THE venue, The Headfort Arms Hotel in Kells, Co Meath; the time, Friday night. People are arriving, well dressed and obviously ready for a big night out. There are no parking spaces, some ears have invaded the footpath. Two youths who appear to have been dressed entirely courtesy of Nike sportswear are looking at the poster of Joe Dolan at the entrance and are singing - complete with gestures - songs made famous by the same performer. They are clutching pretend microphones and shout greetings to a few of the people entering the hotel.
Inside, the hotel is busy; groups are standing in the bar. The staff are working as a team, keeping pace with the non stop orders A woman wearing heavy framed glasses and line back shoulder pads, is holding court. "He's always been a part of my life," she says to her listeners, men and women, who share her serious expression. "There's no one like him. I've sung those songs when I've been happy, when I've been sad. And sure, I've never even been all that interested in music." They all nod in agreement.
Elsewhere, people are shouting, laughing; a man claims he parked his car up in the square, where the high cross used to stand. "The car is balancing, I hope it doesn't fall over, it's the only one I have." More laughter. A few posters smile the famous smile down on the scene. Joe Dolan is about to perform for his people, or at least as many of them as can fit into the space.
Beyond the brightly lit lounge, the scene opens onto a vast ballroom, the entire side wall of which is a bar. Rows and rows of seats facing the stage cover the dance floor area. Each is filled and most of the occupants are holding glasses. The sound system is working, the comedian's standard repertoire of wife and mother in law gags boom out, magnified high above even the chatter. It is cabaret humour. You either laugh your head of, or look for the exit. The promoter is running about with the urgency of a secret service agent. His attitude seems to say if you haven't been at one of these concerts before, you haven't lived. Now's your chance.
The waiting continues, as does the drinking; the buzzing conversations and the funny man's jokes. The room is getting hotter. Suspense is building, technicians are out on the stage. But first, the raffle for a monster Easter egg in a basket and a case of wine. Neighbours meet up, a couple of men in suits discuss the car one of them is trying to sell. A short girl in impossibly high heels says to another, "I don't know, he might be here. He didn't say". The tone of hope in her voice goes beyond one merely waiting for a star to show up. Anyhow, Joe Dolan has never disappointed his public. He's on his way.
The musicians take their places, they are serious, business like and about as lively as a group of accountants. They don't seem preoccupied with selling themselves as personalities and appear not to see the faces staring up at them. Finally, the lights dim and a small, white suited, vaguely Napoleonic figure enters. Some of the fans scream; they all clap. Somebody is trying to kiss him. The speaker bursts into life as Dolan sings, possibly for the 1,000th time, You're Such A Good Lookin' Woman.
Two young girls wearing white baseball caps hold a banner over the heads. They sway in unison. Dolan bends down and appears to be singing directly to them. Stern looking, no nonsense women who could be either head teachers or midwives sing along. They know all the words of all the songs: Lady Of The Night, Make Me An Island, The Answer To Everything, Crazy Woman, Treasa, More And More, Tar And Cement and so on. Usually they are a couple of words ahead of him.
Two and a half hours' non stop performance. An elbow connects with my lower ribcage, "Are you not singing?" The singing members of the audience tire quickly, but they sing on. For Dolan it looks so easy, smiling, almost glowing up there on the stage, in the white suit.
Each song is ecstatically received. Performing is his natural medium. In contrast, his band are low key, unobtrusive enough to blend in to the background. None of them is a scene stealer: they seem to make no effort to engage with the audience, they are there to provide the musical backing. This is Joe's show.
Away from the stage, a few days later, Dolan waits patiently in a Dublin hotel for an interview his record sales will not depend on. He is not a prima donna, should the photographer require him to stand on his head, he will. Seamus Casey, Dolan's manager for more than 30 years, stands by, proud of his boy and the fact that Dolan is polite and civil. Fame has not spoilt him. If he has had his moments of wildness, they are long behind him now.
Joe Dolan could be a former boxer, or perhaps an ex footballer who likes his food. Even aside from the black sports shirt he wears under his suit jacket, he certainly looks like the golfer he has been for about 20 years - he now has a 14 handicap.
"I only began taking it seriously five or six years ago." He seems very friendly, jolly, with an open face and a Midlands accent. The wind howls outside, as he gets down to business, eager to help. Except he clearly does not like discussing his life outside singing. Having a conversation with Joe Dolan, earnest, sincere, careful, is probably easy, as long as you know his songs. His language is that of the popular music world. Words such as "hit", "covers" and "charting" are among his favourite.
Interviewing him is a bit more difficult. The past holds little interest for Dolan, or if it does, he has no interest in discussing it with a stranger.
What was his boyhood in Mullingar like? "All right. Why? Were you at the show the other night? Did you like it?" Dolan was the youngest of eight children growing up just outside the town. When was he born? "What?" the question is repeated. He seems annoyed at being asked his age and snaps: "I'm a gentleman, I don't ask people how old they are". The tension surges up like a cloud, before dissolving.
