This is a 1996 letter I wrote to daughter Cara who was living in London. It accompanied a tape of Irish music which I'd compiled to further her musical education. The letter has, when I read back after almost 10 years, an amusing beer eye view of Irish singer/songwriter - and now TV presenter, Paul Brady at and following his gig in Tilley's Devine Cafe with Paul Kelly, also comments on various Irish bands/performers as they appeared to me in 1996.

Interestingly I spoke with Paul Brady again at Tilleys in 2003. I'd gone there with my old friend Kirsten Fletcher and her friends Steve and Eadoin and we sat outside after the performance, when Paul Brady emerged with his local promoter. Kirsten being Kirsten decided to inform Paul about my house being destroyed by the bushfire. He seemed genuinely concerned and when I mentioned my lost PB LPs he said that he would replace them, which was brilliant. And they were indeed replaced some months later, for which I was grateful to Paul and his ACT bloodhound agent, Peter           .

Cara, I started this explanation of the tape the day before you left but between ferrying the blokes all over the countyside and work, well it took some time to finish. An unfortunate aspect of one's mechanics is that the fingers only type at snails pace, while jeez the mind is zooming at the speed of light, as you'd of course know, so when the fingers get around to typing it they've totally forgotten what I had in mind. It gets one down at times but I've managed to cope by chewing gum slowly.

I'm glad you gave me the incentive to delve into my Irish collection, one doesn't listen often these days and I actually bought a new CD which stirred the interest factor again. Not that I find the music uninteresting, au contraire mon cher, but lately I've been delving into yer gutbucket blues and rhythm 'n blues and also spiritually shuffling to a bit of Wolfgang on occasion.

Irish folk is of course distinctive. At least, from r'n b it's without a doubt er reasonably distinctive. There are common threads though, both have soul and both as such are real music, as opposed to manufactured pop.

My introduction to Irish folk was through the Dubliners, a rough and ready pub band, I guess they were, and using today's definition almost punk in that they were a pub band which played songs in a fiery and gutsy working class way which contrasted with the smooth professionalism of the Clancey Brothers, a major Irish act on the US folk circuit. Don't laugh, the US folk scene had a huge boom worldwide from the late fifties through to the mid sixties. It was not only a sellable commodity, it was part of an historical EVENT; folk music was a major communicator and focal point for US human rights movements during those years.

The tape commences with a stirring tune by the Chieftains called "The Morning Dew".  The percussive interplay between tenor and bass bodhran and bones is terrific, and I suppose is an aural painting of the dawn pageant, the heartbeat of the Universe, the life force which moves birds, animals, wind, rain, the earth and sun to one massive rhythmic swirling cacophony. Just a guess of course, but it reads well.

The bodhran, pronounced bow - run ( bow as in now), is the hand held drum, the skin of which is from goat or pig, or as someone remarked about the inimitable Irish instrument maker Alan Healy, an old Sydney acquaintance, "you wouldn't want to be walking past his place at night and him without a skin for a bodhran, bejasus...". Similarly with the bones no doubt.

The following track is from an island of the New Hebrides group of islands and it's sung acappella, which there is known as mouth music. The song in Scottish Gaelic is called "Fionnghuala" and is performed live by one of the three major Irish folk revival bands of the seventies, The Bothy Band. The other two bands are the Chieftains and Planxty and all three are superb. The Bothy Band were primarily instrumental, using rock and I've heard say jazz rhythms, although to my ears the fast 6/8, 12/16 cross timing of their guitar stems from an Irish beat. Anyway as this song shows, their vocal ability, although rarely recorded, was excellent.

The third track is an excerpt from "Tribute to Paedar O'Donnell" by Moving Hearts. This band 

which initially had two ex members of Planxty, Christy Moore and Donal Lunny, was eclectic in it's approach, using rock, jazz and even reggae. While Christy Moore was the singer it was also reactionary in it's subject matter for songs - the destruction of the world ecology and population through mismanagement, greed and war etc - rock protest. Instrumentally they were interesting and by the time of this track (1985) were a totally instrumental unit.

