Misanthropic Musicology Part 6

Well a rare site indeed at present, that being the inside of the 7th Locomotive Wonder of the UNIVERSE on it's rusty lumbering way towards the Unutterable. I'm not going to work though, as I have no job now (yep), but rather to rehearsal with as yet unnamed band who may or may not ever play live but what a pleasure it be with some excellent musical comrades in tow you bastards (since writing this line it is quite likely said band shall at least for one gig be named Exaybachay and said gig will likely occur on 24 Feb 2019). But this rambling nonsense isn't about my music, it's about composers and shit, and this episodes was promised to be Sean O'Riada. Problem is I got bored with a lot of it because despite how great he was, it's only his works for Ceoltóirí Chualann that are worth listening to (sorry, in my humble opinion that is), and there's only about three records worth of that marvellous stuff. And it's the same marvellous stuff on all of them! 

 So yes I listen now, as I have of late voraciously, to Billy Childish in all his ye olde Wild permutations instead, and what a legend he is. Folk songs in drunk twilight delirium. Well dressed mod psych with all the laddish toffery of that Rolling Stones video of Mick and Keith, drunk at a piano spilling vodka all over it and propping themselves up no doubt with methedrine alone!


Yes it's all that fantastic. This then whirls into record after record of garage punk delight with all its gritty Thatcher-smashing righteousness. Buff Medways and 1914 trench-war gas mask rock stomp. Over the edge to bayonet once more in blood and mud and endless pints of cider made from the blood of the Bosch. Bloody oath.






Well then. I've spent very little time of late on that bastard train and I don't mind. Perhaps location is not so important for this here endeavour. And a quick game's a good game. To bring it back to Ireland here's a song by Planxty, sung by the great Christie Moore. Next time....I dunno...It's a surprise!