Country & Irish

Country and Irish
My interests in cultural anthropology have naturally inclined me to an interest in the phenomenon of Country and Irish music. This differs slightly from Country and Western. The latter is firmly rooted in the Protestant work ethic, family values, stand-by-your-man, homophobia, voting Republican etc. The Irish variety is firmly Catholic in its religious underpinnings, conformist, "keep-your-mouth-an'-your-legs-shut-but-your-ears-open" etc. Its political orientation leaned towards the Fianna Fail party but blueshirts were to be found. Its political credo wais anything but revolutionary. It wais committed to the continuation of the establishment, the Status Quo (not the band mind you) and the happiness and contentment of those "whom God had placed above you". It wais also definitely homophobic but at country-and-Irish "dos", i.e. dinner dances and socials, a blind eye was turned to practical lesbianism. Draughty parish halls and other venues may have been distant from the balmy breezes of Lesbos but still Sappho's casted her footsteps, albeit in "sensible shoes", for it was far from uncommon to see women dancing with each other, mainly women of a certain age.

Now one of the well-known exponents of Country-an-Irish [sic] has to be Tom McBride, or as he is known to generations of Irish people, Big Tom. A friend of mine made a film about Big Tom's impact on his native Castleblaney in County Maawnahan [sic again. It must have been yan Brussels Sprouts] called A Happy Kind of Sadness. Two pigs i.e. Gardai siochana were interviewed about how they felt about Big Tom. One said. "Lookad, we have to work in this town." The camera then turned to a number of street urchins eating peanuts or junk food out of packets. Their hair-styles betokened aspirations to membership of some punk band - but remember Cyaaaaaselblayny's about two decades behind the rest of the world. Yet instead of head-butting the interviewer these corner-boys professed themselves to be devotees of Big Tom, assuring himr: "Aw Gawd Aye. Big Tom's de finest musishin' in Blaney." But the Piece de la Resistance was provided by some sixty-somethings who said they were "Big Tom's Ouldest Fans". They'd followed their hero everywhere, including to Camden Town where "a crowd o' six tousind wanted t' see Big Tom an' the chief o' Police in London hadta direct de traffic an' cuntrol de crowth." (Does Osama Bin Laden know about Big Tom I wonder?) "... But dem were de days, when the wimmin dresst like wimmin. Jaysus ya shud've seen the f'roxx tha had on dem." And no doubt the frocks stayed on them.

And that's just it. The message of Country-and-Irish was very clear. You'd never seen a naked woman until your wedding night, by which time it's was too late. There was no divorce so you had her for life. She, of course, has never seen a naked man far less an erect penis. But the old retail philosophy came into play: once you'd broke it you'd bought it, and you were committed to a life-time of struggle and hardship and bringing up a large family that you could hardly feed far less clothe and which were destined to be scattered throughout the face of the earth, because Father McPrick in his comfy presbytery commanded you to do so.

Country and Irish music provided a sound-track to Irish romance for decades. P.J. and Mary decided that they kinda liked one another, sort of. OK she had legs on her like tree trunks and a face tha was interesting, i.e. she wouldn't want to take you by surprise, and he was a bit of a wimp except when he had a few drinks inside him, but he was a different person on the pitch. So they'd start "goin' steady", i.e. attending dances and going to pubs together. But he always left her home. There was no cohabitation. I knew of one couple who were "goin' steady' for fourteen years and then the relationship petered out in the sands. I commented ruefully "What happened. Did they run out of chat?" Chat was the stock-in-trade of discourse between two people who were keeping company. It usually consisted of inquiries about the health of each other's parents, as well as little bits of news e.g. Uncle Mick was coming home from Derby for the Christmas. His son Michael was grown up and he was doin' a line with one who was as black as the ace o' spades - Be the hokey. (By way of a tangential aside I knew a Monaghan girl who was 'doin' a line" with a man from Zimbabwe. Her brother nearly had a fit, until it was explained that he was a white Zimbabwean.) There were also comments about the weather and the impact it might have on the hay. But tha was it. The male retained a wall of silence towards his girlfriend. He was ignorant, or pretended to be, of her womanly needs. It was true he knew she acted "a bit strange" once a month "but sure that's wimmins' tings". As for her she might have longed to say to her boyfriend. "Take me in the back seat of your Ford Cortina. I long for you to push your pulsating prick deep into my anticipating pussy... " but if she had such thoughts they would have been sinful, and she'd have been forced to tell them to the priest who'd have been shocked ... andt intrigued.

Such "hands on the table" romances are becoming rarer in Ireland, even in such God-forsaken holes as Cavan, Monaghan and Leitrim, but the popularity of County-and-Irish is as great as ever. A new generation of performers has come on stream such as the Grannies' heart-throb Daniel O'Donnell or Declan Nurney who seems oddly proud of the fact that he's from a dump of a place called Drumlish. For my part, always being a more discerning chap, I'm off to listen to my CD collection of Kenny Rogers ... Diane if your goin' to do him wrong again, but this could never fitted into the Country and Irish canon. No good Catholic woman would ever do her man wrong. And what's more the only girls called Diane in Ireland are Protestants. I knew two. Really nice they were.