Paul Kelly's Blog

RYAN AIR PART ONE

Munnelly went to Belgium recently, just before the dreaded Eyjafjallajokull volcano started to spew its guts out, for one concert in Deerlijk, Flanders. How was it? Well, to quote Charles Dickens – It was the best of times, it was the worst of times! I still can’t believe that we managed to fit so much drama into one day, but I suppose not getting any sleep after the gig might have something to do with it. Ryan Air had something to do with it too! Ah Ryan Air! Our relationship started so well; in the late 80s the budget airline was beginning to compete with Aer Lingus for the lucrative Dublin-Luton route, and so eager were they to win over new customers, that they were happy to fly the band I then played with to England every month, for free! The Fleadh Cowboys were riding high in those days, probably the most successful of the “New Country” bands which were sprouting up all over Ireland at that time. We played regularly all over the country, and our weekly Friday night stints in the Olympia Theatre in Dublin, have long since passed into legendary status. We also had a monthly residency in The Powerhaus in Islington, London and Ryan Air were happy to take us there for some publicity, and of course there was no question of not being allowed to take our instruments on board. Enter Michael O’ Leary! And that was the end of that!!

I travel with my mandolin and fiddle and when I play with Munnelly. Shauna, our singer, kindly takes my mandolin on board while I take the fiddle. This usually works very well, but last Saturday at Dublin airport that all changed. As we queued to board the aircraft for the 07:45 flight, I noticed that as well as the usual staff who check the boarding cards, there were an extra couple of vigilant blue suited staffers whose sole job was to make sure that no one exceeded the strict cabin baggage size restrictions that they impose on us hapless travellers. The girl scanned my boarding card, and trying to conceal the fiddle as much as possible from view I swept passed the vigilanties at the gate. Then I heard the dreaded “Excuse me Sir,” and I was caught! No amount of pleading with them was of any use and I was left with deciding between going back to the sales desk and buying a seat for the fiddle, missing the flight in the process, or paying them €35 then and there for the privilege of having my precious instrument hauled into the hold, at the mercy of the baggage handlers. To add to the drama, the gate was about to close and so I had to hand over the fiddle, but not before I tuned down the strings and collapsed the bridge to minimise potential damage. Fortunately, when I picked up the fiddle off the belt at Charleroi airport it was fine. In fact it was in a much better condition than I was, as I succumbed to a state of high anxiety for the duration of the flight!

We were met by Phillip who drove us the 140 kilometers to Deerlijk where we were introduced to Rik, one of the concert organisers.

Kieran & Rik, the promoter.

I recognised him and he pointed out to me that I had played in the same venue four years earlier with singer Eleanor Shanley! Oops!  We all had an enjoyable lunch and then went for a short nap before the afternoon sound-check. We met at the theatre at 4pm where David, who had driven from Utrecht with Lotte, his girlfriend, was already waiting. Ryan jumped up on the stage to check out the baby grand and was totally unimpressed by the tuning; it sounded a bit like a honky-tonk Johanna from an old American saloon bar! Well, okay, it wasn’t that bad but Ryan, bless him, has extremely sensitive ears and the piano just didn’t come up to his exacting standards. Halfway through the sound-check a second, electric piano arrived, to Ryan’s satisfaction and all was well again. Three-quarters way through the sound-check, he noticed another problem, this time with the volume level of the piano and the hunt was on again for yet another replacement!
After the sound check we were taken to another part of the theatre for dinner. The catering was done by a local family business and the food was mighty – smoked ham, croquette potatoes, a wonderful green salad, grilled tomatoes with garlic and breadcrumbs and a local delicacy: roasted chicory! Beer and wine was also offered and I had a couple of bottles of Primus, a medium strength 5.2% alcohol content blond Belgian beer. For the uninitiated, Belgian beer can be outrageously strong, so it’s always a good idea to know the alcohol content of what you’re drinking, as some beers can have as much as 12%!

The Calm Before.....!

The concert commenced with yet another keyboard installed for Ryan, this time to his complete satisfaction.

Ryan (three pianos) Molloy

The gig was great, with the band receiving a second, enthusiastic encore, after what seems to be the almost mandatory initial one! A well stocked dressing-room refrigerator of beer had been slowly depleting during the evening, and while I stuck with the Primus, other more em….adventurous members of the band were sampling the delights of Leffe, coming in at a robust 6.6%!

As we were in Flanders, I can’t say I was surprised when the theatre bar remained open after the concert, and those of us of the “sure let’s keep drinkin’ for a while yet,” persuasion, (we know who we are!!), needed no further encouragement!

Munnelly at play!

Trouble Ahead!!

Apart from taking part in some bizarre Munnelly party games, I spent the time talking with Rik and his friend about the current season of professional cycling’s Spring Classics. These are the one day monument races which are held mainly in Belgium and the Netherlands during April. Winning even one of these energy sapping 250km+ races bestows immortality upon the victor; Sean Kelly, from just outside Carrick-on-Suir, County Waterford, won 9 of them during his illustrious career, including two victories in one of the most highly regarded of these grueling events, Paris-Roubaix, which features over 50 kilometers of treacherous cobblestones!

