Thursday, October 31, 2013

DUBLIN NOIR : The Celtic Tiger vs. The Ugly American

Edited by Ken Bruen, Akashic Books, 2006

Men stand in dark alleys in pools of yet darker shadow, drinking dark amber fluids from flasks that shine like the very grail. Booze here is salvation. The gun, a cross. Smoke leaks from square unshaven faces, blue as sadness. Neon signs across the alley are greasy and smeared, buzzing in the never ending rain. Trash scutters along concrete. Sirens blare in the distance. Tail-lights wiggle in sky black puddles; the sky itself leans like a drunk on the tallest buildings.

“The Canonization of Pulp” - Greg Bottoms


 Bottoms perfectly captures the essence of noir, for those who may be unfamiliar with this style of literature, the urban tales and hard boiled crime stories that brought James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart to the silver screen and put a face on the poverty, despair, depravity and urban turmoil that often creates the street crime and bloodshed that paints the city crimson. From Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler to Mickey Spillane and Chester Himes, a darker , rougher, unrefined urban saga of the modern concrete jungle and street justice became familiar to a growing audience. The popularity for this “pulp noir” or “noir crime” literature would grow in leaps and bounds, and not remain confined to the dark alleys , bordellos, and speak easies of New York, Chicago or London, despite the whims and whinings of Do gooders, politicians, preachers and the so-called “moral majority”, who were always content to point the finger, but always lacked any concrete solution to the problems that plague the metropolis, only moral platitudes and “Just Say No” jingoism. 

Whether they like it or not, this crime and violence will not go away simply because they wish to ignore it or brush it under a rug, after their tiresome and self-righteous “moral” lectures. And now that the metropolis, the nation and the globe, is sinking into the deepest financial abyss since the great depression, crime will inevitably rise and therefore, the grim and gruesome, blood-soaked, bullet riddled and knife scarred stories of hardboiled detectives and the criminals that plague our city streets will leave many stories behind for accomplished writers to tell. Too long noir crime fiction has been seen as something only local to New York, Chicago, or London, and now there is a growing Irish under current in this genre of urban crime literature, with many Irish authors proving to the world that the Irish, have always had a strong dark undercurrent in many of their tales. Even pre-Victorian , Irish fairy tales illustrates this. The leprechauns, fairies and banshees of Irish folklore , before these tales were appropriated by the British, were known for killing humans, stealing babies and being up to no good, on a regular basis. If Jung was right when he wrote that all ethnic folk lore is simply a blueprint, laden with tribal symbolism, of the collective soul of said culture, (perhaps some of these dark fairies and bad leprechauns symbolized “the enemy within” during centuries of foreign occupation) than it should be no surprise, that these Irish authors just happen to be the best hardboiled crime writers in the 21st Century. Ken Bruen, Declan Burke, Pat Mullan, and now, former author of teenager-based fantasy series, “Artemis Fowl”, Eoin Colfer, this Wexford native is now also proving his noir finesse with his new novel, “Plugged”, a hardboiled story that takes place in the grimey pavements and back alleys of New Jersey. And this anthology, DUBLIN NOIR, is hard evidence that the best writers on Dublin street crime mysteries are, inevitabley Irish, as with the sole exceptions of Reed Farrell Coleman and Charlie Stella, it takes some authors of Gaelic blood to properly illustrate the horrors of the savagery of Dublin street crime. Not to apologize for it, not to try and put a “moral of the story” at the end of the tale, but to just, tell it like it is. And no one can get right to the (sharp and deadly) point, while weaving an intricate plot laden with suspense, grim tidings and death defying feats, like these modern seanchai.

When I interviewed Belfast native and Irish Rebel musician, Ray  Collins, a few years back in front of the Baggott Inn (R.I.P.), we were talking about all of the “Irish” bands from Germany, Holland, Japan and Eastern Europe, who rarely had a single Irishman in the band. Ray commented that whenever people who aren’t Irish play Irish music, it’s a compliment if they play the music well, and an insult if they do it badly. This reminds me of this DUBLIN NOIR anthology a great deal; it really proves that tales are better told by the natives than tourists, people that only know Dublin from their weekend visits, hen parties or stag parties, and lets face it, I would rather hear about Dublin from a Dubliner, and this is the main flaw of this book, because it is an American publishing house, they had to choose primarily American authors to talk about a city that they have only visited, and it is not as genuine as having a local tell you about their hometown and let’s face it, many Yanks, clearly do not understand the Irish psyche nor the true nature of those dark Dublin streets (like authors who insist on every Irish character in their stories, having a pint of guiness in each hand, even if they are homicide detectives on the job, or IRA volunteers, executing a rapist, they must be drinking beer while exacting justice), but despite these obvious flaws, there are indeed a few shining stars (like Brooklyn based author, Reed Farrell Coleman). But it goes without saying, that all of the Irish authors in this anthology, are indeed, the best, hardboiled crime writers, that the 21st century has to offer.

