Date:  2007 Author:  Webteam  Location:        Bulletin:  Hello everyone, Mike has moved his diaries to the Waterboys' myspace page. Visit www.myspace.com/mikescottwaterboys and click on the 'blogs' section to read the many recent instalments beginning in Summer 2006 and continuing to the present. For Steve's blogs, visit www.myspace.com/mikescottwaterboys and click on 'Steve' in the Waterboys Top Friends' list. Happy reading! Waterboys Web Team     Date:  5th May 2006 Author:  Mike Scott  Location: Copenhagen       Bulletin:  It's late at night, several hours after our show in Copenhagen and I'm just about to go to bed. We're staying in a good hotel, but it is rather old and in my room the floor slopes downward from one wall to the other - a bit like walking on a ship's deck. Consequently the bed slopes too, from left to right - quite considerably. I try lying down on it and it's uncomfortable in a sort of starts-out-ok-but-then-gets-sore kind of a way. My body will spend all night compensating for the slope when it should be gathering energy for our next onstage explosion (in Utrecht, Holland, two days hence). The solution is to find something to put under the bed's legs on the lower side to even it up. I hunt around my room looking for something usable. Of course I need two items of exactly the same size - one for each leg - otherwise the bed will slope end to end. Then I have it! I need the bible - there's always one of these in a hotel room. I dig around the various drawers in the hotel furniture and here it is, sitting humbly in a shallow drawer under the table, waiting for a needy soul. That's me tonight.   It's one of those Gideon's bibles, so ever-present in hotel rooms, with a black leather-type cover, bearing the gold title 'Det Nye Testamente' (you guessed it - 'The New Testament' in Danish). It's about an inch thick - or just under. A handily chunky little book. I lift up the bed and slide it under the leg at the bottom end. It looks like it's going to work; yes, when it's in place the end of the bed looks perfectly level. So now I need another book of the same size. I rummage in my bag and dig out 'Souvenirs' by that most paganistic of American authors, the excellent John Crowley. It's a book of his short stories that I've recently finished, which happens to be of exactly the same size and bulk as the Gideon's bible. It goes under the far bedleg, up by the headboard, lift up the bed, stick the book under, let it down again and.... presto - it's done. I have a level bed. My back and neck will get the rest they deserve, thanks to the good offices of the Gideons and John Crowley.     Date:  May day Author:  Steve  Location: Stockholm       Bulletin:  A mighty gig in the Rockefeller, Oslo! The club was celebrating 20 years on the go. I remember playing here back in 1989. Mike said, "Let's do "Happy Birthday"". We all changed instruments. Steve Walters was on drums, Rich on bass, Carlos and Mike on keys, Martin, our great guitar tech on mando and I was on electric guitar. Mighty fun ! Askil Holm arrived onstage later for a stunning version of "How Long Will I Love You", a trio with Mike and Rich. There is a loud May Day protest outside our hotel in Stockholm and despite the loud drums and singing it is all very well behaved ! I am digging a Thelonious Monk record a friend gave me: "Live at the Olympia" (Paris). Yesterday I met Jorn and Magnus from the CC Cowboys, a Norwegian band on the flight to Sweden. They asked if I would come in to the studio in Stockholm to record on their album, later the same day. Carpe diem! Indeed, I went to Decibel Studios in Stockholm and played some fiddle on a track of theirs called 'Spielemann'- their song about a wandering minstrel. A great rocker ! A special way to enjoy the day off.     Date:  1st May 2006 Author:  Mike Scott  Location: Stockholm       Bulletin:  We're two shows into our short Spring European tour and all is well. Steve met a couple of fellows from Norwegian band CC Cowboys on the plane from Oslo and got roped into doing a session for them last night in a Stockholm studio, playing fiddle on a track from their forthcoming album. Meanwhile my new Norwegian friend Askil Holm, who sang and played with us onstage in Oslo, is sending me MP3s of his new album for my feedback, and a German band called Planeausters has just MP3'd me their version of 'Red Army Blues'. Suddenly I feel warmly surrounded by the international brotherhood of musicians, and blessed by the wonders of broadband that make sending sound files across the ethers so easy and fun. And talking of covers of Waterboys songs, I put some of my favourites on a CD for our soundman to play after show. This includes the amazing gay disco version of 'Whole Of The Moon' and Great Aunt Ida's 'Fisherman's Blues'.     Date:  18th Apil 2006 Author:  Steve  Location: Sligo       Bulletin:  14 April I'm just back from a few days away playing in Greece. While waiting at the baggage area in Athens airport, I played a few tunes to say,"Hello" to the great Greek muse. We quickly learned that Arcadian time moves a lot differently to Irish time. In fact it moves a lot slower. Our first gig in the Gargarin club in Athens was a steamer!    "Be My Enemy" came into the set at the last minute. Mike turned to me in mid-song as I was going into a fiddle solo and mischievously cried, "Oi ! That's my solo." We rose very early in the morning to catch the plane to Thessaloniki. Again we were on slow time and waited an hour for the lift to the airport. We bustled through an amazing seaside town with its decaying splendour and colourful markets. With a little time before soundcheck I rambled into town to buy some worry beads. Like prayer beads, they nestle in the hands of worried men, slipping around and gently flicking away in their hand. As I awaited my taxi into town I am sure I sat beside a modern Socrates and his mates as they discussed matters.He was still there, ruminating and worrying hours later. The show in Thessaloniki was special. The audience was fired up and singing along, knowing all the words to many of the songs. We were lifted by the spirits- myself and Steve Walters both hurling ourselves higher during a stormy "Medicine Bow". In the early morning before leaving Thessaloniki, Elias, our newfound Greek friend, brought Mike, Richard and I to a bouzouki shop. We arrived at a very respectable bouzouki luthier in the centre of town. Around the walls, housed in glass cases, were beautiful handcrafted Arcadian instruments. We were being filmed for TV, and this charged the atmosphere a little. I asked to be shown some mandolins. Two beautiful big-bellied mandolins arrived for our inspection. One of these was obviously possessed of a unique plaintive voice. I made an offer to buy it, mentally working out what I could afford to spend on what would be my third mandolin. The merchant immediately said "no" (in Greek) to my offer. I overheard stifled chuckles from all assembled. I played the mandolin a while longer. Finally, Mike made a more reasonable offer and before long we were hurrying to the airport, mandolin in hand. Punctual Parsons, our tour manager, was on the phone a little anxious at our tardiness. Tunes again in the airport, this time for tv crew, as well as the muses of course. The new mandolin resplendent while a statue of Alexander The Great looked on unmoved.     Date:  5 th Feb Author:  Steve  Location: Sligo       Bulletin:  Jan 26th - Feb 3rd I am just back home from a great tour with The Waterboys. It was wonderful to play with Carlos Hercules and Steve Walters again and of course with Mike and Richard also. We made some great music up and down the UK, starting out in Coventry's Warwick Arts Centre and finishing in Shepherds Bush Empire in London. The "Karma to Burn" tour was a roller coaster ride through some beautiful concert halls filled to the rafters with terrific fans. I struggled a little with my new in ear monitoring system but Martin on the monitors soon ironed out the problems. In ear‚ monitoring allows me to keep the live on stage sound down to healthy levels. It was a big thrill to play some old trusted Waterboys songs again. Songs like "Red Army Blues", "Killing My Heart", "When Will We Be Married?" and "Let It Happen". We had some fun after show sessions too. On tour with us were the great Thea Gilmore and Nigel Stonier. I was really swept away with Thea's version of the Buzzcocks‚ "Love Someone". We enjoyed a couple of great hotel jams. After a gig I don't always have much left in me to make more music however, being on the road with Thea and Nigel was inspirational and gave me more energy than usual. At one of our sessions Thea sang a wonderful version of "Brother Can You Spare A Dime?" and Mike sang a great "Your Cheating Heart" by Hank Williams. I sang my song, "Pascal" to good applause. The conversations on our long bus journeys were eye opening and kept us going through the long miles. Our debate subjects ranged from the death penalty and racism, to married life and children. We watched some good movies on the tour bus as well. Including "Ordinary Decent Criminal", set in Dublin, I saw lots of familiar faces, including a fellow I was in school with, Conor Mullen. Just after our debate on capital punishment Steve, Carlos and myself watched "The Life Of David Gale" with an admirable performance by Kevin Spacey and a weighty story too, in my humble opinion. "Radio" was another great film screened on the bus about a young retarded kid in Virginia. My friend Chuck Brodsky actually knew the kid in the film and wrote a fantastic song for the soundtrack. Our Tour manager the great "Punctual" Jim Parsons, whom we discovered was a head boy in school, had a little sign made up outside our little bus cinema with titles and screening times. We always seem to run in a parallel line to the crew. They drive through the night after the show and are set up and ready before we arrive in the next town, arriving at least a good few hours before us, if not the day before. Usually the only time I get to chat with them is over meals. The chat is lovely and usually about who has been working with whom, and catching up on each others‚ lives since we last met.This time out the food was excellent. The chef "Dicky" was an artist and we enjoyed exceptional fish dishes and soups, whilst Helen made the flans, cakes and other delights. My trusty books on this journey were, "My Father And Other Working Class Football Heroes" by Gary Imlach (a great book about his father, Stewart Imlach) and Beethoven's Letters, which provided some invaluable insights into life in Vienna in the early 1800s through the eyes of the great master. We also met some old friends along the road and caught up on life in intervening years- old friends, like time-anchors in the harbours of sometimes strange, sometimes familiar, towns.     Date:  Dec 17 2005 Author:  Mike Scott  Location: Scotland       Bulletin:  7 DAYS AND NIGHTS IN DINGLE WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 7 We're playing a short acoustic show for an Irish music TV series called 'Other Voices', filmed in a church in the little town of Dingle, in County Kerry, southwest Ireland. Dingle, or An Daingean Ui Chuise, to give it its real Irish name, is a magical place, a musical hotspot, and an old haunt of mine and Wickham's from the late '80s, in the days of Cooney and Begley and the raggle-taggle Waterboys. It takes a while to get there from Findhorn though, and, with rehearsals to build into the equation, my wife Janette and I set off three days pre-gig. We're due to fly from Inverness to London, London to Dublin and (next morning) Dublin to Kerry, but a deep fog has descended on Inverness airport and we are re-routed the hundred miles to Aberdeen airport in a minibus.   