In this section I talk about the great love & passion of my life - music. Classical, jazz, pop, rock, easy listening - whatever people classify I just listen to what I like. I hope we find our common ground somehow. I shall also occasionally talk about books and films I like. I will be grateful if you let me know your favourite music, books or films.
Liam O Maonlai (0 Maonlai, Liam)
22 Sep., at Lafauret Harajuku
The first time I saw him on stage was more than 10 years ago, when he came with his group Hothouse Flowers. They had a big hit with their debut album and the live stage in a big concert hall was so enagetic, passionate and brilliant. I barely knew about Ireland and its music then and they were just one of those rock group, although the one which was incredibly good. Liam sang with an impressive, unique voice and played fascinating instruments which I had never seen before nor had any idea what they are called.
Now he sings with that unmistakable voice, perhaps even more matured, traditional Irish songs in Gaelic, plays Irish tin whistle, bodhran and big wooden Australian didgeridoo. No back band, just a guest musician Ronan O'Snodaigh of a group KILA, who used to go to the same school in Dublin with Liam. Ronan plays his own Afro-Caribbean-Gypsy-Irish bodhran. They play together, sing together and walk on the stage barefoot. Music was flooding from their whole bodies. The melody of whistle, the drumming sound of bodhran. Close my eyes, and I see the dark rocky seashore and feel the wailing wind on my cheek which I have never really seen and felt, and suddenly feel the tears nearly welling up.
I met a girl from Osaka before the concert. She was sitting alone at the bottom of the stairway to the hall, with her big backpack. She had just come back from the island of Rebun, further north of Hokkaido. She tald me she had just flew from Sapporo and came directly to the hall. She was going to see another performence of Liam the day after and had no place to stay for the night. She said she would go to some all-night cinema in Shinjuku.
'Why don't you come and stay with me?' I said.
Now he is alone sitting at the piano. "I wrote this song when I was feeling down,' he says, playing his beautiful scales. "I wasn't happy. This song always gives me peace."
Star of the ocean
The light in your eyes
Your heart is
What love is
You're saved.
Yes I know this song. It's from his group's first album, the last number. I liked it. Perhaps.
I was wondering why I offered her to come to my place. That was not the kind of thing I was used to do.
He plays Bach incredibly fast, with his "Ahhgh" and "Oh no" whenever he made a little mistake. He keeps beating his bodhran with his own hand while he expleins about a Gaelic love song he is going to sing. He makes the fascinating, soul-shaking sound with his didgeridoo. When it's all over it was nearly half past 10.
His hand was surprisingly soft and gentle when I shook hand with him after the concert. It wasn't firm, but a comfortable, warm and close shakehand which I felt for a moment he'd never let my hand go. It somehow felt familiar. His smile was a little shy, but broad one. A smile of a child, a husband, a father.
Your heart is
What love is
You're saved.
Later I knew why I felt familiar with his hand. It felt just like I was holding my own hand. The girl went to the second concert the next day. She was going to catch a late night highway coach to Osaka.
Your heart is
What love is
You're saved.
We said goodbye on the underground. We parted as friends.
26/9/'99
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