ALTHOUGH Poe senior was getting severely inebriated he came to the conclusion that he was having a splendid time. Having just finished a large four-course meal in the company of some charming friends, he had managed to play some Elgar on his guitar, had got involved in some riveting discussions on the state of music today and now, with a lopsided paper hat on his head, swayed off down the dark cobbled streets towards the bay for a bit of fresh night air.

The crisp sea air brought an element of clarity to his befuddled mind. As far as he could remember, one of the main topics of conversation had been the perennial argument that music was going down the toilet; he had responded to this with the view that it was only partly true and that he thought that bands like Boyzone were a much-needed addition to the Irish musical firmament. This had brought a certain degree of derision from some of his friends around the table, but Poe stuck to the theme.

Well, for one they can sing, they look good, they can dance and the records are nicely produced. Surely this is classic entertainment and what is wrong with that? Aren’t people bored with depressing bands that only have a few chords at their disposal, singing about issues you can’t relate to, dressed in a cross between the threads psycho killers sport on a night out and designer grot. Why shouldn’t you have fresh, high energy music with a high optimism factor?

Poe told them of when he’d been car hunting recently. He went to one place near Longford. There were two young teenagers there. The boy who was around 13 had a poster of his favourite football team on his wall and his sister who was 14 had posters of The Gladiators. Poe had asked what groups they liked and both had said they weren’t that bothered. It seemed to Poe that bands have to relate in some way to their audience and these happy well-adjusted kids were looking elsewhere for role models or inspiration.

Someone at the far end of the table was becoming irate. “There are plenty of Morissey and Smiths fans that would say you’re talking rubbish,” the voice boomed. “Didn’t they bring a new realism to the genre, a reality, a truth. And what about U2? When the last stadium falls, people will still be playing their anthems.” Another of Poe’s friends stirred the pot: “But surely music is now only one commodity that people are being offered. There are computer games, films, TV, sport, videos, books, so many more opportunities for people to express themselves and so many different forms of entertainment to appreciate.”

“Exactly,” said Poe. “That is why a band today has to offer more than a morose glare and a second-hand attitude. That stuff doesn’t relate to a more dynamic sophisticated audience. Anyway a lot of it isn’t even fresh. By this stage, Rock is in a serious recycle mode.” At this, someone shouted: “What about ‘Riverdance’?”

All the heads around the table turned at that one. Everybody agreed it was indeed a true classic and has without a doubt joined the pantheon of immortal pieces, to be enjoyed for all posterity. “And wasn’t that entertainment,” Poe had asked.

Now as he stood watching the waves crash in on the shore, he heard the music of the spheres and the eternal rhythms of the earth itself with renewed clarity. Now that was purity of sound.

Music to Poe’s ears.