Judas

Last night I watched two hours of home movie footage. It wasn't of some gurgling baby, an under 10 football match or unbearable wedding ceremony. It was the home movies of Mickey Jones from Bob Dylan's 1966 World Tour. Mickey was the drummer in Dylan's band at the time and he carried an 8mm camera that he used to record pretty much everything, it seems. Mickey narrated all the shots filling us in on the locations, the context and the personnel. It was fucking brilliant. I would rather boil my head than look at two whole hours of someone's home movie footage, but not Mickey Jones's. Mickey can show me his anytime.

Which leads to the most famous heckle in history. I listened carefully to Mickey give his account of the "Judas" shout at the Manchester Free Trade Hall on that very same world tour and wondered where is the heckler now. What's he doing right now and has any documentary film maker, such as Joel Gilbert,  ever tried to track him down? He couldn't have known the impact his yell would have, that we would still be discussing it forty six years later. One shout which lasted a second all those years ago. I'd love to know what became of him, whether he still feels the same at this remove, has he ever warmed to Dylan's electric stuff in the intervening years? It would be a great, great programme. I think it would be right up the alley of the fella who produced Searching for Sugarman and Man on Wire.

I hereby call on him to get the ball rolling. Otherwise I'll have a crack myself.   

Katrina's Fair

A wee reminder of the greatness that was 10 000 Maniacs

Thatcher

http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2013/apr/09/russell-brand-margaret-thatcher

A quite brilliant piece from Russell Brand; Margaret Thatcher in two thousand words.

Public Service Broadcasting

So the sky fell in the other day out in RTE when the Pope resigned. It was decided that of all the big breaking news we have had recently this was the biggest and most deserving of the mobilization of the big breaking news machinery of Montrose.

So we had Ronan Collins cut short to allow Sean O’ Rourke on the News at One to do his thang for half an hour longer than usual. We had an emergency convening of the Prime Time team to knock out a suitably solemn analysis of the erstwhile pontiff and his possible successors. We had every religious affairs journalist this side of the Mississippi and their spiritual leader Patsy Mc Garry loitering in the halls of Montrose waiting for their chance, which inevitably came. We had theologians and academics of all shapes and sizes to decode the complex information for us, to make sense of this landmark moment. A landmark moment in the mind of some RTE executive.

A moment of utter insignificance to the rest of us.

We have had actual moments of significance recently, a couple of them. We have had tragic events which triggered the re emergence of abortion onto the national and international stage, we have had a debt deal done with the European Central Bank.

Ronan got to play his full hour of easy listening on those days and the sub standard midweek movies, The Break Up and Dinner with Schmucks went out as scheduled.

RTE; It's comfy behind the curve.

The Little Engine That Could

The largest Nu Luk (I know; gas) store in the world is in the Jervis Centre in Dublin. I heard this on the radio and as long as I live I will never forget the flood of pride that instantly assailed me. What a great day to be Irish I thought; the largest imposed per capita national debt AND Nu Luk store in the world.

There’s just no stopping Paddy right now.

Top Of The Sliabh

My ten year old came to me proudly the other night and proclaimed “Chuaigh Siobhán agus Seán go dtí an baile mór ag siopadóireacht”. “Great stuff” I said, “have a seat; there’s something you need to know.”

So I poured him a glass of Sprite, let him at the last handful of Quality Street and explained that that’s as good as it gets as far as the ‘aul Gaeilge is concerned. That the standard of his conversational capabilities will not improve one shred in the remaining seven years of his formal education.

That yes, he can contemplate having conversations in Irish when he leaves school but to make sure that they revolve around shopping excursions to the big town or if that is not appropriate he could perhaps look into the possibility of steering the dialogue in the direction of a description of a particularly appetising piece of sweet cake he has recently consumed. Meaningful conversation as Gaelige beyond these two core areas does not exist.

I told him he could relax, that it was one of our great traditions to reach the zenith of Irish at the age of ten. But I will be in the system for a long time yet he protested, surely I could learn more. Under no circumstances I replied. You can do no more; you have reached the Promised Land. Put your feet up, you’ve earned a rest.

“No slí” he says. “Slí” says I.

Irish Folk Furniture

A short film on furniture repair and recycling in rural Ireland.