We fly to Heathrow, then on to Dublin, and it is past ten at night when we arrive. As we queue for a taxi outside Dublin airport, I receive a text message from Steve Wickham, to say he is in town to play a radio session with Sharon Shannon the following morning and how are ya?   I text him back and shortly after we check in at our hotel, Steve calls the room to say he's in the bar. Janette and I head down and there he is, our one-man Irish welcoming committee, waving to us across the lobby, his hair growing out of its recent short back'n'sides, some handy sideburns manifesting, and the friendliest eyes in Dublin - and that's saying something. We have a short reunion, because Steve's session starts at 9am next morning. He mercilessly invites me along, but, valuing my hours in the arms of Morpheus, I decline. THURSDAY DECEMBER 8 After a stroll through St Stephen's Green and a quick look at Dublin, Janette and I head off to catch our flight to Kerry. We're due to meet up with Liam O'Maonlai - singer, pianist, old friend and Hothouse Flower - at the airport. Liam is coming with us because our usual keyboard player Richard is committed to playing Ian McNabb's Liverpool Christmas gig. We bump into Liam in the security queue. It's a couple of years since I've seen him, and I've forgotten how tall he is.   He's dressed bohemian, sports a woolly hat, and carries a venerable looking bodhran in one hand. An hour later we step off the plane, and as we walk across the runway in the Kerry wind Liam points out the actor who plays Father Jack in 'Father Ted', who has been on the plane with us, a few paces ahead. Bags collected - and we are not travelling light - we meet our contact from the TV show, a smiling lady called Dolores, who packs us into her red minibus with a lot of cheery talk, puts her foot on the gas, and away we go. At first we drive through green, narrow country roads, but soon, as we reach the beginnings of the Dingle peninsula, the way becomes more dramatic. The headwaters of Dingle Bay - a thirty mile stretch of sea separating the Dingle and Iveragh pensinsulas - appear on our left, with vague, mist-clouded hills beyond. And above us on our right is the brooding hulk of the Slieve Mish mountains. Soon we reach Insch, with its great beach and sand dunes, where some of 'Ryan's Daughter' was filmed, and the mountains of Iveragh, mist rising to reveal vast flanks of rock, begin to look not just dramatic but mythical. Then the road signs begin to appear only in Irish, for we have entered the Gaeltacht, the Irish speaking region. Dolores and Liam, who both speak Irish, explain the meanings of the place names as we go. The light is changing too; hard to say exactly how, but it is changing subtly, as if we're entering another dreamspace or consciousness or energy field - one that is at once both ancient and full of presence. The road turns slightly inland and soon the signal hill above Dingle town appears, with its one-armed tower. From this angle it looks rather like Glastonbury Tor. A few more miles and the road tumbles down into Dingle itself. To our left there are cows on the beach, where farmland runs right down to the harbour. To our left are little bright coloured houses and shops. Ahead of us are the roofs of town, and the great tower of the church in the centre, and the most dramatic backdrop of mountains all around. It's like stepping the set of a play, and I know what's ahead: music, music, friends, craic, fun, music, music and more music. An hour or so after checking in, Liam and I have our first rehearsal in my hotel room. The TV show is called 'Other Voices', and is filmed annually in Dingle. This year it comprises 8 nightly concerts, each featuring four bands or artists, all filmed in St James' Church, handily located across the street from our hotel, the excellent Benner's. The TV crew have delivered an electric piano to the room, and Liam and I knuckle down to an hour or so of exploring 'Peace Of Iona', 'Open' and 'The Return Of Jimi Hendrix'. In the evening Janette, Liam and I stroll down the street, smelling the ever-present turf smoke which is so much part of the atmosphere of the west of Ireland, and dine together at a very good restaurant (The Old Smokehouse), and then go for a long walk in a light rainfall, out of town by the high back road, down again to the head of Dingle Harbour, and back into town along the harbourfront. FRIDAY DECEMBER 9 Devils for work that we are, Liam and I have another rehearsal in late morning, and afterwards I go for a stroll on my own, checking out a great bookshop I remember from my last visit here, fifteen years ago. Yes, it's still here: Cafe Liteartha, with its signature mural of a cultural looking old chap reading a newspaper, on the outside wall. Inside is a world of Irish books, many in Irish; heaven for browsers and bookworms. I buy 'Climbing Brandon' by Chet Raymo (an American resident of the peninsula that no one I speak to during the whole week seems to have met or heard of), and nip through to the Cafe section at the back for a cappucino and a read. In mid afternoon Wickham arrives, with wife Heidi and son Tom, having completed a gruelling six hour drive from Sligo. After a rest he joins Liam and me in my room for rehearsal number three.   