eire
de fête
"Do you speak Irish?" Rory Gallagher asks
Hérve Picart.
Somewhere
in
Europe. A modernist hotel smells of credit
cards and
air conditioning. Behind its thick
windows, sheltered from the world, is a neighborhood like any other,
with the
inevitable periphery of streets –concrete constrictors around the
fog imbued
city. From the spacious hotel's
aquarium lobby, we can only perceive a muted buzzing: urban spasms
mustn't stir
the negotiating financiers’ gin fizzes.
In this sterile ambiance of off-gray and traditional fauna, we
can spot
those that are there on business. This
reminds of me of the cruel tale in which Villiers de l’Isle d’Adam uses
the
exact same words to first describe the Paris morgue, then to describe a
famous
financier's café located on the grand boulevards.
Seeing these spick-and-span zombies living under the perpetual
anesthesia of convenience and convention certainly displays a morbid,
macabre
aura; especially when we imagine the purely cannibalistic impulses
located
within their cerebellums. And then there
are the women: those powdered pheasants, wearing their proliferate
furs, with
their permanently clotted smiles from their most recent facelifts,
leaving
their thick trail of Chanel; or worse yet, those enamel-painted tarts
acting
the part of the bloodsucker on the arms of their dashing protectors
with their
pomaded alopecic dos and their noble bellies.
Brrr. A sinister carrousel.
But suddenly,
something
perturbs this lugubrious ballet. No one
knows what new incongruity spices up this tableau.
Though, it's as if the air has suddenly warmed itself up,
abruptly. Without a doubt, a flaw in
the sterilization system: a breath of life has crossed the aseptic air. In fact, it's simply, only a long-hair
walking into the hotel, strutting like a sailor. For
the record: ever since I've been observing the comings and
goings of the people from inside this “Bromotel” lobby, he was the
first of
them that I saw walking in from the outside with a glass of whisky in
hand! It didn't take me much more to
identify Rory Gallagher.
What's rather
staggering
about this devilish Irishman is that, whether he's climbing on stage or
fumbling into the room you're in, the result is the same: a deliriously
brisk
current of warm air on two legs greets you.
Here (in the hotel lobby), his whisky glass carries the same
weight as
his beat-up Strat does on stage. What
an entrance. Rory belongs to that group
of people whose human radiance is enough to put you under his spell
even before
he utters a word. In that sense, he's
from the same race as that adorable (Peter) Gabriel.
And then, with a few fluid words and salutary greetings, a deep
and velvet-smooth look, a friendly tap: he envelops you and draws you
in. You
exude towards him, the same irresistible sympathy and affection you'd
show a friend
of twenty years.
Since the
beginning of his
career, throughout the years of performing his standards, he's hardly
changed. That's a bit why I didn't
situate this particular encounter within a specific time frame. It could have taken place anywhere in the
world, at any time. From the beginning
of the 70s, Rory has always been there, unchanged: the adulated
performer
mocking the “style-de-jour” and dragging each generation of kids to his
shows;
creating around him and his festive music an impossibly sacred union,
consisting of and encompassing all members of each sect of the rock
world. In many ways, Gallagher's rock is
always en
vogue. Despite the fact that his face
is somewhat fleshier and his silhouette, somewhat portlier, he still
has that
engaging little face that carries itself so well with his music. He still wears his rustic plaid shirts and
his reefer jacket, giving him the allure of rock music's own Cap Horner. This puncture-proof son of Eire appears to
be timeless and just as unbreakable as his vivacious rock, which
refuses to
crumble through the various trends and continues to unanimously warm up
the
hearts of those who crave its loud vibrations.
In the elevator, which will take us far away from the hotel
muzak that
sticks to the skin like tropical heat, and lead us to a calmer
surrounding, he
continues to sip his whisky, as his hands fascinate me: they're fine,
strong,
well-manicured, young man's hands. I'm
only worried by the tremors that agitate his hands – but Rory is on
tour,
nervous and edgy, and so I prefer attributing the cause of the
trembling in his
hands to that context rather than read it as a result of the amber and
fruity
liquid that the Irishman is ingesting with the confident serenity of a
baby
nursing at feeding time.
