Ride On (26 page)

‘Grand so.'

‘Yeah. Nice to see I'm on top of his list of priorities, isn't it? Fuck sake.'

‘I'm sure he knows what he's doing.'

‘You didn't see him splashing around in the sea this morning like a fucking two-year-old in the bath. If yer woman catches up with me I'm fucked. I'll be running for me life and he'll be sitting in a field somewhere singing Cliff Richard songs and pulling the petals off daisies.'

‘You're grand,' said Jimmy.

‘Okay. So the next thing …' said Dónal.

‘Oh, that's all sorted out so,' said Aesop. ‘Thanks lads.'

‘Next thing. Look, I know we've all been busy with other stuff, but we need to start at least getting an idea of what we're going to do after “Brazen Songs and Stories”.'

‘It's not even out yet,' said Aesop.

‘I know. But we need something to aim for. Jimmy, I know you've been struggling a bit with all the things that were going on, but I need to know … do you have any ideas?'

He was expecting this to be tough. Jimmy had hit a wall and Dónal knew all the signs. He figured that this was where the meeting was going to get hard and he was pretty much expecting Jimmy to get all pissed off and defensive. What he didn't expect was for Jimmy to jump off the couch and run in to get a guitar before coming back out to them grinning like he had a coathanger in his mouth.

Dónal sat back and folded his hands against his belly, waiting.

Did this mean … ?

‘Okay lads … I'm after having an idea.'

‘Brilliant,' said Dónal. He looked over at Aesop to see if he knew what was up, but Aesop seemed just as surprised as he was. ‘What is it?'

‘Okay,' said Jimmy. ‘What's this?'

Jimmy played the main lick of Thin Lizzy's version of ‘Whiskey in the Jar'. No one said anything. It was a rhetorical question. That was the most recognisable guitar lick in Ireland.

‘Lads?'

‘It's Lizzy,' said Aesop. ‘What about it?'

‘Eleven notes,' said Jimmy. ‘Eleven notes that changed the world.'

Aesop looked over at Dónal and sat back into the sofa with a small sigh. He knew Jimmy. Whatever the fuck this was, it wasn't going to be short and sweet.

‘How do you mean?' said Dónal.

‘Lizzy were like any other band. Looking for a break, right? “Whiskey” was s'posed to be a B-side and, whatever happened, it ended up being the A-side. Bang. Next thing they're on Top of the Pops. Philo's up there. Black, Irish, sexy, cool-as-fuck. Singing a rock version of a folk song. Do you have any idea how old the lyrics are, for fuck sake?'

Dónal was nodding again now, although this time it was more out of confusion than any great desire for Jimmy to keep talking.

‘So, do you see lads? One song. Lizzy are on the map. Ireland is on the map. We were after having a generation of show bands and céilí music that went nowhere. All that talent disappearing into nothing. You had Van Morrison over in the States wanking out “Astral Weeks” and you had Rory playing the blues because that's what was in his bones, but nothing had ever come out of
Ireland
before that meant anything. Then there was Lizzy. You think the Rats would've gotten a look-in if Lizzy hadn't gone to England and made them all realise we weren't just a bunch of dopey spud-farmers? Would U2 even have bothered their bollocks only for “Jailbreak” and “Bad Reputation”? Ireland had nothing to offer the world except drinking songs and set dancing and the world didn't give a fuck about either of them. Then Eric Bell pulls those eleven notes out of his hole and everything changed.'

He looked at Aesop.

‘What are you fucking nodding at?'

‘Hmm? Nothing. Just … eh, sorry Jimmy, but I'm not sure what you're bleedin' on about.'

‘Right. Well this is what I'm on about. I'm sick to the back fucking teeth of playing songs that sound like they were written for American teenagers. MTV my hole. That's not who I am. It's not who
we
are. We're meant to be Celts for fuck sake! All the kids care about these days is Paris Hilton and her bleedin' chihuahua. What's that? Pop Idol and Fashion Idol and Model Idol and Build a Better Gaff and Sell if for Loads of Fucking Money Idol. This country needs to remember who we are before we're all talking in American accents and drinking coffee out of buckets. That's what I'm on about.'

‘And the next album …' said Dónal, carefully, hoping to prompt Jimmy in at least that general direction before he started ranting again.

Jimmy looked down at the guitar again and played another clutch of notes.

