A Tribute To Frankie Kennedy

FOR ANYONE who was shocked by the news of Frankie Kennedy’s passing recently (and there were many, judging by the Olympia tonight, packed from the stalls to the gods), this night was a chance to celebrate the fine times, the marvellous music that he and Altan laid before our eyes and ears. The mood was celebratory from the opening notes of Paddy Glackin’s fiddle and Donal Lunny’s bazouki to the final come-all-ye that saw a rake of fiddles and a gabháil-full of sundry other instruments melting into one another in a rollercoaster ride through some of the finest jigs and reels we’d heard in a long time.

Details got lost amid the flow of fine music that washed over us; Mick Lally MC’d impeccably, introducing each performer with an understated ease that allowed them to simply play their music without having to rise to any false expectations. The fiddles dominated the evening, though they left plenty of room for the heady cocktail of guitars, banjos, squeeze boxes and assorted vocal cords that vibrated ’til the rafters shook with glee.

Mairéad Ni Mhaonaigh stole the show. She is living proof of the power of music to transcend even the passing of a life partner. Frankie was there in her every note, in the tune she composed for him as well as in the slow airs and beautifully rendered ‘Tá Mo Chleamhnas Déanta’. Remembering the manic brilliance of the music was a magnificent and far more rewarding exercise than mourning Frankie’s passing – everyone who knew him has been undertaking that task privately.

And so the celebration rolled over and around us, enveloping everyone in an adrenaline high that’s seldom experienced with such intensity. Donegal was justly represented by Lunny, Mairéad Ní Dhomhnaill, Altan and the visiting Kennedy and Mooney clan; Sharon Shannon and Co. let loose with a cannon of superb skittering tunes that had everybody grinning from ear to ear; Cooney and Begley spread their version of ‘Dreamtime’ (a psychotic mix of Australian Aboriginal and Dingle Aboriginal faith) amply across the congregation; and, with that, surprise guests, Paul Brady, Mary Black and Christy Moore were left to simply colour and shade wherever they could find a gap.

It was a night to remember. A fiesta that Frankie would’ve plunged into, himself, with abandon. Smithwick’s showed some impressive insight in affording so fine a bunch of musicians to share a stage. And the tunes are still dancing through my addled ceann as I write!