Green Spot Irish Whiskey

The whiskey remarks on this site get more comments than any other. So here’s another Irish whiskey of note – Green Spot.

It’s a whiskey I had seen but never tasted until one night in Dublin recently when we asked for our usual Redbreast as a ‘deoch a dorais’. The owner said he was clean out but recommended the Green Spot as a superior drink. We were surprised at this as we held Redbreast to be the king of the Irish.

Well, we tasted it. And suffice to say there might just be a new King in town.

Green Spot is actually produced in the same place as Redbreast – the Jameson distillery in Midleton, Co Cork. It’s a blend of seven and eight year old, and is produced exclusively in Cork for Mitchell and Sons Wine Merchants in Dublin.

Try it if you can find it. It actually does hit the Spot.

Been away

It’s been quite a while. My excuse? I discovered Stumble Upon. Try it yourself and see how long it takes you to get back to the real world.

I want to look like Samuel L Jackson. But end up looking like Fr Flanagan.

Today, it was very cool in Belfast – temperature-wise if not culturally-wise. So, being someone who has no hair on top, I decided to have a quick look around the shops for, well, a cap. Or as they say in these parts – a duncher.

Why a cap, you ask? Well, baseball caps don’t cut it when you’re in your work gear. And those ski hats make me look all big nose. As for hats, I imagine they would make me look like an even stouter Van Morrison. Not that I’ve ever seriously considered a hat, though.

But I’ve never worn a flat cap before and, while I’m not particualrly fussy about my look, there are two things of importance:

• I must not look too much like an old geezer, eg my father
• And I must not look like I’m desparate to look cool.

But, unfortunately, it took just the trying on of three caps to realise that the one and only sure thing a cap will do for me is make me look like – a priest. A small stout priest out for a brisk walk. By the seaside.

Looks like it might be a long, cold winter up ahead.

Baseball caps don’t cut it at work

Van the Man: ‘Does my head look big in this?’

If only I could look like this.

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)

Kerry beat Cork to win All-Ireland. Ireland flop against Georgia. Villa lose to City. But…

As you can see, sport dominated my weekend.

Time was, All-Ireland Football Final Day would have been one of the biggest days of my year. But my move to “hurling fan” has seen an erosion of the football final’s importance. Add in the fact that this year’s final was an all-Munster affair – with relatively little enthusiasm for it in other parts of the country – and the big occasion proved a sort of big anti-climax really.

The other big Irish sporting occasion of the weekend was the Rugby World Cup clash of Ireland and Georgia. This didn’t affect me very much as I personally think that rugby is a game for toffs and oafs. Oh yes – and idiots too. Why else would you have a referee constantly shouting the rules out to players? Imagine if that happened in other sports. Can you imagine it in tennis? “Hit it. Hit it back. Hit it again. Hit it back again.” Or in hurdling: “Run, run, run, run – jump. Run, run, run, run – jump.”

My beloved Villa didn’t do too good today losing out to Manchester City, one of the few teams I actually loathe. But…

The really, really, really big sporting occasion of my weekend, however, was seeing my son’s hurling team reach the finals of their P7 championship. Played in Cushendall on a bright sunny morning, with views of Ailsa Craig and Scotland in the background, the setting was pretty much perfect. Unfortunately, they lost the final but they managed to capture a couple of big scalps along the way. And my boy scored two goals. So he was happy.

We celebrated by going to the shop and buying the kids ice cream before we hit the road. Then, in the car, Dusty Springfield’s Son of a Preacherman popped up on the radio on the way home. For some reason, one of the kids knew all the words. So the rest all joined in with him as best they could and then they sang it over and over and over again as we drove back to Belfast.

Stuff like that you just can’t plan.

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.

