Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
Tomorrow is Saint Paddy's Day and to get myself and my family in the mood I have been listening to a lot of Irish music, particularly the Dubliners. I thought this blog needed a bit more music, so I am sharing one Irish song here. I have been to Dublin only once in my life, for a week, I did not know it "in the rare old times", nevertheless it must have changed since. And in any case, I can relate to the nostalgic aspects of this song. We all have a Dublin somewhere, it may not be a town or a city, it may not be anywhere in particular, but it haunts us.
Well, Saint Patrick's Day is not over yet, so let's celebrate, at least on this here blog, the lovely country that is Ireland. This is the one and only Guinness I've had today, such is the life of a father. But please feel free to have more and enjoy Irish music, hopefully in a pub, if not then at home. I have been listening to a lot of it today and tonight. Here is a famous one which I wanted to share tonight, called Dicey Reilly, about a lady of ill repute who is also an alcoholic. It is a proper drinking song. It is here performed by the Dubliners. It is the version of the late Ronnie Drew, and his low, raspy voice and attitude alone are worth the price of the ticket.
Happy St-Paddy's Day everyone! And to all of you especially who have Irish blood and spirit (or Irish spirits in the blood). This was the one and only pint of Guinness I had to celebrate. Because I am a father now, I must behave. There used to be a time, I was far wilder and enthusiastic and this dark beer made me nurse many cases of Irish flu the next day. So of course this song is in order for tonight. This is the story of my wild youth and it is one I always listen to on St Paddy's. As for this pint of Guinness, my wife had a sip, which surprised me greatly, as she dislikes beer, dark ones most of all. I guess one cannot escape the Irish spirit, even an Englishwoman. And Wolfie looked longingly at it. He's my son all right.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day everyone! It is ending in a few hours here. I explained the sad situation I am in this year in this post earlier today. But I can still celebrate Ireland through its music and share it with you. I know I upload Molly Malone almost every year, but this is the first Irish song I've ever heard and I love it dearly. Take it as a tradition on this blog. Saint Paddy's Day would not be the same without it anyway. The picture on your right was taken in Dublin in March 2000, sixteen years ago. It was a moving moment to meet Dublin's most famous lady... and most famous ghost.
This picture dates back from March 2000. I took it during my visit in Dublin, from a throwaway camera that was quite popular at the time, but it was a poor quality one, so it was a poor picture. Do you recognize him, even in the shadow? Yes, it is James Joyce. Well, the statue of him. Shame on me, I only ever read one short story of Dubliners from him. I have Ulysses somewhere among my books back home, which I promised myself I'd read one day. Anyway, it is Saint Patrick's Day tomorrow, so I thought I'd share this picture of James Joyce for the occasion.
This week is Saint Patrick's Day, so it is about time to put everyone into an Irish celebration mood. So it was about time I uploaded some traditional Irish music here. Played and sung by The Dubliners. It is The Rising of the Moon, a revolutionary ballad I guess you can call it.A proud song for a proud people. I hope it gets you in the mood in any case.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day everyone! I will start celebrating with you on this blog with a classic Irish song and the officious anthem of Dublin city. I know I uploaded Molly Malone a thousand times already. But it is a classic on this blog and I have a little anecdote to accompany the song. And anyway, there will be more music later, if I am sober enough. The picture above was taken by me fifteen years ago, in Dublin fair city itself. This is of course the statue of Molly Malone herself, on Grafton Street. It is a terrible picture, taken back in the days when we still used disposable cameras and not digital stuff. It was a very grey day in Dublin, my first day in the city. And walking around, there she was. Surrounded by people, as you could expect her to be, since she is a girl so pretty. And very... generous looking, let's put it this way. I did not even know there was a statue of her, but I recognized Molly Malone right away. She earned the less savoury nickname of "the tart with the cart", which could sound mean, but I think it is given affectionately. You can read more about my thought about the song here and here. But the best way to appreciate sweet Molly Malone is through the song that inspired her statue.
Yes, Guinness is good for you, even if you only had two on St-Patrick's Day, like me this year (and last year too), because well it is full of good stuff in it and just because. But this year, I had another reason to enjoy Guinness: the company boycotted St-Patrick's Day parade in New York because the organizers, out of some flimsy, stupid Catholic objections, would not let gays and lesbians groups be part of it. So I am glad the company was not timorous and did the right thing, which sent the right message. Culture is not faith, or obedience to the backward views of a faith.
Anyway, as St Paddy's Day is about to end here, I am uploading another Irish song, Irish Rover. Sung, again, by the Dubliners. New York is mentioned, so it is fitting. And since the song is really upbeat, it will end the day with a bang.
