Folk star Michael McGovern: 'Why I love the Clonakilty International Guitar Festival'
Michael McGovern performing in Shanley’s Bar, Clonakilty, Co Cork.
It’s 10pm on a dark January night. In a post-dinner haze, you decide to take a quick walk around town.
A freezing sea mist hangs low across the eerily still red-and-white bunting, crisscrossing Pearse Street from lamppost to lamppost. You are guided by a yellow orb of light in the distance, the sound of an electric guitar and a snare drum echoing out in the empty, cavernous night.
Making a right turn onto Rossa Street, the noise gets louder, the drum intensifies. The green bar door swings open and spills its light onto the street. You can intermittently hear “We’re going to chapel and we’re gonna get married,” (Chapel of Love by The Dixie Cups) billowing out into the frigid air. Behind the condensation-covered windows, silhouettes sway. In a trance, you push through the green doorway, leaving the street, and any notion of the real world behind.
Locals are packed from wall to wall, moving together as if one solid entity. You need to remind yourself it’s the middle of January as you watch middle-aged men throw their hands in the air and dance like no one’s watching. Women laugh and screech and sing at the top of their lungs.
A young musician stares in wonder at the guitarist's hands. An American tourist gazes amorously into the singer's face, her knuckles on her chin.
The audience hasn’t just come to watch a band, they are here to be involved. They are a vital part of this. No one really seems interested in recording it. There’s barely an iPhone in sight.
The musicians are nestled around a pit-like stage, with the crowd huddled in as close as can be.
A guitar cable snakes across the floor into a crisscross of amps and pedals. There’s a trombone, a violin, a piano. A pint glass balances on top of an amplifier, rippling with every thump of the guitar. Everything is alive, moving, electric, and yet completely loose and free. It’s not only a step back in time, but a glimpse of the good things that have been lost along the way.
This is Shanley’s Bar in Clonakilty. And if you know, you know. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the centre of the musical universe. You could be Paul Brady or the kid from around the corner, and it wouldn’t make a difference here. You’re given the same attention and the same respect. That’s what they do best, they remove the distinction between the person playing and the person listening. The song belongs to everyone in the room.
At Shanley’s, nobody seems particularly interested in who is supposed to be important. The musician, the local, the tourist, or the man eight pints deep with his forehead on the bar, everyone is part of the same thing.
So why am I writing an article about a staycation in Clonakilty, but only describing one night in January? Of course you can come any time of year and experience the place in your own way.
There’s no better time of year than the annual Clonakilty International Guitar Festival, every September. Perhaps you’re already reading this article in Clonakilty. Perhaps you’re reading this article somewhere else and you’re sick of musicians and artists banging on about how good it is in West Cork.
Just the other day I was swimming out at Duneen beach, looking back at the towering green headland toward Inchydoney. I’m not from here, I’m not Irish, but I feel a sense of pride being here. That’s what I love about Clonakilty, it accepts you for who you are. Your weird eccentricities are embraced, and you never need to walk around with your head hung low. Of course, it helps if you play an instrument… This article isn’t going to tell you which beach to go to, or where to get the best coffee and cakes (Pike Deli), come and see it for yourself. Pubs? It has plenty of them. It also has the greatest supermarket in the world. Only the other week did I discover it now has a bowling alley (bring back bowling alleys). Of course, it’s sunny 365 days a year too, so that helps.
Or maybe you can use Clon as a base for the area. There are unbeatable beaches and nature all so close by. I recently went for a magical river swim about an hour west. I lay in the water at the foot of a slow waterfall for hours watching the trees and the sky. It looked like something from the Great Canadian Wilderness. Unfortunately I swore to a local that I wouldn’t reveal its location. The Instagram travel vloggers will get to it soon enough I’m sure… You’re back in Shanley’s Bar and it’s the end of the night. The crowd spills back out into the cold. The houselights are up, the musicians huddle around a table in the back. Some torn Tayto packets, half-finished pints line up on the empty bar.
Instruments lean against the wall and there’s a faint buzz of the amps. The spell is slowly lifting.
It’s just a January night again. Empty streets and closed shopfronts. The sea somewhere out there in the darkness.
You wonder if you’ll ever feel this free again. If, years from now, you’ll find yourself longing for this very night, this room, these people. But the locals here don’t seem worried about losing it.
They know another night like this is waiting around the corner.
Well that sums up Clonakilty for me. Sure there’s a lot of tourists in summer, but it’s not a tourist town. The locals keep it alive. You can go all around the world and you’ll struggle to find their enthusiasm for music and art and culture anywhere.
Bob Dylan said, “I wanna sleep over there, that’s where the music's coming from”. I’ve been searching for that my whole life, and maybe I’ve found it here.
Clonakilty takes pride in its musical heritage and refuses to let it disappear. What if Clonakilty's music isn't just entertainment? What if it's a kind of local stubbornness? It’s not nostalgia or heritage. It’s not “authentic Irish culture”. They just keep on doing it because it’s what they do best.
I’m a footnote in its history, but a proud part of its musical lineage nonetheless. Just the other day I was stopped in the street and described as “Michael McGovern from Shanleys”.
Just as the great Scot Michael Marra once said, "I didn't want my name in lights, I wanted it in brackets."