We're sounding good, and when Liam tries bodhran on 'Bring 'Em All In', Steve finds a new reel-style fiddle part, and the song morphs into a funky-earthy groove that delights the three of us. In the evening we go and watch Irish band The Walls play their show for 'Other Voices', which is great fun. The lads look very rock and roll, and perform splendidly. As we leave, Steve and I hear Kerry-style accordion ('box' as everyone calls it here) drifting down the street. It's coming from the music bar An Droichead Beug (the small bridge) at the end of the street. We go in and dig the sounds of a couple of young guys playing box and guitar. Our cup runneth over when they play 'The Kings Of Kerry', a tune Steve and I wrote with Sharon Shannon. Yup, we are part of this tradition too! SATURDAY DECEMBER 10 Gig day arrives, and we are full-on. Our tour manager, Punctual Parsons has flown in, and we have a soundcheck at 11.30 in St James' Church. I've woken up with a stiff neck - probably pre-show nerves - and Other Voices producer, an old friend from my Dublin days, Philip King, organises a massage for me. So after soundcheck and a hastily eaten lunch of seafood at Ashe's pub, I'm off up to my room, lying face down, getting my neck and shoulders contorted, squeezed and harassed by a helpful massage lady. Next is a brief nap, then it's back to Ashe's for an interview (to be used in the TV show) and a bit of a song for the cameras with Steve. Then - devils for work, as I say - back to my hotel room for rehearsal number four, at which we fine tune the set. We're not on stage till 10.15, and our make-up call ain't till 9.30 so there is plenty time to kill in the early evening. I spent most of it lying down on the bed, resting my neck and running over and over the story I plan to tell during the outro of 'Sweet Thing'. It's one I've never told on stage before, and in the theatre of my mind, I perform it at least 4 times to kick out the creases and get it properly into shape. Shortly before make-up call I have a shave and notice my face looking back at me in the mirror. There's a difference, a something, a kind of cat-like expression of character looking back at me and I know what it is: it's the personality and spirit of this part of Ireland expressing itself through me. And why not? I'm at home here, open to whatever this magical landscape and its cultural atmosphere will bring, ready and willing to swing with whatever wants to happen. Even so, I'm hardly prepared for all that turns out to be ahead. Punctual Parsons ushers us over for the show. He leads us through the Church to the little backstage area. The pews are full of around 70 or 80 punters, and Jose Gonzalez has just played - successfully too, as he tells us. Then we're out, up and onstage ourselves. Irish DJ John Kelly is introducing us and - sprang ! - I'm pealing out the opening chords to 'Sweet Thing', and not just that, but I'm on fire. It's been four months since I played in front of an audience and as I do so now, the power comes back to me. It seems to be coming back to Steve too, because he's playing a blinder next to me. And Liam, to my right, is swaying trancelike over the keys, drawing rippling lines and thundering bass chords. Yes, this is what we were born for ! I tell my story, all about how Steve and I found the tune called 'Dunford's Fancy'. It's a long tale, fairly tall, and in case they show it on the TV broadcast (late January I'm told), I won't spoil it by telling it again here. Then the songs follow on - 'Peace Of Iona', 'Bring 'Em All', 'Open', 'Return of Jimi' with Steve falling to his knees as he plays his fuzz fiddle solo, and a final 'Saints And Angels'. Backstage I'm drenched with sweat and make the mistake of taking my shirt off. I haven't brought another one across with me, so I'll have to put it on again all damp. Ugh. But I forget all about this when a familiar voice says 'Oh you hairy hoors!", and I turn to find the great Seamus Begley, our old friend from this part of Ireland, standing in front of me. It isn't just great to see Seamus, it's wonderful. He is one of my all-time favourite people and musicians, and my all-time favourite singer. He knows Liam and Steve well too, and we have a cheerful reunion. 'That was full of music' says Seamus - praise indeed. Janette solves my shirt problem by arriving with a spare, and we all go back to Benner's where a mighty post-gig hoolie is revving up in the bar and spilling out into the lobby and stairwells. We're surrounded by well-wishers, friends and familiar faces. Here's Seamus' lovely wife Mary, who I haven't seen since 1990, and son Eoin, now a handsome fellow in his early twenties. Here are Diarmaid and Denise. Here's Mazz Flaherty. And here's....and here's....Meanwhile, Seamus being Seamus, the box is soon produced, and Steve being Steve, so is the fiddle. I bring down my guitar, Liam brings out the bodhran, and soon the reels, hornpipes and jigs are flowing like a merry river, and a crowd has gathered round us. We're then joined by Donogh Hennessey, who was guitarist with Sharon Shannon for several years before forming Lunasa with Trevor Hutchinson. Now he lives in Dingle and makes music with his wife, the singer Pauline Scanlon. He cracks open his guitar case, sets the beast on his knee and adds his rippling playing to our sound. I'm glad to see him, not just because he's an ace player, but because he is the guy who knows all the chords to the tunes, and I hungrily watch his fingers for clues. Meanwhile Liam and Seamus are trading songs in Irish. Liam's singing is earthy, urgent and soulful and strikes me as a magnificent kind of gaelic world music, both trad and contemporary at once. Seamus's singing is sweet, pastoral, kingly, rich with an older, celtic order; the music of old chieftains, maintaining an ancient