New Ross Singers to host concert for Fethard RNLI
Next Friday, June 13, will mark the group's last concert before their summer break, which will be in aid of Fethard RNLI.
'The lifeboats on our coasts are indispensable, and continue to come to the rescue in all weathers. Fethard has had a lifeboat service since 1996, having reopened after an 80-year break, and it relies heavily on donations,' said the Singers' Musical Director, Connie Tantrum.
'This concert is in the beautifully refurbished hall in Fethard, and it's a great chance to take a trip down memory lane, whilst maybe humming along too, as the choir will perform a mixture of music from the Messiah to Bohemian Rhapsody, and have recently been learning many of the classic popular songs, by, among others, the Beatles, Queen, Simon and Garfunkel and Billy Joel. The concert promises to make for a great night, and it's all for a good cause,' said Ms Tantrum.
Ms Tantrum also explained that following the group's 'well-earned rest', they plan to perform 'a completely different sort of music in November' such as Rossini's Petite Messe Solonnelle. The New Ross Singers will return after the concert in September, where new members are welcome.
The concert will begin at 8 p.m. in Fethard and tickets cost €15.
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Irish Independent
9 hours ago
- Irish Independent
Obituary: Brian Wilson, visionary genius who was creative spark for the Beach Boys, dies aged 82
Wilson's family posted news of his death to his website and social media accounts yesterday. Further details weren't immediately available. Since May last year, Wilson had been under a court conservatorship to oversee his personal and medical affairs, with his long-time representatives, publicist Jean Sievers and manager LeeAnn Hard, in charge. The eldest and last surviving of three musical brothers – Brian played bass, Carl lead guitar and Dennis drums – he and his fellow Beach Boys rose in the 1960s from local California band to national hitmakers to international ambassadors of surf and sun. Wilson himself was celebrated for his gifts and pitied for his demons. He was one of rock's great romantics, a tormented man who in his peak years embarked on an ever-steeper path to aural perfection, the one true sound. The Beach Boys rank among the most popular groups of the rock era, with more than 30 singles in the Top 40 and worldwide record sales of more than 100 million. Their 1966 album Pet Sounds was voted No 2 in a 2003 Rolling Stone list of the best 500 albums, losing out, as Wilson had done before, to the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. The Beach Boys, who also featured Wilson cousin Mike Love and childhood friend Al Jardine, were voted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1988. Wilson feuded with Love over songwriting credits, but peers otherwise adored him beyond envy, from Elton John and Bruce Springsteen to Smokey Robinson and Carole King. The Who's drummer, Keith Moon, fantasised about joining the Beach Boys. Paul McCartney cited Pet Sounds as a direct inspiration on the Beatles and the ballad God Only Knows as among his favourite songs, often bringing him to tears. Wilson moved and fascinated fans and musicians long after he stopped having hits. In his later years, Wilson and a devoted entourage of younger musicians performed Pet Sounds and his restored opus, Smile, before worshipful crowds in concert halls. Meanwhile, acts such as The Go-Go's and Lindsey Buckingham were among a wide range of artists who emulated him, whether as a master of crafting pop music or as a pioneer of pulling it apart. The Beach Boys' music was like an ongoing party, with Wilson as host and wallflower. He was a tall, shy man, partially deaf (allegedly because of beatings by his father, Murry Wilson), with a sweet, crooked grin, and he rarely touched a surfboard unless a photographer was around. But out of the lifestyle that he observed and such musical influences as Chuck Berry and the Four Freshmen, he conjured a golden soundscape – sweet melodies, shining harmonies, vignettes of beaches, cars and girls – that resonated across time and climates. The band's innocent appeal survived the group's increasingly troubled back story, whether Brian's many personal trials, the feuds and lawsuits among band members or the alcoholism of Dennis Wilson, who drowned in 1983. Brian Wilson's ambition raised the Beach Boys beyond the pleasures of their early hits and into a world transcendent, eccentric and destructive. They seemed to live out every fantasy, and many nightmares, of the California myth they helped create. ADVERTISEMENT Brian Wilson was born June 20, 1942, two days after Paul McCartney. His musical gifts were soon obvious, and as a boy he was playing piano and teaching his brothers to sing harmony. The Beach Boys started as a neighbourhood act, rehearsing in Brian's bedroom and in the garage of their house in suburban Hawthorne, California. Surf music, mostly instrumental in its early years, was catching on locally: Dennis Wilson, the group's only real surfer, suggested they cash in. Brian and Love hastily wrote up their first single, Surfin, a minor hit released in 1961. They wanted to call themselves the Pendletones, in honour of a popular flannel shirt they wore in early publicity photos. But when they first saw the pressings for Surfin, they discovered the record label had tagged them 'The Beach Boys.' Other decisions were handled by their father, a musician of some frustration who hired himself as manager and holy terror. By mid-decade, Murry Wilson had been displaced and Brian, who had been running the band's recording sessions almost from the start, was in charge, making the Beach Boys the rare group of the time to work without an outside producer. Their breakthrough came in early 1963 with Surfin' USA, so closely modelled on Berry's Sweet Little Sixteen that Berry successfully sued to get a songwriting credit. It was their first Top 10 hit. From 1963-66, they were rarely off the charts, hitting No 1 with I Get Around and Help Me, Rhonda and narrowly missing with California Girls and Fun, Fun, Fun. For television appearances, they wore candy-striped shirts and grinned as they mimed their latest hit, with a hot rod or surfboard nearby. Their