Ride On

by Stephen J. Martin

  Jimmy frowned at him.

  ‘That’s ballet, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’m not really a big fan, Dónal.’

  ‘Have you ever been?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  ‘No. But it’s something I’d like to see once before I croak. And it’s the Bolshoi, man, y’know?’

  ‘Ah, I’m not sure about ballet. Shiggy?’

  ‘Sure. I go. Which one they do, Dónal?’

  ‘They’re doing Sleeping Beauty. Tchaikovsky.’

  ‘Right … yeah …’ said Jimmy, scratching his chin. ‘Is there no proper gigs on, but?’

  ‘What does Aesop want to do?’ said Dónal.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we’d have to wake him up to find out what he’ll think of the ballet idea.’

  Dónal gave him a shove beside him on the sofa.

  ‘Aesop?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Do you want to go to the ballet tonight?’

  Aesop opened his eyes and frowned at the three of them in turn.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you want to go and see the ballet tonight? Sleeping Beauty …’

  ‘I’m just resting me eyes.’

  ‘No, that’s not … Aesop. Aesop, look at me.’

  Aesop looked at him again and straightened himself up.

  ‘Are we there yet?’

  ‘Do you want to go to the ballet tonight?’

  ‘The ballet?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What? Ballet?’

  ‘Yes, Aesop, the bleedin’ ballet.’

  ‘In the tights?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why would I fuckin’ want to do that?’

  ‘Just to see it.’

  Aesop tried to point to his nose.

  ‘Does this look like the face of a man who wants to see the ballet, Dónal?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Is Liz Hurley in it?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Ask me bollix, so.’

  He looked across the table and grinned, pointing.

  ‘There’s Shiggy.’

  Then he drifted off again.

  ‘Yeah, anyway I don’t think so Dónal,’ said Jimmy. ‘Sounds a bit heavy.’

  ‘All right. Actually, y’know what? I’m going to call Mags and get her to fly over. She can leave the kids with her sister. She’s been up to her bollocks with Cian the last couple of weeks. Did I tell you he got an awful dose in his chest and wouldn’t sleep? Why don’t you three head off and do something else and I’ll seeya in the morning?’

  ‘Grand,’ said Jimmy. ‘There’ll be a gig on somewhere. Well, have a good night then. Seeya tomorrow. Tell Mags I said hello.’

  ‘Will do. Cheers lads.’

  ‘Seeya.’

  Dónal left the three of them there and walked off to make the arrangements.

  ‘So Shiggy, what do you want to do this afternoon?’

  ‘Never been to Rondon before, Jimmy.’

  ‘Me neither. Not properly, like. I’ll have a chat with the concierge over there and see what he recommends.’

  ‘What about Aesop?’

  Aesop was fast asleep now.

  ‘The bleedin’ state of him. He can sleep it off and we’ll pick him up later. He’s in love by the way, did you know that?’

  ‘Aesop? But … how?’

  ‘Yeah I know. He’s in love with Norman’s cousin. They met in Cork and this idiot wants to marry her now.’

  ‘Oh oh. Norman not rike that.’

  ‘No, man. He doesn’t. Not one fuckin’ little bit.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘Was this the best you could do, Collins?’ said Aesop, flapping his arms against the cold as Jimmy leaned in to pay the taximan.

  ‘They’re fuckin’ brilliant. I seen them a couple of times at home.’

  ‘We just left the bleedin’ bog behind us, and now that we’re all the way over here in the middle of London, you drag me out to see a poxy trad band?’

  ‘What happened to your new-found love for Irish culture, Aesop?’

  ‘Fuck sake. Baby steps, Jimmy, y’know?’

  ‘Anyway, it’s not exactly trad. It’s more of …’

  ‘It’s not exactly Marilyn Manson either, is it?’

  ‘Ah, Marilyn Manson me hole.’

  ‘Shiggy doesn’t want to see a trad band.’

  ‘Is okay, Aesop,’ said Shiggy. ‘I love Irish trad.’

  ‘What? Since when?’

  ‘Live music, Aesop. Any live music is cool.’

  ‘Fuck sake. Is Clapton or something not playing anywhere?’

