Attending a concert by the British band Real Lies recently, reader Gordon Grehan was struck by a mention in one of their songs of “The Irish Times”.
The song is called North Circular, after the road in London, and features spoken-word lyrics over a synthesiser backtrack.
Reminiscent of the Pet Shop Boys’ West End Girls, but moodier and better, it’s a late-night reflection on city life, loneliness, and a drug-taking past.
The lyric begins: “Locked out like a dog in the rain/Bag on my shoulder and a pocket full of change/To buses’ mercy in the early morning light/What did you do on Saturday night? Please take me back to where I used to be/The road we used to share together, you and me.”
The Times they are a-name-checking – Frank McNally on songs about newspapers
Lexicographer at Large – Frank McNally on Dinneen’s Dictionary and the Dáil row about unparliamentary Irish
For Whom the Bells Toll – Frank McNally on the ups and downs of “sound baths”
All fired up – Ita O’Kelly on keeping the homes fires burning
Then that road takes a surprise turn: “I can’t say for right or true or wrong/All I can say is I know where I belong/Post-ice, family of white lines and The Irish Times . . .”
The phrase “white lines” speaks for itself, perhaps. As for “post-ice”, I had to look up what that might mean before learning that “ice” is, among other things, slang for crystal meth.
Odd company for a newspaper once known as the Old Lady of D’Olier Street to be keeping, all the more so since the words are delivered in a Cockney accent.
But whatever it all means, the song is the band’s most popular on Spotify. And it set Gordon wondering “what other songs are out there that include ‘The Irish Times’ as a lyric.” He added: “I think this could make an interesting subject for An Irish Diary.”
Well, there is at least one other member of the genre, to which we’ll return shortly. But as a rule, mentions of newspapers in songs tend to be generic, rather than featuring specific media titles.
Hence the Beatles’ “I read the news today, oh boy” or Don McLean’s: “February made me shiver/With every paper I’d deliver.”
There are exceptions, however. The late and unlamented News of The World was a favourite for song writers, referenced by The Jam, The Pretenders, and (as an album title) Queen.
Across the Atlantic, the New York Times has also featured widely, in the work of Bob Dylan, Billy Joel, the Bee Gees and others.
But to get back to Gordon’s question, I racked my brains trying to think of another song name-checking The Irish Times. Then I remembered that, 15 or 20 years ago, I was the cause of one myself.
Walking home one Saturday night around 1am, I heard music seeping seductively from a local Dublin that shall remain nameless. Surprised to find the door open, I stepped in to the small, crowded bar, where traditional musicians and drink were both still in full flow.
I was not well known on the premises then, however, and sensed that my entry had caused some concern.
Intent only on listening to the music for a few minutes, I found myself the subject of meaningful glances from one of the barmen and a woman who, although she sat among the customers, I took to be the proprietor.
Then the barman emerged from behind the counter with two fresh pints of Guinness, delivered to customers at a table nearby, and said to me: “Can I help you?”
This I took to be an invitation to order something, so I did. But I was wrong. Unblushing, the barman declared: “We’re closed!” He managed to sound indignant, gesturing at his watch as if he shouldn’t have had to tell me.
Had I been a tourist, I might have objected to the breathtaking double standard. But I was Irish, so apologised immediately for my misunderstanding – existing customers and new arrivals occupied different time zones, clearly – and left.
Later I wrote a column about the incident, being careful (as I thought) not to identify the pub. The piece was in part a reflection on the unwritten rules of Irish life generally.
It also included contrasting the complete respect accorded to the then new (Irish) smoking ban with the continuing determination to flout the old (British) laws on closing time.
Anyway, a year or more passed after that and I had not been in the pub since. Then one summer evening I brought my family there to join the crowds sitting outside. And when I ordered at the counter, the barman leaned across and asked, furtively: “Are you Frank McNally?”
Say no, I thought, fearing trouble. “Yes,” I blurted. Whereupon the barman steered me across the room to the lady proprietor. Who, it turned out, wanted to apologise for the insult previously inflicted upon me. The drinks, she now insisted, were on the house.
So successful had I been in disguising the identity of the pub in my column that another customer asked me to wait while he went home and fetched the copy of the paper it had appeared in, so I could sign it for him.
Then someone else produced a print-out of the comic ballad that had been written to commemorate the incident. The rest of the lyrics are lost to me now but the phrase “Man from the Irish Times” featured prominently. Alas, I don’t think the song is on Spotify.