Sean Kelly on the cobbles in Paris-Roubaix

Our interest in Paris-Roubaix, also referred to as ‘The Hell of the North’  was understandable, as the race, which begins in the French capitol and ends no further than 20km from our current location, was being held the very next day! Just as it is possible to open up a conversation with almost anyone in an Irish pub on the subject of football, be it Soccer, Gaelic, or Rugby, everyone in this part of Belgium has an opinion on cycle racing. My two colleagues were convinced that the über-strong Swiss rider,  Fabian Cancellara, would win the following day’s race hands down; I stuck my neck out and instead opted for a rugged Spaniard,  Jose Antonio Fleche. As it turned out…they were correct, and I was wrong, as Cancellara romped home alone to take the prize! Don’t make bets when your adversaries have local knowledge! Drinks on me the next time guys!!

Just when I thought that we were all done, which in fairness was about an hour or more after the show ended, we were invited to continue revelries in a nearby bar. Yes Please!! It was the business; dark, small, high-ceilinged, not too full, and…smoky! No less so than when Ryan broke open a packet of just purchased slim panatela cigars, offered me one, which I surprised myself by taking, and the pair of us sat back, talked nonsense and blew thick fumes of pungent smoke into the already nicotine laden air. And of course the drink kept coming, and with it all desire to know the alcohol strength had completely evaporated! Gathering what little vestige of sobriety I had left, I reminded Rik that we were being collected at 4:30 for our transfer to Charleroi airport for the ridiculously early flight and that if we all left the bar now, we could grab a whole two hours sleep before pick up time. Or,  it was quickly pointed out to me, we could have a whole two hours drinking time before then instead! Sure who was I to argue with that logic, distracted as I was by a new round of ominously looking, shorter drinks appearing on the table. “Hey, Ryan,” I seem to remember saying in response, “any more of those cigars knockin’ about?” The edges of my consciousness were blurring fast now as we were bustled into two cars to be brought to one of our host’s houses in wait for the lift to the airport. The drinking had fizzled out for most of us now as hot coffee was produced and we made a somewhat feeble effort to sober up before our imminent departure.

The drive to the airport was a blur and before what seemed like no time at all had passed we were pouring out of the van at Charleroi departures. Even though I felt disorientated, racked with tiredness, and still fairly inebriated, I knew that the ordeal of checking in with Ryan-Air required me to have some semblance of togetherness, and after gulping down big lungfuls of fresh air, mixed with airplane fuel vapours, I set about the task as best I could. This was the plan: I would just about be able to fit Shauna’s checked in bag into my own fairly empty, checked in bag, as its contents were now in my rucksack to be carried on by Shauna, thereby allowing me to check in my fiddle (which it pained me greatly to do), as the other checked in bag, and bringing my mandolin on the plane as my hand baggage. All good so far. But when Shauna and I arrived at the desk where the airport officials check the boarding cards, I was told that my mandolin, which I intended to carry on in a soft cover and which weighs practically nothing, was too big to be allowed on board! Oh No! Desperate, incoherent pleading ensued, in the middle of what was, even at that early time a frenetically busy departure area. Eventually, I managed to get the uncompromising official to go and fetch his boss to come and have a look at my mandolin! When he arrived and saw my one and only piece of hand luggage, he too said that if it didn’t fit in the contraption which measured the size of carry on luggage, then it could not be brought on board. It didn’t fit, as the head of the instrument protruded about four inches beyond the regulation size. I had started to talk animatedly now, saying that though I understood that it made sense for all the overhead locker bags to be of a uniform size, the fact was that I never put the mandolin in the overhead bin, but place it under the seat in front of me. Thinking that he could hardly argue with my logic, he responded to my amazement by telling me to calm down, or did I want him to call security! Jesus! He eventually said he would go and get one of the Ryan Air staff to come and have a look! Nightmare! What didn’t occur to me til after (as I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at this stage), was; What the hell were the ground staff at the airport doing enforcing Ryan Air’s cabin baggage policy! If anyone knows the answer to this, will they please enlighten me. After a short but excruciating wait, with our departure time rapidly approaching, a Ryan Air staffer arrived and after more pleading and wringing of hands, she eventually said I could bring the mandolin on board. Whew! So, greatly relieved, Shauna (to whom I was grateful  for staying with me for support during the ordeal), and I approached the security machine thinking the worst was behind us; it wasn’t!!

To put what happened next in perspective, a little background info is required. What we are talking about here is my pair of string cutters, a tool crafted to the highest standards, made with Swedish steel and the most efficient pair of snips I had ever used. These were a gift from one of my oldest and best friends, given to me in the mid seventies, and which I had taken with me on all my travels around the world, safe in my checked in luggage, for it would surely be confiscated if I tried to bring it on-board, or so I thought!  Only three weeks earlier, after we had completed checking in at Chicago’s O’Hare airport on route to Dublin, I realised that my snips were still in my rucksack about to go through security. Oh no! It was sure to be discovered and taken off me, and right enough, when the bag had passed through the machine it was picked up by a female member of staff and with me looking on anxiously, she began to rummage through the bag. Eventually, she discovered the item which had aroused her attention, and turning to me she held the snips up and said “I’m sorry sir, but I’m going to have to……” Confiscate was the word I expected her to say next, but what came out was “…….measure this item!” Reprieved, she measured the snips with a measuring tape and satisfied that it didn’t exceed some size restriction of which I was unaware, she handed them back to me!  I was elated that I was able to hold on to my prized possession but of course I had no such luck in Charleroi. Because I had my rucksack on my (or more correctly) Shauna’s back and not in my bigger check in bag as per normal, I suddenly realised why the young member of security had asked to search the bag. The snips were duly found, and immediately consigned to the basket of goodies behind the desk as I tried to change his mind by an impassioned outpouring of the incident  in O’Hare  – and  even a direct plea of  “can I have the snips back please?” But it was completely futile, and so me poor oul’ string cutters were gone forever! Damn, Blast, and Bloody Hell!!!