  ‘If you wanted in on the voting, Aesop, you shouldn’t have gotten shitfaced at breakfast, should you?’

  ‘I had to!’

  ‘Well there you go. That’s what happens.’

  ‘Why are we here so early?’

  ‘They do food. I haven’t eaten all day.’

  ‘They better not be shite.’

  ‘They’re not shite. And stop whinging. They’ll have beer inside for you.’

  ‘I’m not drinking tonight.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘After last night? No bleedin’ way. Sure, my body is a temple.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Jimmy, walking off towards the venue. ‘The fuckin’ Temple of Doom.’

  The place hadn’t really gotten going yet. All the house lights were on and staff were still moving between the few punters who’d turned up early for a feed. Aesop and Shiggy found a spot with a high table near a window off the main concert space, which would hold about three or four hundred punters, and Jimmy went to the bar to order the food and some drinks.

  ‘Two Carlsberg, a Coke and three steaks please,’ he said.

  ‘No problem mate,’ said the barman, getting to work. ‘How do you want the steaks?’

  ‘Eh … ah, well-done is grand.’

  There was a guy standing next to him and they nodded to each other.

  ‘Howya. Have you seen the lads before?’ said Jimmy, flicking his head in to the stage area.

  ‘Kíla? A few times, yeah,’ said the other bloke, smiling. He was Irish.

  He took out his wallet to pay for his drinks. Then he looked up again, with a small frown.

  ‘Are you … Jimmy Collins?’

  Christ. Here we fuckin’ go again, thought Jimmy. He wouldn’t have bothered his bollocks saying anything if he’d thought this was going to happen.

  ‘Yeah. Howsit goin’?’

  ‘Grand. Colm Ó’Snodaigh,’ he said, putting out his hand.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Jimmy, shaking it.

  ‘And you.’

  ‘So … are you living in London?’

  The barman would be back in a minute. He could put up with it till then if he had to.

  ‘Nah. Just over for the gig.’

  ‘Oh right. Jaysis, you must like them, so.’

  ‘Ah, they can be a shower of pricks a lot of the time, but you get used to it,’ said Colm with a grin.

  Jimmy blinked at him.

  Colm laughed.

  ‘I’m in the band, Jimmy.’

  ‘Wha … oh fuck, I’m sorry. Ó’Snodaigh, of course. Jesus, I forgot. I didn’t recognise you with the beard.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, man.’

  ‘I haven’t see yiz play since Croke Park that time.’

  ‘Were you at the game?’

  ‘Nah. Me mate’s from Cork. He dragged us all down the pub to watch it.’

  ‘Cork? God. And how was he after the game?’

  ‘Did they not win?’

  ‘Kilkenny did by three points.’

  ‘Well, I don’t remember the game, but I’ve a fair idea of what he was like if they didn’t win. A fuckin’ bull probably. But, c’mere, playing to eighty thousand people. Jaysis. What was that like?’

  ‘Mental.’

  ‘I’d say, yeah.’

  ‘Your own band is going great guns, though. Fair pla
y.’

  ‘Thanks, yeah.’

  ‘What are yiz up to now?’

  ‘Eh, well we’ll be touring Ireland in a few weeks. Then the UK. Then probably over to the States. The lads are over there, look.’

  Colm looked over.

  ‘That’s brilliant, Jesus. Great stuff. Are you still writing in Irish?’

  ‘Ah, not really. “Caillte” just happened. It might happen again, but … y’know …’

  ‘Yeah. That one was a good one though, Jimmy. Made a lot of people take notice. Lovely tune.’

  ‘Thanks. So … what time are yiz on tonight?’

  Colm checked his watch.

  ‘Won’t be for a few hours yet. There’s a local lad on first and then we’ll go on about half nine.’

  ‘Well, I’m looking forward to it anyway. I saw you during “Tóg Go Bog É”, in the Olympia I think it was. Jaysis, you had the roof shaking, I swear.’

  ‘Cheers Jimmy. Listen, I might talk to you later, right? Need to get these back to the lads.’

  ‘Yeah, seeya. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Jimmy paid the barman and walked back to Aesop and Shiggy.

  ‘Who’s yer man?’ said Aesop.

