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So there I was, up in the Stadium, bloody great barn that place is, there'd be more atmosphere in a cloud! Sitting among the polite suburban terrorists — well they terrified me anyway, explaining to each other how "Socialism is virulent laziness" !!! Seriously! Didn't I hear it myself? And we were all waiting for Christy to sing a few of his songs, and, guess what... He did.
Still a folk singer, but with a poke in your eye, or a tickle on the funny-bone, rather than a finger in his ear. A man in black prowling the stage like he's trying to remember how to dance, with just his millions of songs for comfort (and discomfort).
The storm in a T-shirt has a clearly resonant voice (you'd see the vibrations miles away) which entertains first, and secondly kicks some conscience. The entertainment certainly works as one young suburban terrorist cleverly notices: "He could shite and this lot would laugh."
In two hours, plus encores, he finds loadsatime, time for the sloganeering of "Biko Drum" and the craic of "Lisdoonvarna." Time for tenderness, and for bishops who frighten the bejasus out of Kerry sheepdogs. Even for "the bike in its usual stance."
And he can spare enough to let Elvis Costello and Dónal Lunny on for two songs: the first a new Elvis song about his grandfather's stint in the British Army, the second "Dark End Of The Street" which all three have, separately, recorded versions of. For Christy it was great to be on stage with someone else who sweats so much, and there wasn't a dry armpit in the house.
Only once did Christy sing without even the guitar — on "Irish Ways," a song which I am simply proud to have heard him sing. I even felt that I should have paid for the privilege.
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