"Jaysus Christ , I hate feckin’ Americans ! The donkeys worst among ‘em. And them arse-licking cops worst of all. Them with their fifty-two paychecks and pensions, their red noses and “Danny Boy” tears. They think glen to glen is a conversation of like-minded punters. Cunts, every last one. Them that sees romance in a bloody holocaust and the smell of cordite in the streets of Derry. And they ease their guilt and fancy themselves Provo men because they open their wallets and sing Pogues songs and drown themselves in pubs with a gold harp above the threshold. What a load of shite.

Oh, and how they imagine us Irish in the worst possible sense; a race of toothless spud farmers in white cableknit sweaters and black rubber boots, spouting Joyce or Yeats, herding lambs with a switch in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. And what of our race of red-haired colleens? Why, they’re out in lush pastures in their white blouses and green-plaid skirts gathering clover and hunting for pots of gold. Bollix !"

---- Reed Farrel Coleman, Portrait of The Killer As A Young Man


Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Whiskey of The Damned “Moonshiners and Shoplifters” CD :


I remember the day that I first heard Punk Rock. I think my first taste of Punk was when I was a 12 year old  skateboarder who often would stay up late watching TV and reading comic books in the summertime, when school was out. Something about staying up late when all of the adults were asleep and all was quiet gave me a rare sense of tranquility and made me feel like I was temporarily , King of the Roost.  There was no authority figure to watch over me, so this must have been my first taste of “freedom”.  This new burning spark of optimism and freedom that is such a part of youth, was really ignited one evening , when I was blown away by the Chicano Hardcore Punk band, Suicidal Tendencies, and their music video, “Institutionalized”, how ironic, that a white kid, living in the suburbs at the time, could feel resonance with such a street level tune. But stranger things, have indeed happened. Later, some of my fellow skaters lent me some Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Minor Threat, The Misfits, Dead Milkmen, The Ramones, Gorilla Biscuits, and Agnostic Front, and the rest is history. To hear Jello Biafra scream about death squads, tyranny, demented rednecks, police brutality, corrupt politicians, corporate puppets and mad scientists, really had a profound impact on my teenage brain. As profound as the first time I heard The Pogues version of “ The Recruiting Sergeant-The Rocky Road to Dublin-Galway Races” from their “If I Should Fall From Grace With God” album on the radio program that my dad listened to weekly, “The Thistle and The Shamrock”, or the first time I heard the stirring voice of Luke Kelly.  And that’s probably why I can never pass up the opportunity to hear new musicians carrying on the torch that Joe Hill, Pete Seeger, Luke Kelly, Shane MacGowan, Damien Dempsey, Joe Strummer, and Jello Biafra carried through out the generations, keeping the spirit of radical music alive and kicking.

These upstart Milwaukeeans, led by Dubliner, Eoin McCarthy,  are   like a light in the darkness, with Punk Rock over the years, having become so commercialized, pretentious, plastic and sterile, and another product to market to the brain-dead masses, these Punk Rockers are not victims of fashion, nor obsessed with image, they are just downtown scally wags who drink too much, don’t care what you or your neighbors think and just want to travel the land like modern day Johnny Appleseeds, planting the seeds of rebellion, discontent, discord, do it your self ethics, and most of all, down home, damn good melodies.

This debut full length “Moonshiners and Shoplifters”, does exactly what is described, gets you drunk on their manic musical frenzy, and steal you heart, in one fell swoop, and take you to a place where , who you know, who you are related to, what kind of car you drive, or which political party you do or don’t support, is meaningless,, where all that matters is that you appreciate old time rhythm and are not full of shite, and that you relate to that Hobo Wanderlust that echoes through out their rowdy rhymes and back alley ballads, like the long lost spirit of Woody Guthrie jamming with The Clash. Larger than life, filled with love, grief, lust, joy and strife, these gypsy wanderers have created a mighty melody that will take you to Appalachia, through the streets of Tallaght, and into the crashing waves of memory, headfirst, like a hillbilly that has moved to the city and brought all that rustic charm with him, and kept his old still and banjo, so that the rhythms will always be a little off-kilter but rocking and reeling, nonetheless, always surprising the listener with a sound that is a little Midwestern, and a little Dublin.

