An Irishwoman's Diary

Seldom have so many people discovered they knew the words to so many songs - and all at one concert. In an atmosphere akin to that of a revivalist meeting during which the audience sang and clapped and waved, leaving Art Garfunkel to adopt the air of an indulgent uncle urging his happy charges on, a cross-section of Irish society gathered last week at Dublin's Olympia Theatre. As a man in a business suit remarked: "At least with this guy you can actually hear the words of the songs."

While the singer certainly looked a lot more spry than the average 57-year-old, the fact remains that many of the songs date from the now-distant days of the 1960s when the inspired partnership of Simon and Garfunkel introduced a more intellectual dimension to folk rock. In fairness to Art, still shock-haired and bejeaned, still smiling in his edgy, thoughtful way, still being asked why they ever broke up, the songs the people wanted were from the Simon and Garfunkel repertoire, all written by Paul Simon - the little dark one with the stronger, more nasal, wistful tone - and sung by the pair of them, two bright Jewish guys from New York (where else?) whose voices together produced perfect harmony .

Two of the four quality musicians backing him, Eric Weissberg and Warren Bernhardt, were probably of Garfunkel's generation, as were a lot of the audience. But there was a high proportion of teenagers and 20-somethings balancing out the more mature citizens. When Simon and Garfunkel performed in Dublin in 1982, a year after their massive Central Park concert, the audience was described as consisting of bank managers, nuns, former hippies, children and everyone else as well. The RDS is a bigger venue but judging by the reaction to the songs, Simon and Garfunkel could probably still bet on filling it - Paul Simon would.

Outside, the ticket touts were standing in the way of passerbys and a lot of ice cream was being quickly eaten. A couple sang a few verses of The Boxer and were cheered. Most of the preconcert conversation focused on what songs would Garfunkel sing? And would he mention Paul Simon? Of course he did. Art Garfunkel is a shrewd character, he would hardly pretend his former partner didn't exist. It would be difficult.

On stage, long before he appeared, the musicians were setting up their synthesisers. They looked like busy computer programmers. Garfunkel finally arrived and greeted his audience, "I bet you didn't think I'd have any hair." His stage presence is laconic and frenzy is a sensation he is unlikely to have ever experienced. As a singer he defies all known techniques of voice production, singing from the back of his throat, head tilted skywards. It's a fragile instrument, a near falsetto, counter tenor, uniquely his own, still distinctive if perhaps slightly more wary of the highest notes. Introducing one number as "the weirdest and strangest Simon and Garfunkel ever recorded, he sang A Poem on the Under- ground Wall which must be the most dramatic tune ever to be written about the creative urges of a graffiti artist. Moments later, the song which probably did more to get Mary Robinson elected as President of Ireland, boomed out in a reggae version, the audience joined in while the drummer in performing a solo which developed into a virtual overture for Cecilia seemed to play twice as long as the song lasted.

Bright Eyes, a Garfunkel solo hit from the movie Watership Down, evoked memories of all those doomed bunnies and got a great response as did another solo hit I Only Have Eyes For You and his version of the Gallagher and Lyle hit A Heart in New York. Scarborough Fair sounded very good for a 400-year-old folk song. Recalling his time busking with Paul Simon in London and New York led him to Kathy's Song and also reminded one audience member that Simon had busked in Dublin and legend holds that while in Ireland, he sent copies of several poems in for consideration by the then literary Editor of The Irish Times. Apparently they were never published. Just goes to show, it's never been that easy being a poet in Ireland. But the unpublished poems were found in the office some years later.

Such is the sophistication of synthesisers and electronic keyboards that a near studio effect was achieved for a surreal introduction for El Condor Pasa. The names of songs were also being offered from the voice. "Now here's an old chestnut" he said moving straight into an upbeat Homeward Bound. How about The Boxer? Or America? We got The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy). The keyboard took up the first notes of Bridge Over Troubled Water to announce the song he must have sung a million times. A couple held hands, she looked as if she was ready to cry. Quite a mood shift as her partner had belted out Mrs Robinson so loud, Garfunkel would have been within his rights had he chosen to order "off with his head".

"Only Livin' Boy In New York," urged an impassioned whisper near to me, "come on, Only Living Boy in New York, and April Come She Will, oh yea, and For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her" The whispering continued. "America" intoned another, more timid whisperer - that turned out to be me. Hands in pockets, Garfunkel moved on to The Sound of Silence. More audience participation. A standing ovation. He seemed delighted.

Two boys stand in the foyer, one holds a camera. They might be 13, maybe 14. "How old are you?" They look slightly defiant and then relax in schoolboy politeness. "Sixteen. Er, will you take a picture of us, together, standing here?" Sure. What do they think of the music. "Fantastic, those songs are great. Even my parents like them" the smaller one replies, and then pauses before adding, "I was a bit disappointed though. I mean, he didn't sing all of the Simon and Garfunkel songs." Well, there's a lot of songs. Still, the moral of the story, they both have had solo careers and Simon has written so many songs, but as Simon and Garfunkel they remain joined at the hip.