Diarmaid about the concert. He drove us straight to the venue, Salthill. Despite the large audience, we had no trouble getting tickets at the entrance. That night, Rory Gallagher ruled the stage with his splendid performance on his Fender Stratocaster, accompanied by his old mate Gerry McAvoy, who had earlier played bass guitar on ‘Live in Europe’ and had been chauffeured into the National Stadium in May 1972.
The same Fender Stratocaster Gallagher played that night is among the articles to be auctioned at Bonham’s in London on October 17. The guide price is estimated to be between £700,000 and £1,000,000. As per reports, Tánaiste Micheál Martin is considering discussing the purchase of this well-renowned guitar for the country with Catherine Martin, the minister for arts. Whilst the chances of us, myself or my schoolmates from boarding school, or a young man from Kilkenny, owning the instrument are slim, our memories of the artist who shaped our musical enjoyment are indeed more precious.
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