SOMETIMES amid all the potentially soul destroying hype, self interest and marketing which dominates the record industry, it sure does help to be reminded that what finally matters is the music. That's what was so sweet about seeing Noel Gallagher of Oasis paying homage to his hero, the composer, Burt Bacharach, on television at Christmas. Gallagher even proudly admitted that his own song, Half The World Away, has a chord progression which was, eh, "borrowed" from Bacharach's This Guy's In Love With You, which he also described as "the best love song ever written".
Barry O'Mahony, singer songwriter with the Irish band Luggage, also pays loving homage to his musical influences which, as, with many newish bands, also, stem from the Sixties and Seventies. In the press release for the EP Comical Life he lists the following "The Kinks, Roxy Music, The Sex Pistols, Stax, Scott Walker, Dusty Springfield" before adding, tantalisingly, "that doesn't give you the full picture, but it's a start".
Believe me, he's not kidding. In fact, the moment you walk into Barry's newly built Dublin city centre apartment the first thing that strikes you as totally anomalous, in terms of the relatively minimalist decor, is a set of 14 ceiling high wooden shelves containing "roughly 3,000 albums
And these "are only part of my collection", he says, almost bash fully explaining that he "left the rest at home".
This does, of course, raise the question, what have we here? A prototypical example of that contemporary cultural phenomenon known as a pop junkie? You bet. And proud of it. Plus a purist, at that. Because all these albums are on sexy, scratchy, voluptuous vinyl while the 60 or so CDs are stacked in a corner, almost out of sight, as if Barry was ashamed of the comparatively lacklustre little wretches.
So what exactly is this guy's problem? Has Barry got a big fat hole in his heart that can only be filled by vinyl replicated music, music and more music? Is he one of those poor souls who lives for, through and to pop songs? And where the hell does he sleep on a mattress propped up by the Bob Dylan and Robert Johnson box sets? Or maybe on the James Bond Movie Movie Collection with its cover adorned by pulsing photos of the gold plated Shirley Eaton, the absolutely edible Ursula Andress, and, oh all right, the ever sexy Sean Connery?
No, on the Dusty Springfield album, Dusty in Memphis Plus, because it has the song, Breakfast in Bed, which means, at least, I'd get fed" he jokes, making the first of his many almost obsessional references to this particular singer and song, while also obviously rolling down the sheets to reveal his rather extensive knowledge of pop music.
"But, yeah, people do wonder does this addiction to music mean there is some great emotional deficiency in my life. Maybe it does All I know is that I love music, and without getting too transcendental here, I believe that, at its best, music can take you somewhere beyond the boundaries of your own life and emotions. As for my collection being mostly vinyl, that's because I also love the look of albums, the art work, the sleeves and even that fabulous feel of vinyl itself just before you place it on the record deck, which is all part of the magic. CDs just don't have any of that."
Barry admits that many people mock this addiction, tell him, no one is going to find the meaning of life in a pop record", to which he quite legitimately retorts, "well, I do". His south side Dublin family, on the other hand, obviously feeds his craving, having found for him in years past the much sought after "Bowie and Roxy Music albums for Christmas" he says, delightedly. One of the first such albums was Bowie's Aladdin Sane, which he "hoped to God they wouldn't open and look at the inner sleeve, with that filthy picture of Bowie" Barry was 12 at the time. But when did he get his first shot of music, first hit, that first moment of pleasure he now, clearly, is forever trying to recapture and retain?
"The Sweet" he says, dissolving into ripples of almost religious nostalgia, then sniggering like a teenage boy as he declares that Little Willy was the song. "I was about 10. But I also loved it because it had a big beat, great sound, nice harmonies. And from that time onwards I got into music, particularly punk, a few years later. That's when I realised the smart people were interested in lots of music, like Johnny Rotten saying he was a fan of Neil Young, folk music, Captain Beefheart. So I just grew in that direction, embracing everything, apart from maybe reggae. Yet it's only since starting the band I realise that something like arrangements are so important, can define the song, to a great degree."
SORRY for the interruption, folks. But you'd better get dressed for the occasion, because we're going back to bed with Barry, and his bosom buddy Dusty Springfield.