‘“When You Were Sweet Sixteen”,' said Dónal.

‘Yeah. I can't do it properly on this, but you know how the banjo sounds on it, don't you? It's sounds like it's fucking
crying
. Now
that's
an Irish love song. A beautiful melody, poetry for lyrics and sung by a big mad fucker with electric hair, a red scraggly beard and the special voice he uses when he's singing you tender ballads instead of kicking the fuck out of you in the pub. When I write a love song, that's what I want it to be.'

He played the intro to ‘Black Rose'.

‘And when I write a rock song I want it to sound like that. Like I
am
kicking the fuck out of you in the pub.'

‘Jesus, Jimmy,' said Dónal, rubbing his head. ‘We're not all about milling the shite out of each other in pubs.'

‘No, we're not. But at least we're passionate about stuff. Or we used to be, anyway. Remember Sinéad O'Connor? Never happier than when she was winding people up. Mad as a brush one minute and she'd have you weeping into your pint the next. And Geldof. Look what he did! Just by being a belligerent cantankerous Irish fucker who thought it was all a pile of shite and decided to tell them all to go fuck themselves and cop-on. They were
Celts
, man. Irate, livid, loopers the pair of them. Or Ronnie Drew with them mad eyes and a voice so gravelly you could park your bleedin' car on it. Or Shane McGowan and the locked head on him with no teeth, or Moving Hearts saying fuck you to the Brits and the Yanks. We're losing it, man. And I don't want to lose it. I've been looking in the wrong place for months and now I know what I have to do. That's our next album.'

‘That's our …' said Dónal.

‘And by the way, Aesop, that idea you had for the girl trad band was a fucking brilliant idea. We should do that as well. That's
exactly
what I'm talking about. A trad band of total honeys? Well that's your baby. You can be fucking
Mister
B*Jaysis, right?'

‘Can I?' said Aesop, who looked like he'd just been woken up. He turned to Dónal all grins. ‘Mister B*Jaysis … deadly.'

‘Because
that's
what we're about. Fuck sensible skirts below the knee and big woolly jumpers. It's about time a trad musician can say “yeah, I'm a chick up here playing a reel on the fiddle, but I'm all tits and legs and rage too and maybe I might shag you or maybe I might tell you to piss off, but before any of that happens you're going to come with me and this tune to wherever it takes us and we're going to get lost there for a while and if there's going to be any riding going on then we'll talk about it when I'm done playing, maybe”.'

‘Jesus …' said Dónal. He rubbing with both hands now. ‘What the fu …'

‘And another thing …' said Jimmy.

Aesop was sitting forward in the sofa now, smiling at the two of them.

‘I'm starting to get into this,' he said, jiggling his legs. ‘Go on Jimmy. Let it all out, son. What's the other thing?'

‘It's not just about …'

‘Howya lads.'

Sparky had just walked in with Norman.

‘Will yis have a cup of tea?' he said.

‘Good Jesus no,' said Dónal. ‘Tea is the last fucking thing we need over here at the moment.'

‘Okay so. Be out in a minute.'

‘How's it going?' said Norman, taking off his coat and sitting down beside Jimmy.

‘It's going great,' said Jimmy. ‘Actually, I'm glad you're here Norman. Now. You're a culchie, right?'

‘Christ Jimmy, I'm only in the door. Will you ever fuck off with yourself and let me warm up a bit?'

‘No Norman, listen, I'm not slagg …'

‘Jimmy's having a revelation Norman,' said Aesop. ‘Sit back there and listen to this. He's gone mad.'

‘Norman,' said Jimmy. ‘Who would you say is your favourite musician in the world?'

‘Eh …' said Norman. He didn't know what was wanted here. ‘You, Jimmy?'

‘No, fuck that. Seriously.'

‘Oh. Okay. Probably Dónal Lunny then.'

‘Yes!' shouted Jimmy, making Norman jump backwards and almost punch him in the head as a reflex.

‘Exactly!' said Jimmy. ‘And why is he, Norman?'

‘Eh …' said Norman, moving away up the couch a bit for both their sakes. ‘I s'pose it's because of the Bothy Band and Planxty first. And then … well, he just always had these brilliant bands around him, didn't he? And musicians. Christy, Davy Spillane, Liam O'Flynn … Christ, did you ever hear Liam Óg playing ‘An Buachaill Caol Dubh'? It'd set the hairs jumping off your neck … but anyway, yeah, Dónal Lunny I'd say, Jimmy. He's always there when something's happening.'

