George Byrne: A Tribute

I was playing Bruce Springsteen's album, Darkness on The Edge of Town when I got the call to say George Byrne had passed away. I was on my own, had just lit a fire in the stove and was settling down for the evening. 'The Promised Land' – the opening track on side two of my original vinyl copy was spinning. The phone rang, I turned down the sound. Niall Stokes' voice sounded ominous: "Colm, have you heard?" I knew straight away.
I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I managed to hold it together for what must have been ten or more minutes as, when I went back into the living room the stylus had reached the final track on the record. I turned it up again and Springsteen was belting out the words of the title track, "tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop/I'll be on that hill with everything I've got." I felt the kick of Max Weinberg's bass drum deep in my stomach, sat down for the remainder of the song, leaving the stylus stuck in the run-out groove for what seemed like an eternity.
Now, George would probably call that bullshit and say that I made all that up - to make it sound melodramatic, poetic and romantic even, and that I was probably doing something far more mundane - cleaning the toilet or peeling the spuds, perhaps. I can hear him now: "You were in your arse listening to Springsteen on vinyl, it was probably some Van Morrison shite or Jackson Browne."

But it's absolutely true and in so many ways, it was perfect. For, I've been to hundreds of gigs in the company of George over the years - from Big Star to Brian Wilson, Paul Simon, Roxy Music, The Go Betweens, The Jayhawks and, of course, The Blades. We must've been at a dozen Springsteen shows together and while they may not have been the best gigs as far as he was concerned (some of them were, actually) they are among the most memorable. He wasn't the biggest Bruce fan in the world but he knew I was, and George would feed off enthusiasm as much as he would generate it. His favourite line, which he quoted often, was from 'Born To Run' and it was, "I love you with all the madness in my soul." He liked it because he could relate to it. Because, George had a "madness" in his own soul, which found an outlet through an unparalleled passion for music, football, films, books. There were no half measures with George. When he loved something – he truly loved it and devoured it with a fierceness. The worst thing he could say about an album or a gig was, "It's alright, adding, "but 'alright' isn't good enough for me."

We all know what George loved; The Blades, The Beach Boys, The Go-Betweens, The Undertones, Teenage Fanclub, Pugwash, Rod Stewart, Slade. And of course, The Hoops, Chelsea, Pub Quizzes. And while he was often portrayed as a veteran of the punk wars, he loved Crowded House too and once regretted not coming with me to see David Gates of Bread fame in a rare Dublin appearance. He had respect for Billy Joel, liked Elton John's early stuff and was at Hall & Oates recent Dublin show. He also loved British folk rock - John Marytn, Richard Thompson, Nick Drake and my very last conversation with him a few weeks ago was about Al Stewart's Year of The Cat album, which was a big favourite of his.

George didn't like, in no particular order: The GAA, Man Utd ("The Filth") Diddly-eye music, Astral Weeks, Shinners, The Frames, Galway, "(imagine what the fucking place would've been like if they hadn't had a famine," he once announced on the train back from a Galway trip. "Mother of God, there'd be even more of them.") He didn't much like outdoor gigs either ("rock and roll should have a roof over its head") but he suffered them anyway.

He liked a drink. A pint of "Irish" Guinness or in the summer, a pint of "Shaun Rider": George was always happiest with friends, with a pint in his hand, preferably before a gig or a match. Once on a junket as we checked into a hotel, the PR suggested we all meet in the bar at 6.30pm and have a quick drink before going onto the restaurant. George piped up immediately: "Why don't we meet at 6pm and have two - or even three?" There was no arguing with that kind of logic.

He was incurably funny and quick-witted. I rang him not long ago when he was on the way home from the supermarket. "What's for dinner tonight?" I asked him. "Steak and spuds," he said, before adding, "Maris Pipers of course - they're the Fender Telecaster of the potato world - reliable and versatile." Another time we were in a pub reading the paper and there was a story that RTE might have to sell Montrose for property development. "They could build some very nice studio apartments there," George quipped. He was Dublin through and through and rhyming slang was a particular specialty. We were in a restaurant once and there was a particularly nasty whiff coming from somewhere: "Jaysus," he groaned, "that Peggy Dell is Padraig Pearse."

He once told me that when he was younger he kept his condoms hidden in the sleeve of a Stephen Bishop album – Careless. (There's a joke in their somewhere but the LA singer-songwriter certainly didn't get it when I mentioned it to him after a gig in Dublin.) George also accused me of "groping" Al Green when the soul legend brushed past me on his walkabout in Vicar Street during a show in 1999. "I saw you grabbing his leg, O'Hare." No George, I said, "I touched the hem of his garment." "Fair enough - that's allowed".