Sinaed O'Connor is backed by the Chieftains for this 1994 version of the poem "She Moved Through The Fair" on which you espoused for an English project. Quite an atmospheric reading.

Paul Brady is also an ex Planxty member, although to my knowledge there is no available recording of him with the group. I suspect that there may be something in the BBC archives. If you happen to find anything over there...... "Don't Come Again" is from his first solo album which was Melody Maker's best folk LP of 1978. Paul is currently making his first tour of OZ supporting Paul Kelly and as I write this is singing at Tilleys - I couldn't get a ticket. He's also there tomorrow night, I will be there with my nose pressed against the window. Brady is a distinctive singer and an accomplished instrumentalist, double tracking the backing here. He later turned to rock music and has had a number of his songs covered by rock "artists". Even His Royal Bobness, Bob Dylan admires his work. Two of his late 80s songs are on side "B".

And here we have Planxty with "The Well Below The Valley". This is a strange dark mystical song,  hundreds of years old. The liner notes state that many older singers refuse to sing it because of it's sinister incestuous and murderous overtones. "The gentleman who was passing by" in the first verse seems to be Jesus and the lyrics allude to the story of the woman at the well.  The metaphoric "lily" is perhaps the hope of human redemption. In the final verse she hopes that "the Lord above will save me soul from porting in hell". The "lily" could also be symbolic of the human condition, human frailty ie. we can only be what we are, aspiring to angels, but made from clay, only our aspirations can fly. Merely supposition of course, but there you go, we wallow in the bullshit and mud of our lot in life, I know where I belong sport.

At times, when the deeper currents of spirit, eddie and shirl, about us...............

I don't know the title of this one but it's an instrumental by the Chieftains with the ever eclectic Ry Cooder on slide guitar, which gives it a middle Eastern gypsy feel, and Matt Molloy, ex Bothy Band, on flute. It's attractive, I like it, don't think it works all the way but eh? Still one man's egg is another bloke's chook.

Dirty Old Town is a song from The Dubliners. The singer is the late great Luke Kelly with a ragged torn vocal. Written by Ewan McColl, father of Kirsty McColl, it has been covered by The Pogues and many others. A terrific song, but I love this version, perfect in it's simplicity.

An Feochan (gentle breeze) is an almost spiritual air performed by the true successors to the Bothy Band, Altan, whose album "Island Angel" was listed by the pop mag "Q" as one of the best CDs of the 80s. The flautist here is Frankie Kennedy who died fairly recently.

Next Market Day by Oisin is a pretty song about a young girl who sets off for the markets to

"win for her mammy three hands of fine yarn" and make some dosh for the family. On the way however she meets a young man who, for the offer of three guineas, causes her to "tarry and stray". It appears that her benefactor, as is often the case, flies the coup and she, the poor guinea fowl (ho ho) decides to search for him "by land or by sea 'til he learns me the tune of his next market day". A parable Cara. The instrumental break is quite attractive with the twin whistles, and the mandolin and bazouki backing not lacking in yer backingability. Subconsciously or even consciously you may remember this song as our old band used to do it in the early 80s.

Send you a tape if you like.....

Fairy Tale of New York by the Pogues with Kirsty McColl helping out on vocals is a damn good song, taken on it's own. Shane MacGowan's lyrics have worn a bit thin over a few CDs though. The Pogues musically are a good outfit, mixing Irish folk, rock, middle Eastern, far Eastern, any bloody thing into their musical gumbo (a sort of exotic Irish stew). I saw them at the ANU about four years ago. MacGowan lasted about 3 numbers before he launched himself into the audience, invincible in his inebriation. The band continued without him, very pissed off.

A Fairy Tale Of New York is also the title of a book by the Irish American writer J.P. Donleavy who showed great promise initially with his novel The Ginger Man. A bawdy book but his writing was skilled and poetic in parts, very Irish in it's mix of pathos and humour with a superb ear for comic dialogue. A couple of novels after that were also very good, The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthasar B and The Destinies of Darcy Dancer,  but then he dipped to the common denominator, a waste of talent, although lately he's been getting some good reviews with his memoirs. MacGowan started as a punk and the punk common denominator isn't pretty so you can't expect too much lyrically but he can write well; unfortunately he continues to write in gutterspeak, and of course or coarse, there's always an audience.

