Song Song Blue
A Tax man with a hairy face who keeps bees for the crack insisted I write and sing a song with him in the Sailing Cot talent contest.
Because there was a big cash prize half the town entered and the other half turned up to heckle them.
I took a look at the braying throng and got the fear.
Jazus says Bridget the Midget as she saw me holding myself up in a wakeness at the toilet sink having a whitey, wait till I get you a Hennessy.
The song was called kajoma and sounded passable in the kitchen of the An Óige hostel I was running in the Harbour, when they had left the gate open by an accident and I had got back in AGAIN.
The hirsute guitarist hit the opening notes on his guitar and then gave me a 4 bar intro,
and when I didn’t start singing,
gave me 8,
then 16,
then whispered ......for the love of fuck come on.
I started in the wrong key and knew I would never be able to hit the high notes in the bridge that we had been shrieking all over Kilrane to drown out the sounds of the maniacs running amok in the common room -rummaging in the free food basket which had contained a half packet of pasta shells and some shrivelled up garlic for 4 years.
I struggled manfully through the chorus like the night Marty got the fear in Mackens and couldn’t remember a single word of the Red Rose Cafe after consuming 27 pints of Lager with the excitement.
But when it came for me to blow the roof off, I took a deep breath, stared down at the multitude of upturned faces, threw the mike on the floor in a coil of whistling feedback, jumped off the stage, legged it out the back door and ran over to Bradys to order a large vodka.
Sure they thought it was part of the performance says the bearded one when he found me.
We didn’t win.
Although I did sing a whore of a version of it in a house in Modaleener in my cups at 5am. .
I did win the best MC at this years singing pubs though, again by random accident .......
I needed a lend of a room for a crowd of pissed poets to perform in and as no good deed goes unpunished found myself writing the intro and links on a table outside as the Diageo judges were being driven down the road in the Silver Bus.
The first woman ever to MC their singing pubs (while consuming Jemmy & Ginger) I was nominated as the best comedy act also and then to add injury to insult I missed the party night as I was in the bed with the galloping consumption and am still waiting on an envelope and a bouquet.
My history with the singing pubs goes back to when I was a mere child of 20 and was prevailed upon to sing all over the gaff in various hostelries.
Thus I sang Ballads in The Menapia,
Mary Black in The Commodore with Ger Lacey,
Fever with Don Sadler and his band in Speakers,
Joni Mitchell with the Bushers in The County Hotel
Come all Ye’s in The Merry Elf in Killinick,
Hazel O Connor's "Will You?" with Tommy Mahoney in Tims Tavern,
(He wouldn't)
Anachie Gordon in Mackens
Peggy Gordon in The Shelmalier Lounge
(no relation)
and lilted with Paddy Berry in The Wrens Nest.
Paddy didn't even know.
In those days the set list and singers were guarded and sacrosanct and every pub was up the walls to know who was doing what where with whom and how long?
They also wanted to know about the singing and swinging.
Lads were poached from pubs as quick as Johnny wrote the note.
And stolen back again twice as fast..
The rehearsing began in July to get a good run at the drinking
It was usually a Wednesday night and the bar was free.
Mother of Jesus.
It would begin well and then devolve into mayhem in inverse proportion to the amount of pints of porter and half ones consumed, ............ by the barman.
Songs would be praised or heckled, or changed, or forgotten.
There would be torn up pieces of paper, song lyrics and bookies pens littering the counter amidst the towering ashtrays of doggers of Major.
There would be a lad who would stand up with his hands behind his back, a tin of Zubes bulging in his suit pants and proceed to sing all 57 verses of a song no one had ever heard of and which he may have written himself at the kitchen table out of his mind on Jemmy and pep.
There would be a lad without a note in his head but who had drank in the pub for 40 years and would be at the opening of an envelope.
The crowd would will him on with Honna the you,
go on son,
drive it out of ya,
hup ya boyo
and they would all sing the chorus and sway while giving the judges the Bambis as if to say
"forgive him hun, he know not what he do"
There would be a sweating MC in a Tux, a sheen of perspiration on his upper lip reeking of aftershave and gin. He would try to remember all the name checking, nods to judges, and the running order until he could get quietly hammered and take over the entire show himself.
There would be an after show party,
a musicians party,
a results party,
a re-run party,
a getting over the party party,
and an "I cant believe it’s not a party" party.
We used to be in a hoop till Christmas.
In the Goal bar, Big Generator carried in enough amps to power Glastonbury and it was there I first heard "Fergie Diamond" sing Sweet Caroline.
Because no good deed goes unpunished I was asked to MC another event the following week in a big hotel in aid of the #Hospice, and so in a spirit of madness wore a red velvet dress and ran amok. Highlights of the evening included but are not entirely limited to -
dancing, rapping, making up blues songs heckling the organiser, lying flat on my back on stage,
and kissing a hurler at a Urinal.
Onstage.
I began my 3 hour One Woman Show with this piece.