Anyway, we all arrived back in Dublin, disheveled but in one piece and parted company until our next adventure!

P.S. Thanks Shauna for the great photos!!

Anyone care to guess which Munnelly band member belongs to these socks?

Munnelly are just back from a flying visit for a one off concert in Italy. The venue was the Auditorium Flaiano in Pescara, on the Adriatic coast. The five piece band, which had just come back from three weeks in America, was augmented on this trip by our piano player Ryan Molloy. Soon to be a married man, Ryan is a composer and music teacher working out of Queens University, Belfast, and the longer tours don’t always suit his busy schedule. This short hop over to Italy was no problem for him and so we were delighted, as always, to welcome his affable personality and exuberant musicianship back into the band. You can keep up with Ryan’s own musings and more at www.ryanmolloy.ie

Ryan prays for guidance!

Italy has been a huge favourite with Munnelly for a few years now, through a connection I made with the agent Gigi Bresciani in 1998. He was put in touch with me by a journalist I met at the Interceltique Festival in Lorient, France, that year. I was the manager in those days of the talented, but now sadly defunct  traditional band Lia Luachra, and subsequently Italy became one of our most visited places. Gigi’s company was Music On in those days, it then morphed into Frame Events sometime later, and is now flying its flag under the banner of Geo Music. I have learned not to be too curious about the regular name changes. Gigi explains it’s for “fiscal” reasons – and who am I to argue? Italy groans along under the weight of bureaucratic paper work - we are obliged to each bring a E101 certificate with us whenever we come to perform in the “bel paese”, as Italy is known. These are obtained from the Department of Social Affairs, Special Collection Section, in Waterford. The E101s state that our PRSI payments are retained in our country of origin and therefore no tax is liable in Italy. They are required by Gigi in order for payment to be made by the venue, which is subsidised by the local “comune” or council. Mama Mia!!

And then there is SIAE form waiting to be filled out after the concert. SIAE (Italian Society of Authors and Composers) is the Italian royalty collection organisation – Ireland’s equivalent would be IMRO – and what my old friend Gigi Marinoni used to call “the fooking form”, always turns up at some stage after the gig. In theory, submitting this form should guarantee that performance royalties due to us on any composition or traditional arrangement will duly find its way via IMRO, into our respective bank accounts. In reality, well at least to the best of my knowledge, no such passage of funds ever takes place…..all that is certain is that the Italian bureaucratic behemoth grinds on regardless! Mio Dio!

An Adriatic beach

The Concert Poster

After the 350km drive from Bologna airport, we arrived at the Hotel San Marco, on the seafront, grateful that we had no engagement that night and we could all get to bed early and enjoy a good nights sleep. Hah! Early!? Sleep!? Nope, that didn’t happen, as after a feast of pizza, beer and wine in a nearby restaurant, more beer and wine appeared and later back at the hotel, the night porter, who it has to be said bore a striking resemblance to famous English nightclub owner Peter Stringfellow, kept the drink flowing late into the night. Unusually for me, I didn’t last the pace, as I felt I might be coming down with a bug and retired to bed early, leaving the others to party on in the otherwise deserted bar directly below my room. I woke up fitfully at various times over the next few hours and judging by the howls of laughter that i could hear wafting up from the bar, ‘our lot’ were still partying hard. At about 3am, awake and restless, I was surfing through the TV channels and came upon a tribute show dedicated to the Irish football manager, Giovanni Trapattoni. In the midst of the clowns, dry ice, and scantily clad ladies in which this type of Italian show revels, Trap was interviewed about his experiences in Ireland. He was asked at one stage was it true that the Irish were dedicated party animals and drinkers, and before he had time to draw breath to reply, a surge of laughter and yells erupted from the bar downstairs. I smiled and thought, “there’s your answer to that!” Che divertimento!!

Pre sound check platter!

Not surprisingly, things didn’t get going too early the next day, which was just as well as our first call to duty was a leisurely 4pm sound check. The theatre was also on the seafront; the gentle waves of the Adriatic even visible from the stage during the sound-check. A meal was laid on before the performance in a small restaurant directly on the beach. Not surprisingly I suppose, seafood was all that was offer, and only after an intervention by Fabrizio, our driver, did the kitchen agree to serve us with a bruschetta and spaghetti with tomato sauce alternative, satisfying the appetites of the

Yippee! Seafood!!

less molluscly adventurous of the band. The concert was well received and a tired band were somewhat relieved when the last of the CD buying audience left the theatre and an early night in the leaba loomed! And that’s about it! Nothing too hectic, but still lovely to be carted away for a couple of days of continental heat while back at home the mini ice age was still at large. The next morning we retraced the drive, this time northbound, and at Bologna airport said our goodbyes to David, who was carrying on to Milan for his flight back to the Netherlands, his current place of residence. We all agreed that we couldn’t wait to come back again, hopefully for longer the next time! Ben tornato presto!!