  ‘Colm. He’s in the band.’

  ‘Right. And did he say … what’s that?’

  ‘Coke.’

  ‘Coke?’

  ‘You said you weren’t drinking.’

  ‘I’m not drinking. I’m having a few pints though, Jesus.’

  ‘Well drink your Coke and you can get a round in when you’re done.’

  ‘Where’s the steaks?’

  ‘Fuck sake, he doesn’t keep them up his jumper, Aesop. They’ll be out when they’re cooked.’

  ‘Did you get mine rare?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  An hour later the lads were mostly finished their dinner. Aesop was still pushing pieces of steak around his plate and scowling at Jimmy every now and again. The place was starting to fill up a bit and a buzz was kicking in around the venue. There were a lot of Irish people around, and hearing all the different accents made Jimmy laugh. He looked over at Aesop.

  ‘Are you nearly done with your dinner? We should head in and grab a good spot.’

  Aesop sighed and looked back down at his plate.

  ‘Jimmy, didn’t I tell you …’

  ‘Heya Jimmy.’

  They all looked around. Colm from Kíla was standing there.

  ‘Oh, hiya Colm. Eh, Colm, this is Aesop and this is Shiggy. Lads, this is Colm Ó’Snodaigh. Plays the flute and a few other things with Kíla.’

  They all shook hands with each other and then Colm turned back to Jimmy.

  ‘Listen Jimmy, I have …’

  ‘Colm,’ said Aesop. ‘Does this look rare to you?’

  He had his fork with a piece of steak held out in front of Colm’s face. Colm looked at it.

  ‘Eh … no, Aesop. I wouldn’t say so.’

  ‘Now. See, Jimmy? I bleedin’ told you, didn’t I? I’m fuckin’ losing fillings over here.’

  ‘Jesus. Will you ever get back in your box, Aesop? Sorry Colm …’

  ‘Eh … no bother Jimmy. Listen, I was just wondering … we were back there and I mentioned to the lads that you were here tonight. Would you be interested in getting up to sing “Caillte” during the gig?’

  Jimmy wasn’t expecting that.

  ‘Ah Jaysis, Colm … I don’t know. Kíla plays all these big arrangements and all, already worked out. I wouldn’t want you to have to try and ad-lib something at your own gig.’

  ‘It’s no problem, Jimmy. Rossa and myself are already after putting something together back there. It’ll be nice and loose. Just a jam with the rest of the band, but me and Rossa will keep it together for you to sing over. Eoin plays this lovely slow air on the pipes called “The Moon on my Back”, right? And then as it’s finishing up, he’ll start the melody to “Caillte” and you walk up and take the mike. No intro or anything. What do you reckon? The place will go spare.’

  ‘Aw man … it’s very nice of you to offer, but … I don’t know. Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely Jimmy. Listen, no pressure at all, right? We just thought it’d be cool.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Listen, if you’re not up for it then no problem. But would you mind if we did it anyway? Rónán loves the song.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Jesus, no problem. Does he know the lyrics?’

  ‘He thinks he knows most of them, yeah. Could you write them out anyway?’

  ‘Of course. The Irish ones, right? Here, I’ll get some paper off the barman and scribble them down for you.’

  ‘Grand. And listen, I’ll give you a nod during the gig, right? If you want to sing, just give me a wink and I’ll let Rónán know that you’re going to do it yourself.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. Jaysis, it’s very nice of you Colm …’

  ‘Ah stop. The crowd will lose their minds, sure.’

  ‘Right. Eh … well, hang on a minute and I’ll get a pen and stuff …’

  Jimmy went back up to the bar to get something to write on.

  Aesop tapped Colm on the arm.

  ‘Colm?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I don’t s’pose you’ll be playing any Metallica tonight, will you?’

  ‘Of course we will Aesop. Sure, isn’t the last half of the gig mostly stuff from “Master of Puppets”.’

  ‘You’re only telling me lies now, aren’t you Colm?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You’re some bollocks.’

  *

  By the time the lights came up later for the main attraction, the lads had a cool table up near the front and to the side. There was some movement in the wings and Jimmy sat forward. He was looking forward to this. He’d been a bit pissed the last time he saw them live, but he remembered the vibe in the place.

