Give me a bar . . .

THERE were 30 or so of us down an alleyway off Baggot Street, trying to lilt: with me too ry ya, me fol de diddle da, me di ry fol de diddle dary ohhh. Joe was telling us we were "pretty desperate" and an American with a mobile phone had dialled up somebody to discuss us: "I tell ... out in the middle of the sidewalk ... yeah, no kiddin'."

It was 10 p.m. and Joe and Emer, our hosts for Dublin's Traditional Irish Musical Pub Crawl, were about to leave us to O'Donoghues where we could join in an Irish music session already in progress. But before releasing us, Joe was determined to get a loud, hearty lilt going. Much as we wanted to oblige, our group - an assorted bunch of Finns, Germans, English, Australians and a smattering of Irish - just couldn't get it together.

The musical pub crawl is an organised trek around a few Dublin pubs in the company of two professional musicians who perform tunes and songs, while explaining the history and development of Irish music. The tour visits four pubs, though only three of the stops are hosted by the musicians: Oliver St John Gogarty's, McDaids and The Clarendon.

Different musicians play host each night, but there is always a melody instrument with an accompaniment - usually a bodhran and guitar. On the night in question, Emer Maycock, a talented young flautist who has just released an album, Merry Bits of Timber, took centre stage, accompanied by Joe on guitar, who did most of the talking.

And what a talker. Here is one example of Joe's oratory, delivered at a tempo which not even his fastest jig could match: "We're going to sing a song now called The Irish Rover and I've two things to tell you about it. Secondly and least importantly is that when we get to the end of the song we go back to the beginning and sing the first verse again but, firstly, they made a mistake when they were printing your songbooks and there are no page numbers but I think you'll find it about seven pages after the map in the middle of your books. I think. Somewhere around there. I think so anyway. Then again, I could be completely wrong."

Endearingly informal as this approach might be for the Irish punter, the speed at which Joe spoke made most of what he had to say pretty incomprehensible to anybody unaccustomed to an Irish accent, never mind those who don't speak English. It also meant that during the story parts of the evening, there was a sense of being rushed, which was not there when they played for us.

HIS was most noticeable during the talk on the history of Irish music. Perhaps because Joe has related the story so often, or perhaps because he is happier playing music than speaking, he repeatedly told us how boring we were finding him as he whizzed through what he had to say. In fact, most people said afterwards that they would have liked more background in formation, and for it to have been delivered more clearly.

The overall verdict of those who attended was positive, however, even among the couple of locals who had been a bit sceptical about whether they would enjoy it. This is the common occurrence, says organiser Mark French.

"A lot of Irish people say they'd never go because they think it is just paddywhackery for tourists," he says. "But when they come along they are usually very impressed."

French is justifiably proud of the quality of music provided, going to pains to recruit good musicians rather than the two chords and a few drunken ballads merchants still haunting some of our tourist pubs. This is partly because of his own commitment to the music and also because an increasing number of visitors are now able to tell the difference between the chancers and the genuine article.

"Certain sectors of the market are becoming much more musically sophisticated," he says, "particularly the Canadians, Scottish, English and some of the continental Europeans."

The tour is well organised, with a room kept aside in McDaid's and The Clarendon, so that there is always space for the group in these two popular venues. A few punters felt they would have liked to have paid a bit more and had a few more instruments along. Others were disappointed to find themselves abandoned at O'Donoghues, having expected our hosts to join in the session.

But most said they enjoyed the night and everybody had learned something they didn't know about Irish music, even the natives. I learned never to pay more than a couple of quid for a bodhran that doesn't smell, because a good bodhran is always soaked for six months in horse manure and should stink.

I also learned just how dorky you can feel while learning to lilt down a lane. Once more with feeling: with me too ry, ya . . .