THE IRISH AMERICAN HERITAGE CENTRE

The Irish American Heritage Centre in North Knox Avenue, Chicago, is a fine, imposing, late 19^th century building, a hive of activity of all things culturally Irish, and the scene of many memorable concerts, featuring some of the top names in Irish music. But it’s not the place that you want to walk into at 7:30am on a Sunday morning after the night before, during one of the centre’s busiest times of the year. We were greeted on arrival by tables and chairs scattered all round the room, the tables laden with umpteen glasses and cans, some empty, some partially full, as if at the height of the party, a bomb warning sounded and all revellers immediately vacated the place in a frantic stampede. So disorientating was it, and sleep deprived were we, that we imagined that it may have been a party that we ourselves had attended; and we just hadn’t left yet!

Our presence there at that unholy hour was requested by the powers that be at the IAHC — apparently an opportunity to appear on a breakfast TV programme had materialised, and our short performance for the station would help boost ticket sales for our show there that night. Or at least that was the theory! As we lounged around the alcoholic debris and the remnants of a boisterous night of fun, we couldn’t help but think of how we could have been fast asleep in our ultra comfortable beds at the Heidel Hotel in Green Lake, which we had sacrificed in order to be good boys (and a girl) and help out with the publicity for the concert.

Just when it seemed that we may had been unwittingly incarcerated for the whole day for some misdemeanour of which we were unaware, a member of staff arrived with coffee and doughnuts. A table was quickly emptied of its unwholesome contents, and we drank the hot coffee with relief and gratitude.

Soon after, a number of staff arrived and the clean up proper was underway. We were then set up next to a log fire which had magically appeared and played three short sets, which were inserted live in to three fifteen second slots for the ABC morning show. Duty completed, we wasted no time in returning to our lodgings, where we had had about three hours of grateful sleep about five hours before.

No hotels for Munnelly this time, as we were staying with our great friends Bill and Maggie Margeson.

Bil Margeson

Bill is a bit of a legend in Chicago’s Irish music scene; a journalist with Irish Music Magazine, a broadcaster with Live Ireland.com, and a quizmaster for various weekly pub quizzes around the city, a task for which his large boomy voice and encyclopaedic knowledge are perfectly suited. He is also an all round good guy and we think very highly of him. I also think he likes us too, which is just as well, as we were going to be hanging round his house for the next three days.

THE GIG

After grabbing some more snatches of shuteye, and a quick dinner next to the Centre, we sound-checked in preparation for the night’s concert. After two enjoyable 45 minute sets with an interval in between, it was all over,  and as we congregated at the CD vending table, lots of friends and fans alike came up and complimented us on our performance. To have complete strangers approach you after the show and say things like “good work” or “nice job” or “I really enjoyed your playing” is an honour that I will never take for granted. It can sometimes be mildly embarrassing, difficult to respond meaningfully to and you may sometimes even feel it’s not deserved but it is always welcomed — sure who wouldn’t want to know that they are appreciated in their work!

Paul Kelly with, Katie Thompson, Bill Margeson and Jackie Moran.

Speaking of work, what better way for musicians to relax after a concert but to go and listen to some….more music! And even join in! That’s why there is always a thin misty line between work and pleasure for musicians, particularly Irish traditional musicians. Music can serve both purposes, for better or worse, and is the reason why I have maintained another pursuit which I can enjoy and has no musical affiliations whatsoever, and also manages to keep me in reasonable physical shape: riding my bike in the Wicklow hills! Paradoxically, this pursuit, in which I find so much pleasure, manages to inflict upon me an equal amount of pain! But that’s another story!

The session in The Galway Arms, North Clark Street, where we ended up after the gig, was flying when we arrived, with great tunes played by Jimmy Keane on accordion, ex-Stocktons Wing fiddler Maurice Lennon, guitarist Dennis Cahill and a plethora of other musicians and singers. There was even a dancer making the most of the tiny space,and she needed to, as she danced liked someone who had just wandered in from the Bolshoi Ballet! I spent most of the evening talking to two friends of the band, Katie Thompson and Stacey Costello, about life. relationships and the price of wool! It was early in the morning when we finally returned to our beds in West Dundee —totally knackered, but hey! It’s Chicago!

The next day most of the band just hung around the Margesons house, taking it easy, or not, as the case may be! David had arranged to meet an old friend that night, banjo player Pauline Conneely, for tunes (what else!), in The Three Counties Bar in North Milwaukee Avenue. I’d never met Pauline before, but I knew of her because of a tune written for her, and in her name, by the great Chicago fiddler, Liz Carroll, and which was played regularly at a session I ran back home in Dublin. Pauline turned out to be a fine banjo player, strong and steady, and she played a 17 fret Dave Boyle banjo, which sounded brilliant. Plenty of other musicians arrived and joined in, and by the time I plucked up the courage to ask her to play her tune with me, the session was in full flow. Her response was unexpected — she apologised profusely as she explained to me that she didn’t…em..actually know the tune! Liz had written other tunes for her kids which she played but she’d never gotten around to learning her own one. I didn’t  want to embarrass her further by asking her why she didn’t learn it, but she was so modest that my feeling was that playing a tune that was named after and written for her was somewhat…well, pompous!

