While most of America celebrated Mardi Gras yesterday, I was among a
crowd of Irish enthusiasts who wouldn't wait for St. Patrick's Day to
break out wearin' -- and, more importantly, the singin' -- o' the green.
The Sisters of Mercy in Erie, PA brought the Irish Rovers to the
D'Angelo auditorium, "the most intimate hall in Erie". Tickets were
twenty dollars, twenty-five for Gold Circle seating. With only a
five-dollar difference, we decided to splurge on the good seats, and we
were seated right in the middle, about ten rows back from the stage. I
attended the show with my mom and my grandma.
I have seen the
Irish Rovers twice, six and seven years ago. Both performances were at
the Warner Theater, which is considerably larger than D'Angelo. I
narrowly missed the chance to see them in Erie two years ago (it was
opening night for the school musical, and I was in the orchestra) and in
Dayton this past summer (our car broke down on the highway). So this
was my third Irish Rovers concert. I knew I would enjoy it, but I wasn't
entirely sure what to expect. The make-up of the group was different;
Will Millar, who had sort of led the pack at the two concerts I
attended, is no longer with the group, and Jimmy Ferguson, another
original band member, died in 1997.
The group now consists of
George and Joe Millar, Wilcil McDowell, Wallace Hood, John Reynolds,
Sean O'Driscoll, and Kevin McKeown. Each member brings something special
to the band. George, whose fiery red hair fits his Irish
mischievousness, is the leader who lends his songwriting talents to the
group as well as his voice and guitar-playing skills. Joe, cousin to
George, is primarily known for his deep, rich voice which is so suited
to Irish ballads, but he also plays the accordion and bass, is a whiz
with the harmonica, and can make a pair of spoons sing in a manner I
never thought possible. The robust John Reynolds is the resident joker,
always ready to add a healthy dose of Irish humor to a song or story.
His vocals, bass, tin whistle, and guitar are welcome additions to the
songs.
Wilcil, the only original Rover besides George and Joe,
displays astounding mastery of the accordion. In addition to his vocal
talent, Wallace is adept at playing an impressive array of stringed
instruments and employs the tin whistle with stirring beauty. Kevin
McKeown strives to always find the perfect percussion for each song,
even if it means making use of something that isn't exactly what you
would consider a musical instrument. Sean is not able to join the Rovers
for many shows, but he was able to make it to Erie, and he added a
third accordion, three different stringed instruments, and a fine voice
to the group.
The Irish Rovers are known for concerts which
seem more like a party, and last night was no exception. All right, so
we didn't pass around a bottle of whiskey as George suggested, but we
clapped heartily to most of the songs and sang along to several. The
show began with The Irish Rover, a rollicking song about a
shipwrecked vessel. Most of the songs which the Rovers pulled from their
repertoire were similar in nature to this one, loud and rowdy with lots
of opportunity for crowd participation. Unfortunately, the first time
they specifically asked us to sing along during a song (What Wid Ye Do),
they were met with dead silence because they were singing so fast
nobody could figure out what they were saying. At least we could clap...
I had to admit that there were several songs I didn't
recognize, because the band has released two albums of new material
since I saw them last in 1995. Not that this was a problem. I'd never
heard any of the songs they sang at the first concert of theirs which I
attended, but I loved every minute of it. Such was the case here with
the songs I was unfamiliar with, which included, among others, Erin's Green Isle, a lovely song written by George and sung by Joe, Down by the Lagan Side, the beautiful title track of their latest album, and In the Bushes of Jerusalem, an unconventional ode to the famous "rebel of Jerusalem" who lived 2000 years ago.
Among the old favorites were Good Luck to the Barleymow, a recitation of all of the Irish measurements for containers of beer, Black Velvet Band,
the tale of a poor young fellow sent to VanDieman's Land for a crime he
didn't commit (during this song, every time Joe tried to sing a verse,
someone else in the band stole the spotlight from him, even Kevin, who
was hidden behind the rest of the band), Little Brigid Flynn, the song of a bachelor pining after a lovely young lass (Joe's solo to make up for his slighting in Black Velvet Band), What Wid Ye Do With a Drunken Sailor, a raucous sea shanty which required the audience to take on the roles of the shantymen and the drunken crew, Wasn't that a Party, written by Tom Paxton after witnessing a traditionally wild Irish Rovers party, and their trademark, The Unicorn, Shel Silverstein's account of Noah's flood and why there are no unicorns today.
The Irish Rovers entertained for a good two hours, interspersing their
music with amusing anecdotes, mostly provided by John, who was
occasionally chided by George for going a little too far with his humor.
He had an arsenal of mother-in-law jokes and drew the crowd's dubious
sympathy when he recalled his childhood of living in a two-bedroom house
with his grandparents and twelve sibling and attending a school run by
"the sisters of little or no mercy". He also told some pretty good jokes
illustrating the differences between Scots, Brits, and Irishmen.
When the show was over, most of the audience headed out after an
evening of supreme entertainment, but we were among the several dozen
who stuck around to have our newly purchased albums autographed by the
band members. This was something that they hadn't done at either of the
previous concerts, so I was looking forward to seeing them up close. It
was a rather frenzied mish-mash of people passing their album covers
down the line for the boys to sign, but they tried to make a little bit
of chit-chat with us as we passed. When my mom mentioned I would be
spending a week in Ireland this summer, George warned me to "stay away
from those Irishmen, they're nothin' but trouble."
Trouble, perhaps. But boy, they sure are fun!
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