His father had been a farmer. What was he like? "I don't know. He died when I was eight. I didn't know him." Eight is not that young though. "I don't remember him." How about his mother? "I don't know. She died when I was... oh, 13, 14, 15. I can't remember." He does, however, remember that he didn't begin singing at school. "No I never sang in a choir." This is surprising, considering the high range of Dolan's adult voice, one would halve suspected he had been a boy soprano. I had nothing to do with choirs because it was always the way that you had to go along to practise after school. I thought that was unfair. I mean, it should have happened during school hours. I thought it wasn't right to have to hang around after school when you could have been doing other things."
As a boy he reckons he was happy enough; he liked woodwork and metal work. "I thought I'd end up working in electrics or something like that." As for school: "Latin began getting on top of me" so he went to the local tech. What sport did he play? He seems surprised at the question, but it is asked because he has the nose of a former boxer. "I got a knock in a fight in Liverpool - everyone knows about that. It's not broken, it's perfect. It just sort of" - pause - "moved. It's moved across my face, but it's grand. No bother."
The only music in the family had been provided by a couple of cousins involved in traditional music. But Dolan and, in particular, his brother Ben who has shared Dolan's life in music, were interested in the charts and began copying those songs. He refers to a song, The Answer To Everything, and how he and his band performed everywhere "from weddings to funerals," he laughs, "except we never did funerals." Meanwhile he served his apprenticeship as a printer with the Westmeath Chronicle.
IN 1969 he had his first break. The success of Make Me An Island which got to No 3 in the British charts, reached No 1 throughout Europe. He became full time. Dolan's early career ran parallel to the showband scene. He and his band The Drifters travelled Ireland. What was so special about the showband era, what did it say about the emerging Ireland?
"What made it different was the fact the people danced to the music. That's why you learnt the charts. That was the stuff they wanted. The good thing now is that we play our own songs. I'd say that's what killed off the showband scene but I don't want to get into that. I'm sure others have their own ideas." The difference between the showband world and the one he inhabits, indeed, dominates now, is pretty obvious, as far as he is concerned. "We don't do other people's stuff, we do our own."
Playing your own music rather than doing versions of someone else's is satisfying, yet has Dolan learnt it has its drawbacks as well? "It's always hard to get good songwriters." Dolan says he was lucky in having Mike Hazlehurst write for him, "but then he went, off to Hollywood." Later, in 1974 Dolan met Roberto da Nova, who has written for him. Who were the singers who influenced him? What do you mean? I've never copied anybody. I don't like comparisons. How would you like if I compared you with someone?" After a while he says Roy Orbison always impressed.
Life on the road can't be easy. Having bases rather than homes, he seems to live somewhere between Mullingar and Dublin and whatever concert he is about to give. But Mullingar has always been home. Dolan performs more than 200 concerts a year, invariably singing for two and a half hours. Is he ever tired?
"NO," he says triumphantly, "I've loads of stamina." As well as performing, he also records, mainly in his own studio, The Back Room, in Mullingar, which he has had "for maybe five or six years". Mullingar remains his centre. Joe Dolan Promotions is there. As is Dolan's Bar which he has owned for the past 20 years. The pub is in the centre of the town. The Mullingar of today must be almost unrecognisable from the place he knew as a boy? "It is amazing, the changes. It's a very cosmopolitan place. I usually end up buying my clothes there." Golf and music are his interests. "I read newspapers, I don't read books any more. I also play a bit of snooker. I like it."
There is less of the showman about him in person than one might expect from his choreographed stage movements, arm thrusts skywards and high speed hip swivels. Why does he wear white suits? "Because I sweat something awful and it always showed up on the grey ones," he says seriously. "I remember a TV critic wrote about it once. And then, you know, a grey suit will dry out with white marks on it. The same with black so I started wearing white. You just have to rinse them out after the show.
He has never been married does he have any children? "No." Does he regret this?! "No, it's no problem. I've 15 children my band. They are my children and my friends. We've a great time. Sure we have rows, but it's great."
Performing appears to have become second nature for him. But he still suffers from nerves, "when I hear those words `you're on Joe', I always feel a flutter". The night before his Kells engagement, Dolan had filled the National Concert Hall in Dublin. The same fans were at both, but Dolan seems to prefer the more usual venues, hotels and ballrooms.
"I know more kitchens and back doors," he says, before explaining, that for many of his hotel engagements he has found himself walking through kitchens on the way to coming on stage via a side door in a hall. "I had no problem with the Concert Hall, we'd play in places like that in Scotland." He has sung in many places and as he says, "we've always been popular in places like Germany and Holland". He never wanted to leave Ireland, "home is home".
Time, as already indicated, is not one of his preferred topics. But how has he kept his interest for so long? "The voice is good and strong and I like performing, I could go on forever. The real thing though is the fans, they're great. I love my fans, they have kept me going." According to Dolan, "if you don't care about your fans, you're finished. I've seen many people come and go, and there's always the singer who doesn't care, who couldn't be bothered, and they disappear. The ones who last are the ones who care about the public."
While not forthcoming with personal details, he certainly pays attention to the finer points of professional relations. As he says goodbye, Joe Dolan requests with priest like solemnity: "You won't forget to mention the Montrose, they gave us the room for the interview."