AFTER CHICAGO

Munnelly with Meghan McCartney

After a relaxing three days at the Margesons we were off on our travels again, but not before we collected dancer Meghan McCartney, who was joining us for the next and as it happened, penultimate gig of the tour. This was our St Patrick’s Day performance, the one day of the year when an Irish traditional musician should always be busy, although playing one concert on Paddy’s Day in the Grand Theatre in Wausau, Wisconsin, is infinitely preferable to playing five manic gigs in Temple Bar, Dublin and its environs during the same period, which I had done in my time and is still a way for local musicians to maximise their potential earnings on our national day!

Shauna and Tony at The Grand Theatre, Wausau

The Grand Theatre is a beautiful venue in the central square of Wausau, which, soon after Munnelly’s performance, would be hosting concerts by Willie Nelson and Gladys Knight. So, if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for us. We had a great gig with excellent sound, and Meghan danced brilliantly, like she’d been with us for the whole tour.

Our last concert two days later was in the optimistically titled Happy Days Lodge, just outside Peninsula, a small town in a beautifully forested valley in Ohio. We were on a high now, for with home in Ireland beckoning we could almost smell the diesel fumes on the O’Hare runway in Chicago, our point of departure. During the two hour drive back to our hotel after the gig, we stopped off in Macedonia, Ohio at yet another highway restaurant with which we were familiar. Applebee’s is a notch or two above Cracker Barrel, Denny’s and Bob Evan’s, and is consequently a little more expensive, but what the hell, we had just done the last gig of a very successful three week tour, and it also had a  full bar! During the meal, which was supplemented by a large glass of Blue Moon, in my case, and a Coors Light, in Shauna’s, we got talking to one of the waitresses who had just come off duty.  Shauna just happened to mention that she didn’t like the steak she’d had in a sister restaurant in El Paso, a few weeks back. And lo and behold, when the bill arrived, the drinks were deducted from the total! It was a gesture on behalf of the manager, who had been informed of Shauna’s experience in Texas by the waitress and wanted to redress the balance. We were delighted, and on the way out I told the manager that I would mention this act of generosity in my blog —so there it is!

This particular (Munnelly USA Spring Tour 2010) blog is now about to come to a close. I am, as I write, sitting in O,Hare airport but unfortunately no diesel fumes are evident, as snow has delayed our flight by four hours…and counting, and already my well laid plans of activities tomorrow back home in Dublin look decidedly at risk. So, I would like to take this grounded opportunity to thank everyone who commented on the blog and gave me encouragement, either in the blog comments or through my Facebook links. It means a lot to me that there are actually people reading this! So, that’s all for now but watch this space for further stories of life on the road, music, bicycles, and well, just about anything really!!!

LEAVING DALLAS

A wet Monday morning greeted us as we packed up our van and said goodbye to Dallas and the North Texas Irish Music Festival. We spoke animatedly all the way through Oklahoma, about the great craic and mighty music that we’d had over the previous four days. We made lots of new friends; some Texan, some Irish and some from the many fine Canadian bands who were featured in this year’s festival. But now it’s just the five of us again, making our own fun and recounting our personal experiences of our weekend in Texas. A lot of performers had returned home at this point, coming to Dallas solely for the weekend. But we are made of sterner stuff and continue eating up the freeway miles. As much as festivals like the NTIF are opportunities not only to perform for large partisan crowds, but also to party, meet and make friends, a band like us has to pace itself, as there’s still a long way to go on the tour.

In this, Munnelly’s sixth consecutive year touring America, the hard work is paying off and we feel that we are establishing ourselves on the touring circuit. By hard work I don’t mean rehearsing long hours to hone our arrangements to perfection, or individual practise hours to keep ourselves on top of the musical game; true, these things are necessary. No, the hard work I’m talking about is mainly done by David, and is mostly boring and administrative. Booking flights and hotels, hiring transport, liaising with our agent, phoning venues in advance, retracing lost possessions, talking to sound engineers, finding places to eat etc, etc — glamorous it’s not!! But to make the tour run smoothly, and for the comfort and enjoyment of all involved, all these logistical components have to be put in place in plenty of time and with as little fuss as possible. A lot of bands, I feel, love the romantic idea of being on tour — we all do! — however, they can sometimes  lack  the steely determination that’s required to keep the whole thing moving along smoothly. Steely determination is something that David Munnelly has in bucket loads. That the band is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year is testament to his self belief, his work ethic, and his will to succeed in this crazy business.

Munnelly at McPherson

Ok, back to the road, and over the next few days we are booked to play at various theatres, culminating in a concert and some free time in Chicago and hopefully another chance to meet with more friends and musical colleagues.  The next gig was at the Opera House in McPherson, Kansas.