A tune by Michael O' Sullivan is the first item on the second side. He's a talented pianist who mixes it all in, jigs and reels and jazz and classics, successfully, and it's just a wonderful example of the way Irish music is blending and enriching itself with other forms while the essence, it's liveliness, spontaneous sound and melodic beauty, remains pure. Fortunately we've come a long way from those narrow minded folk purists who so desperately wanted the music to stay unblemished, as they saw it. The musicians, almost all, heard new sounds; art, living art cannot be petrified, an historian can be.

Monto by the Dubliners was recorded live at The Gate Theatre in Dublin in 1966. It's from the LP called "Finnegan Wakes" which I bought for one dollar together with four other Dubliners' albums in Ashwoods one Saturday morning; I remember it well Cara, it set my weekend off to a brilliant start, what a find!!! You could imagine how ecstatic I was. You may remember that I used to take you down to Ashwoods in your little green stroller sometimes, well you probably don't consciously remember which is just as well. A little seedy was Ashwoods, a lot of fringe characters used to emerge from under rocks and congregate there on a Saturday morning. One had to be careful about positioning oneself, and in particular to stick to the top row. Oh you were no trouble at all. At all. A bag of chips or lollies and you'd sit there for hours. And with another bag, for a little longer. Jeez we used to have a rare old time, me looking, you eating and talking to yourself. It was the making of you love and I know you'll thank me one day. As me Mum used to say to me in her lovely quiet and quaint Yorkshire speaking voice "You 'av to learn t' amuse yourself Barry". I often wondered why she came to that conclusion, but she were a wise woman me mother, and still is. She's underrated for her wisdom is Mum. She also told me once, and I kid you not, "Lets have a look at you then. Turn sideways. Your profile's good, Barry." She must have decided that my ego needed a boost. After that, one was very mindful of positioning one's features, for maximum impact as it were. Sideways in fact. For years I never looked a person in the eye.

"Well if you've got a wing-o, take her up to ring-o,

Where the waxies sing-o, all the day.

If you've had your fill of porter, and you can't go any further

Just give yer man the order - back to the quay"

Is that brilliant or wha? Buggered if I know. The Irish Gaelic used in the last verse "pogue ma hone" means "kiss my arse" and the Pogues took their name from the phrase and although I'm unsure which is the noun or the verb I think I could make a shrewd guess. The Dubliners performed a few humorous songs such as this but this one in particular is so chock full of Dublinisms of the fifties such as references to "Skin The Goat" ( a political figure, I think) and the "big Barloo - en" that it's almost impossible for the foreigner to make sense of it all. Since the song was written Irish has become a compulsory subject at schools in Eire which as they say, is grand....... they were on top of the English language I guess.....

Star of the County Down by Van Morrison and The Chieftains was from their LP of the late eighties and was Van's formal recognition of the spiritual Celtic culture of his art. This, married with the soul and r'nb culture of his other side surprised many of his listeners, me included.

Two jigs/The Kid On The Mountain by the Bothy Band, recorded live by the BBC in 1976. you may remember The Kid On The Mountain Cara....of course our band used to do it; this tune really soars.

The Island and Donegal are two tracks from Paul Brady, about 1985 I think they were recorded.

He is a musician I've admired for some time, being one of those underrated talents who are musician's musos. People like Richard Thompson, Leonard Cohen, Randy Newman, Tom Waits who consistently write good material but seem to, fortunately perhaps for us, elude mainstream success. The reason of course is that the common hordes prefer bland MacDonalds muzack, hits and memories, rather than gourmet music which may involve a little thought or emotion from the listener. Anyway, I actually met Paul, my mate Paul, in person the other night at Tilleys. Wow, she says. Yup, it made my year.