Happy St-Patrick's Day everyone! To kick start the day, I am uploading The Leaving of Liverpool, sung by the Dubliners. This may seem uncongruous, but Liverpool has an important Irish diaspora, to the point when it is sometimes considered an Irish city East of Ireland. St-Paddy's is celebrated there just as intensely as anywhere in Ireland, maybe more so. I had my best St-Patrick's Day when I was living there. And this had to be acknowledged and celebrated in a song today. So here it is.
It was foggy today. Well, it was more misty really, but hey, let's say it was foggy, because it made me think of an Irish ballad., The Foggy Dew. It is going to be St Patrick's Day soon, which means of course that I will celebrate in many ways, including by listening to Irish songs and put many here on this blog. I thought I would start getting everyone in the mood with this song. It is not a cheerful one, but a beautiful song about the eve of Irish independence. Performed here by the Dubliners.
So Saint Patrick's Day has come and go. I barely celebrated it, because of my cold: I had one Guinness and a shot of whiskey (Jameson, which is ok when you have a sore throat, although I know zilch about whiskey) and some Irish stew at the local Irish pub. This year the stew was average, not as good as 2010 and 2011, I don't know why. In Montreal I made an Irish stew once, with mixed results, I think I used a Wikipedia recipe and it didn't taste all that much. At least it was better than the Irish stew I used to have when I started celebrating St Patrick's Day, which was basically something from a tin.
I enjoy celebrating St-Paddy's Day everywhere, even in Southern England. In fact, it is more celebrated here than on the Plateau Mont-Royal in Montreal, where I really started making it a special day for me. I have been once to Old Dublin with my brother on the day, where it was very crowded and very enjoyable, even though I think I was the only one drinking Guinness and not green coloured lager. I went to Dublin back in 2000, a few days after Saint Patrick's Day. I missed something I guess, but I was in Ireland, so I didn't care. A Guinness is an Guinness at any day. I think my best Saint Paddy's was still in Liverpool: I spent the afternoon in the various Irish pubs in town, drank enough to feel good about it, but not too much to get drunk. I listened to Irish music, chatted with drunken Scousers or Irish (the city is full of them). I went back home in the evening and watched some documentaries about Irish folk groups, so more Irish music. Then I watched Donnie Brasco as I was sobering up. A drinking day is enjoyable when you remember enough about it. That one was.
I know it is a day too late, but I thought about uploading one last Irish song here. You can come back here next year, or simply enjoy it as it is a nice song. My father sent me information about a Black Velvet, a cocktail mixing Champagne and Guinness. A strange combination, not certain if it is not spoiling good Guinness with something too fancy and high brow.That said, because of this I had the Black Velvet Band in the head all of yesterday (with the headache caused by the Jameson). So here it is, sung of course by the Dubliners. It is a song about treachery and alcohol is after all often treacherous, especially on a Saint-Patrick's Day.
Yes, I uploaded the song before here. But that was two years ago, or so. And it is St-Patrick's Day soon, and it is March, and I want some Irish music on this blog. Molly Malone isnot the only Irish song I love to listen to, you can find many here if you check the labels, but it is maybe the only one I sing easily (as opposed to others). I mean I know the lyrics of Molly Malone and I can sing it maybe without the Irish accent, but with the right tone, the melancholic pathos. Singing such song is easy enough, singing it right is an entirely other matter. I am not singing it perfectly, far from it, but with a bit of practice I think I might: one has to put the soul in it, so to speak. Or maybe a pint or two of Guinness. But I should maybe avoid the temptation of being too operatic.
You can read more about what I think of Dublin's officious anthem here. A few more observations: Dublin's most famous girl next door must have stunk of fish and seafood. But when you love fish, cockles, mussels and the salty smell of the sea, it is not be stinky at all for you, and I think it may even have added to her charm. She had the Irish accent too, but I guess in a city of Irishmen, that was not exactly exotic. Anyway, I am not original, I am also a tad repetitive, so the reader might forgive me but I decided to upload again a version by the Dubliners. Like two years ago. I am not very original, but I find it difficult to find someone who sings it as good as they do.
As I am blogging this, I have two pints of Guinness in the body and head (especially head), a bit of Irish stew in the stomach (maybe too little, I should have had a second serving and wouldn't be feeling so dizzy). I have been to the local Irish pub and yes, if it sounds familiar it's because it is. You know why I am celebrating and so should you. I have little to say. I am not drunk, not nearly enough to write a prayer to Saint Patrick this time (I still think what I wrote then was pretty good for someone who was half drunk). I don't know exactly what to blog about this time, I feel lost for words. Like all holidays, the build up is more enjoyable than the day itself. So instead of blogging again about my love for Ireland, I will just put here another Irish song. Chosen at random, or almost. I have been listening to Irish since early March, I probably will until the end of the month. Next time, it will be something else than the Dubliners, promised. But until then, this is Whiskey in the Jar. Somehow it reminds of Barry Lyndon, and in particular this scene for some reason.