"Take Dusty's Breakfast in Bed," he says, swooning again "The arrangement on that is even more seductive than her singing which, itself, is sexy as sin But then guys like Chips Moman, who produced that, and the Dusty sessions, could even make Neil Diamond sound amazing And I love what he did for Elvis during the Memphis sessions, on songs like Long Black Limousine, giving him a sound that is gritty, not too smooth even though those American Studio musicians had an astounding ability to play delicately.
"That's really influenced me, in, terms of our band. Some musicians play at a pompous level, but those guys hold back and make sure you hear every instrument, but still project this almost otherworldly power. That's exactly the kind of music I was talking about earlier music that lifts you into another space, makes you think larger thoughts, bigger than even the content of the lyrics. Like, Breakfast in Bed doesn't only fire thoughts of Dusty bringing you breakfast If it did, you'd probably have to think of all the mascara on your scrambled eggs It takes you somewhere else, instead."
Maybe Maybe not. No doubt there are many men, and women, who listen to the song and do think only of Dusty serving scrambled eggs, with or without the mascara dressing. So perhaps he should pick another Dusty song to highlight how pop music can be transcendent?
"I probably should" he agrees immediately tuning into another track on the same album. "Randy Newman's Just One Smile which also taught me a lot in relation to songwriting, because it has this plain, live, direct lyric which isn't straining to make some great statement, like so many pop songs of the Eighties. As with some of U2's stuff, though they've gotten more intimate lately. But I must say I never did buy into that assumed Irish `soulfulness' this idea that all our music was `spiritual', which was always said about U2 though again, happily, they've moved away from that, become more ironic and detached.
"To me, real spiritual depth is there in songs like Dock of the Bay singers like Dusty and Elvis. And in terms of lyrics, Scott Walker also influenced me, along these lines. He'd be deeply philosophical one moment, then suddenly refer to something simple, such as the trees outside the window. It's like Pulp, keeping their heads in the clouds, but their hands on the kitchen sink. That's what I prefer in songs.
THAT, too, is an apt way to describe the lyrical concerns of Luggage, which probably explains why they were chosen to support Pulp during their recent Irish gigs. Moving back to the subject of punk, however, Barry suggests that it definitely involved the empowerment of young people by making "kids like myself feel, like Bowie said later, we all could be heroes, if only for a day". This, in essence, is how pop music can be most spiritually rewarding", Barry believes.
"It's probably not a good idea to have heroes. But for the time the record lasts, we can all be heroic," he says, succinctly summing up the core importance of popular music this century.
Music really does give people a sense of their own power, on that level. Like, I heard Sweet, the Sex, Pistols and decided I too could be a part of all that. As in write songs, form a band. And yet I also have so many friends who get that, feeling from music, though they don't need to do anything about that. They just love the music. And whenever I feel beaten, or low about things, I still do go back to albums such as Stranded, by Roxy Music. I really am into Bryan Ferry because there's a lot of romantic, idealistic buffoonery in his records which is charming And he definitely does have that" element of the seeker in him. He is on a quest."
Fine, but where does the spiritual sustenance Barry finds in music directly translate into creativity, on his behalf? How, for example, did his favourite singers and songs influence EPs like Meantime and Comical Life? In the "romantic, idealistic buffoonery" rippling through songs like Show Me Around?
"I am a romantic and idealist and a bit of a buffoon, so that probably does come across in the songs" he says, laughing. "Yet as I said about Pulp, I like the idealism to be delivered on a small scale, edged with humour. As in Randy Newman's work. But, sure, those influences do come through in songs like Starsigns and Sportscars, which is very much Roxy Music. Who's To Know is me doing a kind of Scott Walker ballad, and Here Come The Leftovers is pure Glitter".
Clearly, Barry defines his life according to pop music and will continue to do so, whether Luggage finally join their heroes in the pop charts or not. Either way, he admits that one of the "greatest kicks" he ever got was when he came home with the band's first recording on, yes, you guessed it, vinyl, and had to decide if it should be placed on his shelves "beside Lennon or Lene Lovich" And, yes, when he dies he wants to be buried no, not with Dusty, but with his most beloved records which does, strangely enough, include Breakfast In Bed And what else?