PLEASURE
Our
conversation
certainly
went well once the beer bottles frothed in front of us.
Our talks soon deviated towards the
intoxicating ales of Ireland, memories of Smithwick’s or Harp, and
towards the
mysteries of the tenebrous
Guinness.
To better place yourself in the mood: fill
up a half-pint to the two-third mark with this captivating stout, and
fill up
the other third with Jameson or Irish Power.
This will make it easier to gain Rory's trust.
And so I managed to lure the lad into my journalist's lair:
Hervé Picart:
How do you feel in regards to your present status in the rock
world? Periodically, it is said that
you are passé or forgotten, but more fans still attend your show
and fill up
the halls when you’re in town than all of these other chart-topping
trendy
bands that command a higher asking price to their shows?
Rory Gallagher: It’s not easy
to say.
Ultimately, I’ve always cared to play my music like I heard it, without
preoccupying myself with what was going on around me. There will
always be trendsetters and followers, and it is
towards those people that the press and the media gear their
attention.
What the press has done for New Wave is
enormous. There are some that say that
the movement was a press phenomenon above and beyond anything
else.
Well, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t
benefit from such publicity. They
rarely speak of me. I don’t think that
I’m a “good” subject. Besides, since
I’m always on the road around the world –sometimes in the States,
sometimes in
Australia– people in England often, sincerely think that I’ve
disappeared from
circulation, that I don’t tour anymore, that I don’t play rock
anymore.
It’s my fault after all: I’ve never said
that I’d set or follow any fads. I’ve
always played my music like I felt it –a bit of rock, a bit of blues, a
bit of
Rhythm ’n’ Blues, and I’m happy. And
from the moment that I’m under the impression that I’m giving people a
sense of
feeling, of energy and pleasure, I don’t have any reason to look any
further. Besides, these fads are so
temporary, so fleeting, that you can’t let yourself be frustrated by
them. Sure, I’m old school, but I’m happy like
that and it doesn’t seem to displease others, or at least from what I
can see
at my concerts. Having said that, I’ve
got nothing to say for or against these trends, this or that fad or
fashion –I feel
like I’m completely out of this system, not concerned with it at all.
H.P.:
If
we look at what the Rolling Stones –who’ve also lasted a long time– and
what
they’ve done, they always got hooked up with each passing fad. No
doubt they’re attracted towards the
desire of adding these new rhythms and colors to their sound.
Have you never felt this temptation of
appropriating yourself with a new sound that could be heard on the
radio?
R.G.: I
think the Rolling Stones are fundamentally a Rhythm ‘n’ Blues band,
rock
perhaps, it’s their real nature and it’s in this field that they’ve
been at
their best. But, besides that, they
played disco, reggae, but it’s more of an accessory and I don’t believe
that
it’s essential for them. Well, I like
listening to what’s going on too, and I find that a group like The
Clash is
interesting in the way that they get influenced from all corners, and
do a bit
of everything: reggae, rock, etc., but I wouldn’t know how to do
it.
In fact, I like music with thick riffs, like
blues, Rhythm ‘n’ Blues or hard rock, because I find that these types
of music
have –how do I put this– a bottom or roots to them. When I play
some of it, I feel like I’m inside something that is
compact. But things that are too trendy
are all pop to me, and pop music feels too superficial. I
definitely don’t like pop songs. To me, it doesn’t have the same
direction as
the things that I do. But finally, to
each his own. You can thrown in any type
of fad that’s imaginable and disguise it electronically or with reggae,
but I
think the essential for a musician is to let himself be guided by his
feelings,
by what makes him feel good; that’s what I’ve been doing for the last
decade. If I were to define my music,
I’d say that it was a combination of all musical styles that gives me
pleasure
to play.
