Irish Pub and Irish Music

In Dublin's fair city,

where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She was a fishmonger,
But sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

(chorus)

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"


We had a bit of an "adventure" last night, deciding to make an outing to an Irish pub just a few blocks from my school, where I knew there was an "Irish" band playing.  It is not our usual thing to frequent bars, but for whatever reason, it seemed like a good idea, and so we piled out into the rainy night and headed off -- the first official public debut of the kilt.

The place was packed with two private parties and a significant number of young, rowdy, drunken rugby players and a gaggle of semi-attached, disheveled looking, loud-mouth females that we came to refer to as the "rugby sluts." 

The music didn't start until about 9:30, and we'd arrived a good bit ahead of that.  We ordered some appetizers and some drinks.  We sat, tucked securely into a corner, nibbling our munchies, and observed the antics of the youngsters.  That crowd became increasingly obnoxious and disgusting as they got drunker and drunker, finally finishing their evening with one of their member heaving his guts out in the men's room -- attended by a couple of his buddies.  The "sluts" headed off with whichever penis had them last, and the place quieted down to a dull roar.  The private parties wound up and cleared out, and the band got all set up and began to play.

There was a rather remarkably talented and attractive young woman on the violin, a very good drummer that she introduced as her brother, a base guitarist, and a fellow who alternated between guitar and mandolin.  The last member of the group was a tall, pleasant looking young man who played a very awkward guitar and insisted on trying to scream the vocals as if he was fronting for Axel Rose.  That was too bad because, when he settled in and sang like a balladeer, he wasn't too bad.  With that small exception, however, the group was actually very good, and certainly fun to watch and listen to.  The room was probably too small for their sound, but it was nice to have them in such an intimate setting.  We enjoyed the music very much. 

When we headed home, close to midnight, we were glad we'd gone and talked happily about doing it again -- planning to arrive later, but looking forward to more evenings spent with some good music.

swan (who is still wondering if there is anything at all to be said about the mating habits of young folks...)