THE DUBLINERS – Barney McKenna, John Sheahan, Sean Cannon, Eamonn Campbell, Patsy Watchorn - have released their official brand new DVD and double CD on Celtic Airs, recorded live at Vicar Street in Dublin last year.
The DVD features the entire concert spanning 28 tracks, interspersed with banter and craic from one of Ireland's most enduring and influential acts. The same tracks run through the double album and include Black Velvet Band, The Rare Auld Times, I'll Tell Me Ma, Rocky Road To Dublin and Dirty Old Town. Having been recently commemorated in a new series of stamps from An Post, The Dubliners continue to entertain audiences across the world.
The road has been long and winding. The Dubliners went on to take centre stage on the Ed Sullivan Show in New York in the wake of the Beatles. They conquered Tops of the Pops in 1967 and again in 1987 with The Pogues. They toured America, Australia, Scandinavia, all ports. Some of the early participants passed, but the new boys - Jim, Paddy, Eamonn, Sean and, latterly, Patsy - reinforced the unique power of preserving authenticity.
There were changes, but the Dubliners remained the ultimate nourishment - a grand loaf of bread whose wrapper varies but whose recipe never alters.
In July 2006, the bread was sliced yet again for a homecoming at Vicar Street. The venue has become a cultural nexus, where Art Garfunkel, Brian Wilson and the Flaming Lips are equally at home. It was new to the Dubliners, who have played in just about every concert hall the breadth of Europe. "We last played Dublin for the fortieth anniversary at the Gaiety in 2002," says John. "But this room offered a real intimacy." In the queues before the sell-out concert, apprehension was high as the age bracket of new fans was low. The amount of young faces in the crowd surprised everyone. "It's liberating," says Barney. "It says that music is a family celebration. There should be no boundaries."
The unity was in the voice of the audience: a roar that stirred when Jim came on to announce them, ascending to deafening sing-along by the time Whiskey in the Jar was rollicking. One song after another, one hit after another, a poem from John, banter from Sean and Barney, a soft shoe from Eamonn, a tug at the heartstrings from Patsy: the accumulative effect was overpowering, building to the kind of crescendo only experienced at a world heavyweight boxing showdown.
By the end, the searing heat of the July night, electrified by the tirelessness of the band, had the audience on its knees. And then the floor-pounding demands for the encores began. They played on, well beyond closing time, John's fiddle never so sweet, Barney's voice never so emotive, Sean and Eamonn and Patsy lifting the rafters.
There were smiles and whoops and hugs and air-punches from the audience. This had been an extraordinary homecoming, an indisputable musical feast. The bread was rarely fresher.