Let me tell ya my story. I'd had a very taxing day at work, having managed to write my way out of a potentially embarrassing situation whereby I'd implied to an overseas officer that the cost of  return to Oz, outside a scheduled return,  would be picked up by the department due to his situation. Well the delegate for this particular piece of legislation told me afterwards that there was no way it would be approved. Holy Coramba, what a bucket of merde had dropped on me. To cut a long story short I managed at the end of the day to convince the delegate through my written submission to approve the return.

So. I was drained but quite pleased with myself and when Fiona suggested a beer after work I thought well jeez I deserve it. And another. Sooo, we ended up at the Phoenix chatting away to a couple of likely laddies who were shaved almost bald and had a junkyard of facial ornaments, nostrils, lips and even tongue. They proved to be top chappies though, Eric and Leslie. Eric????? Who ever heard of a young punk poof called Eric, poor bugger. His best chum Les works as a pastrychef at the Hyatt, just slips his brass and bronze into his pocket and jingles from dough to pastry. Anyway there we were into the third Guinness and along came Ian. Ian. Ian's mood was on the upswing when he came over to our table to ask if we could lend him a coupla cents to buy a beer, which we did, and so he decided to present us with his latest poem. To say the most Ian was almost a rhymer. Come to think of it he was almost a person, but he had grave doubts about himself. "Ian", he kept repeating after introducing himself. "Ian, what a name, whose parents would call their kid EEEan? EEEEan, what sort of a bloody name is that?"

He was mesmerised by his moniker. He's probably still repeating it as I write. Anyway Ian asked us to add to his poem and we did for an hour or so. Amazing what tangents the mind can find with Ian's poem and a Guinness or three. We all had a great laugh and Ian departed in a huff when his paranoia got the better of him. After that I remembered that Paul Brady was playing at Tilleys and I HAD to be there. So we said cheers to our new found chums and flew over by cab. Couldn't get in, sold out weeks ago, I think most were there to see Paul Kelly. We'd just missed Paul Brady's set and I asked the doorman how was the set. He was obviously impressed, so I thought "got to get in here";  checked out the back entrance and there was a bit of a sturdy impasse of the female variety sat out the back like a stone Buddha and I thought in my Guinness wisdom that this could be dangerous son, picked it, judgement fine, legs steady, walk slowly back round the front, sit at table dignity intact. The doorman and I getting along just fine, with him allowing me in to buy a drink from the bar, and me hanging round inside just that little bit longer. And it's sounding great. Paul Kelly on top form playing acoustically with a backup muso playing keyboards and accordion. The crowd is really appreciative too. You get that at Tilleys. There's not many places like it, so small a venue. To see artists perform at such close quarters, a rare treat these days. Where's that doorman? Just sneak in front of this overgrown specimen momentarily. Jeez and Kelly has asked Paul Brady back on for a number. Bloody hell it's Arthur MacBride one of me favourite Brady songs, the two of them singing a verse apiece, wow I'm singing, me mate the doorman wouldn't grab a bright eyed singer by the scruff

                                    And the little wee drummer

                                    We flattened his pow

                                    And made a football of his rowdy dow dow

                                    And into the ocean to rock and to row

                                    And bade it a tedious returning

No one else singing. Make myself inconspicuous. Holy moly they're doing another. From Little Things big Things Grow,  the Aboriginal song. Me favourite Paul Kelly. What a night. Everyones singing it, raise the voice. Raise the beer. Good health to the doorman, a champion among doormen, one of the world's best. From little things big things grow.