H.P.:
It
would seem that presently in France, the mass public is more attracted
towards
surefire product, towards seasoned veterans that are guaranteed to give
them
pleasure –like you. We talk about Gary
Numan here (in France) or others like him everywhere else, but it’s
towards
Gallagher that the masses tend to gravitate. Have you felt that
on your behalf?
R.G.:
Certainly. But you have to remember
first and foremost that rock has a more attractive power to it -from a
popular
standpoint– than electronic music or experimental forms of music. If there are more people at my shows than at
Numan’s, to use your example, it says
a lot about the nature of music. He has
a cold, clinical approach, its only sounds.
Rock –like mine– seeks out sweat and energy, so it’s more human,
and
therefore more accessible to a larger public than electronic music.
STYLE
H.P.:
For
the last ten years you’ve been playing all over the world and haven’t
been
unemployed too often. Your world tours
become longer and longer each time.
There seems to be a marathon-like quality to your life. How do
you feel when you start off a tour,
like now?
R.G.: If,
by
a marathon you mean an obstacle race, I don’t feel like a marathon
runner. It’s true that we really work a lot
everywhere: the U.S., Europe, Australia, Japan, but by doing so, I’m
not really
giving myself much of a challenge. I’ve
got nothing to prove to myself or to others.
I really enjoy touring. I adore
that lifestyle. I don’t see why it’s
such a big deal that I go out and tour this much to please
myself.
It’s true that a lot of artists tour because
they have to tour. Some hate it, others
are bored by it, and others are simply stage fright. For me,
there’s no particular benefit to touring, I just like doing
it. It’s really a pleasure to tour and
I find myself very fortunate to be able to do so.
H.P.: But,
over the last ten years, don’t you feel that you’ve changed, evolved,
on a
human level or on a musical level? Even
though your life is still the same, you’re not the same Rory Gallagher.
R.G.:
Of
course I’ve evolved, as much on the personal level as on a musical
level, but
not in an obvious fashion, I think. In
my music, the evolution has always been slow, and always within the
structure
of the things that I like to begin with.
I still have the same approach towards music that I’ve always
had.
I’m not one of those (people) that can
voluntarily cut away from my roots, from my predecessors. I want
to progress, but always in a way that
is attached to the blues, to Rhythm ‘n’ Blues.
In fact, I like all sorts of music:
I’m also into hard rock, rockabilly, Cajun –any music that has a beat
to
it. My goal, my desire for progression
isn’t to have a superficial rapport or a formal rapport with these
types of
music, but to get inside them –always further– and to interiorize them,
not
just to the point where I can play them, but to the point that I can
also write
them and be able to create them. But
there is other music –like electronic music– that I like simply as a
listener;
ambient music, like Tangerine Dream, or Eno, but I don’t feel the
desire to
play it, because that music isn’t in my nature as a musician.
H.P.:
You’ve
finally come unto your own in this well-traveled type of music.
You don’t seem to come from that breed of
musicians that can only achieve personal accomplishment once you’ve
created
something unique unto you. Gabriel
plays Gabriel, and Gallagher plays the blues.
R.G.:
That’s not quite true. Before I die, I
want to leave a Gallagher sound, a Gallagher style. But I don’t
think that creating necessarily means experimenting
from scratch. I think that one of the
most beautiful musical legacies is that of Ornette Coleman’s, the jazz
saxophonist that was able to create a totally individual form of art,
from an
existing form of music: jazz. To be
yourself doesn’t necessarily mean being different from others. In
fact, there are some people like Peter
Gabriel that do have that approach, but Gabriel makes progressive pop
that he
extrapolates from the pop world, much like I do from rhythm and blues.
Both of us transform our roots into more
individualized terms. People like Stockhausen
or Pharoah Sanders in jazz, or Archie Shepp –those are true
experimentalists. But I think that you
can still leave a mark, your personalized stamp on non-experimental
things, and
I think that I succeed in doing that.
