MusicMaster Blog

By Brian Wheeler

I’m not singing for the future
I’m not dreaming of the past
I’m not talking of the first times
I never think about the last

-Shane MacGowan

It’s time for the third installment of Traveling for the Love of Music. I feel like I need to share a bit of background to bring you up to where I was when I embarked on my most recent experience.

I grew up in a sleepy farm town in rural Minnesota, 75 miles outside of the Twin Cities. The town itself is less than a square mile in size, and the population at the time was under 600. A two-lane highway ran through the town, splitting the town into not quite equal halves. At one time I was the paper boy for the whole town, it’s that small. Everyone knew everyone, which was a blessing and a curse. Not much entertainment was to be had in a town that small, so you had to make your own fun. When I wasn’t outside hanging out with friends, I was spending time listening to the radio, trying to tune in stations in the Twin Cities metro and beyond with the AM/FM/short wave/cassette radio I got for Christmas one year. This opened a whole new world for me, as I could hear broadcasts from far-reaching places. My friends and I had also started making mix tapes.

I personally had precious little in the way of source material for mix tapes. Truth be told, I spent more time making mock-up radio shows, doing ‘interviews’, creating spoof commercials, and recording the radio broadcasts I could tune in. But I had friends who had other friends, and those friends had access to a musical world that was foreign to me. In my little corner of the world, the only place you could buy music was a gas station on the edge of town that had a spinning display of 25-30 dusty and overpriced cassettes. The selection consisted of stale country artists and the occasional outdated pop star. The town a few miles down the road had a Pamida (a department store akin to K-Mart) and their selection was bigger, but equally bland. I was starved for something more.

It was the 80s, which was a great decade for music. Through my friends, I was introduced to R.E.M., The Talking Heads, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, and The Replacements. I got to know The Cure, The Pogues, The Smiths, Siouxsie and The Banshees, Violent Femmes, They Might Be Giants…I could go on and on. The more music I consumed, the more I wanted to consume. I became a seeker of this previously unknown world of ideas and sound. I owe my friends a debt of gratitude for sharing this gift of music.

Right after high school, I’d end up going to Brown Institute in Minneapolis. I welcomed the new environment, not only because I could finally work toward my dream of a career in radio, but I could slake my thirst for music at some truly legendary record shops. Northern Lights, Oarfolkjokeopus, The Electric Fetus, Let It Be Records, and Cheapo Records became favorite places to deplete any expendable income. All three of my roommates and I would frequent these locations to add to our meager yet growing collections. Wedged into the cramped two-bedroom apartment in South Minneapolis, music was our common bond. We remain in contact with each other to this day.

Earlier this year, I received a call from my good friend Mike Gaffey, one of my three aforementioned roommates. He’d had a pretty rough year, and we’d talked about what was troubling him from time to time as he navigated some difficult waters. He started off this conversation with a declaration.

“Hey…I really need to just do something. I need to go somewhere. You’re the first person I could think of that would possibly do this.”

“Okay. What’s your idea?”

“I want to go to New York City. I want to see the Sinéad O’Connor and Shane MacGowan Tribute.”

I’d already thought about trying to see this show myself. Both Sinéad and Shane MacGowan (by virtue of his work with The Pogues) had been two artists that impacted me greatly in my youth. They both had died recently and within months of each other. Both losses were quite difficult for me. They were both staunch and unapologetic in their beliefs and weren’t afraid to wear their hearts on their sleeves in life or in their music. I admired them for that and still enjoy their art to this day. Mike felt the same way about them, and I believe he felt attending the event would serve as a sort of therapy.

We secured tickets, flight, and hotel and endured only a few weeks of anticipation before we’d set foot in The Big Apple, ready to see what the city could show us in 72 hours. Since we were both hockey fans and had fond memories of sitting in the nosebleeds for North Stars games, we decided to take in a New York Rangers game. The Rangers played the Winnipeg Jets that night, which I incorrectly predicted would be a preview of the Stanley Cup Finals this year. It was a competitive game nonetheless, and between the on-ice action and Mike’s comedic prowess, a memorable time was had during our first visit to the mighty Madison Square Garden.

The next day we decided to head to the Lower East Side to take in the majesty of Katz’s Deli. A place like Katz’s doesn’t need my endorsement. They’ve been feeding New Yorkers since 1888 and are officially New York’s oldest deli.

Having stuffed ourselves with glistening stacks of pastrami, we decided to wander the neighborhood. We stumbled upon the Tenement Museum, a museum that is dedicated to preservation of the historic Lower East Side tenements that housed countless immigrants looking for a better life. We took a tour, and it was as though we were transported back into the formative years of the city. The neighborhood’s history is rich, and their story is critical to the fabric of the city. It was a fascinating glimpse into the past. After the tour, we wandered some more and found the corner of Ludlow and Rivington which is now known as Beastie Boys Square. The corner is featured prominently on the cover of their ‘89 release, Paul’s Boutique.