‘That's right. And he did more than just be in a band, didn't he? Planxty had the purists pulling their hair out, and then Moving Hearts had them in conniptions. But did he care? He did in his bollocks. So, I'm getting back to me roots. Horslips, Hearts and Lizzy all did their bit. Now it's my turn.'

‘Okay, okay,' said Dónal, sitting up. ‘Jimmy, listen to me man, Lizzy were a rock band. They'd a few rocked-up Irish tunes, yeah, but everyone remembers “The Boys are Back in Town”, not “Emerald”. Philo was the man, but he wasn't on some big mission, y'know? “Whiskey in the Jar” was thirty years ago. You can't say it had this huge lasting influence on …'

‘Can I not? Cos I heard Metallica playing it two days ago on the radio and it sounded brilliant.'

‘All right. Bad example. But, man, you still haven't told us what you're planning here. Do you want to make a trad album? Trad rock? What are we fucking talking about? It sounds like a sharp left from everything we've ever talked about for The Grove. You put out a trad album and, I'm telling you, you can just about kiss every arse in Senturion goodbye as they're walking out the door.'

‘I bags Alison's,' said Aesop quickly, putting up his hand.

‘I'm telling you, man,' said Dónal, ignoring him. ‘Tell me what you have in mind, will you? And c'mere, keep in mind that Sin Bin isn't just here so you can indulge any Celtic Twilight fantasies you might be having at the moment, right? Sorry Jimmy, but this is a business meeting we're having, and Sin Bin is a business. If you're going to go off the bleedin' wall on us, I need to know now. This isn't shifting the goalposts, man, this is putting them in the back of a lorry and driving them to the west coast of Clare.'

‘I have to do this Dónal,' said Jimmy, quietly. ‘And I'm doing it. One way or the other.'

A weird tension suddenly filled the space between them. It had never happened before in all their time working together. Norman got up and went into the kitchen without a word. Aesop sat back and starting biting a knuckle, just watching.

‘Are you?' said Dónal. ‘And what are you doing?'

‘Who are we?' said Jimmy, staring at him. ‘I mean who
are
we?'

Dónal said nothing. He didn't even nod. He just stared back at Jimmy over the table.

‘That's what it's all about,' said Jimmy again, shaking his head this time. ‘Who are we?'

Aesop looked at both of them. This was getting a bit hairy. No one was saying anything and he'd never seen that expression on Dónal's face before. He sat forward.

‘Well, I'm Mister B*Jaysis,' he said into the silence, folding his arms.

They both turned to him. He looked like someone was trying to take away his ice-cream on him. That did it.

Dónal gave a big sigh and started laughing, and then Jimmy joined in. Aesop followed when he couldn't keep a straight face any more.

‘Jimmy, seriously,' said Dónal, wiping his eyes. ‘Please tell me you have some real ideas. Musical ones. Give me something, man.'

‘I do,' said Jimmy, clapping his hands down on his legs. ‘C'mon inside.'

He stood up and led them into the main rehearsal room. He plugged in his guitar and stepped on a few pedals, making a few tweaks until he was happy with the sound and the tuning.

‘You right?' he said.

The others nodded. Sparky and Norman were in the control room now, sipping on tea and watching through the glass.

‘Okay. Right, this is only new, right? I'm only getting started. But listen to this …'

He started playing a solo, way up on the guitar. High and piercing, but creamy too through the neck pickup of his Strat, like David Gilmour weaving one of his big stadium-fillers. It sounded vaguely trad, but a lot more intricate than any kind of basic jig or reel. It was also way faster than any trad the lads had ever heard. Jimmy's eyes were closed and his fingers were flicking between frets and strings like they were being drawn into position rather than his consciously putting them there. Once he'd gone around the body of the solo twice, he played a thunderous rhythm part for a few bars, low and growling, and then flicked onto the bridge pickup for the second solo and changed the key. Now the creaminess was gone, the space filled instead with howls and dives. This one sounded even less trad. It had a kind of classical vibe, like Strauss on pills or something. The whole thing certainly rocked though. It was just guitar playing, not real songs or anything, but as a piece of music it was all there.