Mourning absent friends

In this column, I find myself in the unhappy position of mourning not merely the passing of a great band but also the demise of a treasured record store.

Road Records’ Dave and Julie have decided to call it a day and shut the doors at their Fade Street record shop in Dublin. Since it first opened 11 years ago Road has been a oasis of sanity in the midst of the upheavals that have beset the music industry. Road was at the frontline of the battle to keep personality and individuality in music. If you wanted to release a hand numbered limited-edition single, or package your album in an elaborate faux-leather booklet then the welcome mat would be rolled out for you at Road.
A post on the shop’s website explains why Road is going out of business – rising costs, fewer people in the city centre translating into fewer walk up sales.
Some of the factors in the store’s demise, however, apply specifically to the music business. “Kids don’t buy music anymore,” write the owners. “That sounds like a fairly broad statement to make. I know there are still some out there. But we don’t see any young people in the shop anymore – so as we lose older customers we don’t gain any new ones.” What a chilling thought.
Equally demoralising was the news, which actually emerged around Christmas, that Flook have called it a day after 13 years together.
Never the most prolific of acts, they leave behind only three studio albums: Flatfish; Rubai and Haven although it was their often mindbogglingly packed touring schedule that most fans will remember.
There is also a live album, recorded mid-career in 1996 while Michael McGoldrick was still in the band, called Flook! Live! (well, what were you expecting?).
Featuring a line-up that drew on Irish traditional and English folk, they were also ace collaborators a la Kila – there’s a minestrone of music styles in evidence on their final album, Haven.
You can’t help but wondering, though, if their finest moments weren’t still ahead of them.
Their albums never seemed to fully fulfil their obvious potential. But there was always enough of a glimpse of their talent to keep you hooked. Their website hints that the split may not be final. But with four such individual talents drifting around without a day job, it’s difficult to see how they won’t be snapped up before long.
What have Sarah McQuaid, Daithi Sproule, Jeff Tweedy and Jimmy Page in common? Obviously they’re all guitar players but specifically they are guitar players who will be mourning the death just before Christmas of Davy Graham, the English guitarist who introduced the DAGDAD tuning into English folk music, popularising it with a generation of English and Irish players. It was he who helped put the folk into Led Zeppelin’s swampy melange of blues and traditional influences.
Although his songs were covered by Simon and Garfunkel, Bert Jansch and Chicken Shack, his own career never achieved a similar level of commercial success.
A self-confessed over-indulger in illicit substances, he disappeared off the radar after 1969’s LCD laced Hat album and, for many years, divided his time between teaching guitar and working for mental health charities. But he had latterly returned to live performance, frequently appearing onstage with his old sparring partners Bert Jansch and Martin Carthy and recorded an album, Broken Biscuits, with collaborator Mark Pavey in 2007. In 2005 the BBC made a documentary called Whatever Happened To Davy Graham? which is a fitting memorial.