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Gamle gubber og
Mickey Mousers
From: UD 7/96 |
By: Vegard Enlid |
The Dubliners har, etter over 30 år i gamet, blitt selve symbolet på irsk folkemusikk. De tror det er melodiene i den irske musikken som appellerer til folk, og de har også meninger om den politiske situasjonen på den grønne øya.
The Dubliners består av gamle menn. Mer enn ett intervju om dagen tar på. P1 har gjort unna sitt, og gutta er slitne. Men banjospiller Barney McKenna, medlem helt fra starten for over 30 år siden, gir oss likevel audiens. 10 minutter maks, sier manageren, bekymret for at krefter og humør skal ta slutt før konserten i det hele tatt har begynt.
Hvor lenge har dere tenkt å holde på med dette her?
Vi vet ikke! I alle fall ett år til. Det er definitivt. Antakelig vil vi holde på til vi dør. Ikke sant, karer!, roper McKenna til de andre gubbene. De mumler samtykkende i skjegget fra sitt tilhold i sofakroken.
Ronnie Drew, «Founding Father» av The Dubliners sammen med McKenna
og avdøde Luke Kelly, gikk solo sommeren 1995. Flere band enn The
Dubliners har lagt inn årene når sentrale medlemmer har forlatt
bandet.
Vi tenkte overhodet ikke på å gi oss. Det er klart det blir litt rart når Ronnie, som har vært med i bandet så lenge, gir seg. Men Ronnie har gått solo før, han. Det skal ikke forundre meg om han kommer tilbake om et par år. Dessuten har vi fått en glimrende erstatter i Paddy Reilly. Han er en etablert artist i Irland, og har allerede tilført bandet mye.
Men hvor er skjegget hans?
Han blir mobbet litt for akkurat dét. Han har aldri hatt skjegg før, men det er ikke umulig at vi presser ham til å anlegge ansiktshår. Tiden vil vise om han bryter sammen snart!, humrer McKenna.
Irsk folkemusikk finner et stadig større publikum, særlig blant unge musikklyttere.
Interessen for musikken går litt opp og ned. Den irske folkemusikken levde jo ganske isolert på den lille øya vår helt til utpå 70-tallet. Samtidig hadde den ekte folkemusikken vanskelige vilkår i Irland. Irland er et religiøst land, og folkemusikken ble sett på som syndig. Når den nå er populær igjen, tror jeg det skyldes den melodiske styrken i irsk musikk. «Den grønne bølgen» har også hjulpet andre lands musikere til å finne fram til sitt eget lands folkemusikk, tror McKenna, som fortsetter:
Jeg liker folkemusikk som tar opp i seg ytterligheter. De svarte i New Orleans hadde jo et skille mellom blues, den triste ytterligheten, og swing/dixieland, som uttrykte gleden. Det er et hovedtrekk også i vår musikk. Vi har «reels» og «jigs» som er glad dansemusikk, og de «triste» folkeballadene.
McKenna tror ikke nødvendigvis det er noen «konflikt» mellom popmusikk og folkemusikk:
Popmusikken dreier seg stort sett om «love». Det gjør for all del folkemusikken også, men forteller samtidig om «the walk of life and the people who walk the land». Dagens unge har et mer avslappet forhold til folkemusikken. De kan gå på disco den ene kvelden, og på Dubliners-konsert den neste.
Den politiske situasjonen i Irland er veldig spent for tida. Hvordan stiller et band som The Dubliners seg til situasjonen?
Vi i Dubliners støtter helt klart kampen for et forent Irland.
Vi synger jo stolte opprørssanger som «Foggy Dew» om påskeopprøret i
1916. Problemet med England er at de nekter å innse at de ikke er
en stormakt lenger. Men imperiet er dødt. Hele den irske øya er en
kulturell enhet, og bør også forenes politisk. Men dette betyr
ikke nødvendigvis at vi støtter metodene partene tar i bruk. Det er
mange «Mickey Mousers out there», på begge sider i konflikten, sier
McKenna oppgitt.
All we want is peace...
Vi går over til et hyggeligere tema. Skal vi tro McKenna, er det ikke siste gang bandet besøker Norge.
Vi drømmer om å gjennomføre en 3-ukers turné langs norskekysten, sier han drømmende, før han gir oss en leksjon i norske kyststeder som ville ha gitt enhver geografilærer våte drømmer.
Is that alright, boys? halvt spør og halvt fastslår gamle McKenna etter hele 20 minutters prat, og vi skjønner nok en gang at de gamle er eldst...
From: Hot Press no. 20, October 15th 1997 |
By: Colm O'Hare |
With 35 years on the road behind them, THE DUBLINERS are the roots of Irish music. Interview: Colm O'Hare. The Rolling Stones aren't the only ones celebrating 35 years on the road this year. Those other hardy perennials, the Dubliners are also 35 years-a-greying - and with a new livealbum and a European tour in the offing, they're still showing no signs of slowing down. However, fiddle player and founder member John Sheahan reckons his rumbustious outfit have played far more gigs than Jagger's blues boys have.
"We still do about 130 shows a year," he
states, "though we've slowed down slightly in recent years. We used
to do 30 dates on the trot, without a break, but now it's down to about
18 at a time." As to their amazing longevity and stamina, Sheahan has
his own theory: "We never got into pot or groupies or anything like that,"
he says. "Just plenty of serious drinking!" Along with the endless touring
and equally vigorous cultivation of facial hair, the Dubliners have recorded
and released dozens of singles and albums, making it onto Top Of The
Pops on two occasions - albeit 20 years apart. Their latest album
Alive Alive O, recorded on last year's hugely successful German
tour, features a selection of songs and tunes from their entire career.
