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Never been to Ireland? That's your problem. With all due respect to those with budget constraints (it happens to me too), a little trip among the heather costs less than a ski week and leaves a little knot in your heart, a calling that will make you go back sooner or later, especially if you haven't been to Clifden yet, haven't seen Dingle and Carrickfergus, haven't toasted to Rory Gallagher's health (he's the national musical hero, along with Phil Lynott). In Ireland, hitchhiking is still a thing, and the bus may still stop for a bathroom break or slightly alter its route because Paddy has to deliver a letter to Killarney… there's always that rural crossroads where you don't know which way to go (no road signs) and you ask the gas station attendant, then while you're discussing it, his wife comes out and says, if you're not in a hurry why don't you stay for lunch? In a true Irish pub – not a touristy one – the first beer is drunk standing at the counter, on the second you can lean, and only on the third is it socially acceptable to sit down. Did I say beer? I meant pint.
Now, I don't want to talk about Massimo Bubola's "Il cielo d’Irlanda," which is absolutely right, but about that time I went to chase the Chieftains, because every traditional band of a certain level has the habit of playing in pubs and you go drink (of course), but if you don't end up under the table you get to see some great concerts. You see and you play, especially if you brought your guitar but even more if you're from Rome, because word spreads and after five minutes everyone is convinced you're a personal friend of the Pope, and you're even allowed to borrow the whistle of the pub owner to play ‘Mha Na Eireann’ (he will brag about it for years).
I saw the Chieftains and brought them the beers, but I didn't have the courage to play with His Majesty Paddy Moloney, Pride of Ireland, Captain among Captains, master of the uilleann pipes like no other. I had prepared some amazing riffs, but I just played a couple of silly tunes and drowned myself in emotion and Guinness.
But since that day not a week has gone by without me grabbing (so to speak) ‘Chieftains 4’, their most beautiful album, and putting it on the turntable to listen especially to ‘Drowsy Maggie’ - first in my top ten of Irish pieces – and right after ‘Mha Na Eireann’ (Women Of Ireland), which everyone knows because Stanley Kubrick wanted it for ‘Barry Lyndon’, choosing this version among dozens of others. And of course: the Chieftains play with terrifying skill, it's no accident they were Zappa's favorite band. They play extraordinarily and fill the heart with warmth: the same warmth of corduroy jackets, of the pub at six in the afternoon, of flat caps and Aran turtleneck sweaters, of the soup of the day and the extraordinary hospitality of the Irish people.
To love Irish music (and perhaps attend one of their dance contests) also means to approach with greater pleasure and awareness the whole English folk movement, from Bert Jansch to Pentangle, from Fairport Convention to Steeleye Span to vintage Clannad, because all the minstrels of the kingdom have always looked with utmost respect to the pure musical form that the Chieftains have been smuggling for fifty years, without ever an electrified instrument or one that doesn't directly belong to the tradition of the people of Ys. Even a sacred monster like Alan Stivell, champion of Breton music and advocate of the fusion of genres and styles, lowers his voice when he talks about the Chieftains and takes off his hat (legend has it that he was introduced to them by his guitarist, the equally legendary Dan Ar Bras).
In short, if you know Ireland, we've understood each other well, and reading these poor lines – which failed to capture its essence and magic – the desire has returned to you too… if you haven't been, we're very sorry, but on the other hand, there's still time, and you too will come back with a handful of CDs that you'll never put away, and you'll write a nice review about the Planxty, or Christy Moore.
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