Here’s another charity record from the very charitable Ireland of the 1980s. From what I can gather online, this was a project put together in 1988 by members of Blackrock College as a means to raise funds for the Concern charity. Singer and co-writer Andrew McKimm appears to be a maths teacher, while the choir are ‘The Folk Group, Blackrock College’. It’s probably one of the better charity singles, the lyrics about the guilt of the white man in exploiting the continent having a simple charm and focus that’s missing from some the typical ‘one-line-per-superstar/mass shoutalong’ efforts that marked the 1980s. That said, they did manage to rope in Noel Bridgeman of Skid Row on percussion and Jim Lockhart of Horslips on production duties. The B-side is a slightly different ‘village’ mix of the same song.
Pajo’s Junkbox. This record was bought partly to serve as proof after a friend, some years ago, had accused me of completely imagining this 1980s TV show. A complete lack of any online evidence at the time was presumably due to RTE’s policy of not recording their children’s TV output (just ask Zig & Zag), but I see a few surviving clips have since turned up thanks to vintage home videos. In any case, notwithstanding my fully-paid-up membership of Pajo’s Junkyard Gang or whatever the fanclub was called, the ‘zany’ humour of Pajo – a giant rat with a pink mohawk (and not at all related to Roland Rat) – Grabbit, Fetchit and other assorted sidekicks hasn’t translated all that well to this novelty Christmas single from 1987.
With music by Keogh (John?) and Roe, the A-side is a rock’n’roll revival number of the type popularised by Wizzard, Gary Glitter or Shakin’ Stevens in Christmases past, the B-side more of a sing-along nursery rhyme.
‘Fiona’ was Fiona Molloy, a young singer from Derry. Online biographies tell us that she was from a very musical family and in her teens began operatic training under a succession of vocal coaches, including that of Dana. Fiona also learned guitar and joined the Thornhill College Folk Group. In 1975 she was asked by Derry SDLP councillor Danny Feeney and the Peace Women of Derry to sing at a local Peace Rally, and became the musical voice of the Peace People who formed the following year. With Peace People rallies, Fiona performed throughout Ireland, Britain and Germany. A ‘major recording label’ in London briefly signed her but it was the German Hansa label that eventually released the Peace Song anthem on this early 1977 single.
The A-side itself is a slow choral hymn, while the B-side is a simpler folk song showing something of the influence of Joan Baez on the young singer. The writing credits are shared by Danny Feeney – whose 14-year-old sister Kathleen had been killed by the Provisional IRA in 1973 – and James O’Hagan, about whom I know nothing, along with a mention of the Heath-Levy music publishing company. Danny’s brother Harry’s account of their sister’s murder also tells us that Danny was “very musical, playing the drums, guitar and involved in several bands”.
Based for a short period in London, Fiona tried unsuccessfully to break into the thriving musical theatre scene of the time but then visited an aunt in New York in July 1977 and “knew that this was where I wanted to be for the rest of my life!” She has lived in the United States ever since and still performs today, mainly entertaining service-members of the US military in Key West, Florida.
After a very quiet year, it must be time to warm up the old engine and see if everything’s still in working order. To ease back in, let’s take a look at a selection of novelty and charity records from the archives, starting with The Concerned. Far be it from me to criticise the good intentions of other people, but it has to said that charity records are usually pretty rubbish, musically speaking. Decide for yourselves if this is the case with this single from 1985.
The single in aid of famine relief in Ethiopia and Sudan was written by Paul Cleary of The Blades, produced by Bill Whelan, and featured a big selection of singers from the Irish music scene, ably assisted by a brace (if that’s the right term) of RTE presenters. Sure, the major league stars were missing, but there’s still a good range of contributors here, including Clannad, Christy Moore, The Golden Horde, In Tua Nua, Stockton’s Wing, Linda Martin…. well, you can see for yourselves. And if you’ve ever wanted to see a be-suited Pat Kenny pose awkwardly with a bunch of scruffy rock stars, you’re in luck.
In 1985 there was no getting away from charity records. The year had started off with Bob and Bono at number 1 as part of Band Aid, The Concerned made to the top spot in March, being replaced after two weeks by USA for Africa. A few months later The Crowd reached number one with a record in aid of the Bradford City stadium fire fund, all of which goes to show that, for all it’s many problems, 1980s Ireland was willing to part with generous amounts of money for a good cause despite the questionable quality of the vinyl they got in return.
Is there be a way to say something about that late, lamented ultimate rock star Lemmy and still make it relevant to a blog about Irish rock music? Well it’s a bit of a stretch, but let’s try it anyway! In 1965/1966 those sadly under-appreciated Belfast R’n’B dynamos The Wheels were playing a residency in Blackpool, as part of which arrangement they shared a farm house at Garstang, Lancashire, with struggling local group The Rockin’ Vickers. And just as The Wheels guitarist Rod Demick was from North Wales, so too was The Rockin’ Vickers guitarist Ian Willis (whose father had in fact been a vicar).