2016 has been a bastard of year for losing people, Leonard Cohen, Gene Wilder, Terry Wogan, David Bowie, Caroline Ahearne, Victoria Wood, Ronnie Corbett, Prince, and a vast list of notable artists, musicians, film makers, actors and personalities.
Here in Wexford we lost one of our own giant personalities, a man who made a legendary contribution to the Singing Pubs down throughout the years, and who has left a lasting legacy in the hearts and minds of those lucky enough to know him.
Mr Fergie Kehoe.
"What am I doing tomorrow hun?"
That is what he would shout at me everytime he saw me,
whether it was across the Quay with a wave of his hand,
or in the vegetable aisle at Pettitts -
and I would respond flippantly -
"the same as everyday, Pinky, try to take over the world"
And we would laugh.
He was the kind of man who had a ready laugh -
whispering nuggets of gossip that he would never divulge the source of -
and would admonish me not to repeat and I would look up at him cheekily and say
"Can I quote you on that?"
I knew him before he was a fully paid up member of the party,
and he knew me before I wrote.
In another lifetime I was the barmaid,
and he was the man who could stop a crowd singing "Song Song Blue"
and they called him Fergie Diamond and roared for more
on long Sunday Sessions in the Goal.
He was the kind of man who had tall legs and pleated pants and was the life and soul of any party,
and then he joined another party entirely and through the worst of its excesses was as in tune with the man on the street as he was singing lovesongs.
I slagged him unmercifully about both.
He was the kind of man who liked to get into a corner with his arms crossed and nod and listen and laugh.
He was the kind of man that even political opponents described as the heart of the rowl and a dacent man.
Always happy,. always joking ........................
"Laughing turns to crying" my Mother would say.
He was always ready to help, to make a call, to deal with other peoples problems while obviously beset with his own.
" I am
I keep expecting to wake up and find I have been dreaming.
It seems so entirely unlikely.
He was ten foot tall and bulletproof.
Before his last goodbye he posted the SONGS he loved and in a final message advised us to mind each other
and ourselves.
"What am I doing tomorrow hun?"............
What will we do without YOU?
I invite you tonight to raise a glass in his memory -
to let every empty chair in this room be the presence of a loved one we have lost,
I ask you to toast them AND him ------
at a musical evening he would have LOVED to be at,
and to all the singers and musicians who have left us this year -
and ALL the years
whose voices, memories and music echo faintly through the clouds if we could but hush -
and listen.
MDM November 2016
Because there was a big cash prize half the town entered and the other half turned up to heckle them.
I took a look at the braying throng and got the fear.
| The lads |
The song was called kajoma and sounded passable in the kitchen of the An Óige hostel I was running in the Harbour, when they had left the gate open by an accident and I had got back in AGAIN.
The hirsute guitarist hit the opening notes on his guitar and then gave me a 4 bar intro,
and when I didn’t start singing,
gave me 8,
then 16,
then whispered ......for the love of fuck come on.
 |
| I was blonde then. It's NOT true ................... |
I started in the wrong key and knew I would never be able to hit the high notes in the bridge that we had been shrieking all over Kilrane to drown out the sounds of the maniacs running amok in the common room -rummaging in the free food basket which had contained a half packet of pasta shells and some shrivelled up garlic for 4 years.
I struggled manfully through the chorus like the night Marty got the fear in Mackens and couldn’t remember a single word of the Red Rose Cafe after consuming 27 pints of Lager with the excitement.
But when it came for me to blow the roof off, I took a deep breath, stared down at the multitude of upturned faces, threw the mike on the floor in a coil of whistling feedback, jumped off the stage, legged it out the back door and ran over to Bradys to order a large vodka.
 |
| Absolutely |
Sure they thought it was part of the performance says the bearded one when he found me.
We didn’t win.
Although I did sing a whore of a version of it in a house in Modaleener in my cups at 5am. .
I did win the best MC at this years singing pubs though, again by random accident .......
I needed a lend of a room for a crowd of pissed poets to perform in and as no good deed goes unpunished found myself writing the intro and links on a table outside as the Diageo judges were being driven down the road in the Silver Bus.
The first woman ever to MC their singing pubs (while consuming Jemmy & Ginger) I was nominated as the best comedy act also and then to add injury to insult I missed the party night as I was in the bed with the galloping consumption and am still waiting on an envelope and a bouquet.
 |
| I dress as a pint of #Guinness |
My history with the singing pubs goes back to when I was a mere child of 20 and was prevailed upon to sing all over the gaff in various hostelries.
Thus I sang Ballads in The Menapia,
Mary Black in The Commodore with Ger Lacey,
Fever with Don Sadler and his band in Speakers,
Joni Mitchell with the Bushers in The County Hotel
Come all Ye’s in The Merry Elf in Killinick,
Hazel O Connor's "Will You?" with Tommy Mahoney in Tims Tavern,
(He wouldn't)
Anachie Gordon in Mackens
Peggy Gordon in The Shelmalier Lounge
(no relation)
and lilted with Paddy Berry in The Wrens Nest.
