Christy Moore
Two moments of serendipity
have led to me being a fan, then a bigger fan, of the Irish singer, Christy
Moore.
Moore is aged 71, and has
been an acclaimed singer, songwriter and sometimes controversialist since the
1960s. Although I like Irish folk/rock music (Van Morrison, Dubliners, Pogues),
I wasn’t aware of Moore until a year or so ago.
I was on a walk in Spain, in
the hills behind Nerja (see many previous posts). Our guide was, is, an
Irishman who settled in the village of Frigiliana some years ago and set up his
guide and tours business. I asked him why he had picked Frigiliana. He told his
story: footloose after a divorce, with a new partner, he and she had determined
on settling in Spain. As they drove along the coastal motorway, our guide
spotted an exit sign – “Frigiliana”. “That’s the place Christy Moore sings
about”, he exclaimed.
(The song Lisdoonvarna celebrates a former music festival held in Irish town
of that name, and Moore’s preference to spend his summers there – in contrast
to the holiday habits of other Irish – including “Some jet off to Frigiliana”..)
Our guide needed no further
invitation to leave the motorway and explore Frigiliana. Once there, of course,
he was smitten, like many others.
I was intrigued, and back in
Nerja I streamed some of Moore’s music. There was no looking, or listening,
back. Here was singer of lyricism, causes and humour, all delivered in a
compelling voice. The music became a major part of my playlists.
One of my favourites is
Moore’s song about the Irish contingent that joined the International Brigades
during the Spanish Civil War –“Viva La
Quinta Brigada”. This song led me to the second moment of serendipity.
Last month I was writing a
blog about religion and war (With God on
Whose Side). I wanted to quote Moore’s caustic lyrics about the Irish
Catholic Church’s support for Franco in 1936. I found Moore’s website, which
had the lyrics – and, on the sidebar, I saw that there were a couple of
concerts coming up in London.
I booked.
Tucked behind a small
Sainsbury’s supermarket, near West Kensington tube station and the Cromwell
Road, is the unpretentious entrance to Nell’s Jazz and Blues Club. The club
itself perches incongruously on the top of Sainsbury’s, as it were manifesting
some cliché about Art being superior to Commerce.
There is a church hall-sized
space, holding about 200 people, some but not all seated. It is proportioned so
that there is plenty of width in front of the performance area. No one is very
far away from that area (which, when I was there, was pretty much on the same
level as the audience). The effect is intimate without being crowded. And the
acoustics are very good.
Moore dresses in black, T-shirt
and jeans. He cuts a figure that, at first sight, you’d expect to see on the
door of a club rather than on its stage. Close shaven head, big beefy shoulders
and arms. His face is wide and strangely impassive – “strangely” given the
emotional range of his voice and songs. Feeling is nearly all channelled
through voice and instrument, and the chit-chat he clearly enjoys having with
the audience.
There was no warm up act. On
came Moore, with his two excellent supporting musicians, and on he went into an
unbroken set of two hours or so, plus an encore. It was moving, cheerful and
uplifting. Moore does Irish folk melancholy with an edge in turns humorous and
political, and with an especial historical awareness. He also does comic,
almost music hall stuff. He has a rapper-like gift for rapid verbal patter that
is to the fore in those sorts of songs.
Above all, Moore loves his
fans. There’s a page on his website for people to leave comments. Moore usually
replies, often at length and in a personal way.
But one complaint. He gave a
version of Lisdoonvarna which cut out the Frigiliana line. The future of Irish
emigration to Spain could be doomed.
August 2016
Wonderful. I still sing his songs with my guitar.
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