  ‘Hey Jimmy,’ said Aesop. ‘How come they only want you up there later?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m the pretty one. I could’ve played one of the bodhráns or something. Done a battle of the bodhráns thing with one of them. Y’know … the two of us, seeing who was the best.’

  Jimmy looked over at him.

  ‘Have you ever seen their bodhrán player play?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well if I were you I’d sit there and shut me hole and be thankful I’m not up there with him.’

  ‘What? Are you saying he’s better than me?’

  ‘Aesop …’

  ‘Jimmy, I’m the best drummer in the country. Isn’t that what the paper said last week?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure they meant rock drummer. It doesn’t mean you’re the ultimate bodhrán fighting champion.’

  ‘Fuck off. I am.’

  ‘Okay then. You are.’

  They didn’t say anything for a minute.

  ‘Do you not think I am?’

  ‘Aesop, let’s just say it’s not your main instrument, okay?’

  ‘Me bollix.’

  ‘Right. Well have a look at this bloke then, and see what you think. Hey Shiggy, you’re very quiet there are you okay?’

  Shiggy just nodded. Almost as soon as he’d seen the stage, he’d just sat back and sipped on his pint. He’d spotted an instrument up there that he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes Jimmy. No plobrem. Excited.’

  ‘Good stuff. You’ll like them, watch.’

  ‘Diddely-diddely-dee,’ said Aesop, sighing and looking down at his pint. ‘Fucking marvellous way to spend a Saturday evening.’

  The band came out to roars and cheers and took up their spots. There were seven of them, all dressed casually. No leather pants or wraparound shades or strutting about the place. It wasn’t a Grove gig. The singer wasn’t even wearing shoes for fuck sake, and it didn’t look like he’d spent the afternoon around at Vidal Sassoon’s either. The stage was covered in instruments. Tons of them. Jimmy didn’t even know what
half of them were called. Typical trad. Bloody talented bastards, this lot.

  Aesop leaned forward to take the piss out of them.

  ‘Hey Jimmy, do y’know what? I betcha …’

  Then he saw the fiddle player who’d just walked on. A gorgeous tall blonde with a magic dimply smile. Up went one eyebrow. He closed his mouth and leaned back again with his arms folded. He was here now, wasn’t he? Sure, he might as well give it a chance.

  ‘Yeah, what?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Eh … nothing. Shut up a minute.’

  ‘Shut up? I wasn’t the one …’

  ‘Jimmy, please!’

  ‘Fuck sake …’

  They turned to the stage again as the band started into their first piece.

  Almost immediately, Jimmy was enthralled. Yeah, he’d seen them before, but he’d just been one of crowd then. He was really listening to them this time, watching them. And not just enjoying the music. He was taking it apart, following the swells and peaks not with his ears but with that other part of him that he’d almost forgotten he had. By the second or third song he was barely even in the room with everyone else. Kíla songs were huge and lush one minute, haunting and lingering the next. Playful or thunderous. Sometimes playful and thunderous in the same song. It was nothing like rock music. When they were in full flight, it was like seven people keeping seven footballs in the air by passing them around between them.

  As the gig went on and Jimmy shifted his attention around the various performances of the people on the stage, he found himself getting faintly embarrassed. Here was this band, virtuoso musicians painting canvas after vivid canvas in sound and sending them soaring through the air out to the rapt audience; no pretension, no posturing, no fucking about … each one supplying their own colour and texture so that each picture would emerge whole and perfect.

  ‘Fuck sake,’ said Aesop at one stage, shaking his head as another tune reached a shaking, shrieking summit before disappearing into the roars of the delighted audience.

  ‘What?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘How is this trad, you lying bastard? Some of this stuff is heavy as fuck! Maiden weren’t that loud in The Point. Me ears! What was that one called again?’

  ‘“Glanfaidh Mé”. Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t just trad?’

  ‘Jesus. It sounds like trad being locked in a barrel and thrown down a hill. How come I never heard this stuff before?’

  ‘You wouldn’t come with me and Norman the last time. Remember? You said you’d rather be run over. Anyway, do you like it?’