Lisdoonvarna in the backyard Aug. 2, 2007

This is an almighty blog. I have discovered Lisdoonvarna and music in Ireland. It was me. I was the Francis Drake of my era, not content with the potato, this time sailing into Galway Bay and eyeing the huge Moher cliffs 210 metres high and saying just beyond there I shall invent Irish music. And a festival. In 1978 until 1983 they held festivals there. This is my version of events…

Sessions in the local pubs were at boiling point – musicians tipping into every street and drunk, still-playing. Propped against farmers rubble walls in fields come daybreak, squeeze box and fiddle in hand. So they extended the spirit to a full-blown festival a bit further back up the hill, at Lisdoonvarna, the town then famed for match-making lovers festivals.

The hotel waiter gave me the keys and told me to go into the bar and see the photographs as testimony to that time, with mine own eyes. Indeed there was Teresa, local girl, now landlady of the b&b true to her word – snogging in a sleeping-bag with a man who shall go nameless. Has she lost the twinkle in her eye? No of course not, despite the 24 years since.

Why did it end in ‘83? I asked, with Rory Gallagher headlining Saturday and Van Morrison in his mystical peak headlining Sunday?
“Because the hells angels (from Wexford) turned up with their chains, beat the farmers, burnt the bales and each others bikes. To top it all with real tragedy eight youngsters were drowned in the Bay”.

So the licence has not been renewed, although there was a festival with the same name held in Dublin since. I get the feeling that it’s star will rise again, especially if some Mean Fiddler got their hands on it!

There on the posters (and in the photos on the wall) evidence to 6 fabulous summers featuring Jackson Browne, Richard AND Lynda Thompson, Clannad, Emmylou Harris… look they are all here and more mentioned in the lyrics, sang by Christy Moore (who was a headliner back then).

How’s it goin’ there everybody,
D C
From Cork, New York, Dundalk,
Gortahork and Glenamaddy.
D
Here we are in the County Clare
C
It’s a long, long way from here to there.
D
There’s the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher,
C
And the Tulla and the Kilfenora,
D
Mike O Russell, Doctor Bill,
C
Willy Clancy and Noel Hill.
D
Flutes and fiddles everywhere.
C
If it’s music you want,
You should go to Clare.

CHORUS
G C
Oh, Lisdoonvarna
G C
Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoon, Lisdoonvarna!
Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Some head off to exotic places,
Others go to the Galway Races.
A cousin of mine goes potholing,
A cousin of hers loves Joe Dolan.
Mattie goes to the South of France,
Jim to the dogs, Peter to the dance.
Summer comes around each year,
We go there and they come here.
Some jet off to… Frijiliana,
But I always go to Lisdoonvarna.

CHORUS

I always leave of a Thursday night,
With me tent and me
groundsheet rolled up tight.
I like to hit Lisdoon,
In or around Friday afternoon.
This gives me time to get me gear together,
I don’t need to worry about the weather.
Ramble in for a pint of stout,
And you’d never know who’d
be hangin’ about!
There’s a Dutchman playing a mandolin,
And a German looking for Liam Óg O’Floinn.
And there’s Adam, Bono and
Garrett Fitzgerald,
Gettin’ their photo taken
for the Sunday World.
Finbarr, Charlie and Jim Hand,
And they drinkin’ pints to bate the band.
.. Ain’t it grand?

CHORUS

[ Lyrics provided by www.mp3lyrics.org ]
The multitudes, they flocked and thronged,
To hear the music and the songs.
Motorbikes and Hi-ace vans,
With bottles – barrels – flagons – cans.
Mighty craic. Loads of frolics,
Pioneers and alcoholics,
PLAC, SPUC and the FCA,
Free Nicky Kelly and the IRA.
Hairy chests and milk-white thighs,
And mickey dodgers in disguise.
Mc Graths, O’Briens, Pippins, Coxs,
Massage parlours in horse boxes.
RTE are makin’ tapes, takin’
breaks and throwin’ shapes.
There’s amhráns, bodhráns, amadáns,
Arab sheiks, Hindu Sikhs, Jesus freaks.
This is heaven, this is hell.
Who cares? Who can tell?
(Anyone for the last few Choc Ices, now?)

CHORUS

A 747 for Jackson Browne,
They had to build a special
runway just to get him down.
Before the Chieftains could start to play,
Seven creamy pints came out on a tray.
Shergar was ridden by Lord Lucan,
Seán Cannon did the backstage cookin’.
Clannad were playin’ “Harry’s Game”,
Christy was singin’ “Nancy Spain”.
Mary O’Hara and Brush Shields,
Together doin’ “The Four Green Fields”.
Van the Man and Emmy Lou,
Moving Hearts and Planxty too!

CHORUS

Everybody needs a break,
Climb a mountain or jump in a lake.
Sean Doherty goes to the Rose of Tralee,
Oliver J. Flanagan goes
swimming in the Holy Sea.
But I like the music and the open air,
So every Summer I go to Clare.
Coz Woodstock, Knock nor the Feast of Cana,
Couldn’t hold a match to Lisdoonvarna.