Tom Dunne: 'Wait until you hear Christy,' they said. They were right
Christy Dignam of Aslan at the Carling Rock Festival in June 1986 at the Lee Fields in Cork. Picture: Irish Examiner Archive
I knew Christy Dignan since we were in teenage bands. His was called Meelah XVIII and we both played the Ivy Rooms, in Dublin in the early 1980s. Even before they went on there was a palpable excitement in the room. “Wait until you hear Christy,” they all said.
When they became Aslan, they seemed to sign a record deal while we were still loading the van. How could this be, we wondered, until we heard 'This Is' on the radio. It was startlingly good. “These are the hands of a tired man.” Where did that come from?
Afterwards our paths would cross often on UK tours, Irish bands on the road, late nights at the Columbia Hotel. There were shenanigans, remorseful late breakfasts, giggles. It was like the Gaeltacht, but on tour, with alcohol. We framed them for a petty crime once. They had a “bad rep”. It was easy.
Sometime after Aslan split, dramatically, Christy toured the US with Conor Goff. We’d seek each other out in Irish venues. It was hard not to bond when the stage had been set up behind the buffet table. But afterwards we’d slip ‘This Is” onto the Juke box and watch its magic work.
It seemed to float like a balm over the Irish emigrants and hard-bitten New Yorkers grabbing a late beer. Tomorrow, they would go back to the grind - “Where everybody hits you, everybody knocks you down,’ - but not yet.
Aslan reunited for a one-off charity performance in Finglas in 1993. I drove out, this was not to be missed. The atmosphere was electric, the band, phenomenal. It felt like a homecoming, like they had never been away.
A few months later Billy was driving with us after a gig and slipped me a cassette. It was a demo of Crazy World. “How can I protect you in this Crazy World?” sang Christy. The words rang true and clear. Aslan were back. Was ever a band so abundantly more than the sum of its parts?
When the comeback album topped the Irish charts in 1994, I joined them at the party in Lillie’s Bordello, Dublin’s rock and roll nightclub. They were really back now: expense accounts, an open bar, fawning journalists, a number one album. “Number One, Tom!” Billy said. “As it should be, Billy, as it should be,” I told him. I can still see his smile.
Our paths have crossed often since and I always welcome those meetings. Aslan, to a man, are incredibly decent people. Christy, like anyone one of them, would do anything for you, at any time. Decent, honest, wise.
When Christy was first diagnosed with cancer, the lads asked me to sing with them at a gig in the Olympia. “A chance for you to sing with a real band,” as Billy put it. We were joined by Bressie, Danny O’Reilly, Paul Brady and U2, live on satellite from NYC, singing the now ubiquitous 'This is'.
After I sang, I was watching from side stage when I felt a hand creeping up my inner thigh. “WTF?” I thought, spinning around. It was Christy, in a wheelchair, a devilish grin on his face. “I just couldn’t resist,” he said. We laughed. “You’re not that sick!” I told him.
Later I chatted with him and his wife, Katherine. They were still so obviously in love and delighted with the night, buoyant and optimistic. They talked to me about growing up in Finglas, boyfriend and girlfriend from a very young age.
“He used to sing to me in the fields, d’ya remember?” she asked him. His eyes lit up. “Of course, I remember,” he said. “That was his thing,” she said, “We’d go into the fields, and he’d just sing to both of us. Everyone loved his voice.” Christy beamed.
Christy had a voice that everyone wanted to hear. It took him around the world and back again. It lifted us up, it raised the roof, it pulled us together. It had a magic quality. There was hope in it, understanding, empathy. He seemed to find the humanity in every song. It was a real gift.
It’s hard to believe he is gone, taken from Katherine, Keira, his family, his soulmates in the band, his friends and us. The image of him singing to Katherine, “Two drifters, off to see the world,” will never leave me. Not to mention the laughs, so many laughs.
Yep, wait ‘til you hear, Christy. A sad, sad, day.
