Tom Dunne: Charmed by quirky, original and utterly Corkonian music
In the mid-eighties, Sir Henry's was already legendary. Picture: Luke O'Brien
In Cork, when it comes to music, there is something in the water. It is true now and it was true in the nascent days of punk. As Dublin struggled to have any kind of scene at all Cork had venues, a scene, an actual record – Kaught at the Kampus - and such bands.
Kaught at the Kampus was the hardest thing to take. A vinyl release, it had zeitgeist bands, was put together by someone who from Dublin looked like a mover/shaker all day long, the brilliant Elvera Butler, and rippled with attitude. It suggested the Arcadia in Cork was the place to be. That U2 had found their feet there before Dublin didn’t help our discomfort.
I’d suspected there was something going on in Cork as early as Carnsore Point Festival in 1980. My band, The End, had played its 39th gig on that stage. Now, more or less floating on air, we made our way out front.
A band called Mean Features were onstage. “Cork band,” people muttered, which immediately brought some Rory Gallagher type expectation. This wasn’t that. The band were announcing songs like, ‘What Does the Venus Fly Trap Eat When the Winter Comes,’ ‘Even Gardaí Fall in Love’ and my favourite, a “song about something we all have”: ‘The Roches Stores Bag’. Many of the audience were nonplussed. We were spellbound. The singer was Mick Lynch later of Stump and singer of the godlike, Charlton Heston’s Got his Vest On. All we knew driving home was that we needed to write new songs.
Cork though, pre-motorway, seemed time zones away. We could not go to it, but sometimes it came to us. Nun Attax played The Project Arts Centre. I brought my new girlfriend. No one had warned us about Donnelly. When they were on stage it was scary, but when Donnelly took to roaming around the audience we almost hid under the seats.
Afterwards my girlfriend seemed to have advanced from ‘mild interest in music’ to an NME era, Julie Burchill, level of insight. “I have not seen many gigs,” she told me, “but that was a frontman! That is the level by which all frontmen are henceforth judged. When can we see them again?”
Nun Attax sang of unusual things. It seemed to be part of the deal of being from Cork. For them it was the charms of a White Cortina.
Others pondered losing your jumper at the disco. Others wondered what would happen if a Fashion Crisis Hits New York. It was quirky, original and somehow, utterly Corkonian.
The End never made it to Cork, but Something Happens did. We arrived at Sir Henry’s in the mid-80s. It was already legendary, like CBGB’s in New York.
As dark and as dank as it should be, we literally touched its hallowed walls.
The sound engineer was Dennis Herlihy. He exuded confidence and calm. He asked us how it was going, inquired about recording some demoes. It felt like you were tapping into some more advanced, experienced pool of talent, something more nurturing and helpful. He was above all else, so genuine.
It was the beginning of what I can only call a love affair with Cork. As we slowly built an audience countrywide, the Cork gigs, and indeed after-show parties, became standouts. “Dublin band destroys seats at Opera House” ran one 90s headline. We were guilty as charged.
We befriended two local band members, Brendan and Kevin of LMNO Pelican. It became a thing that no matter where we were playing, pre-gig pints with Brendan and Kevin were a must.
It was more like attending a writing group that a drinks session. Brendan would fold his arms and hold forth on the new songs. He’d nod approvingly in relation to one or two or remain stoic on others. If he went as far as to say “That’s a good one, Tom” I’d high five myself. When we sold out City Hall he was bemused. “City Hall, Tom,” he nodded. “City Hall, Bren,” I agreed.
Our career ebbed and flowed but the sessions with Brendan and Kevin didn’t. It was like tapping into that Cork insight, sometimes chiding, sometimes encouraging, always on point.
Sadly, Brendan passed away a few years back and Kevin now lives in the UK. Those nights, in various Cork bars, where time stood still are gone. But I know there is still something in the water and tests continue in this regard.