lineage of song and lore. And there's more...here comes Charlie O'Connor, fiddler and mandoman with legendary Irish band Horslips, who will play their own gig in a couple of days. He also happens to be Steve's musical hero and formative influence, from whom Steve bought his first electric fiddle and mandolin. Tonight Charlie is playing mando, sitting next to Steve, their heads together as they lock melodies. Things are hotting up, but around 2am Janette and I are tired and say our goodnights. I hear the following day that the session goes on till 5am. SUNDAY DECEMBER 11 His job completed, Punctual Parsons leaves early and, his job successfully and quite heroically executed too, Liam catches the Dublin flight around lunchtime. Meanwhile Steve, Heidi and Tom are off in a boat to see Fungi, the Dingle Dolphin, while Janette and I go on a long walk. We have a loose arrangement to meet Seamus in the evening for 'a few tunes' (traditional musicians' euphemism for a sustained blast of several hours blistering musical mayhem-making), but we don't know where it's going to happen. In the early evening then, Seamus, who like most Irish trad musicians uses text messages all the time, texts to say 'Droichead Beug, 9.30'. Janette and I walk into the Droichead to find Steve and Seamus already playing, backed by Jim Murray, another crack guitarist and Seamus' usual musical partner. There's a space for me alongside Steve, and in a few seconds, we're all playing 'The Britches Full Of Stitches' together. The four of us are in a semi-circle in the 'music corner' of the bar, and unusually for a session, we're playing amplified, using the bar's little sound system. At first it's strange to hear the music both acoustically and from speakers across the floor, but soon I get used to it, and, just like last night, the tunes and songs are flying out fast and furious as a crowd gathers. I'm in the mood for singing and try out a few songs I don't often sing at sessions. These are the Stones' 'Dead Flowers', to which Steve plays great country fiddle, and the ultra-old folk song 'Barbara Ellen' (mentioned in Samuel Pepys' diaries, no less, when it was a 17th century new release). Then we're joined by fiddler Cora Smyth, who plays round the world in the Riverdance band, and who likes to play fast, robust and fiery. The music leaps a level as we blast through a set of Kerry slides (like jigs, but faster, more visceral). Tonight's Other Voices concert up the road must have finished because I see lots of the crew arriving into the bar. Word is out, and just as the session heats up to a truly incendiary level, feet stomping on the floor, onlookers whooping and yelling, musicians driving each other into ever-higher stratospheres, roof seriously in danger of lifting off, I notice the guys from the film crew have arrived with their cameras. This usually pours cold-water on a trad session, making the players self-concious and diminishing the atmosphere, but tonight we are too far gone, too high, too on fire to be affected or even notice, and the cameras catch some fabulous music, as hot as it gets. We rip through a stonking 'Star Of Munster' - a classic reel with rock and roll chord changes - and the mischievous 'Japanese Hornpipes' (a Begley specialty). Steve plays a scorching Hungarian tune, and as the liscensing hours and the night draw to a close, Jim Murray plays a naughtily kitsch version of the Irish National Anthem complete with roguishly wrong words from Seamus. The best sessions begin again just when they seem to be finishing, and so it is with this one. As the bar thins out we dispense with the microphones and continue playing purely acoustic. I'm still in a singing mood and we do Dylan's whimsical waltz 'Wallflower', and to my delight a couple start waltzing. Then Steve, Jim and I play 'Girl Of The North Country' and I hear my voice doing things it never did before as Steve's fiddle weaves in and out of my vocal lines. Seamus, who has been off talking to friends, sits down again and I fancy playing what for me is the real Irish national anthem, the great Cork song 'Mo Ghile Mear'. Seamus has always sung this song with great mastery and tenderness. Jim informs me that 'if you play it in the key of A he'll be there', which we do - and he is, singing the verses solo, then leading the whole bar for the chorusses. Justice done, we wind up and arrange to meet the next day. MONDAY DECEMBER 12 Steve and family are leaving today, so Janette and I make the supreme effort and get up for the early breakfast so we can spend a last hour or so with them. After they go we're left feeling lonesome and bereft, but not for long. We're meeting Seamus and Mary Begley for a bite to eat at 1pm at Adams' bar and restaurant on the main street. Mary is there first, followed by Seamus around 1.15, who arrives proclaiming 'I only woke up at five to one!'. During lunch Seamus gets a phone call asking him to film an interview and song for Other Voices at 3pm. He's up for it, but he's dressed in an old track suit top and needs a shirt. We nip over to Benner's and Janette lends him a flowing green velvet shirt. Seamus, as well as being one the finest musicians in Ireland, is a well-built, six-foot-plus Kerry farmer, and Janette's velvet shirt looks fairly incongruous on him, but it'll do fine, and we head back to last night's bar where the filming (and lots of gentle jokes about Seamus' attire) will take place. In the same 'musicians corner' as last night Seamus, Jim and Philip King (guesting on harmonica) are arrayed, ready to perform 'Early Morning Rain'. Seamus has sung this song as long as I've known him, and it's a well-known feature of his repertoire. He asks me to come and sit alongside him 'for atmosphere', and cajoles me into singing some harmonies. 