Paddy didn't even know.
 |
| Note the splash of whiskey on the page |
They also wanted to know about the singing and swinging.
Lads were poached from pubs as quick as Johnny wrote the note.
And stolen back again twice as fast..
The rehearsing began in July to get a good run at the drinking
It was usually a Wednesday night and the bar was free.
Mother of Jesus.
It would begin well and then devolve into mayhem in inverse proportion to the amount of pints of porter and half ones consumed, ............ by the barman.
Songs would be praised or heckled, or changed, or forgotten.
There would be torn up pieces of paper, song lyrics and bookies pens littering the counter amidst the towering ashtrays of doggers of Major.
There would be a lad who would stand up with his hands behind his back, a tin of Zubes bulging in his suit pants and proceed to sing all 57 verses of a song no one had ever heard of and which he may have written himself at the kitchen table out of his mind on Jemmy and pep.
 |
| The Judges after consuming pints of plain all over town |
There would be a lad without a note in his head but who had drank in the pub for 40 years and would be at the opening of an envelope.
The crowd would will him on with Honna the you,
go on son,
drive it out of ya,
hup ya boyo
and they would all sing the chorus and sway while giving the judges the Bambis as if to say
"forgive him hun, he know not what he do"
There would be a sweating MC in a Tux, a sheen of perspiration on his upper lip reeking of aftershave and gin. He would try to remember all the name checking, nods to judges, and the running order until he could get quietly hammered and take over the entire show himself.
There would be an after show party,
a musicians party,
a results party,
a re-run party,
a getting over the party party,
and an "I cant believe it’s not a party" party.
We used to be in a hoop till Christmas.
In the Goal bar, Big Generator carried in enough amps to power Glastonbury and it was there I first heard "Fergie Diamond" sing Sweet Caroline.
 |
| The Unforgettable Fergie Kehoe |
Because no good deed goes unpunished I was asked to MC another event the following week in a big hotel in aid of the #Hospice, and so in a spirit of madness wore a red velvet dress and ran amok. Highlights of the evening included but are not entirely limited to -
dancing, rapping, making up blues songs heckling the organiser, lying flat on my back on stage,
and kissing a hurler at a Urinal.
Onstage.
 |
| What have I done? thinks Johnny Gaynor |
I began my 3 hour One Woman Show with this piece.
2016 has been a bastard of year for losing people, Leonard Cohen, Gene Wilder, Terry Wogan, David Bowie, Caroline Ahearne, Victoria Wood, Ronnie Corbett, Prince, and a vast list of notable artists, musicians, film makers, actors and personalities.
Here in Wexford we lost one of our own giant personalities, a man who made a legendary contribution to the Singing Pubs down throughout the years, and who has left a lasting legacy in the hearts and minds of those lucky enough to know him.
Mr Fergie Kehoe.
"What am I doing tomorrow hun?"
That is what he would shout at me everytime he saw me,
whether it was across the Quay with a wave of his hand,
or in the vegetable aisle at Pettitts -
and I would respond flippantly -
"the same as everyday, Pinky, try to take over the world"
And we would laugh.
He was the kind of man who had a ready laugh -
whispering nuggets of gossip that he would never divulge the source of -
and would admonish me not to repeat and I would look up at him cheekily and say
"Can I quote you on that?"
I knew him before he was a fully paid up member of the party,
and he knew me before I wrote.
In another lifetime I was the barmaid,
and he was the man who could stop a crowd singing "Song Song Blue"
and they called him Fergie Diamond and roared for more
on long Sunday Sessions in the Goal.
He was the kind of man who had tall legs and pleated pants and was the life and soul of any party,
and then he joined another party entirely and through the worst of its excesses was as in tune with the man on the street as he was singing lovesongs.
I slagged him unmercifully about both.
He was the kind of man who liked to get into a corner with his arms crossed and nod and listen and laugh.
He was the kind of man that even political opponents described as the heart of the rowl and a dacent man.
Always happy,. always joking ........................
"Laughing turns to crying" my Mother would say.
He was always ready to help, to make a call, to deal with other peoples problems while obviously beset with his own.
" I am
I said
To no one there
And no one heard at all not
Even the chair
I am
I cried
I am said I
And I am lost and I can
Even say why
Leavin' me lonely still........."
And no one heard at all not
Even the chair
I am
I cried
I am said I
And I am lost and I can
Even say why
Leavin' me lonely still........."
(N. Diamond)
I keep expecting to wake up and find I have been dreaming.
It seems so entirely unlikely.
He was ten foot tall and bulletproof.
Before his last goodbye he posted the SONGS he loved and in a final message advised us to mind each other
and ourselves.
"What am I doing tomorrow hun?"............
What will we do without YOU?
I invite you tonight to raise a glass in his memory -
to let every empty chair in this room be the presence of a loved one we have lost,
I ask you to toast them AND him ------
at a musical evening he would have LOVED to be at,
and to all the singers and musicians who have left us this year -
and ALL the years
whose voices, memories and music echo faintly through the clouds if we could but hush -
and listen.
MDM November 2016
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