McPherson Opera House, Kansas

A beautiful and imposing red brick building, the Opera House stands majestically on the Main Street of the town. The theatre had just been restored to its former glory and we were the first live band to perform there since the official opening a few weeks earlier. This is, as far as I know, the only concert the band is doing in Kansas this year. That means, unfortunately, no Walnut Valley Festival in September, but it was heartening that a lot of our fans and friends from there came to see us in McPherson and made very clear their disappointment that, after a five year successive stint at the Winfield festival; we wouldn’t be attending this year’s event.

IN A DRINKING STATE

Next up, after a stop over in Ames, Iowa where we celebrated Tony’s birthday with a meal in the Outback Steakhouse, (a cut above Dennys!) was another theatre concert in La Crosse, Wisconsin. La Crosse is host to an Irish Festival each year in August, which Munnelly will attend this year for the second time. I wasn’t a member of the band on the previous occasion, but by all accounts it was great craic, and there were no shortage of alcoholic beverages to be had or indeed bars in the town itself! A little research (well, actually an article in the magazine in our hotel room), brought up a lot of interesting facts about the nature and magnitude of the drinking habits around this part of the US. According to the magazine, Wisconsin is ranked number one in the country when it comes to binge drinking and La Crosse County has one of the highest rates in the state! Some stats: over 4,500 police responses to alcohol related incidents in 2007, and in a recent college survey 63% of students admitted to binge drinking in the month prior to the survey! Pretty impressive stuff! And not to be outdone, four Irish musicians did their best (David being the honourable exception) to bolster the local statistics by consuming a considerable amount of Corona, Coors, Blue Moon and gin in a nearby bar after the concert.  The Eagle’s Nest, across the road from the venue, was where a number of the concert goers had ended up, and where a Karaoke night was in full swing. Fuelled by the demon drink and therefore displaying a false sense of confidence, Tony and I braved the guffaws of laughter from Shauna and Kieran and the looks of incredulity of the local clientele, and got stuck into to a memorable duet of Do It Again and Deacon Blue, two classic Steely Dan songs. That these songs were notoriously difficult to sing and the keys were less than accommodating, highlighted the eh.. shortcomings in our vocal technique! A scintillating tambourine solo by Tony just about saved our blushes! There was no such redemption for Kieran and Shauna, whose version of Frank and Nancy Sinatra’s Something Stupid was camped up by Kieran’s falsetto voice while Shauna just laughed her way through the whole song turning it in to…well…something stupid!!  But Mighty Craic!!

IN THE LAND OF AL CAPONE

Green Lake, Wisconsin

Next up before we hit Chicago was a concert at The Trasher Opera House, in the picturesque village of Green Lake, Wisconsin. The eponymous titled lake is only a few hundred feet from the theatre and is a firm favourite with angling tourists during the summer months — and even in winter the ‘hardy’ locals build ice huts on the frozen surface and with the assistance of easy chairs, heating appliances and satellite TV, settle down to some rigorous fishing on the surface of the 230 foot deep lake. Gangster Al Capone owned a lake house in the area which he used for meetings with his notorious ‘Chicago Outfit’. The advantages afforded by having a lake nearby were not lost on him either. According to a local I spoke to, Capone, would order his enemies to be taken to the lake from where they would disappear without trace. Not surprising when your feet are encased in concrete blocks!

Of course that all happened years ago and now Green Lake’s citizens get their kicks from amongst other things, attending concerts in their local theatre. A sizeable audience of around 300 came to our show that night and a combination of their enthusiasm, a brilliant PA and a very competent sound engineer, made it one of our best gigs of the tour so far.

Trasher Opera House, Wisconsin

The only downside was that the possibility of an early morning TV appearance the following day in Chicago had been confirmed and the five rooms at the beautiful lakeshore Heidel Hotel in which were booked to stay had to be cancelled and we instead had the somewhat less enjoyable experience of leaving for Chicago immediately after the concert

DOWN MEXICO WAY

Our drive along the southern reaches of Arizona and Texas skirted the Mexican border at various points along the way. We were even stopped by US border control and asked to show our passports. It’s at times like this that we are grateful to have our P3 Visas up to date and that we are fully entitled to do what we are doing in the States…….playing music as full-time musicians.

Our closest encounter with Mexico came as we passed through the city of El Paso, immortalised in the romantic cowboy ballads of Marty Robbins — his songs about gunfights of honour, smoky cantinas, and dusky senoritas so lovingly recreated by my old musical compadre back home, Frankie Lane. El Paso (The Pass), is on the Rio Grande River, across from which is the Mexican city of Ciudad Juárez. I had toyed with the idea of suggesting to David that we use the opportunity to take an hour or two of a break and go across the border for a look around and maybe sample some genuine Mexican cuisine. My mind however, was changed abruptly when I did a little research and discovered that this border city is one of the most dangerous in the world and is held to ransom by drug cartels. There have been over 2000 killings, 16000 car thefts, and 1800 car hijackings in the city since January 2008. Could I wait a little longer to experience my first trip to Mexico? You bet I could!

THE NORTH TEXAS IRISH FESTIVAL

We arrived in Dallas, home of the North Texas Irish Music Festival on Thursday evening and checked into our rooms at the Radisson Hotel, from where I caught up on my emails, had a quick shower and had a look at the view from my window. I wasn’t expecting much as my room was on the first floor, but I was surprised to see that I had an excellent view of…..the bar! No, let me be more precise, out side my bedroom window, literally, was the bar! A great location if you wanted to check out what was going on before you left the confines of your room, not so great if you were inclined to go to bed early and were a light sleeper — as I was neither of the latter two, the room suited me just fine!