Ten tunes of fury pack this stupendous feat of boisterous sing song street symphony and bar room ballads that will keep you drinking, thinking, and dancing, to infectious grooves that remind you of the first time you drank whiskey ---- there’s that burn and then the sense of pure euphoria. In a nutshell, that’s Whiskey Of The Damned.  Like an alley cat that has discovered a hidden stash of catnip, this rough and raw city-billy musical caper will keep your toes a tapping and your ears tuned to a Milwaukee beat that is a little street and a little Kentucky holler.

1st track, “The Wreck”, is like a hobo harmony that has been  cooked over the hot coals of the Rustbelt. Rusty, musty, crusty, dusty and delirious, but delicious to your ears, you imagine music that would have come out of some Frankenstein music monster created by a mad scientist who was able to fuse the genes of a Motown band, spliced with the genes of the Pogues and then injecting them with the DNA of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs. It’s a diabolical musical experience that only the Whiskey Of The Damned can summon.

So many superb rockers and ballads on this husky hobo musical platter, but the 2nd track, “Thump Keg” really steals the show like a theif in the night, a fast moving lament to Dublin, that makes you want to dive head first into the intoxicating rhythms of Milwaukee’s musical Beast (because music is soothing this beer-soaked banshee) , Whiskey Of The Damned, a song that sings of personal freedom, whiskey, rock n’ roll, life’s journey,  and the existential quest  of liberation through gut rot hooch and hobo harmonies.

Next, “Enemy of the State” begins with a deceptively calm fiddle introduction and then storms in like a gale force wind, thundering bass, eletronic guitar, unholy drumming and the hypnotic singing of Eoin McCarthy. warning listeners that Nietzsche was right when he commented that,;

    “……State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly it lies; and this lie slips from it’s mouth:

‘I, the state, am the people.’ ”

But I really don’t want to give away too much, curious readers, but suffice to say that this rowdy punk rocking jig is reason enough for you to want to sip deep from the whiskey wells of Whiskey Of the Damned. And I would be remiss not to mention that , if Eoin’s tribute to Dublin, “El Biblio Techa” and drummer, (guitarist and lead vocalist on occasion,) Andrew David Weber’s assault on dirty politicians and the corrupt nature of politics in  “Cheap Whiskey”, and my all time favorite track on this kick ass CD , “Wayward Waltz of A Drunken Ghost”, is not enough of a reason to make you a life long fan, than you sir or madam, have no soul. And anyone who hears the beautiful harmonies in “Wayward Waltz of A Drunken Ghost” which are nothing short of brilliant, will understand why the Whiskey Of The Damned,  are indeed, living legends, in my humble often, loud , opinion.


            - Rory Dubhdara, Radio Rebel Gael

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Patrick Madden and Friends "Sounds of Saint Andrews” CD :

Ran into these traditional balladeers at Saint Andrew’s Pub near Times Square a few weeks ago and was really impressed by their vibrant live sessiun and had to get a copy of their debut CD, which is a great showcase of both Irish and Scottish traditional jigs and reels , played with raw talent, with the bonus of Kerry native, Mary Courtney (of Morning Star) on vocals, Donnie Ryan (also w/ Morning Star) on banjo, Patrick Madden’s fantastic fiddling (and crooning) and Shane O’Sullivan’s vocal accompaniment with twelve stellar tracks on this kicking demonstration of traditional Celtic music at its finest. Patrick Madden and Friends really put teeth into the old and weathered (yet still thriving and lifting you from your seats, thanks to this merry band) face of Gaelic traditional sound. And their rocking renditions of “P is for Paddy”, “Go Lassie Go”, “Loch Lomond”, “Fiddlers Green” and “Caledonia” , displaying a real connection to the roots of traditional Ireland and Scotland, make this mighty release, a must listen. Get your own copy at CD.baby.com …The exemplary banjo playing and fiddlers finesse is reason enough to not let this brilliant CD pass you up. And don’t forget to see them live every Saturday night, 9 PM to 1 AM at St. Andrew’s Pub at 140 W. 46th Street, Manhattan.



                -- Rory Dubhdara, Radio Rebel Gael