Culture That Made Me: Christy Dignam on Bowie, punk, and opera
Christy Dignam of Aslan. Picture: Moya Nolan
Christy Dignam, 61, grew up in Finglas, Dublin. In 1982, he was a founding member of Aslan. The band released Feel No Shame, the first of six chart-topping albums, in 1988. Aslan will play two gigs at the Cork Opera House to celebrate the band’s 40th anniversary, Friday, 8 April – Saturday, 9 April. See: www.corkoperahouse.ie.
I had a weird introduction to music. My da was into opera music – the likes of John McCormack, Enrico Caruso. He used to sing their opera songs while he was making the dinner on a Sunday. I remember going on the street, as a kid, singing these songs because I knew them from me da.
I thought that was Top of the Pops. I still love opera music. Opera originated in Italy. People couldn’t afford instruments so a lot of opera was people singing in place of instruments. It has always been the people’s music.
John McCormack was a lyrical tenor. He was different to the typical Italian tenors with their broad chests and big sound. John McCormack sang in a light voice. He must be in the top five opera singers that ever lived. For an Irishman to be in that category is a huge honour for Irish people.
I got into Bob Dylan early. I got The Times They Are A-Changin’ album. He showed me that you could write songs that had social commentary in the lyrics. It didn’t have to be just about “John met Mary at the local disco and fell in love with her”. Songs could have deeper meanings. Dylan’s songs meant something. It showed me how important music can be. That was a huge moment for me.
On Thursday nights, Top of the Pops was mandatory. Nothing interfered with it. I’ll never forget when I saw David Bowie perform Life on Mars? I was opening up to music at the time. Bowie was totally different to everyone else. He was like something from Mars. He was androgynous – you didn’t know if he was a bloke or a girl. The whole glam rock thing. There was a different aspect to it. It was more about the showbiz. That appealed to me.
Years later, in 1987, Bowie was playing at Slane Castle. At the time, we were signed to EMI Records. Bowie was with EMI Records. I remember saying to our manager: “We don't care if you never get us another gig. Get us Slane. We have to play with Bowie.” And we did.
I got mad into punk in the late 1970s. With punk, you could be yourself. The Never Mind the Bollocks album by The Sex Pistols to me is one of the best albums ever made. Until then, progressive rock was the thing. You had all these bands like Yes, Supertramp, Pink Floyd. (I love still Pink Floyd.)
They nearly all came from art school. Punk came along, and it tossed all that out the window. Basically, you could just get a guitar, an amp – “turn it up to 11,” like on Spinal Tap – and just scream into a microphone. The energy of it, the simplicity of it really appealed to me.
I had a band in the late 1970s. From singing punk – and obviously with the guitars, and all the screaming, and trying to sing over the guitars – I started to lose my range. I ended up going to bel canto singing lessons to try and get my range back. The lessons were with a guy called Frank Merriman. He wanted me to sing with freedom. He had an expression, “Let the sheep pay for the lambs.”
When people didn’t show up to his singing lessons on a Wednesday night, he’d give me a call and say, “Mrs Morgan didn’t turn in today, Christy, so jump in.” So I’d get singing lessons for free. He was an amazing singing teacher. I went to him for about 15 years.
I love the film This Is Spinal Tap. To any musician, if you haven’t seen Spinal Tap, you’re not a musician. It’s funny. It’s brilliant. There’s a scene where a guy buys a Marshall amp. The guy in the store says, “Do you want it customised?”
He says, “Yeah, I want it to go up to 11.” He says, “What do you mean? It only goes up to 10.” “I want mine to go up to 11.” “If I put ‘11’ on it, it will still only sound like it’s at 10 because it’s not making the amp any louder.” I don't know how many times I've bumped into bands on the road and turned to the lads to go, “Look at this carry on. This is Spinal Tap.”
I used to hang around with a few hippies during the punk era and they used to be listening to Pink Floyd. Of all the prog rock bands, Pink Floyd were the only one I held onto. Dark Side of the Moon is like the Mona Lisa. No matter how educated you are about aspects of art, sometimes something comes at you that is beyond categorisation.
With Floyd, you can't dispute how talented those people are. They’re incredible.
Jim Kerr from Simple Minds is an amazing frontman. At the time, in the 1980s, there was a small venue called the SFX in Dublin. It fit maybe 2,000 people. Simple Minds played it. They were on the way up.
Jim Kerr was incredible. I actually had to stop looking at him because I was starting to copy the way he was on stage. People were saying, “You’re going on like Jim Kerr.” I liked the way he moved himself around the stage.
Take Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin, the way he’d stand with his foot up on the monitor. Everyone used to have these cliched rock ’n’ roll stances. Someone like Jim Kerr didn’t do anything orthodox like that. He was original.
There's a podcast called Talking Bollox. It’s two blokes from the inner city in Dublin. I’ve been on the show. So have people like Philly McMahon, the Dublin footballer. People just talking “bollox” on it. It’s great. There's no pattern. There's no set system. Every show is totally different. These guys started in their flat. Now they’re recording in a proper studio. It’s become hugely popular.