3 takes and we have it. This evening's Other Voices concert features the legendary Irish band Horslips, playing their first show together since 1980. Horslips are one of the original wave of Irish rock bands (along with Thin Lizzy, Rory Gallagher's Taste, and Brush Shiels' Skid Row), and are held in great affection by a certain generation of Irish rock fans. Consequently there is an air of history as tonight's show approaches. Janette and I are thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere as we wait for the band to take the stage. We survey the audience and see lots of middle aged men, some bald as coots, displaying distinctly teenage tendences; whistling, jostling, squirming in their seats with excitement. And when the band eventually come on stage the audience goes buck mental. Horslips, all now in their early fifties, include Irish deejay and rock journalist Eamonn Carr on drums and Saturday night's sessioneer Charlie O'Connor (dapper in a three quarter length pale brown coat and goatee). Lead guitarist and vocalist, Johnny Fean, is a real rock and roll diehard. Keyboard player Jim doubles on flute, like all prog-rock keyboard players should, and bassist Barry is very nervous, his string-picking finger shaking as they play their first number. They play ragged but spirited, and, enhanced by this truly loving, adoring crowd, the Horslips reunion is a very special gig indeed. I'm sorry Steve couldn't see it, because this is his rock and roll past rather than mine, but I resolve to be his eyes and ears, and when Janette and I return to the hotel I send him a long email detailing the gig minutely, and imparting to him the flavour and atmosphere of the event. "I'm there!" he replies by email next morning. TUESDAY DECEMBER 13 Today Janette and I have no fixed plans other than a loose arrangement to make contact with Seamus, but we're determined to get out of Dingle town and explore the peninsula. Neither of us drives, so we book Dolores, who picked us up from the airport a few lifetimes ago, to be our wheels, and in the early afternoon, after lunch at the Goat Street Cafe (hearty organic fare and a creamy capuccino), she picks us up outside Benner's and we head west. We take the road along the south of the peninsula, past the village of Ventry and round the foot of Mount Eagle to Slea Head. Along the way the mountains of Iveragh, to our south, seem to roll infinitely far into the western ocean, and beyond them the two strange Skelligs islands rise out of the sea. It is a clear, bright day, and the landscape - vast - is revealed in all its majestic splendour. As we drive round Slea Head the Blasket Islands appear, and Janette and I step out to shake a leg and walk along Coumeenoule Strand where some more of 'Ryan's Daughter' was filmed back in '69. I'm reminded of a funny story Seamus Begley once told me. During the making of the film Robert Mitchum, the main male star, was driving on a Kerry country road. A farmer was walking his sheep on the road and Mitchum couldn't get past. "Move your sheep!" he called out, and when the farmer didn't, he added "Don't you know who I am? I'm Robert Mitchum!" "You could be Robert Emmet for all I care", came the unsympathetic reply, "I'm not moving my sheep for ye." (*Robert Emmet = Irish revolutionary and patriot of the late 18th century, highly regarded in these parts) Back on the road we cruise past Dunquin, and, beautiful as the scenery has been so far, when the road turns at Clogher Head and the panorama of Mount Brandon and the Three Sisters comes into view, I'm stunned. I've seen this sight before - it's a great secret of the Dingle pensinsula that it's full glory only unfolds when you travel to the back of it - but it almost knocks me down, it's so magnificent. And this is the landscape in the midst of which our friend Seamus lives. Five miles further on then, deep in this tableau, Dolores drops us off at Seamus's house, which stands halfway up a hill leading to sheer cliffs, overlooking the valley and a 'rambling old river' that 'twists through the fields'. For this is the topography described in my 'Song from The End Of The World' on the 'Room To Roam' album. I stayed here for a week in 1989, producing an album by Seamus and his then musical partner, guitarist Steve Cooney. Those were wild times, and as we walk from the car to Seamus's door, I look round the valley and see how much my mental memory of the landscape is faithful to the reality. There to our right, in the far distance, are the Great Blasket and the Tearaght (the 'western rock' - the utter final island off the coast of Ireland). Closer is the vast basin of Smerwick Harbour, with the curling cliff precipices of the Three Sisters above. Ahead is a wall of hills, rising to the back side of Mount Eagle on the right. To the left is the great wall of Mount Brandon, Ireland's second highest mountain. Behind us are the cliffs of Ballydavid, and the open sea beyond. All across the landscape are little white houses, dwarved by the immensity of the grandeur all around. This is a land fit for giants, and I expect Pan, or a tribe of centaurs, or Apollo himself to appear at any moment. Or Seamus Begley. But Seamus isn't home. I call him on the mobile and his cheerful voice tells me "Go in and put the kettle on, I'll get there in ten minutes." And so he does, sitting promptly down at the kitchen table and strapping on the box and starting a tune, which is what you do when you're a gentleman farmer of Kerry and member of a famous musical family. He's brought Dara and Roisin, son and daughter of neighbours Diarmaid and Denise with him, and puckishly straps a box around the shoulders of 