Cork, Mullingar and all that Jazz

End of Part One….

....well, not quite but it’s very close now to the end of the first semester.  We’ve been spoiled rotten with songwriters visiting and talking of their writing and performing journeys and listening to ours. We are blessed to have Carl Corcoran as our course director and, as well as his vast knowledge of so much music in a multitude of genres, and the contacts he has from ten years presenting ‘Blue of the Night’ on Lyric FM, he’s also a really supportive and encouraging presence.

As our weather dis-improved, my workload has also increased and over the next couple of weeks, I can’t imagine I’ll be out busking much.  With this in mind, I did have a couple of weekends away and had some fun busking along the way.  

Whitepoint and Swans

Every year Cork fills up with Jazz for the last weekend in October and, while a lot of the visitors wouldn’t actually be Jazz fans, the atmosphere alone is enough to fill the city with revelers.  It’s becoming a personal tradition to play there on the closing night and, unlike most of my busking, I’ll play on the loudest street.  McCurtain Street is home to The Metropole Hotel which hosts the festival club and, at any time during the event, there’s a jazz gig going on in several rooms at one.  Just along the street is The Everyman Palace which would be home to some of the bigger gigs.  Between ten on Sunday night and one the following morning, the street is thronged with people squeezing the last drop of fun out of the weekend and many are really happy to find something live and acoustic on the street.  Many too are missing their dogs and, Clara is inundated with the kind of love and affection that surfaces after a happy few drinks.

This year I avoided the city for most of the weekend as busked in the beautiful town of Cobh.  Cobh is where I lived for quite a few years, way back before I ever wrote a song or even sang in public.  I’d never played on the street there before and it was a rubicon I wanted to cross having been known there as ‘The Photographer’.  Once I plucked up the courage to pluck a string, the rest was plain sailing.  Clara was happy too, as we were able to find a parking spot close enough to where I set up.  At 13 years old - or 91 in ‘Dog Years’ - walking is not something she’d as keen on as she used to be.  That’s another reason I didn’t do more busking in the city.  It’s only on the last night and with luck on your side that parking in reasonable proximity to a busking spot is possible.

Clara's Pre-Busking Stroll

Anyway, the weather was good, the parking too and enough people were generous enough that my weekend break cost me nothing.  My one regret is that I don’t have a single photo from the Sunday night - though Clara must have been included in close to 100 selfies.  Guys in tuxedos and girls in their poshest frocks.  Note to self - next year beg, borrow or steal a GoPro.

Last weekend it was a ramble back to Roosky to check and see if I still live there - I do - and again, I broke the drive with a stop in Mullingar - birthplace of many fine singers - and noticed when I missed my turn and drove over a bridge I hadn’t crossed before - The Joe Dolan Bridge.  There’s no bridge like a Joe bridge I suppose.  

The drive from here to Roosky is not one of my favourites involving quite a stretch of bog road as well as a drive through Borrisokane.  If anybody knows an Irish town or village with a road surface worse than that in and around Borris, please let me know so I can steer clear.  There was also a diversion which took me off the bad roads onto about 20 miles of even worse, bringing me eventually onto another route - one I’d decided against taking and so it was dark by the time I reached Mullingar and the busking was fairly quiet.  It was also the end of a week with a Holiday Monday in it and also, with Halloween a few days before, people had spent their spare cash pumpkins, masks and other novelty stuff for the kids,

Good Ol' Mullingar

I did stop off there on the return trip and it was a lot better in the daylight.  Something I’ve noticed when busking is that when someone stops to chat or watch for a while, more people seem to come over to toss in a coin.  Another thing is that, while I have my case open, I have a little teapot in it.  I have a tatty 200,000,000 dollar note in the spout like steam and also a 50 Billion dollar note in the case (this is Zimbabwe money and wouldn’t buy a cornflake).  If the first customer puts a coin into the pot, then almost everyone else will.

Today though it was more a ‘chuck it into the case’ day.  About half an hour before I finished, a little girl of about three brought her mother over and they both stood listening until the end of the song,  The girl was a bit shy when I admired her dress but was delighted a when she told me her name, to learn that she had the same name as Clara’s mother.  Holly’s mother then told me that she would always stop to listen to a busker and told me of a walk she’d had on Grafton Street that took about two and a half hours with Holly insisting on stopping and tipping every busker.  Kids are great and some have great mothers too.