No, I am not travelling to Ireland any time soon, sadly. I am staying here, but it is going to be soon Saint Patrick's Day, and it means that I am in an Irish mood: I listen to Irish music and long for Ireland. I have been to Dublin only once in my life, more than ten years ago and I have been wanting to go back since then. So I decided to put here an Irish folk song, because it is the time of the year and because it illustrates my mood. This is The Rocky Road to Dublin, interpreted (again) by the Dubliners, a very difficult song to sing (I won't even dare to try just yet), but so very easy to listen to. This is for me the perfect road song, the one I think about when I feel like stretching my legs and leaving for a few days to a strange land or a place I could call home (in Dublin's case, it is a bit of both).
Yes, yes, I used that picture before, but who cares? It's Saint-Patrick's Day and it is indeed a lovely day for a Guinness. And it is also my favourite Guinness advert ever, the still ones at least. Happy Patty's Day to everyone.
Between the beginning of this post and now, I had time to drink two Guinness and had a bit of Irish stew (so long for Lent and fasting), courtesy of the landlady of the local Irish pub (almost empty, sadly, but I guess tonight is the big night). So I am writing this not quite sober. Anyway, it is time to celebrate, so will put here two Irish songs. I'll Tell Me Ma I first heard in Liverpool on Saint-Patrick's Day and I fell in love with it, I still don't know why. On the Bank of the Roses I only discovered recently, but it is the same thing, I just love it. Both songs are here interpreted by the Dubliners:
"In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone, As she wheeled her wheel-barrow, Through streets broad and narrow, Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!""
Care for some Irish music, as it is soon Saint Patrick's Day? I first got introduced to this classic song in A Clockwork Orange, when a drunken beggar sings it, which causes Alex to dismiss it in these unflattering terms:
"One thing I could never stand was to see a filthy, dirty old drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blurp blurp in between as it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking, rotten guts. I could never stand to see anyone like that, whatever his age might be, but more especially when he was real old like this one was."
I know Alex is supposed to be a hooligan and a musical elitist one at that, but that was still unfair. Molly Malone is not a filthy song. The beggar does not sing it in the original novel. I don't think Anthony Burgess, who had Irish blood and was in love with the country and its capital, could have come up with something like that. Anyway, the song stayed at the back of my head, as the small part in the musical framework of the movie, until I visited Dublin ten years ago and saw her statue on Grafton Street.
Like many things I love, I don't know exactly why I love it. It's a great drinking song, it has romantic self-irony, a bit of of supernatural element, atmosphere, it also has charming simplicity. I have been wanting to put it on this blog for a while. So here it is, sung by the Dubliners (and I know it takes too much space):
My Italian friend, which I mentioned before, wondered if I did not exaggerated here when I said the Italians had a tendency to get drunk without drinking that much. I don't want to offend her, or any of the friends I have among the Italian people, so I will say here that I might have used dramatic (nostalgic?) licence. This blog is called Vraie Fiction, after all. Anyway, I listened to Volta la Carta, the song I put here) again today, and I noticed something peculiar: the flute/recorder gives it an almost Irish sound. If it wasn't for the Italian lyrics, the back up singers, well, everything else but the flute, that could almost be Irish. Okay, that's far fetched, but I have no idea where I am going, I am trying to follow the succession of ideas and impression that pushed me to write thos post.
Ireland and Italy have been intrinsically linked in my life. Both countries are Catholic, but that's not it. It's not the same faith anyway, whatever people might say. It's not the same culture, so it's not the same faith, in fact. I never felt Italian Catholicism appealing, while the Irish version is exactly like the one I grew up in. Not exactly appealing for the unbeliever I had become, but at least familiar. Better the devil you know, and so on. No, it was when I was hanging around my Italian friends that my interest for Irish culture started growing. Shortly after a big bad, evil, decadent kitchen party on Saint-Patrick's Day, when my Spanish friend made a bit too much sangria and I drank a bit too much Guinness, I went on a week long trip to Dublin, where I drank more Guinness, and a few more local beers. I was drinking a lot of Guinness back then, like some of those Italians who thought that was so cool. I just thought it tasted nice. Anyway, I find it funny that I didn't hang out with any Irish people then, since I loved the culture more than the Italian one and I felt more affinity with it. But then again, maybe there was that question of exoticism. Anyway, I thought I'd put some drinking song here, since it's Friday, and nobody has better drinking songs than the Irish. The Wild Rover sort of reminds me of my wilder, younger years, especially that time. So that's the introduction, on this blog a bunch of old Irish men will succeed to an ageing Italian man, but without the younger back up singers.
Québécois originaire du Saguenay expatrié en Angleterre à cause d'un mariage avec une Anglaise.
Quebec expatriate living in England because he married an English woman.