2 year old Dara. Seamus's son Eoin appears and as if by magic produces a guitar for me to play. So as the kettle boils, and Seamus, with mysterious sleight of hand manages to fry some chips when we aren't looking, we play tunes while baby Dara makes enthusiastic cacophonous non-music on his box, which is almost as big as him. Then Seamus stands up and says 'Let's get the last of the daylight and go up the mountain', and whisks Janette and I out of the house and into a feral looking landrover. Then we're off, zipping up the country road and turning left into a field, and - with a brief diversion (still in vehicle) to chase one of Seamus' sheep that has strayed into the wrong enclosure - up towards the top of the great hill that overlooks the valley. Mercifully Seamus stops the car well short of the peak and we get out to climb. The back of the hill is all cliffs leading to the sea far below, and he takes us to several leg-melting, head-dizzying precipices, as we go ever higher. We see death-defying walls built by old-time farmers on sheer drops, so as to stop their sheep falling into the sea. Seamus tells us about the wild mountain goats who live on the cliff-faces, and explains how to see them. "Stand still and train your eyes on the cliff for a long time. When you see part of the cliff move, that will be one of the goats." It's getting dark now, and the last red glow of the sun is casting a seriously mythical light on the distant Tearaght as we walk back to the car. I realise just how high up we're parked, and in the fast-closing-in dark, Seamus has to drive yet further up the hill to find a turning place before we can get back down. There is a deep drop to one side, and Janette and I, squashed (comfortably enough it must be said) into the passenger seat, are understandably nervous as Seamus guns the landrover along a semi-existent path ever further upwards along the side of the cliff. But something tells us it is OK, that we are in safe hands, and so we are. The turning point is reached, the drive back downhill, though hairy enough, is short and incident-free, and we come at last back to Seamus's house, for another few cacophonous tunes with baby Dara, before Seamus drives us back into Dingle town. WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 14 It's our last complete day in Dingle, and my birthday too, and Janette and I spend a relaxed time in the cafes and shops. We buy a painting in the Greenlane Gallery, a few books at Cafe Liteartha, and have another organic lunch at the Goat Street Cafe, bumping into fellow diners Donogh Hennessey and Pauline Scanlon. The various Other Voices crew members who we bump into around the town are beginning to look very tired. It's their fifth day of concerts, with another three to go. In fact James Blunt and Rufus and Martha Wainright were playing last night while we were negotiating the mountain tracks of West Kerry, and today is another fresh batch of performers, including Irish sean-nos singer Iarla O'Lionaird, Alabama 3, and the Asian Dub Foundation. I wonder how the ADF like Kerry! In the evening we dine with Seamus back at the Old Smokehouse restaurant. Mary Begley can't join us because she is stage-managing a Christmas panto back in the local village hall, but the three of us have a good time, enjoying fine food, great conversation, and relaxed, easy, deep friendship. And it's almost the end of the adventure, but Seamus and I fancy 'a few last tunes', so we walk up the Dingle main street to a funky pub called Curran's. This is one of those queer only-in-Ireland bars that are part-pub, part-shop, and as we enter, we find several friends waiting for us in the snug. Soon the box appears, I get my guitar out of its case, and we are joined by Iarla O'Lionaird and a young fiddler named Caoimhin (Irish for Kevin and pronouned 'kwee-veen'), who plays a Norwegian Hardanger fiddle (made of pale, decorated wood, and with 5 extra strings which resonate sympathetically, sitar-like). The session starts gently enough, with - sure enough - 'a few tunes', including some with Eoin Begley playing dad's box in his own gentle style.. Then Seamus wants to learn my version of 'Barbara Allen', so at his request I sing it. A few more people arrive, and, though gentler than the week's other sessions, this one in its own way begins to warm up. Donogh Hennessey - the man who knows the chords - arrives, and we step up a gear, lashing, as the trad players say, into several reels and slides. Caoimhin and Seamus are trading tunes and I love the way the bright buttony tones of Seamus's box blend with Caoimhin's lazy, drony, dusty bowing. There's a rumpus at the door of the bar as some unfamiliar figures enter. A tall, gangly chap with glasses and a loud, friendly voice tumbles in. It's Rob, lead singer of Alabama 3, his Other Voices gig finished, and he's looking for fun. Unfortunately it's midnight and the bar has just closed, but that needn't stop us, because Seamus has a word with the barman and we are invited into the house adjoining the bar to the living room where we can drink and play late. A dozen of us gather up our things, step through the back of the bar and into the house behind, where the owner lives. In an old-style parlour, with fireplace, dinner table, and a motley collection of chairs, we sit crammed into a circle, Seamus in the centre with his box, Rob from Alabama 3 like a great good-natured punk stick insect in a chair too small for him. 