We had no more than wetted our lips with our first drink when we were invited to go to room 920, the ninth floor suite which was to be the unofficial “festival club” for the weekend, as some of the performers who had already arrived were meeting and greeting there and the drink was cheaper than in the bar downstairs too…a lot cheaper…ok, it was free! Betsy Cummings and her sister Ruel were great hosts and we played sessions and partied late for the whole weekend.

The North Texas Irish Music Festival lays claim to be the largest Celtic event in the south west. And maybe it is, as it’s hard to argue with a weekend attendance of over 75,000 people. First held in 1983, the festival is a three day celebration of “Irishness” and features music, folkdances, storytelling and educational programs. Held at the Fair Park in Dallas, it’s also a goldmine for vendors selling such must have items as t-shirts, (bearing the most funny, ridiculous and bizarre logos imaginable), swords, Celtic jewellery, lots of green cuddly toys, musical instruments, beer, whisky, and other refreshments — and of course food!

The sheer variety of what’s on offer for the peckish festival-goer is mind boggling! So much so that I made a list, in no particular order, of the culinary delights to be had throughout the weekend.

Culinary Delights at NTIF

So here we go: Pork Rinds, Salted Out Rolls, Caramel Corn, Funnel Cakes, Cotton Candy, Shaved Pig, Steak on a Stake, Deep Fried Eggplant, Pickles and Calamari, Haystack Onion Strings, Pork Wraps, Butterfly Potato Chips, Beef and Lamb Gyros, Deep Fried Snickers, Italian Beef Sandwich, Haggis, Deep Fried Tatties, Fish and Chips, Shepard’s Pie, Cornish Pasties, Bangers and Mash, Alligator on a Stick, Cajun Stew, Jambalaya, Louisiana Crab Cakes, Pig in a Sack, Bourbon Chicken, Cheese Steaks, Cuban Sandwich, Bratwurst, Corn Dogs, Texas Skillet, Breaded Tenderloin, Onion Blossom, Toasted Ravioli, Irish Stew, Potato Puffs, Chili Cheese Fries, Hot Wings,  it goes on and on. I hadn’t a clue what half of these were, but it’s no wonder, with all due respect, that there are quite a lot of ehm…large people in this particular neck of the American woods!

Munnelly was booked to perform five concerts over the three days at the Shamrock Stage, one of the biggest of the nine or so stages at the festival. We enjoyed every one of them and found the audiences very responsive. We had our dancer Nic Gareiss with us for these gigs and he certainly gave the shows a lift with his exuberant and skilful performance.

Mary Blackshire and her daughter Kathy

We met with some of the fans at the side of the stage after the shows, where we sold and signed copies of our latest CD, Tight Squeeze.  One conversation I had was with a Castlebar, Co. Mayo lady, now Dallas resident, Mary Blackshire, and her daughter Kathy. She reminisced about her time as a trainee nurse in Dr. Steven’s Hospital in Dublin, as well as her time living in Stuttgart in Germany. All three of us also discussed the merits of various books we were reading or had recently read. And thank you Mary for the great recommendations!

Other old friends that we hooked up with over the weekend included Dina Wearmouth Cundith, who came from Tulsa with some friends, Albert Alphonso, the great bodhrán player and maker, Craig Scotland, who I had many’s a tune with in Dublin, and whose wonderful photographs were on sale at the festival and of course our great friends in Sliabh Notes, Matt Cranitch, Donal Murphy, and Tommy O’Sullivan.

Sliabh Notes on the Shamrock Stage

Tommy had an extra agenda coming to Dallas as he was tying the knot with the beautiful Sandra the following weekend in Houston!

Our very dear friends Bill & Deanna Lisk, Nina Williams and Tom Smith, and various other folks from the Walnut Valley Festival all hung out with us over the weekend and we all played tunes and tippled from hip flasks late into the night!

A Barrel Cactus

THE ARIZONA DESERT

If Flagstaff is typical of a high desert plateau, and Phoenix a city of searing summer heat, then Green Valley, Arizona is a rural desert heartland, surrounded by the spectacular views of the Santa Rita mountain range. Home to many forms of indigenous cacti, such as the Saguaro, Prickly Pear, Barrel, and Yucca, this sienna coloured, arid landscape is also inhabited by lizards, snakes, and venomous spiders, all of which one hopes not to encounter too closely while going about one’s business!

The Green Valley Recreation Centre is the location of the band’s next concert, but before all that Tony and I had an opportunity to smack sixty golf balls each into the distance at the driving range next door to our hotel. Well, ‘smack’ is a bit of a misnomer, as both of us were somewhat out of practise, and for every ball that sailed toward its target, two more scuttled along the ground, or dribbled to a halt a few yards in front of us, and in my case typically sailed high into the sky, but only travelled about fifty yards, and that was while using the driver!

Wow! What a swing!