Blues and rock are a starting point for me to find myself. I
build myself up through my roots –I‘m not
enough of a visionary to project everything in one piece.
Besides, I think that the greatest
experimentalists work from their roots too.
A writer, just as “new” as Joyce, was also influenced by everything
that
preceded him.
H.P.: You
speak of rhythm and blues as part of your roots, and that form of
music, is,
curiously, a basic ingredient in most Irish groups, whether it be Thin
Lizzy or
the Boomtown Rats. How do you explain
that?
R.G.: In
fact, it’s difficult to explain. It’s
true that most Irish groups have something or other to do with rhythm
and
blues. I think it’s due to the
significant influence that groups like the Stones, or the Animals have
had on
us, (groups) who were also impregnated with rhythm and blues. Van Morrison was the first to follow suit,
and since then, Irish rock has always been colored by that musical
style. Even though I still think that
Irish rock is
different from English rock. It goes
through London, it goes in the same direction –but in its own way. And I think that people like me with the
blues; Lizzy with hard-rock; the Rats, the Undertones or Stiff Little
Fingers
with New Wave; we all have an Irish approach to our rock, a truly
different
feel for it. I think it’s in part due
to a special style of songwriting.
A PERSONAL APPROACH
H.P.:
In
your musical journey you followed a path similar to Johnny
Winter’s.
You started off with hard rock –breaking
away from your roots– then you returned to musical forms that were
purely
Gaelic or bluesy, and made a return to acoustic music; and now, you
seem to be
redirecting yourself towards electric rock again, just like Johnny
Winter has
done.
R.G.:
I’ve been called an “Irish Winter”, but
that’s merely a coincidence. There is a
great difference between the two of us:
I write my own songs, he composes very little. Besides, he’s more
traditional than I am. But we also have many similarities:
acoustic blues, slide, similar musical
tastes. Although I find that I’m more progressive
than he is, in the measure that I believe that I evolve from a personal
viewpoint within each musical style.
H.G.: On
stage, you’ve gone back to a trio, giving up the keyboards. Is
that your personal preference by far?
R.G.:
Absolutely. A trio is the best form to
showcase each musician’s abilities in a rock band and bring them
musical
freedom. And, it forces each musician
to double up on their sound, to be constantly rhythmic and melodic at
the same
time. It gives a better musical balance
and forces the musicians to not wander too far off from the
arrangement.
And, the less people we are (on stage), the
easier it is to improvise and change the arrangements. We can
hear ourselves better. Improvising is a lot easier, so it’s more
agreeable, because the more the music changes, the less repetitive and
the less
uniform it gets, because if there are more musicians on stage, they can
only
play according to what’s already been performed (by the other musicians
on
stage).
H.P.: But
doesn’t this formula better flatter the lead guitarist’s ego?
You’ve rarely played with other guitarists
within your band: do you refuse to share the duties?
R.G.: I
don’t know if I’m egocentric. I like
the twin lead guitars in Thin Lizzy and other bands, but I don’t feel
the need
or the desire to do it. Yeah, maybe the
trio formula does cater to the lead guitarist’s ego. If that’s
the case, then I’d like people to say that I’m as egocentric
as Jimi Hendrix –I would be very, very flattered. But honestly,
since I’m constantly mixing rhythm guitar with lead
guitar, I don’t need another guitarist in the band, which is probably
the
reason that I’ve always been alone on guitar.
H.P.:
With
Taste, you started off with playing hard rock, but you quickly refused
to
continue playing the role of the metal guitar god. Why?
