In praise of Irish music - for the day that's in it

Today is Saint Patrick's Day, and it seemed only fitting to fit in a post on the contribution of Irish music to my musical miseducation. Let's be clear here, I am far too uncultured to appreciate the undoubted wonders of the vast heritage of Irish traditional and folk music, and so I am not going to go there. The nearest I ever got to that type of Irish music was the Waterboy's Room to Roam (happy soundtrack to many an Irish holiday), which I guess is like comparing reading Shakespeare to watching Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet.

No, I am talking about Irish popular music (and, to clear up any possible confusion in the opposite direction, I am certainly not talking about Westlife or Boyzone either - I shudder even to type the accursed names). Of course, to consider Irish music over the last 30 years without mentioning U2 is close to impossible, but I am really going to try. Undoubtedly, there will be future posts on my struggle to decide what I actually think about them, but that is not for now (it's late and a feeling of need to recognise even briefly the day in question is driving my blogging tonight). All I will say on this day of celebration of all that is mystical and mysterious about Ireland (i.e., b****cks) is this: what fairy magic or portrait in a north Dublin attic has kept Larry Mullen looking EXACTLY the same for 30 years????

No, tonight's message is a simple and argumentative proposal. Despite my obvious love for lots of music from America, the UK and Australia, and the fact that I have barely mentioned Irish bands in my posts to date, I would argue that for a period from around 1986 to the early 1990s, Irish bands (and not necessarily U2) were among the finest anywhere, and we went through a true if brief golden age.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that this period coincided with my coming of age as a music fan, and growing up in Dublin meant that it was all around me, all the time, and I went to the gigs, and the free larks in the parks, and the college concerts, and soaked it all up like an impressionable sponge. Still, in my defense, at the same time I was also devouring the Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen and the Smiths and plenty of that stuff, so it wasn't as if my taste buds had yet to grow. There were genuinely great bands in Ireland at the time, all of which I will come back to discuss at later stages, but for now I will just name the names and list the roll of honour:

A House

An Emotional Fish
Hothouse Flowers

Something Happens!

The Fat Lady Sings

The Golden Horde

The Stunning

Whipping Boy

This is the kind of Irish culture that should be recognised on Saint Patrick's Day, without green hats shaped like pints of Guinness, pints of Guinness shaped like pints of Guinness, or in fact anything (e.g., hair, food, beer, dogs, the Hudson river, the White House fountains, grass) coloured green (well, the grass is probably okay). This is what Ireland can do and can offer, and I wanted to make that point today, just because it seemed like the right thing to do.