This weakness in my swing, I believe, comes from many years of devotion to the gentle art of Pitch & Putt, a drastically shortened version of the regular game, where the longest hole can be no more than 75 meters, and the player is restricted to carrying two clubs. The idea here is to get the ball to gain height quickly so it lands on the green without too much of a roll, great if you use a wedge, but not so with a wood or a long iron! I spent most of my teenage years obsessed with this activity, was a member of Glenville Pitch & Putt Club on the Kiltipper Road in Tallaght, one of the finest courses in the country, and managed to win my fair share of competitions. I also achieved my personal goal, in my eighteenth year, of reducing my handicap to scratch, at which point the lure of the music and the attraction of the opposite sex took over and I gradually lost interest in the game.

So, back to Green Valley, which is about forty miles north of the Mexican border, and has a large adult retirement community, which basically means that it is a place populated with people whose working lives are behind them, but who want to pursue an active retirement, with plenty of activities laid on for their interest. These include golf, computer, photography and dance clubs, and of course having the chance to go and see an Irish band in concert around St Patrick’s Day.

Any thoughts we may have had of us playing to a dead (sorry!) audience were dispelled as soon as our concert began and for the next two hours 350 senior citizens showed buckets of enthusiasm, responding in the right places and even laughing heartily at David’s jokes! They were a real pleasure to play for and would rate highly on the “livelyometer” compared to the more reserved reaction that a regular theatre audience often displays. They even gave us a standing “ovulation” at the concert’s end!

And so came to an end our four days in the Grand Canyon State. Next stop Dallas, Texas, home of the pump jack, a certain grassy knoll, and the North Texas Irish Festival!

BY THE TIME WE GET TO PHOENIX

The next day, after a hearty breakfast at the Bartons, who were great hosts, we drove back to Phoenix for our second gig, and a welcome respite from the effects of the altitude of Flagstaff.  The Irish Cultural Centre was the location of that night’s concert, a fine building owned by, and leased from the city, and a venue for many Irish Cultural events. We were met by Tom and Mary, who took us for lunch to a local Irish pub called The Turf, where, during our BLT’s, chicken salads, and salmon chowder, we watched Canada taking the Olympic ice hockey gold medal in an exciting encounter with the US.

Even at the end of February, Phoenix has the look of a city with a hot, dry climate – a cloudless sky, palm trees, Kieran wearing shorts, that kind of thing. Located at the northern reaches of the Sonoran Desert, the area has an arid climate, and for three months of the year, the temperature averages 38 degrees!

We had an enjoyable gig, and managed to avoid, without being offensive, playing requests for classic pieces like Shoe The Donkey, and the Varsovienne, which, if I’m not mistaken, refers to the same piece of music. David was introduced to a lovely elderly couple, Nora Swinford (93), and Pat Lawlor (89), who had been married for 58 years, were full of life and clapped and smiled throughout the performance.

David with Nora Swinford and Pat Lawler

We retired for the night to the beautiful home of Anita Arden, a flautist and harpist, who joined Tony and I for a night cap of fine Zinfandel red wine, and after a lengthy discussion on the merits of various uilleann pipers, we all retired to our respective beds.

HIGH ON A MOUNTAIN

This, the sixth consecutive year of Munnelly on tour in the U.S.A., began four days before Shauna Mullin, Kieran Munnelly, Tony Byrne and myself even stepped on a plane in Dublin Airport. That was because David Munnelly, the band’s main protagonist, for logistical and economic reasons, had arrived in Chicago early to pick up our hired Chrysler Town and Country SUV, and was in the process of driving the mere 1800 miles to Phoenix, Arizona, the rest of the band’s ultimate destination.

After a six hour stopover, and a three hour delay in O’Hare Airport, the weary travellers were finally re-united with David late on Friday night in Phoenix, and gratefully took to their Motel 6 beds, sleeping soundly in spite of the roar of the landing jets overhead and the wall-vibrating rumble of the night time goods trains passing nearby.

We were straight into action the following day, our first concert taking place in Flagstaff, a desert plateau town about 120 miles north of Phoenix. The balmy weather quickly gave way to colder conditions, and by the time we reached Flagstaff, it was barely above freezing, with huge mounds of snow, evidence of recent blizzards, scattered throughout the town. Considering that we discovered we were at an elevation of 7000 feet, it was hardly surprising. While the worst effects of altitude sickness are not too evident at this height, any physical effort, even walking, results in shortness of breath, and a slight headache persists continually.

The Orpheum Theatre was the venue for the evening’s gig. Originally an old movie house built in the early 1900s, the roof collapsed in 1915 under the weight of 61 inches of snow. Luckily, the revellers who were there celebrating the New Year had just gone home when the tragedy occurred.

The Knockabouts, a local trad band played a short set before us on the night. We had met their fiddler, Kari Barton, a few years previously at the Irish Fest in Milwaukee, who along with Ron, her Dad, was one the organisers of the evenings event.

Our performance, while lively and well received, had been difficult for us – partly due to jet lag, and also we felt that our heads were a bit spinny from the altitude. Try performing sometime at two miles high and you’ll get the idea!

We were accommodated in Kari’s parent’s house, where we were treated to a great supper of brisket, salad and lovely flowery potatoes. Then we all dragged ourselves to our respective beds, to try and sleep off the effects of the days tribulations.