I thanked the doorman after that and we were allowed in. Just off to the gents and who should be sitting near the bar chatting girls but the two Pauls so over I go. "Paul Brady. Fantastic. You're terrific. I love your stuff. Sorry to intrude but I just had to say hello". He says don't be sorry at all. Smiling. Obviously loves the adoration. Give him more. Let him know this is no mere Irish folksinger's groupie here boy, this is one muso to another. "My daughter's going to England in a few days and she asked me to put together a selection of Irish music and I've put three of your songs on it "Don't Come Again" off the first album..."  He nods smiling. "And Donegal, that's great, and the track before it....can't remember the title..." He frowns.  "er the one with piano backing"  The Island he suggests. ",yeah, that's it, fantastic song". He's back smiling again. "Yeah I've got three or four of your albums, you're great....haven't heard much of the recent stuff though..." He frowns and suggests that maybe I should listen to some. He seems a little inebriated. Only a short bugger. Flat face behind his gold rim glasses.  Back off, blew it. "I must do that, anyway sorry again to intrude" Now don't be sorry about intruding at all he says, smiling again. At all at all drop me the blarney from the great height I think and into the ocean to rock and to row and bade me a tedious returning. "Wow did you see me talking to him, that's Paul Bloody Brady, holy shit I don't believe it what a night"!!!  A little while later I collared him again. Intruding on his soft glow of a walk out of the john where I'd spotted him ducking into a cubicle and decided to wait while washing the hands thoroughly. "Ah jeez there you are again Paul I got hold of this marvellous CD the other day to put a few tracks on the tape I'm doing for my daughter - Bothy Band live at the BBC and I thought that perhaps the beeb has some of yourself with Planxty". He agrees that they probably have. Seems to be losing his glow though, just a little, as he explains that the Bothy Band were much more together, organisationally and as a group than Planxty ever were, anyway he adds that he must be returning now to his table. But of course, apologies for the intrusion to his ablutions. I noticed that he didn't give his "now don't be intruding at all at all" reply. And I must admit that I have stretched your man's bon homie somewhat. But as Little Richard said "Don't wear the tiara if you..." - no that wasn't Richard - that was Vern.

Pretty Peg/New Ships A Sailing/The Birds Nest/ The Man From Bundoran are four fiery swinging tunes from Altan's CD Harvest Storm". Like the Bothy Band their accent on rhythm is really impressive. Of course our own band Blackthorn was a trailblazer with the rhythms and my own guitar was blazing and innovative with all manner of yer rhythmic gymnastics in the early 80s....ah, time will tell yer honour.....you may want a tape of course.... 

Your Own Ones   - Van Morrison and the Chieftains.  This song is the song that, if you never knew nostalgia will open a well of lost space of feeling; if you know nostalgia this is a balm, the frankincense and myrrh to sooth your raw and open emotions. This song Cara is like, er, a musical Savlon.......it may hurt, and make you cry,   but after awhile you'll feel pure, saved and whole.....

John O'Dreams - Christy Moore -  to extend the metaphor, John O'Dreams is the comforter, the

father who understands our reason for being, the saviour in our quiet moments, the understanding pulse of our humanity, the believer in our best aspirations, the boatman of our quiet soft lost hopefilled sleep....

Newgrange  - Clanaad. I put on another Clanaad song for you from the one LP which I have. This group has become quite popular since it's inception. Strange. And I can't quite understand the direction. It started as a strictly Irish group, which sang it's songs in Irish, but, but, developed it's sound by using modern technology to the nth degree, which, to the passive observer comme moi seemed a contradiction.... what to make of it??? Buggered if I know. Anyway now we have Enya, Son of Enya and the Enyaites, and the sound is thicker, mysterious and mystic MISTER, with lots of mist rising from the water, a disembodied chocolate heart of a voice rising from the depths of the electronic gadgetry..... 

Before The Deluge - Moving Hearts. This is a song by Jackson Brown, a North American folk rock singer/ songwriter who became mega popular in the late seventies/early eighties. The lyrics echo folk protest movement values ie. Armageddon, the biblical deluge - the downfall of those who deserve their fate, who didn't listen to the few who conducted their lives in a "righteous" way. It reeks of self righteousness, but is suffused with anger and bitterness. Musically however it flies in the face of folk piousness, using saxophone and drums, mixed with Irish pipes,.my God!!!!  It is a great song, sung by Christy Moore, and it ends on a high note: let the music keep your spirits high.

Now Cara, the music which I've put on tape for you is quite varied and quite marvellous, but in the end it's only music, but as Bill Shakespeare said "If music be the food of life, then play on". Bill, of fortunately, had never tasted Maccas.

