A short-lived stage career at the Bantry school of rock

He can't sing, he can't dance, and he probably won't go a long way, but BRIAN O'CONNELLtries a songwriting workshop, just in case

RECENTLY, I SIGNED up for a three-day songwriting workshop with Athy singer and songwriter Jack Lukeman at the West Cork Literary Festival in Bantry. The idea was to attend class every morning and, by the end of the three days, write a chart-topping sensation.

Having never attempted to write a song before, or ever tried to sing other people's songs in public (unless you count "we're all part of Jackie's army"), I nevertheless found solace in some of the songs that have made it to the top of the charts. I'm thinking of such musical lightweights as Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, which charted in both the 1960s and the 1990s, or Achy Breaky Heart, which was once voted number 87 in the top 100 songs of the 1990s.

So, how hard can it be to write a hit single from scratch? The answer is, very hard indeed. There were 13 of us in the class, and I was by far the most musically challenged of the bunch. Lukeman was the most rock’n’roll teacher you could imagine, refusing to take his shades off even when writing on the blackboard. He was also a newcomer to the classroom set-up and had never given a workshop before.

“I did it for the challenge,” he said. “Obviously I have written songs with people before, but this is something I wanted to see if I could do. Being such an awful student in school, I wanted to see if I could turn it around.”

On the first day, Lukeman spoke about types of songs; basic song structure; the sort of environment required to be creative; and he later assessed our musical ability and songwriting prowess.

Many of the other participants brought musical instruments with them, and some had played live before. The majority, though, had songs in the drawer for years and never gotten around to giving them an outing.

By the next morning, we were to have a verse and a chorus complete. It was only then I realised how incredibly difficult it is to create a song from a blank canvas. “Hit me baby one more time,” may not be quite Shakespearean, but it has a verse and a chorus and a catchy melody. You try writing it.

I decided to pen something in the first person, assuming the persona of an Irish emigrant I had met in London a few months ago. My idea was to make it obscure enough as to confuse the listener, making them ignore the fact that I can’t sing, and the song has no distinctive melody, or “hook”, as they say in the biz.

The title, Forgotten Broadway, related to Cricklewood Broadway, and the chorus, "All I want is to leave William Hill in the graveyard" was something this man had said to me at the end of our meeting. His life's ambition, besides meeting Agnetha from Abba, was to beat the bookie.

Others in the class wrote songs about diving with dolphins, or heartbreaking accounts of cancer fatalities, lost love or lack of personal space. And three days later, we were offered the chance to perform in public. There was a live event every night called Stories at Bedtime in the library of the Maritime Hotel, where writers and poets tried out their work. We could tag along and try out our compositions on a live and partly sober audience. Word got out there was to be music, doubling the audience to more than 100, so the event was moved to the main ballroom, complete with microphones and a stage.

In the lead up, I felt physically ill. My palms were sweating and I turned a brighter shade of pale. I thought about merely speaking the words (hey, it worked for Leonard Cohen), and then attempting to sing the chorus.

Lukeman gave me encouragement – to hell with it, you only get one shot to do something like this in life, why not go for it? He agreed to back me up with vocal and guitar.

And then we lashed into it. After a rocky start, I settled a little and found my voice more during the chorus. The final refrain, “Agnetha I’m coming home,” could be almost described as “rousing”. The audience even sang along. I thought to myself – “So, this is what it’s like for Britney.”

Forgotten Broadway

Lyrics: Brian O'Connell

Arrangement:

Jack Lukeman

Two battered radios, a ragged duvet and a chest of drawers Empty cans and brandy naggins,

Joseph Conrad stories on the floor

Cider cups and hidden suppers

Here’s to the passers-by and onlookers

All I want is to leave William Hill in the graveyard

Then all the odds will be stacked by my side.

Best mates and lost dates, Empty pockets, no going home In a honeycombed cell, no more postcards or telephone

I traded my wife for an old trick card

Bragging rights and getting jarred

See Brian O'Connell performing Forgotten Broadwayat www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCE3pDRSAiM