Back to Springsteen: the two of us went up to Belfast in December 2007 to see him in the Odyssey Arena. It was one of the best days and nights of my life for all kinds of very obvious reasons. (C'mon…Belfast, Christmas, Springsteen and George Byrne – what's not to like?). Somehow on the way to the hotel from the train station, we got lost, took a wrong turn and found ourselves on Bruce Street. Then incredibly, we wound up on Clarence Street. George stopped, looked at me and said "Jaysus, what a fucking night this is going to be." The actor David Kelly strolled by, looking dapper in his bow-tie and nodded at us. We both struggled to make a Springsteen connection. "He was in Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory," I suggested – "Springsteen has a song called 'Factory'." "Dodgy, said George "but it'll do for now." Later we went to the Crown Bar, then to Robinsons next door, met a bunch of mutual friends including journalist Eamon Sweeney, who hooked up with us for the remainder of the night. More drinks and laughs. At the venue, we sat among the Northern contingent - Ralph McLean, Stuart Bailie, Eamonn McCann, who George of course ribbed about Derry City FC. The gig was unforgettable – concluding with 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' and only George would spot that Springsteen did 'No Surrender' and 'The Rising' - in East Belfast! Later on, a bunch of us danced like mad bastards to Motown and Ska in a great little pub, discovered by George on a previous trip. On the train home the next day, George said, "that was fucking great….if Carlsberg did trips to Belfast to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band…"

At another Bruce gig in the RDS, in 2003, George was thrilled to see Brian Kerr leading most of the International squad into the VIP bar before showtime, while at The Point in 2005 he found himself sat beside Damien Duff! (My last "away trip" with George was to Thomond Park to see Springsteen in July 2013. Another fantastic show, on a blistering hot day, where we got to hear the Born to Run album in its entirety. Although George wasn't happy when the bar ran out of cider and he had to resort to "the cold yellow stuff").

So many stories and memories come flooding back. To this day I don't know how or why Ronnie Wood ended up drinking with us into the early hours of the morning in the bar of a Waterford hotel back in the mid-1990s. The late Richie Taylor, who knew Ronnie, was there too. Several hours of shenanigans and "acting the maggot" as George would put it, ensued and we finally wrapped it up as dawn broke. George gave Ronnie a manly bear hug but warned, "That's for The Faces, by the way and not for that shite you're peddling with The Stones." Ronnie cracked up. Only George could get away with it!

Weekends at the Kilkenny Roots festival were legendary and the details are still mostly sub-judice! But one memory stands out, of George leading several members of Philly band Marah, and Morrissey sideman Boz Boorer, through a raucous, 'Pretty Vacant' in the lobby of the Springhill Court Hotel at about 6am.

Most of the George Byrne stories are, of course, unprintable but will doubtless be aired and swapped among friends in the days and weeks ahead. We might just about get away with this one. Many years ago on an away trip judging a heat of the Hot Press Band of the Year contest, George appeared to have em, "scored" with a young lady who was among a group that had joined us in the hotel bar. The next morning at breakfast, a particularly grumpy George was asked how he got on with "yer one" last night? He mumbled something. What's that George? "It didn't happen," he snapped, glancing up from his newspaper. Why not? He looked up again. "The pitch was unplayable." The what? "Do I have to fucking spell it out for yiz? Liverpool were playing at home." Several rookie PR girls and a brand manager looked on, horrified, while the rest of us nearly choked on our Full Irish. I'm still laughing…and crying at the memory.

He had dozens of good friends – and a few really close ones. I might have made the Top 40 on occasion but that'll do. He was actually shy, hard to get to know initially but once you were in, you were in. I agreed with him most of the time – because he was usually right. One of his favourite movies – and one of mine was Brief Encounter. He stayed at my gaff several times, once when we went to Simon & Garfunkel in the RDS and drove down to Kilkenny the next day to see Bryan Ferry. He loved kids and was kind to my two daughters who thought he was "funny". He came out to my 50th birthday bash in the house a few years back and we danced all night to songs like Pilot's 'Just A Smile' – which he insisted I play several times over, while he did the handclap routine.

I didn't see that much of him in recent months for no particular reason - it's a quiet time of the year and I don't work in town. Last year, he suggested the two of us go to Bristol or Newcastle to catch Graham Parker & The Rumour on their reunion tour. We tried to organise it but the flights and dates didn't work out. Sadly, I didn't get the chance to say goodbye. I went to see him in James' Hospital a few days after he took ill, where I spoke to his sister Andrea and his devoted girlfriend Julie. We'd heard lately that he was improving and I was looking forward to seeing him, if not quite up to his usual self, then at least well on the way to it. It's still a shock to us all that he didn't make it.

Some of his friends gathered last night for drinks in a pub in Smithfield. The last time I was in that pub was on Tuesday, November 9, 2010 in the company of George, among others. The occasion? We were having pints after a screening in the Lighthouse Cinema of The Promise: The Making of Darkness On The Edge of Town. As George himself would say, "you can't make this shit up." I was there last night, of course, giving it "everything I've got."

We'll miss you and the "madness in your soul" George. Say hello to Johnny Cash and Elvis…