Just listened to the new Springsteen album

Ok, so it’s not out yet, but I just listened to 30-second snippets from all the tracks on the new Bruce release Magic. This was courtesy of a link sent by Kyle Mayne in reply to my earlier blog about the Boss in Belfast. I know it’s impossible to judge anything in this way but I think it’s safe to say that Bruce doesn’t break any new ground here. Check it for yourself:

http://kylemayne.com/2007/09/02/listen-to-magic-now/

Thanks Kyle. Hope you enjoy the show.

The honeymoon’s over

According to The Belfast Telegraph on Saturday, the honeymoon between Paisley and McGuinness is over. Apparently, the sight of the love-ins and laugh-ins that the two men shared were just too much for everyone – diehard provies and stalwart DUP members in particular. Not to mention the rest of us gullible sods who have had to put up with the sight of nearly 40 years being laughed off overnight. So the word is out to the First Minister and Deputy First Minister from their own grassrooters – get a grip of yersel’s.

Bruce Springsteen in Belfast

I was excited last week to hear that Bruce is to play Belfast later this year. I believe he included Belfast in his schedule as a last minute tribute to local promoter Jim Aiken who passed on recently.

As the weekend progressed, though, I’m less excited at the news. And this comes from someone who has long worshipped the ground the Boss has walked on and has seen him in his prime.

Why? Well I heard the new single the other day and I thought it was a dull, blustery big stadium type of thing with Bruce doing his ‘new voice’ – a ‘new voice’ that has grown a bit irritating over the last few albums. The thing is, it’s not his voice. He’s borrowed it from somewhere and forgotten to give it back. At least when Dylan recorded Nashville Skyline in a strange voice – Lay Lady Lay in particular – he had the decency to revert to type pretty pronto. Bruce was better when he had his own voice and and told his own stories and wasn’t concerned with being Woody Guthrie. Only Uncle Bob is allowed to do that.

And the appeal of the E Streeters has waned a lot too. Miami Steve is now just that crap actor from The Sopranos. And Clarence – well, rock and roll saxophone doesn’t do it for me any more.

When the Stones played Slane a few weeks back I thought, these guys need to spend more time sorting out their tax and leave the stage to younger bands. Maybe the E Streeters need to do the same.

Bottom line, much as I fit the Dad Rock demographic, I prefer going out to see a younger band. Apart from Uncle Bob. Because if Dylan plays anywhere remotely close, I’ll be there.

Oh, and if James Murphy of LCD Sound System is out there reading this, it’s great to see you’re playing Dublin. But please organise a visit to Belfast on your next tour. I’ll be the old bald guy in the corner at the back.

Andy Kershaw

I notice quite a few hits today on a previous blog of mine about Andy Kershaw. Noticed in the Observer earlier that he was arrested in the Isle of Man recently in connection with breaking a domestic barring order of some sort. Hope he gets back on the radio soon as he epitomises some of the things I love – great music, loads of travel, and quite fearless and independent reporting.

You can tell it’s September – I haven’t got a ticket for the all-Ireland hurling final

Today the men of Kilkenny take on underdogs Limerick in the all-Ireland final. For the past two weeks, I’ve been pleading with people and dropping hints in an effort to find a couple of tickets. It almost paid off on Friday night when I got an offer of one ticket. But I really want to take my son, so I had to decline. So at 3.30 today you’ll find me in front of the TV for the climax of what has been an utterly fantastic year of hurling. The only shame is that Waterford didn’t make it through.

It would have been nice to see Dan ‘The Man’ Shanahan and his mates line up for a final after their heroic efforts all year.

You can tell it’s September – I’m thinking of a night class

This whole September attitude is starting to do my head in.

Currently, I sort of think I really should do a night class of some sort. My friend does a different one each year – bricklaying, car maintenance, watercolours, animal husbandry or some such. It’s why he’s such a well-rounded person.

Me, I’m tempted to learn Arabic or do accounting for business. But I know I probably won’t.

