Three festivals every week for a year. MARK GRAHAMsamples some bandit-country blues
THE BORDER counties can be wonderfully odd, quirky and surreal. While at a trad festival in the wonderfully named village of Swanlinbar in north Cavan in March, I was up ordering a pint when I noticed a brand-new chainsaw on display behind the counter. Not quite as Pat McCabe as you might think. The chainsaw was first prize in a raffle taking place in the pub. What caught my fancy was that the prize was being awarded on St Patrick’s Day. I don’t know what the 17th is like where you live, but in my local, the last thing you’d throw into the mix on Paddy’s Day is a chainsaw. But it’s that spirit that delights and keeps me on my toes whenever I’m up near bandit country.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Monaghan turned out to be a hotbed of blues enthusiasts. The Ulster Canal and the Mississippi Delta have fostered kindred spirits. Sure wasn’t Paddy Kavanagh a bluesman without a geetar. Stoney Grey Soil is directly comparable to Robert Johnson’s Stones in my Passway (although some blues historians argue that this could have been a painful medical complaint rather than an imagined metaphorical obstacle). If Paddy could have kept the glass out of Behan’s mouth long enough to stick a harmonica in it, we could have had a pairing that would have spawned more earthy juke-joint tunes and blistering rows than Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee.
BOG BLUES
For 21 years, they’ve been rollin’ and tumblin’ at the Harvest Blues Festival in Monaghan. A can of Scrumpy seemed like the right accompaniment for Lazy Lester, a Louisiana Swamp Blues merchant who looked and sounded 10 years older than God. Bittersweet and aged. That’s exactly the kind of thing you need from a bluesman. It helps to know that him getting peeved by some tomato sauce water on his dinner plate or being mildly annoyed by heavy traffic on the way up the road from Dublin airport is not what he’s going to be singing about. This fella has lived long enough to collect a string of cheating lovers, repossessions, dead pets and stormy Mondays, the necessary raw materials for a proper moan.
The Monaghan folk seemed ready to relate to what the 79-year-old dude from Louisiana had to say, and why wouldn’t they? Only 20 minutes down the road from the gig, the all Ireland Bog Snorkelling Championships were taking place the very next day. This wasn’t The Delta, this was Bog Blues y’all.
LEO TAKES THE PLUNGE
It seemed apt that the Minister for Transport, Sport and Tourism should be in Doohamlet for the Bog Snorkelling the next morning, sure weren’t all three activities happening in the murky weedy water. In fairness to Laughin’ Leo, he took the plunge and put in a half daycent time too. Despite trying to dance on my dodgy knee late the night before, I wasn’t in a fit state to compete. Last year, I came sixth, respectable when you consider some of the lads had webbed feet. I did manage to shave more than 30 seconds of the Minister’s time though. Just sayin’. See ya next year Leo. One of the things I love about the bog snorkelling is how ridiculous we all look in masks, flippers and swimming garb. Penelope Cruz could don the gear, try to waddle through the bog in Co Monaghan and even she would look like a tit. It’s a great leveller.
MEETING MY MATCH
There’s a new kid on the block this weekend in the shape of Valentia Isle Fest (see Listing opener, opposite page. It will feature some top-shelf Irish acts and DJs who have graced the best festival stages the country has to offer this summer. There’s also the added dimension of supervised boutique mingling (that’s fancy matchmaking). This too will just be a spectator sport for me this weekend; if Willy Daly in Lisdoon couldn’t sort me out, there’s no hope.
