JOHN BORROWMAN RIP

THE SINGER of The Atrix has died: this sounds like a small footnote to the history of a now smug Dublin. But The Atrix and the late John Borrowman are part of a pillar whose base extends back to the early days of a very different city.

Once upon a time there were three great bands in Dublin: U2, the Radiators and The Atrix. Many preferred The Atrix: their magic swirl was an adjective for the emergent colours of the new wave. They were a momentum-gaining kaleidoscope at a 1980 gig at the Magnet Bar in Pearse Street, supported by a young Microdisney. Later again that year - at an anti-toxic dump gig in Finglas - the chorus of their 'Treasure On The Wasteland' reached out in schoolyard yearning: OOeOOeOOeee.

John Borrowman on stage: elfin, a northside Rumpilstiltskin whose name you didn't need to know, for he was the front man of The Atrix, a band that looked like a loving family as they played richly-woven songs such as 'Statues', 'I Wonder Why', 'The Moon Is Puce', 'Procession' and 'Wendy's In Amsterdam'. Sudden changes of tempo would take a song back in on itself; reverse thrust would equip it with a melody or elegant variation of a riff that a meaner, less inspired band would save for a second song. They made darkly joyous psychedelic pop. As their singer, John was a mischief-maker on the epic scale. His spiky guitar and Bisto Kid antics gilded by Chris Green's defining keyboard and Dick Conroy's bass, made him the lion-tamer of lost moments in that band's late '70s/early '80s Dublin cabaret.

Back then, recording contracts were gold dust: Irish media were watchwords for mediocrity; and the path out of this mess was still to be paved. Yet, perhaps born of this difficult quagmire, The Atrix laboured to bring out their Procession album (a multi-format groundbreaker, it came simultaneously with a free cassette copy) and the three-track EP of Triad/Circus Tragedy/She Moves. They made inventive videos that testified to the theatrics behind their name.

The band made a brief comeback around 1985 when they played in the Project Arts Centre. Later again, maybe in 1990, there was the Dublin City Arts Centre gig where an energized and always poetic John Borrowman wore a mocking T-shirt with the word "Manager" on it and shared the stage with two heavy metal guitarists. But that was Hughie Friel hitting the bodhran, summoning back the magic of the great songs. Chris Green was there too: in the audience, no longer playing keyboards, but sipping wine and still part of it all.

I ran into Chris and Hughie in a bar some three years ago. I thanked them. The Atrix wrote songs from a now almost-forgotten Dublin, one with fewer veneers of success than today. Their music soared above it all.

Put it down to limp management, fickle luck or the time not being quite right: The Atrix never transcended the obscurity of the early '80s. That obscurity finally engulfed them but gave them their place in history. John Borrowman as their singer has left behind an unforgettable album and batch of singles that stand among the best: John may now be dead but he sparkles evergreen with his band in a timeless and holy cult. n