Kilroy Was Here
Larry Kirwan
Gadfly Records
<http://www.gadflyrecords.com>
REVIEW BY BILL NEVINS
Larry Kirwan is best known as leader/song-writer of Irish-American rebel-rockers Black 47. He is most often seen in a packed New York pub, his fist upraised, shouting, "So here's to you, revolution! May your flame keep burning still!".
Kirwan's songs praise Irish Marxist union-builder James Connolly, armed feminist Constance Markievicz and US socialist/singer/actor/hero Paul Robeson. He sneeringly and defiantly puts-down pious prudes, Irish racists, homophobic job foremen, hypocritical politicians and smug journalists. Black 47's searing Stratocaster, keening pipes and thundering drums underscore the cheerfully tub-thumping bravado of this most political, yet most thoughtful, of all Irish-diaspora bands.
Indeed, a generation of young Irish Americans seeking their historical roots, and maybe some gut-level understanding of the conflicts recently raging in the streets of Belfast — or in the streets of US cities for that matter — have gravitated to Black 47's stirring albums and jammed their frequent live shows.
Red flags waving are not uncommon at the shows, right alongside the Irish Tricolor and the Starry Plough. No other band has covered topics as divergent as the bloody anti-draft riots that shook New York City during the US Civil War, the deadening boredom of living in 1950s Ireland, the liberating joy of seeing Rory Gallagher and Bernadette Devlin each thundering fire and rebellion from Irish stages, and the spectre of mindless violent reaction rising again in present day United States. From Fire of Freedom (Capitol) to Trouble in the Land (Shanachie), Black 47's records have been one rattling, roaring lesson in real history and angry class awareness that put pompous poseurs like U2 to shame.
Paradoxically, for all their heavy subject matter, Black 47 have always been known as a good-times party band. Kirwan himself has baldly asserted, "I love to drink!", and sneered straight back at snobs who would put down working folks' right to raucous, dancing group celebration.
But as you get older, even in the world of rock 'n' roll or that of unfinished revolution, it becomes apparent that life is not all happy riots and righteous parties. There's a weight to it all, brought on by the accumulation of years, of tears, of losses and loves, griefs and memories.
That's the tough reality that Kirwan chews on in Kilroy Was Here, his first solo album, just released on Gadfly Records. It is a great record. It's also very different from Black 47's many albums. Stripped away is the bombast, the loud flourishes and calls to arms ("History of Ireland, Part One" deftly satirises the Irish rebel mythos).
Kirwan's profoundly political view of life is definitely there, but it is much more subtly expressed, far more integrated into the fabric of the lives (his own included) which he sketches on this intricate musical "novel".
In Kilroy's centrepiece song, "Life's Like That, Isn't It?", an Irish boy cherishes his father's love, yet stoically accepts that, life being what it must be, he will see his dad only fleetingly over the years. Kirwan's own father was a merchant seafarer, forced by economic realities to leave his family for long voyages to South America and beyond. Kirwan's autobiographical young hero joins his strong mother in her lonely pain, yet uses the guitar his visiting father gave him to carve a niche for himself in the world. Grown into a young rocker, he too finds a way to flee sadness and see the wonders beyond the small town he was born into. But he never forgets the song he wants to sing for his dad, and at the end of the day, he sings that song very well, indeed. A beautiful, unsentimental yet heart-wrenching song, which evolves dramatically before it ends.
Other songs test the strength of child-parent bonds in vignettes like that of "Fatima", a girl wrenched between love of her father's dignified, refined Islamic traditions and the wild crudity of her laughing Irish beau. Kirwan sharply observed the struggle of generations, even literary ones: his narrator in "Molly" is insane with love for James Joyce's lusty fictional daughter/lover Molly Bloom, and literally loses himself in the pages of Joyce's Ulysses.
The contemplative tone of this album, with its musical setting in strings, soft horns and acoustic guitar, far removed from Black 47's rock storm and blast, fits the stories well. Yet this is by no means mood music. It is a thinking soul's meditation on the world and its troubles — history as seen from the viewpoint of a rebel grown up well. Through his many complex and intriguing narratives on Kilroy Was Here, Kirwan seems to be saying, "It's all a story, really. But a damn good one. Worth the telling of it, at the end of the day".
Have a pint on a Sunday afternoon, open the windows and savour this fine album.
[Bill Nevins is a resident of New Mexico, USA. He has written on Irish politics and cultural topics for a number of progressive publications.]