Back in Midtown Manhattan, the moment we’d waited for had finally arrived. We walked into Carnegie Hall as doors opened for the evening so we could take in the venue. Carnegie Hall is such a majestic building. The architecture is stately and not stale, and the walls decorated with portraits of myriad past performers tell a deeper story.

The halls bustled in quiet anticipation of the evening’s events. Mike and I had seats in the first balcony which gave us a bird’s eye view of the stage. Unfortunately for Mike, these balconies were built at a time in history when people were generally a bit smaller than we are today. Mike’s six-foot-nine frame had to wedge into the small seat assigned to him. He didn’t seem bothered by this and when I asked him about it, he said he was used to it. Settled in, we awaited the start of the show.

The lineup of artists that had gathered to pay tribute was impressive by name but would prove to be even more impressive by virtue of their performances. I’ll share with you the highlights, but honestly the whole show was incredible. There were a handful of musicians that remained on stage to accompany each of the performers as a backing band. The numbers performed would alternate between Sinéad’s and Shane’s catalog. The performances themselves were an emotional rollercoaster, with each performer bringing their own flavor to their respective tributes.

The evening began with a solo bagpipe performer that walked from the back of the main floor to the stage while playing a mournful tune called “The Foggy Dew”. Then a trio comprised of Joy Askew, Amy Cervini, and Kat Edmonson sang “In This Heart”, a Sinéad O’Connor song. The sound filled the room, and I now knew the power of Carnegie Hall, as the music swelled to fill the space. Then, a solemn Gordon Gano of the Violent Femmes took the stage, acoustic guitar in hand. He played “A Pair of Brown Eyes”, a familiar favorite from The Pogues. I was already tearing up and we’d barely begun the evening.

Cait O’Riordan, the former Pogues bassist, had taken up her position on stage at this point and Steve Earle stepped up to the mic and performed a rollicking version of “If I Should Fall From Grace With God”, which got the audience dancing and howling. The P.A. announcer predicted during the introduction that this may be the first mosh pit in Carnegie Hall history. The mosh pit didn’t form, but the energy in the room made up for it.

While I didn’t personally know every performer, it became evident why each performer was present to participate in the tribute that evening. A constant thread that carried throughout the evening was reverence for both artists and what they represented. Sinéad O’Connor was known as an advocate for causes held dear to her, and many of the selections reflected her fight for social justice. Amanda Palmer of The Dresden Dolls performed “Black Boys on Mopeds”, a song referencing a young man that was murdered by British police over a falsely presumed moped theft. Her rendition was captivating and reminded me of why I was drawn to her vocals years ago.

A man who is no stranger to activism, Billy Bragg, took the stage and performed “A Rainy Night in Soho”. Again, goosebumps and that now familiar knot in my throat as he sang the lyric “You’re the measure of my dreams”. Bettye Lavette’s a cappella performance of “I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” had the audience hanging on every note. Cat Power brought her lyric sheet out and delivered “Feel So Different”, and rousing performances from Flogging Molly, Dropkick Murphys (pictured below), and Eugene Hutz from Gogol Bordello peppered the evening with their frantic energy. Glen Hansard, Imelda May, David Gray, and a number of other talented individuals graced the stage throughout the evening. I felt extremely fortunate to have witnessed such a collaboration in celebrating the lives and work of two artists that had touched mine and so many others’ lives with their music.

Toward the end of the evening Roisin Waters, the daughter of Sinéad O’Connor, took the stage to warm applause (pictured below). When she began to sing the Prince-penned song “Nothing Compares 2 U”, you could hear her mother’s voice emerge from her throat with every word. Her voice left the audience rapt. During the instrumental bridge leading up to the final verse, a gentle applause reached out to hold Roisin as she stood there under the spotlight, awash in love for her and her departed mother.

Waterworks continued to flow as Glen Hansard returned to the stage with Cait O’Riordan to perform “Fairytale of New York”, which of course became a cathartic sing-along. The only thing missing was Shane MacGowan’s impish grin and a pint of beer.

A rousing ovation concluded that number and summoned the entire roster of artists that had performed that evening. “Dirty Old Town” closed the performance, with nearly all the artists taking turns on a verse at the microphone. If there’s one thing the Irish have perfected, it’s the catchy sing-along. Many in the audience were in full-throat, belting out the refrain as the performers hugged each other and swayed back and forth. It was a beautiful ending to a magical night.

The whirlwind trip had now come to an end. The chilly March wind didn’t seem quite so chilly as we walked back to the hotel, recounting the evening’s events as well as reminiscing on how the music we’d just enjoyed was abundantly seasoned within our life’s mix tape. We were both grateful for that, and grateful that we were able to experience such a heartfelt and cathartic event. It was an experience I’ll never forget.