The passing of Pete Seeger made headline news here in Ireland. For many of us he has been present for most of our lives, his work constantly referenced, and his songs reverberating through our soundscape. The Folk Revival, as I know it, emanated from America where the Coffee House Folk Clubs gave a stage to a new genre of music and songs. This gradually spread to London and from there in all directions in Western Europe. Pete Seeger was an important player in the birth of this concept. When this wind wafted back to Ireland it carried The Clancy Brothers whose style and repertoire were honed on these same stages. Back here it melded with our Traditional Music and Song (which had survived historical forces of occupation and subsequent oppression of Church and State.) When it landed here it was soon taken up by an excited youth movement and it blossomed into what was known back in the day as “The Ballad Scene”. Pete Seeger played in Dublin in the early 60s (something I did not realise until yesterday). He had a “soft spot” for Irish Songs and Music and championed The Clancy’s and Joe Heaney back in the early days. In my innocence I sent Pete an early recording of mine back in the mid 70s. (An album called “Whatever Tickles Your Fancy”). He was generous enough to listen to it and send me some encouraging words.
It has been heart-warming here in Ireland these past days to encounter so many people talking about Pete Seeger, his songs, his politics, how he fought oppression all through his long life. His sister, Peggy Seeger sent this to Mike Harding in Lancashire who passed it on to me.
As most of you will know by now, my beloved brother Pete died peacefully, surrounded by close family members, at the Presbyterian Hospital (Columbia), New York City, on January 27th at 9:17 pm. His daughter Tinya, who had been caring for him for some time, was lovingly holding his hand. I was still in mid-air making a frantic attempt to get there from New Zealand. I arrived four hours too late. I take solace from our last phone calls where much was said but unspoken. I know many of you will be saddened by Pete’s death but we must remember that he led a very full and productive life. He leaves a prodigious body of work for us to enjoy, a legacy the enormity of which will continue to grow. He touched so many people’s lives, from children to the golden oldies like myself. As for me, I have lost the last person who has known me from birth and who has always been there for me. I cannot express how heavy losing Pete lies with me. My thanks to all for your kind and thoughtful condolences. Peggy.
Jan 30th 2014…
Luke Kelly was well remembered on the 30th Anniversary of his passing. His voice still resounds around us and his legend lives on. I still see his partner Madeline Seiler from time to time. Madeline runs The Headline Agency which represents many Irish musicians (including Declan Sinnott and my brother Luka Bloom) it was always a pleasure to visit Luke and Madeline in the beautiful home they created together. I met Damien Dempsey on the day and we spent an hour talking about Luke, about his singing and his life. It was special to share stories and memories of Luke with Damien who grew up listening to Luke’s recordings. The Dubliners were so good in their heyday. They gave Catholic Conservative Dublin a good kick up in the arse and we loved them for it. They took them Up To Monto Monto Monto, they took them up to Monto Langaroo. They Rattled Rosaries, lit up lounges, had us hitching to Fleadhs, learning 3 chords, binning Gillettes, creating crack, sleeping in hay barns, listening to Seamus Ennis and Joe Heaney, chucking jobs… I salute Luke, Ronnie, Ciarán, Barney and I wish long life to you John….
Jan 31st 2014…
On this day it will be 30 years since the awful death of Anne Lovett. Anne died at the Grotto of “The Blessed Virgin Mother” outside a small town in the very heart of Ireland. Alone, Anne Lovett and her baby both perished as we all got on with our daily routine. Kids at school, shops at business, people chatting on the street, farmers at creameries, bishops at breviaries, nuns at their beads. At the centre of all this, in the middle of this island young Anne had nowhere to go except to this cold deserted Grotto. There she lay down and delivered her baby. The death of Anne Lovett was a turning point for many of us on this Island. Today, very few under the age of 40 know her name but there are also many among us who will never forget her name for it is sacred to us.
Nigel Rolfe wrote the lyric of “The Ostrich” which subsequently has been called both “The Middle of The Island” and now “Anne Lovett”. I have been asked to sing it in The University of Maynooth on at an event simply called “Remembering Anne Lovett”. This event takes place in the John Hume Building, Lecture Theatre 4, NUI Maynooth on Wednesday 5th February at 6.30pm.The panel will be Catriona Crowe (Head of Special Projects at The National Archives of Ireland), Ailbhe Smyth (Feminist), Dr. Anne Mullhall (Department of English UCD) and Justine McCarthy (journalist with The Sunday Times).
Watching the film Llewyn Davies was an interesting experience. It brought back so many memories. A lifestyle I’d forgotten for many years. Trying to get floorspots, doing the odd few songs anywhere I’d be let. Hoping to be offered a support gig at some folk club. Hitching to some distant town, absolutely skint, wondering would I get the doss, would the club still be operating, would the organizers give me a chance to sing? All my early attempts were in and around Manchester, England. There Mike Harding gave me my first proper booking back in late 1966. I began to gain some gigs but still struggled to make ends meet. I remembered auditioning for an agent who booked acts for The Workingmen’s (sic) Club Circuit, an audition that, thankfully, resulted in but one gig. (Where I died the death) The singers club (open mike) was at the MSG every Monday where legendary “Jenks” ruled his Jazz and Folk Empire. I got in there early every Monday and got my name on the list. Gradually my confidence grew and I began to get spots round the suburbs of Manchester that I got to know so well. I got my first van in Bury in 1967. A minivan bought from a plumber called Reggie. It cost me £40 and I’ve never been as proud of a vehicle since. I lived and travelled, partied and played in that wee van ‘til swopping it for an old ’56 VW Beetle after a gig in Sheffield. With guitar, sleeping bag and tooth brush, me and a bunch of songs, heading on down the road…
I am enjoying these few weeks at home after the recent Dublin gigs. It’s a time to rest and to reflect but also to rehearse for the year ahead. See you along the way…
Christy