Three festivals every week for a year.
MARK GRAHAMgoes one step further
After last weekend, I have a larger carbon footprint than a Yeti doing laps of the Himalayas in a Concorde for kicks. You should really holiday at the festivals of Ireland this summer folks. Killorglin is the new Lanzarote. How’s that Trev, offset or upset?
SEVEN OUT OF SIX AIN’T BAD
Six festivals was the target. I went to seven. Cat Laughs in Kilkenny on Thursday, where Adam Hills did a great job as MC and surpisingly didn’t refer to his wooden leg once – seems he’s kicked the habit, given it the boot as it were. David O’Doherty stole both shows on the night followed closely by the staff of Tesco Thurles, who were on a big night out. DO’D summed up the commercial cosmetic spirit of summer pretty well: “Ladies, it’s time to stop eating and paint yourself orange.”
On my way through Killarney, I called in to Miss Courtney’s Tea Rooms for a cup of Earl Grey and a scone. In some twist of reality I ended up at a biker rally with the delighful Miss C. Thats some strong scald she’s peddling down there. Things took a more surreal twist later that evening when I found myself in Cahersiveen dressed as a cowboy. If I lived in the town, I would have beaten me up. There were small speakers rigged all along the main street playing western themes and I can’t describe to you how disconcerting it is to walk down a deserted rural street at closing time, in cowboy garb as Ennio Morricone’s Man with Harmonica provides your soundtrack. I was expecting Lee Van Cleef to step out of the shadows with a twitch in his eye. Wild West Festivals in Kerry are odd, in a fun way.
KERRY’S GOT THE WRITE STUFF
Listowel Writers’ Week was next. Julian Gough played a blinder making the hour seem too short, showing that a return visit and a place among the stellar line-up was well deserved. When it comes to literary festivals, Listowel is the Big Maggie – for 41 years they’ve been banging on about books in this picturesque Co Kerry town and with Colm Toibín, Des Bishop, Duke Special, Germaine Greer, Paul Durcan and shelf-loads of other guests, it’s easy to see why it’s still the best in The Field.
A HUNG JURY IN BALLYSHANNON
The Rory Gallagher festival in Ballyshannon is one serious session. In Cahersiveen, they were dressing like cowboys; in Ballyshannon, they were living it. For the first time in 11 years, punters here had to pay to attend gigs – 50 quid for a weekend pass. Reaction was mixed. Some liked the suitable setting for the gigs and that you weren’t tripping over rabid lunatics. Other festivallers didn’t like the introduction of a commercial vibe, but you could still see all the acts out on the street over the weekend. A hung jury.
Whilst in the neighbourhood, I popped into Ardara for the Melting Pot Festival where they had a really nice community vibe going on.
BEAUTY TO THE BEAST
Where Ballyshannon was a beast of a bash, Forbidden Fruit in Kilmainham provided the beauty. The sun shone on Monday and all the beautiful people of Das Kapital postponed their photo-shoots to catch the uncommonly cool line-up. Chairlift, Beirut, Andrew Bird and Chromatics did the job for me. A wonderful day that grew to be the best gig of a deadly weekend. I inadvertantly invented a new cocktail for the occasion whilst decanting Buckfast into plastic bottles to sneak in about my person. One bottle was half full so I topped it up with ginger beer. It wasn’t ufásach. Im calling it The Foxy Monk.
My Mam keeps sketch on my online updates to make sure I’m not dead. After last week’s, she told me that when my Dad was a young fella, him and his mates used to drink Buckfast going to the flicks . . . to watch westerns! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Safe travels, don’t die.
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