Great Lyrics Series, No 4: Aird Ui Chumhain

My last post mentioned hurling in Cushendall. Being the old romantic that I am, it reminded me of the song Aird Ui Chumain in which an Irish farm labourer working in Scotland sees the coast of Ireland across the sea and pines for the Sunday mornings he formerly spent hurling with his friends on the beach in Cushendun. Here are the lyrics in the original Irish, followed by a translation. Back in the day, a friend used to sing this. Happy memories.

Dá mbeinn féin in Aird Uí Chumhain
In aice an tsléibhe ud ‘tá i bhfad uaim
Ba annamh liom gan dul ar cuairt
Go gleann na gcuach dé Domhnaigh

Curfá:
Agus och och Eire lig is ó
Eire líonndubh agus ó
‘Sé mo chroí tá trom agus bronach

Is iomai Nollag a bhí mé féin
I mBun Abhainn Doine is mé gan chéill
Ag iomainn ar a trá bán
‘S mo chaman bán ins mo dhorn liom

Curfá

Dá mbeadh agam coite ’s rámh
D’iomairfinn liom ar dhroim a’ tsnáimh
‘S mé ‘dúil as Dia go sroichfinn slán
‘S go bhfaighinn bás in éirinn

Curfá

Translation:
(like most translations of Irish lyrics/poetry into English, this comes nowhere near matching the simple yet elegant mood of the original)

Why Bruce used to matter to me and my mates

Continuing the Springsteen theme, and just to prove that Bruce meant a lot to me a long, long time ago, I attach “The River.” See below.

When this came out it was a bit of a revelation. For some Americans, it was the start of a realisation that there were tough things happening in the land of Apple Pie. For many Irish, it was a real-good feeling because somewhere in Springsteen’s Dutch and Italian heritage he had proudly resurrected a Catholic Irish background that he referred to often. And we Irish certainly made the most of the fact that Bruce was almost one of our own, someone who could tell a story in a really engaging lyric – big time.

Me, I was at University at the time this came out, reading people like Flannery O’Connor  and soaking up much of the vibe about Springsteen as a short-story writer – one who, in the guise of a rock and roller, could almost beat the big American short-story giants at their own game. Better than that, it was like he was Flannery O’Connor, Ansell Adams, Georgia O’Keefe all rolled into one. Writer, artist, image-maker – he could paint vivid scenes or break your heart with just a couple of words.

Back then too, I was also friendly with a beautiful native of Philly – blonde, witty, intelligent, musical (she could play guitar better than Chrissie Hynde, we thought) – who told us great stories of nights travelling the turnpikes, skipping from one bar to the next – chrome wheeled, fuel injected, steppin’ out over the line. The trip from Enniskillen to dances in Bundoran was never quite the same after that.

That’s why this Video is the best – and because it was the first video we ever saw on a great big video juke box. So while we should have been doing lots of other things – like essays and tutorials and the sort – we stood in the Edgewater Hotel in Portstewart and pumped coin after coin into the slot and watched one helluva short story unfold… time after time after time after time…

Mercury Music Prize

Gutted that Amy Winehouse didn’t win.

iPod: worrying trend appears

Hang on. What’s happening here?

While driving yesterday I spotted five “old people” wearing iPods. When I say old, I probably mean late middle-aged, a category that I’ll soon be joining. But at least I have the deceny to wear it discreetly, and seldom in very public places.

And what exactly are they listening to? They certainly didn’t look the type to be listening to Biffy Clyro. More than likely it’s Bryan Adams, Tina Turner’s Greatest Hits, Chris Rea or Tom Jones.

And they do it so self-consciously. Like holding the thing at arm’s length in one hand, while adjusting their specs to read the type with the other.

Goddammit, it just isn’t right.

Bruce and Miami Steve at The Stone Pony

Seeing as we’re talking about Springsteen, here’s a little rock and roll gem. Bruce gets up on stage to help out Steve van Zandt work his way through Steve’s song Native American – obviously a new song because Bruce has to rely on a lyrics sheet. And it happens at the famous Stone Pony club in Asbury Park – where Southside Johnny was the house band, where Springsteen played all-nighters with Steel Mill, where he first met Patti and where he was cheered on by a young Jon Bon Jovi among others. But never mind all that, this is pure atmosphere…