I STOOD BY the side of a stage last weekend, trying to fit in with the proper journalistic types, barely managing to maintain the facade while hopped up on Foxy Monk (part Buckfast, part ginger beer). One of the photographers started sounding me out. I told him what I was at and he asked “So you were a writer before you started?” No. “A photgrapher?” No. He sidled away haughtily.
I was feeling those last lines from Radiohead’s debut single when I bumped into a drummer who had been performing earlier in the day. He offered me a drink that had an oddly familiar tang to it. “Gin, Redbull and Buckfast,” he informed me. Back in the game!
Bacchian inspiration then led me to a descriptive phrase for what I’ve been spinning out for the last few months. Freak journalism. I couldn’t find the photographer to update him.
SEA SIDE STORY
There is a rugged wildness to Donegal that is reflected in the inhabitants’ partying skills. The perfect place for Sea Sessions, a gathering that has been combining surfing, sandy sports and savage sounds for serious sessionistas for five years now. The setting for the gig can’t really be beat. The main arena is right beside the beach and the town of Bundoran is on the other side. The enthusiasm and vibrancy of the crowd at this gig was picked up by some of the acts.
Jape in particular put in a shift that surpassed all of the other festival sets I’ve seen them thump out so far this year. The Hot 8 Brass Band had the punters strutting their funkiest stuff. Fujiya and Miyagi were a bit more low key, but they had the depth and breadth to pull it off. Delorentos, Ham Sandwich and Tieranniesaur kept the home flags flying, with the Sandwiches maybe finding their usual brand of shenanigans a little diluted on the bigger stage.
Hang Sang managed to engage the crowd more than Happy Mondays though, they didn’t click at all. The Mondays reminded me of an Oompa Loompa on a zebra crossing – more than just a little pedestrian. They could have done with a fraction of the vibrancy displayed earlier by The Strypes. These Cavan lads mightn’t be shaving yet, but they’ve certainly managed to get a handle on how to administer a razor sharp performance. Refreshing to be dealt out some energy and brilliance, the sun wasn’t playing ball.
AN ASIDE UP THE COAST
On Sunday afternoon, I ducked up to the Clipper Festival on the Inishowen Penninsula for a few hours. I witnessed what must be the best road sign anywhere in the country ever – “Muff Welcomes Clipper”.
God bless Muff. Greencastle is a mass of fluttering bunting, awaiting the start of the Round the World Clipper Race kicking off there this Saturday. Moville jumped the gun with their annual raft race and vintage car rally last Sunday, “Chape, clane fun!” The lads from McGuires Bar won the raft race for the second year on the trot. They told me that it was the 15 pints a night training that has them champions. After my shot of community spirit, it was back down the road for more seaside sessioning in Bundoran.
I’m not a scumbag; I may have occasional leanings though. As I helped liberate the remnants of Happy Mondays’ fridge at Sea Sessions on Sunday night, I was struck, not by Bez’s maraca, but by the realisation that they probably shouldn’t be letting a fella like me into situations like this. In fairness, they didn’t really allow me in, I kinda snuck in. The Sea Sessions crew had laid on such a wonderful weekend for one and all, it would have been rude to leave them feeling that the hospitality they had generously laid on had not been availed of fully. Spiriting away Ryder’s rider was a kindness really.
Safe travels, don’t die.