As I tap this out it's raining a soft rain in Holder. Holder, what a name, it's like Ian. At the moment it's 10.15pm Friday 12/12/96 and I've returned from my work Christmas party. Quite sober I might add. Well reasonably so, certainly not Schindlers. We went to the Park Royal for smorgasbord lunch and then to the casino. I played blackjack for an hour Cara and pulled out after I'd lost five bucks. Last of the big gamblers. Last weekend was a beaut. Rent A disc closed down. End of an era, as my mate Des from the counter put it. Devastated I was, Cara. Well, they sold off their stock on Sunday and needless to say I bagged some bargains. But I'll start on Saturday morning when we went to see the little bloke play cricket. Now the previous week Denise had taken him down and she had been roped into being the Umpire!!!! Can you imagine it? Signals?  Windmills confuse da missus. Anyway, she came home and told me that it was a man's job. Mmmm, stereotypically female I could say, but won't. Equality went out of the window like a no ball. So I looked at Bren. Well we roped in Brendan to coach, which he did the following week with his usual optimism. They lost, but Brendan's got plans of course.

Saturday afternoon, I picked up Brendan and the Kenney boys from baseball. Just as we were pulling into the driveway I was listening to some jazz on CSPR and the announcer offered a cd to anyone who would ring. I sauntered into the house thinking that someone would have rang by now but decided to give it a try and bingo!! I won it. These little things Cara....I'm probably the sole audience!! The CD is called "Musicale" by a modern jazz pianist with a great band, a guy called Eric Reed, good stuff, must put some on tape for you, but you may find that it's an acquired taste.

Sunday I drove in to Rent A Disc which was to have opened at ten. Three minutes past ten and it was absolutely chockers, ocker, couldn't believe it. Anyway I managed to squeeze through to grab a few bargains, which I'll put on tape for you, and it took an hour to get out of the place. I then drove straight to the basketball stadium at Woden where Brendan's team was in the grand final - which they won!  Kenneys were scheduled for duty with scoring the following game but as big Ted wanted to coach his team for their grand final I offered to sit in with Carol and Bren. Scorers extraordinaire, no worries at all. Then Ted's team won. This was cause for a celebration you might think and you'd be perfectly correct. I think big Ted had started celebrating the night previous, judging by the celebratory aroma, so off to the Irish Club we went with Ted, Carol, Alistair (Ted's mate) and Alistair's missus, Denise and Jamie and I. Well we had a good ole celebration there with a good yarn and a couple of lemon squashes. Anyway after a couple of squashes the missus wasn't in the mood for ironing so I helpfully suggested that all could repair to our place for a quiet barbie and a couple of extra squashes. This was thankfully seized upon by Alistair's missus and Ted who also weren’t in the mood for ironing either. It was a good night with my superb bar b que and Ted enjoying his victory more by the minute and Denise having a relaxed time.

Tomorrow night we're off to St Jude's to watch the little fella be a King in the Christmas play. "What do you say Jamie?"

"Nothing. I carry the frankenstein......."

Well you could imagine Brendan's reaction to that one. Jamie told us a couple of days later that Jeffrey had been playing up at school and so he (Jamie) had been promoted to gold, and Jeffrey was frankenstein now......

Saw the Christmas production in the hall at St Judes the other night; sort of like a serial this letter. Jamie made his solemn entrance with the other kings in tow, he must have been the gov'nor, the king with clout. Anyway, there appeared to be a little consternation with the constellations, some confusion as to which star they were following. Jamie was pointing to a different star to the second king, then the second king went to move behind the cows and sheep and Jamie grabbed him and steered him toward the manger proper. It was entertainment. Some of the other acts were good - they had a rapping Christmas story with three rappers in dark glasses and Yo!! my man doing their funky thing. The nuns would have been chilling out, no doubt, had they been there. 

Anyway Cara I'd better get this away. Mum has no doubt given you all the news, so there's probably not much point in my relating any, besides I don't know what she's written so you could end up with the same old news from both of us.

Dear Cara,

wey did you goto Londen

becouse I mise you.I wish  you coude

play for the brisbane bears, but you are to crapy and dopey.next week i am going to a play and i am a king and in a song.Next satuday i am going to play criciet.

 I am one of best players in the term.and in one of the games, i go five out.