'Gimme 'Folsom Prison Blues' !' he exclaims, and Donogh and I strike up a rockabilly groove. Rob leads us through Johnny Cash's classic and we all holler the line about 'I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die' at the top of our lungs. Next is a communal 'Lost Highway', which takes us to Hank Williams heaven. Seamus, who probably hasn't played it since the 1989 Waterboys tour, but who has a tape-recorder memory for songs, recalls every word, and then tops it with a superbly deadpan performance of the Marty Robbins gunfighter classic 'Big Iron'. After that there are more tunes and a powerful Irish language song each from Iarla and Seamus, and then Janette and I, who have yet to pack before leaving in the morning, rise to say our farewells and go. However, I'm prevailed upon by everyone to sing a last song 'because it's your birthday', and so I play 'Wild Mountain Thyme/Will Ye Go Lassie' which everyone knows and sings along with. Rob gives us an outragously incongruous but perfect rap in the middle, we all sing one last chorus and then it really is the end - at least for me. Seamus gives Janette and I a massive Kerry bear-hug, full of love, and we head back down the dark Dingle main street with Iarla. It's 1am, cold, not quite deserted, and a black cat crosses our path. The smell of turf is in the air as always, and I can see the shapes of the mountains beyond the town silhouetted in the night. In Benner's lobby the post-gig hoolie is still going, but we pass through - full - and make our way upstairs. THURSDAY DECEMBER 15 It's breakfast on room service this morning because we're still packing. Dolores is due to pick us up at 11, and we have a three hour drive to Shannon Airport, then flights to Gatwick and on to Inverness. We'll arrive in Findhorn at the back of ten 0'clock tonight. At a quarter to eleven we're downstairs settling our bill. Philip King turns up for a last chat, which is dashed courtly of him, and the lobby is full of bustle as cameramen and crew members start the preparations for tonight's show. As I sit in the lobby drinking a cappucino I realise I have no idea who's playing. Out on the street we're putting the cases in Dolores' minbus when Iarla and Coaimhin, our new friends from last night's session, wander up the street towards us. There follows a light but grand reunion, in the special way of musicians on a morning after a magical night before, and we exchange email addresses. Janette and I squeeze into the front seat beside Dolores, she shifts the gear stick, puts her foot on the gas once more, and away we go.     Date:  July 24 2005 Author:  Mike Scott  Location: Killarney       Bulletin:  We have a splendid fry-up in Kenmare...well, not exactly a fry-up, because the little all-day breakfast and cappucino cafe has gone upmarket and is doing restaurant fare, so we have some hearty soup and a main course, while discussing the state of modern radio and other burning matters. We emerge into the Kenmare rain, well-fed and full of mischief. During the ensuing stroll Steve suggests we visit some local standing stones. Richard and I would be interested to see the stones, sure enough, but time is tight, and Steve's promise that it will only take 'half an hour' doesn't convince us in the slightest !   We remember last year's Waterboys daytrip to Kenmare, when Steve (driving) got us gloriously lost somewhere around the Gap of Dunloe. So no standing stones trip this time. Instead we sensibly return to base camp at Killarney and prepare for our soundcheck. The gig is at the INEC. We've played here several times before. It's a grand big barn of a place, with Ali O'Riada (son of the great Irish composer Sean) doing the onstage sound. A black geezer is doing lights and pretty superb they are too. Chris Madden does the outfront mix as always and we challenge ourselves by doing the first ever real live version of "The Stolen Child' since the Tomas Mac Eoin raggle-taggle days of 1989, with me doing singing, reciting and piano, Steve on soulful fiddle and Rich playing a blinder on his flute. Wow ! Next morning Steve and I enjoy a ramble round the streets of Killarney, and meet up with an old friend, Gisela. I buy a kiddies' bodhran for my godson Casper, back in Findhorn. In a gothic gear and fishing tackle shop (I love the odd mixtures of merchandise you get in Irish shops - like shoes and drink in the little pub in Dingle) Steve tries on several armoured helmets, turning into Sir Stevalot. He always looks great in whatever hat he tries, but I can't convince him to buy any of them. Back out on Plunket Street there is a light misty rain falling. We say goodbye to Gisela, jump into Steve's car, and head on our way.     Date:  25 July 2005 Author:  Steve  Location: Sligo       Bulletin:  I had a wonderful time in Killarney, playing what could be the last acoustic show for some time to come. I believe the next shows are to be the full band. On Friday we went to see Adrian Knight, the hypnotist. I have an ongoing bet that I can't be 'put under', so to speak. Mike and Rich were keen to put my bet to the test. Disappointed (phew!), we were too late for the show but we had a great chat with Adrian and his crew afterwards. Mike, Richard and myself had a quick jaunt over the mountains to Kenmare. We were disappointed by the crazy volumes of traffic in the little streets of Kenmare. Alas, we had not enough time to see the standing stones of Neidin.     Date:  01.May.05 Author:  Steve  Location: Brussels       Bulletin:  Dartington Hall, what a great inspiring place to play in! A wonderful 12th century building in amongst the most beautiful gardens in Devon. Dartington Estate is now a college for the performing arts. It is great to be playing music again and discovering some of the new songs. I really enjoyed the show! We recieved so much energy from the audience, I felt lifted, right up to the lofty old oak roof beams. right now I am in Brussels en route to our concert in De Panne later to day.