Food & Drink Music

Lovesick, broke and driftin’

The Wrinkly Romeos are playing the Kilkenny Rhythm & Roots festival over the weekend, which ought to be pretty good. The festival, I mean, not the Wrinkly Romeos. Their drummer is in hospital, for whatever ridiculous wrinkly reason, and in his place they have a guy with an electronic kit. Great. There you are, trying to play stuff with some small bit of credibility (“Here’s one I got from Robert Johnson . . .”) and the drummer turns up with decks, or the next worst thing. I mean, come on! What has he got parked outside the door? A nineteen-year-old Fiesta with a spoiler and a dustbin exhaust?

As I write here, I’m listening to a selection of [tag]music[/tag] as the mood takes me. Earlier today, I was wandering around a sun-drenched Limerick, enjoying the Riverfest. I find that the best way to do these things is to strap the bike to the back of the motor, park someplace out of town and just scoot around on the old bike, listening to songs and meeting whatever stiffs you happen to know. I happened to know about forty of the fuckers competing in the barbecue competition, but do you think one of them would give me a sausage? Would they fuck! As I mentioned to you recently, I found the IPod, and there was a few bands I meant to give a good listen to, so there was a bit of a backlog. I’m very taken by Jenny Lewis’s new collaboration with the Watson Twins. I like this very much, and why wouldn’t I, given Jenny’s provenance with Rilo Kiley? The Eels’ Souljacker is another album I should have taken to much earlier. What a motherfucker of an album. All decent people should rush out right now and buy a copy. That’s how it goes, though, isn’t it? There’s just so much shit coming at you from every direction, it’s hard to stay on top of it all.

At the moment, in honour of the Wrinklies, I’m listening to Hank Williams III singing Whiskey, Weed and Women. I got drunk the day my Pa went to prison, and when my Mama died, I just didn’t care ’bout livin’. Good man, Hank! Woo hoo!! You tell ’em. Carrying on a family tradition, as Hank II once said. But what a barrel of laughs ol’ Hank the First was, and yet, somehow, in the middle of his drug-crazed alcohol-maddened lunacy of a life, this sozzled junkie managed to create rock’n’roll. How the fuck did he do that?

I have to tell you a story that has little to do with Hank Williams or anything else. I just thought it was good. A few weeks back, I was doing the school run with the Bullet, and you know the way all kids think that everything was invented yesterday? Well, I’d been listening to all sorts of mad shit, so I just threw on a track from, of all things, Led Zeppelin III. It’s called Bron-Y-Aur Stomp. You might know it. Anyhow, the reason I put it on was because it reminded me of something else, so I said, Bullet, what does that sound like to your good self? And Bullet, bless him, said exactly what I hoped he would. It’s kinda like the White Stripes.

Giving me the opportunity to say: Isn’t it spooky the way Led Zeppelin knew what the White Stripes were going to sound like?

None of this is any use to the Wrinkly Romeos, who are possibly dying on stage as we speak. Wrinkly Joe is just in from the Antipodes, probably jet-lagged. Definitely jet-lagged, in fact, considering that the first text I got from him was to say that Billy the Fish had scored the winner for Scunthorpe in the ninetieth minute. That was after the Blackpool keeper had pulled off two brilliant saves to deny the Irish lads, Cliff Byrne and Andy Keogh. There’s a picture of Wrinkly Joe and myself with Cliff Byrne in the pub after a game, and I’ll tell you this : that boy can put away some amount of beer. What a great attribute in a professional footballer. The prerequisite, in fact.

Still nothing to do with the Romeos, Kilkenny or country music. Christ, how’s a boy to get focussed? How can a poor man stand such times and live?

Music popular culture

T. Rex visits Southpark

This is going to be a quick one.

Only the sad old hippies amongst us will remember the early Tyrannosaurus Rex albums, and so I must address this question to the sad old hippies.

Don’t you think Marc Bolan sounds exactly like Cartman?

Food & Drink Music

Cider Ads

Tie. I. I. I. I’m. Is on my side.
Tie. I. I. I. I’m. Is on my side.

That’s the Rolling Stones. And, Mick, I’m sorry to tell you that tie I-I-I I’m is definitely not on your side. Mick, you’re pushing seventy. Get a grip. If you want a role model for being cool at your age, you need look no further than Leonard Cohen. Of course, how many of us can be Leonard Cohen? One of us, that’s how many, and the job is taken.

You could be Rod Argent, but nobody knows who the fuck he is, except the Bulmers advertising wonks. Time of the Season. Great song. It would be a great song even if it didn’t have “time” in its title. I tell you what – the Zombies were a great fucking band although admittedly nobody ever listened to them. But is this going to start a speculative rush? A new market in busted-flush sixties bands who wrote a song with the word “time” in its name somewhere.


Football. All day.

I know. What a load of shite. I know. It’s the blog equivalent of putting on Alice’s Restaurant and fucking off for a smoke, like Ronan Collins used to do, before they took the afternoon away from him and gave it to the Nicest Man in Ireland. It wouldn’t be hard to be the nicest man in Ireland with all the aggressive drunken skobes we have, but don’t get me started on that or we’re here for the night.

What did you think of the rugby? Do you think we deserve to have won the Triple Crown? I don’t. I think Horgan’s first try was dodgy. I think the ball touched the line and the flag should have gone up. In just the same way, I think Italy beat us, even though the score line didn’t reflect that fact. We were credited with two completely invalid tries in my opinion, and gli Azzurri deserved to take away at least one good win.

However, win or no win, surely the man of the season has to be Jerry Flannery. No? To come from nowhere, collect a Triple Crown (or at least a half-crown), and to be looking forward in two weeks’ time to meeting Perpignan in the quarter final of the European Cup. Now, that’s not to diminish Titans like the great Paul O’Connell or The Man Eddie Forgot: Anthony Foley, who might well have gifted Ireland with a Six-Nations trophy if only Eddie had the imagination to use him. Or, indeed, any of the other greats, including the Bull, who comes in for a lot of stick. Or Peter Stretcher, whom I myself have slagged. Anyway, who gives a fuck? That’s the Ireland thing over for another year, and now it’s down to the real business. Come on Munster!!! Although, to be honest, I greatly fear that Barry Murphy’s injury could be a fatal blow to our chances.

Great news about Scunthorpe United. In a shock result, the useless bums beat Chesterfield away to drag themselves up to eleventh in the league. They don’t deserve it, of course, being for the most part a useless shower of drunkards, goose-milkers and heron-stranglers, apart from young Andy Keogh. We should see Andy on an Ireland bench before long if there’s any justice in this world. If only Billy the Fish hadn’t broken his ankle they might even have had a chance of promotion again.

I must tell you about Scunthorpe some time. There isn’t time now to describe Scunthorpe with any degree of accuracy, except to to say this. Last time I went there with the Wrinkly Romeos, a female taxi-driver wouldn’t believe we were visitors. “You what??? Visiting Scunthorpe??? What???” I’m talking incomprehension here, my friend. It’s the only place I’ve ever gone to where people apologise for its existence. “Sorry about the town. Try to enjoy yourself . . .” But in fairness to them, they have the best Indian restaurant I have ever had the pleasure of eating in.

Talking of the Wrinkly Romeos, I hear they’re gigging at the Kilkenny rhythm ‘n’ roots festival. We’ll have to go to that. When I say I hear they’re gigging, what I really mean is that they phoned me and begged me to bring people. Well actually, they promised to return the negatives if I brought a friend. Let’s see now. A friend. Well, that could be a small problem.