Tom Dunne's Music & Me: A visit to Philomena Lynott and the thrill of leafing through Phil's record collection
The late Philomena Lynott with the statue of her her son, Phil Lynott, in Dublin. Picture: Sam Boal/RollingNews
I didn’t know Phil, but I did know his mother. That might sound like a line from the Fast Show’s Swiss Toni, and it isn’t, but it is a crumb that has kept me going on many a dark night. I did see the man himself on Grafton Street: a seven foot tall, stick thin, superstar with - it seemed - a super trooper shining on him from a cloud. It was him, or an actual god!
Meeting Philomena you could see where he got it from. She was a tonic, a live wire, full of devilment and fun. Showing me Thin Lizzy photos I spotted one of a back stage party in LA, Phil with his arm around a beautiful girl.
“Who’s she?” I asked.
“That’s me!” she beamed, delighted.
She was very young when she had Phil, so, when she started to join them on tours and junkets she was more like a wild sister than his mother. She’d had a hard enough life so when her son opened the door to this world of fame and travel it was an opportunity not to be missed.
We bonded through Phil’s record collection. I’d heard an uncle had gifted him albums from a young age and wondered if they might still be about. A call to Philomena revealed that they and his entire collection was safe and sound in her front room in Sutton. “Come out!” she said. A cake was bought, a visit planned.
The house was a shrine to Phil. His personal jukebox, hand written lyrics, gifts from fans, promotional Thin Lizzy items and there, in the corner, perfectly preserved, his actual album collection, spanning the mid 1960s to his death in 1986. Records last played by Phil himself, the occasional fingerprint still visible!
My hands shook going through them. There were many records gifted to him by the bands who had played with Lizzy on tour – The Radiators, Graham Parker and Huey Lewis. Plus there were just records he’d loved: Bowie, The Runaways, Queen and lots of punk.
It was all mint, because, above all else, Phil was a music fan first, a rock god second.
Over tea and cake Philomena explained that Phil had treasured his records, keeping them safe through moving flats, relationship break ups and late night parties. Now they just sat on shelves, as if awaiting their master’s return and a new party to break out at any moment.
The Lizzy stuff floored me. Picture disks of Solo In Soho, Phil’s own copy of Jailbreak and, astonishingly, the test pressings of Live and Dangerous. Enclosed in white sleeves it even had hand written notes from producer Tony Visconti wishing “Phil, Caroline and the girls”, a “very happy Christmas”.
Philomena had by this point produced a small suitcase, a present from Phil. It opened up into a tiny drum kit which she proceeded to play a song on, singing out at the top of her lungs. I joined her on the couch. She offered me a drink. “He’s very handsome isn’t he?” she said to her nephew. It felt like being in a nightclub and yes, I was flirting with Phil’s mum.
I was reminded of all this- that almost intrusive intimacy - by the new Thin Lizzy boxset recently issued by Universal. It’s a treasure trove of a band on the brink of world fame, a band then routinely described by John Peel, introducing them at festivals, as “the best band you will see this weekend”. The sense of the band it captures, the poetry, the rocking, the fun is simple fantastic.
The outtakes glitter: RTÉ and BBC radio sessions – with their wonderful hushed intros- and the demo versions of tracks like The Boys are Back in Town with numerous extra verses. There are also reproduced tour programs, with biographies of the support acts (Clover, later Elvis Costello’s band on his debut) and ads, wonderfully dated, of '70s music systems.
Incredibly, Philomena allowed me to borrow Phil’s records. But at home, opening one album I spied the words “Caroline Crowder, Christmas 1973”, written in the corner. It suddenly felt just a little too intrusive. “This is personal and private,” I thought, “I have no right.” I returned them the next day. With Philomena insisting I come back soon and bring my daughters, this time. “They can play the drums!” she said.
Sadly we never made it back and she died in June of last year. I still wonder however, where are those records now?