Listening to…

As I grow older it’s noticeable that my tastes lean to younger music. When the whole CD revolution began, I was keen to buy all the CD versions of my vinyl collection. I did buy some but realised that I was missing out on so much good new stuff. So – still too easily persuaded by late night DJs - here is a handful of some things I’ve bought over the  past while:

• Hope, by Foy Vance
• Oppenheimer, by Oppenheimer
• War Stories, by Unkle
• Puzzle, by Biffy Clyro
• Thirst for Romance, by Cherry Ghost

The first two are local. Foy Vance is a hugely thoughtful singer from Bangor. He’s playing a week’s residency in Belfast currently but is Sold Out. Catch his blog at www.foyvance.com/blog

Oppenheimer are from Belfast. Rocky O’Reilly of the band tells me things are really taking off. They had a track performed on the last Ugly Betty series and are currently practising material for their next album. They really are infectiously catchy.

New era in Northern Ireland: reminiscing about the old days

The above is doing the email rounds at the moment.

McGuinness: “So I shot him.”

Paisley: “Har, har, har, har.”

Or words to that effect.

U2 paint a history of rock n roll

For anyone who hasn’t seen it, please check out this slice of brilliance from director Gary Koepke. Apparently it involved 20 people on the editing side for over four months. Time well spent, I say.

For what died the sons of Roisin?

I’ve been very busy work-wise so it seems I’ve more than a little catching up to do blog-wise. So these are some of the things that struck me over the last while:

Let’s start with The Famous Northern Ireland Peace Process: Shortly after my last entry, the auspicious day arose, the day when Ian Paisley and Martin McGuinness came together to jointly take up the reins of First Minister and Deputy First Minister. For me, the most telling image on TV was that of old Mr Paisley of the DUP turning to shuffle back through the front door of Stormont while young Martin McGuinness of IRA/Sinn Fein gently laid a guiding and – massively – patronising hand on his back.

That annoyed me somewhat. Not just because it was a hypocritical piece of body language, but mainly because we went through a period of three and a half thousand dead to get to this stage of patting each other on the back.

Let’s face it, if this is where everyone wants to be, why did we not – for example – accept the Hume-SDLP vision much sooner? Because that’s what we now have, albeit packaged with significantly more pizazz. And that’s why the prospect of smiling photo-calls with beaming SF and DUP MLAs now annoys me. Not because of the power of their mandate, but because they’ve both callously switched the ‘Process’ on and off in the past.

Noticed a death anniversary notice in the local paper for an IRA man. Standing proudly by the words Oglaigh na hEireann were those other famous Republican words: You’ll Never Walk Alone. And instead of an Easter lily or some such iconic Republican graphic, was the gleaming crest of Liverpool Football Club.

Like Luke Kelly sang long ago, For What died the Sons of Roisin?

Carnival mood, smoke-free bars – could Belfast be getting better?

I come from Fermangh and despite the fact that I have lived in Belfast for about 30 years, I think I have always done so somewhat begrudgingly. It has meant that I have never given my all to the city. Indeed, I have always made determined efforts to escape it whenever possible – Fermanagh, Donegal, wherever.

But could I be changing? Am I mellowing, embracing the city a little more? I actually think I am and here are two instances when I felt a little more pride at being part of the city.

The first was on Tuesday night when we working on an edit until after midnight in a city-centre studio. Editing is a very slow process and there were frequent trips to the window to look out on the Donegall Square below. It was a warm evening and for the first time I had to admit that I could have been looking down on a Paris or Amsterdam scene: couples lazily walking hand in hand well after dark, people sipping beer at tables outside the hotel below us and a general feeling of ease and contentment.

The second was when I left work this evening in the Cathedral Quarter and felt a palpable buzz of excitement about the opening of the Quarter’s Arts Festival. I took the pic above as I rushed home, sorry that I couldn’t hang around and take a little more of it in.

I realise that this is only a snapshot but I’d like to be right about the mood change in the city. Maybe it’ll be tested come the weekend and the rain that’s forecast – then it’ll be back to dreary old Belfast again for a night. But I do hope that this new spirit won’t be dampened for very long.

Willie the rebel

Willie the smoothie

*Duet with Lee Ann Womack