For Sheahan, it was yet another opportunity to reminisce and look back
on those early days. "There's no doubt that the '60's was a special
decade for us", he says. "There was a whole new ballad scene, we were
in the middle of it and there was a great air of excitement about the
place. Our attitude was 'Here we are, take it or leave it'. The way
we presented the music made it exciting. The guitars were the key to
it, I think. Before that, Irish music had been played in celidh bands
on accordions. Though he partakes of an occasional drop now, back then
Sheahan was the only non-drinker among a bunch whose reputation for
sinking pints was legendary. Was the drinking as wild as it was reputed
to be at the time? "It was probably slightly exaggerated, but there
was a fair share of it involved," he recalls. "The worst thing for
me was trying to get them out of a pub and to the gig on time. Or even
worse, getting them home after the gig. It was always 'Ah sure, we'll
have another one'. "On one occasion I was getting frustrated - it was
three in the morning with no sign of the boys moving out of the bar.
I passed the barman a fiver to close the bar. But it stayed open.
I was chatting to Ronnie the next day and I was complaining about the
barman: 'I gave him a fiver to close the place and throw us out', I told
him. He laughed and said: 'We paid him a tenner to keep it open.'."
However, there was a lot of hard work involved too, and at one point
the group was so popular that they'd perform several times in one day,
as Sheahan recalls. "We used to do an early evening gig in the Royal Hotel
in Howth on a Sunday and then head in for a midnight show in the Gafton
Cinema. Theree was no bar but people would smuggle in carry-outs. I
remember one night Luke Kelly was doing an unaccompanied version of
'Blackwaterside' and there was an almighty crash of bottles. He stopped
singing and said: 'I've absolutely no time for anyone who can't hold
their drink!'
"Luke was always great for the one-liners. At one gig in Galway a bloke
shouted up: 'Hey woolly head!' Luke glared back and said: 'At least
mine is only woollen on the outside'." The biggest change the group
has witnessed in recent years has been the departure of founder member
Ronnie Drew and his replacement by balladeer Paddy Reilly. Though
this came as something of a surprise to outsiders, the members of the
Dubliners were well prepared for it. "He gave a warning about six
months before he left. He was working on a solo album at the time anyway,
so it didn't come as a great shock. My firts choice to replace him was
Paddy Reilly. He'd filled in a couple of times over the years such as
when Luke became ill." However, according to Sheahan, Reilly was
apprehensive when first approached to fil Drew's shoes on a permanent basis.
"He gave it a lot of consideration. He was a bit concerned about losing
his own identity. So we came to a compromise. We don't do much work
in the springtime so that leaves him free to do his own thing. But
it's worked out well - he hadn't played much in Europe over the years,
so it was a new experience for him." Sheahan feels that bringing new
blood into the group usually gives a new lease of life, citing the addition
of Eamonn Campbell in 1987 as an example: "It was his idea to do the
song with the Pogues ('The Irish Rover') and introduced us to a much
younger audience. I remember shortly after that, we were playing a venue
in Sweden," continues Sheahan. "Downstairs there was a rock club where
there was a line up of punks in leather jackets queuing up. One of them came
upstairs to our gig and we said: 'The rock venue is downstairs'. 'But we're
here to see the Dubliners', they replied." Sheahan, always known as the quiet
man in the group, has had his own share of solo success. His fiddle tune 'The
Marino Waltz' became popular after it was used in a Bord na Mona advert,
and he's also played sessions for a variety of stars including Kate Bush.
"She was recording her Hounds of Love album in Windmill Lane with Bill
Whelan and I was asked to play on it," he recalls. "She was a lovely girl.
At the time I was interested in origami - the Japanese art of paper folding -
and I was messing around with it in the studio while waiting around.
A few weeks later I got a parcel from her in the post. It was special
origami paper from Japan where she was touring. She still sends me
cards every Christmas."
The Dubliners 'Alive Alive O' (Live
in Germany) is out now on Baycourt Records
The Dubliners &
Shane MacGowan at the Grand, Clapham
From: The Guardian February 16th 1993 |
By: Robin Denselow |
THIS was a special event, and the mood matched the music - rousing, emotional and at times painfully sad. The Dubliners, the original roaring boys of the Irish folk scene in the sixties, had teamed up with the tottering figure who fused their gutsy, traditional style with punk in the mid-eighties - and produced some of the most memorable songs of that awkward decade.
Shane MacGowan left the Pogues at a time when he was said to be drinking himself to death. Now, he was tempted back on stage to rediscover his roots, and it seemed that half of London's Irish community had packed the Grand to see what would happen.
The first half consisted of a standard Dubliners set. Five bearded veterans stood in a row playing guitars, tin whistle, fiddle and banjo, tackling songs that can be heard in Irish bars any night of the week, but sounding instantly distinctive thanks to Ronnie Drew's gruff vocals, and the rapid fire banjo of Barney McKenna, who now looks like an unkempt, mischievous gnome. They started with Dominic Behan's McAlpine's Fusiliers, a bitter-sweet song about Irish migrant workers they first recorded 27 years ago, and followed with traditional ballads and reels that showed just how far they influenced the Pogues.
MacGowan eventually came on in a suit, tousled hair and the makings of a Dubliners' beard, clutching a cigarette and a pint of Guinness. He looked terrible but sounded terrific, with a quite unexpected authority. When he roared into Ewan MacColl's Dirty Old Town (the Pogues' hit that the Dubliners first recorded back in the sixties) he still had a wild and gutsy soulful energy, even in his sorry, shaky state. The finale, of Irish Rover and the Wild Rover, with the Pogues' Spider Stacy joining in, was as fine a boozy sing-along as you could hope for - if it weren't for the sobering thought that MacGowan looked as if he couldn't survive too many nights like this.