R.G.:
I
think it’s because I never had the courage to play the game. It
isn’t only a question of the soloing,
there are the movements, the rituals and the mountain of Marshall amps,
and I
got bored with that very quickly. I
like the force, the energy that comes from hard rock, and that’s why I
play
hard rock, but I wouldn’t be able to only do that. I’m someone
that is musically curious, somebody that doesn’t like
to get pigeonholed, and I don’t feel any disposition towards assuming
the
rituals, the smoke and mirrors that hard rock requires. I like
that music, but not the exterior posturing. I find it to be
fairly limiting,
frustrating. Bands like Motörhead, Iron
Maiden or Saxon do their heavy metal very well, but I’d like to see
more
variety, more musical fantasy in what it is that they do. That’s
why I prefer more flexible bands,
like UFO.
H.G.: For
the young kids that are only discovering Gallagher at the same time as
Iron
Maiden and that don’t know which album of yours to choose from your
back
catalogue, which of your albums do you feel would be the best
introduction to
your work?
R.G.: From
a production standpoint, I think the most recent studio album is the
most
convincing one – I’m talking about Top Priority. The best
introduction is still my last live album, I think. But from a
personal viewpoint, I have a very
big soft spot for Tattoo –from all of my old albums, it’s the one that
I
prefer.
A
UNIQUE COUNTRY
H.P.: It
seems odd to we the French who discuss politics everywhere, that, with
all of
the problems in Northern Ireland, the most famous groups from Eire
–like Lizzy,
the Boomtown Rats or you– never discuss politics.
R.G.: It
goes without saying that I have my own opinion on what’s going on in
Ireland,
but it’s something that is too complex, too grave to be expedited in
the few
words of a song. My opinion is that
Ireland must become a united country once again, that Ulster is a
country that
is kept alive artificially, and that only the reunification of Ireland
makes
sense. Well, that’s my opinion, only my
opinion. The political song exists in
Ireland and is very alive. It reflects
all opinions. Me, I grew up with
political verses. There are good political
singers, but in the
long run, I find it useless, inappropriate even, sometimes. Certain Irish groups like Stiff Little
Fingers wrote strong material on the subject.
But in that group’s case, it’s more social than truly political:
these
are emotional reactions from people that say what it’s like to live in
the
streets of Belfast. Politically
speaking, it doesn’t really have a reach to it, and I think that
political involvement
must be followed up. Only looking to
unblock things, through songs, will never be enough.
Me, I would feel very useless if I were to claim my humble
opinion in my songs. I know that this
point of view must surprise the French, what with the strong tradition
that
your people have in this domain. But,
what I don’t like very much is that the political song is quickly
becoming a
fad, an exercise in style in which the content is disappearing, little
by
little. And I’m not looking at making
rock music more serious than it already is.
We can’t amuse people with nightmares.
Now I’m not saying that we have to load up the genre with
ineptitudes
like “Rock! Rock! Rock! Love! Love! Love! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” But depth and philosophy ruin rock. I like effective words that feel right
within a riff, and especially words that won’t feel encumbering, five
years
later, when I’ll want to sing them again.
H.P.:
For
the French, Ireland is Guinness, the Green rugby team and Rory
Gallagher. When you’re in Ireland, do you feel a
certain national pride that is attached to your name?
R.G.: I’d
have to say so, yeah. My people are
fairly proud to see a fellow Irishman please people around the world
with his
music. Whereas the English see their
bands as products to be consumed, the Irish consider their bands to be
emanations from their country and are truly proud of them. But
that’s normal, because it’s a small
little country.
**************************************
In any case, this little
country gave birth to one of the greatest rockers that be, and one of
the genre's most charismatic ones. It's never hurt a country when
its ambassador is liked for who he (she) is.
There'll soon be a
little bit of Ireland in (here in) France, thanks to Rory, who's coming
back with a new record and a new tour –timorous and friendly, like he
always knows how to deliver them. It's odd, but you'll see what I
mean if you've never met him before: whether it be after leaving an
interview or coming back from a concert, this dear Gallagher will
always leave you with the impression that you've made a new friend.
Hervé
Picart
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From the
French
magazine "BEST
" Issue 164 March 1982
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A
huge THANK
YOU
to Marc Giguere for
translating this article from French to English
photo from the
article
reformatted
by roryfan
233