The Rockin’ Vickers, as the name might imply, had a typically ’60s gimmick of dressing in a bizarre mixture of religious garb and – as they were very successful in Finland – the Finnish national costume. Demick remembers Them and many other touring bands visiting the farm to party. The time the two groups spent together evidently went harmoniously as, in a newspaper interview from late 1965, the various Wheels were sure, when asked their favourite musical artists, to name-check their little known housemates.
Both bands would ultimately break up without breaking through, with some members achieving modest success during the ’70s. Willis, of course, would undergo an unlikely transformation to Hendrix roadie, hippie singer with Sam Gopal‘s group, sonic adventurer with Hawkwind and finally, as Lemmy, rock’n’roll legend with Motörhead. Lemmy’s life reads like the evolution of rock music itself, from 1950s skiffle fan all the way to metal aristocracy. He never hid his unhip origins, acknowledging that he had been inspired first by Cliff Richard and Tommy Steele, and he was part of a generation for whom rock’n’roll was more than just disposable entertainment, it was the white-hot essence of youth culture. His macho persona was genuine rather than the stage routine of so many of his contemporaries, and he refused to follow the well-worn path of reformation followed by sobriety and smugness, but what was most remarkable about the man was his sincerity, humility and his sharp humour, in spite of all his success. Music will continue be made and may be vibrant and exciting, but it is unlikely to ever have such cultural significance again, and Lemmy’s passing seems to herald the final closing of that chapter. But we are blessed to have so much fantastic music from that time preserved for us to relive as often as we want and, as someone very cool once said, the only way to feel the noise is when it’s good and loud!
Billy Harrison is in many ways the unsung hero from the big bang of Irish R’n’B. He formed The Gamblers in Belfast with Alan Henderson and Ronnie Millings – the band that later became Them with the addition of Eric Wrixon and Van Morrison – stepping back from front-man to lead guitarist behind Van’s dominant persona. He remained band leader and manager until the music biz professionals took over, but Billy was an integral part of the original Them sound, with his distinctive raw guitar playing to be heard all over their first album, and apparently much more input into the writing process than he is credited with. After a confrontation with manager Phil Solomon over vanishing royalty payments, and finding little solidarity from the rest of the band, Billy packed it in. He was briefly involved with a rival line-up of Them (which evolved into The Belfast Gypsies) and did some session work with Van’s Them, Joe Meek and The Pretty Things, and was eyed-up by Belfast group The People before Henry McCullough joined and they became Eire Apparent. Billy then left music completely and took a regular job with the Post Office, returning from London to Belfast in 1975.
That was it until 1979, when Billy Harrison decided to revive Them one more time, inviting Eric Wrixon and Alan Henderson along with new guys Mel Austin and Billy Bell. They convened in Hamburg and the resulting Shut Your Mouth album – all written or co-written by Harrison – was an enjoyable return to their R’n’B roots. Again the band was incapable of holding together and Billy was fired from the group he had started, to be replaced a second time by Jim Armstrong for a subsequent German tour.
Perhaps surprisingly, Billy decided to make one further album. This 1980 record, with the self-deprecating title Billy Who?, is essentially a follow-up to Shut Your Mouth, being entirely written by Harrison and recorded once again at Hamburgs TELDEC-Studio by engineer Klaus Bohlmann and producer Frank Dostal. This time Billy was singing as well as playing guitar, and was backed by a group of experienced German session musicians. Like its predecessor it’s a mix of R’n’B material and ballads, but Billy’s gravelly faltering vocals, to these ears at least, give a more fragile touch to his songs than Mel Austin’s croaky holler on the previous album. On tracks like Big Lover we get to hear Billy’s distinctive slide-guitar sweep back through our speakers once again. Orange Field lists some landmarks from a more innocent time in Belfast and asks an unnamed person when they last walked its streets (decide for yourself who that might be directed at). Baby Please Don’t Go is an original ballad with a presumably tongue-in-cheek title, while Bad Night is peppered with Billy’s menacing wolf howls.
Thereafter, Billy Harrison officially retired from music. He seems to consider his contribution to rock music to have ended on a high in 1965, and that to have carried on as a struggling musician would have been at the cost of his reputation. This is a noble idea but, bearing in mind that Eric Wrixon and Jim Armstrong each made a decent living touring a Them-based blues repertoire in the nineties and noughties, we can only wonder if this decision was due more to his poisonous experiences of the music business. Still, far from being bitter about the past, he will occasionally sit-in on a local pub gig, or attend an event to commemorate Belfast’s musical legacy. Probably because it was released under the Them name, his 1979 album has since been reissued on CD as Them Reunion, but to the best of my knowledge this 1980 solo album has remained unjustly out-of-reach.
- Big Lover
- Hold On Tight
- Rock ‘n’ Roll Woman
- Orange Field
- Baby Please Don’t Go
- Bad Night
- Get Some Lovin’
- Summer Nights
- Black Haired Momma
- Free Ramblin’ Man
Billy Harrison interviewed by Richie Unterberger – Ugly Things #31 & #32 (2011)
If this site has whetted your appetite for something slightly more modern, the Irish Nuggets blog brings you an excellent initiative collecting Original Artyfacts from the Irish Alternative Music Scene 1977-89. Most of these have had to be digitised from vinyl, so a lot of work has gone into this project. A Treasure indeed!