music echoed private differences. Wilson often contrasted his own bright falsetto with Love's nasal, deadpan tenor. The extroverted Love was out front on the fast songs, but when it was time for a slow one, Brian took over. The Warmth of the Sun was a song of despair and consolation that Wilson allege, to some scepticism, he wrote the morning after President John F Kennedy was assassinated. Don't Worry Baby, a ballad equally intoxicating and heartbreaking, was a leading man's confession of doubt and dependence, an early sign of Brian's crippling anxieties. Stress and exhaustion led to a breakdown in 1964 and his retirement from touring, his place soon filled by Bruce Johnston, who remained with the group for decades. Wilson was an admirer of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound productions and emulated him on Beach Boys tracks, adding sleigh bells to Dance, Dance, Dance or arranging a mini-theme park of guitar, horns, percussion and organ as the overture to California Girls. By the mid-1960s, the Beach Boys were being held up as America's answer to The Beatles, a friendly game embraced by each group, transporting pop music to the level of 'art' and leaving Wilson a broken man. The Beatles opened with Rubber Soul, released in late 1965 and their first studio album made without the distractions of movies or touring. It was immediately praised as a major advance, the lyrics far more personal and the music far more subtle and sophisticated than such earlier hits as She Loves You and A Hard Day's Night. Wilson would recall getting high and listening to the record for the first time, promising himself he would not only keep up with the British band, but top them. He worked for months on what became Pet Sounds, and months on the single Good Vibrations. He hired an outside lyricist, Tony Asher, and used various studios, with dozens of musicians and instruments ranging from violins to bongos to the harpsichord. The air seemed to cool on some tracks and the mood turn reflective, autumnal. From I Know There's an Answer to You Still Believe in Me, many of the songs were ballads, reveries, brushstrokes of melody, culminating in the sonic wonders of Good Vibrations, a psychedelic montage that at times sounded as if recorded in outer space. The results were momentous, yet disappointing. Good Vibrations was the group's first million-seller and Pet Sounds, which included the hits Sloop John B and Wouldn't It Be Nice, awed McCartney, John Lennon and Eric Clapton among others. Widely regarded as a new kind of rock LP, it was more suited to headphones than to the radio, a 'concept' album in which individual songs built to a unified experience, so elaborately crafted in the studio that Pet Sounds couldn't be replicated live with the technology of the time. Wilson was likened not just to the Beatles, but to Mozart and George Gershwin, whose Rhapsody in Blue had inspired him since childhood. But the album didn't chart as highly as previous Beach Boys releases and was treated indifferently by the US record label, Capitol. The Beatles, meanwhile, were absorbing lessons from the Beach Boys and teaching some in return. Revolver and Sgt Pepper, the Beatles' next two albums, drew upon the Beach Boys' vocal tapestries and melodic bass lines and even upon the animal sounds from the title track of Pet Sounds. The Beatles' epic A Day in the Life reconfirmed the British band as kings of the pop world and Sgt Pepper as the album to beat. All eyes turned to Wilson and his intended masterpiece, a 'teenage symphony to God' that he called Smile. It was a whimsical cycle of songs on nature and American folklore written with lyricist Van Dyke Parks. The production bordered on method acting: for a song about fire, Wilson wore a fire helmet in the studio. The other Beach Boys were confused, and strained to work with him. A shaken Wilson delayed Smile, then cancelled it. Remnants, including the songs Heroes and Villains and Wind Chimes, were re-recorded and issued in September 1967 on Smiley Smile, dismissed by Carl Wilson as a 'bunt instead of a grand slam'. The stripped down Wild Honey, released three months later, became a critical favourite but didn't restore the band's reputation. The Beach Boys soon descended into an oldies act, out of touch with the radical '60s, and Wilson withdrew into seclusion. Addicted to drugs and psychologically helpless, sometimes idling in a sandbox he had built in his living room, Wilson didn't fully produce another Beach Boys record for years. Their biggest hit of the 1970s was a greatest hits album, Endless Summer, that also helped re-establish them as popular concert performers. Although well enough in the 21st century to miraculously finish Smile and tour and record again, Wilson had been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder and baffled interviewers with brief and disjointed answers. The production bordered on method acting: for a song about fire, Wilson wore a fire helmet in the studio – the other Beach Boys were confused Among the stranger episodes of Wilson's life was his relationship with Dr Eugene Landy, a psychotherapist accused of holding a Svengali-like power over him. A 1991 lawsuit from Wilson's family blocked Landy from Wilson's personal and business affairs. His first marriage, to singer Marilyn Rovell, ended in divorce and he became estranged from daughters Carnie and Wendy, who would help form the pop trio Wilson Phillips. His life stabilised in 1995 with his marriage to Melinda Ledbetter, who gave birth to two more daughters, Daria and Delanie. He also reconciled with Carnie and Wendy and they sang together on the 1997 album The Wilsons (Melinda Ledbetter died in 2024). In 1992, Wilson eventually won a $10m out-of-court settlement for lost songwriting royalties. But that victory and his 1991 autobiography, Wouldn't It Be Nice: My Own Story, set off other lawsuits that tore apart the musical family. Carl Wilson and other relatives believed the book was essentially Landy's version of Brian's life and questioned whether Brian had even read it. Their mother, Audree Wilson, unsuccessfully sued publisher HarperCollins because the book said she passively watched as her husband beat Brian as a child. Love successfully sued Brian Wilson, saying he was unfairly deprived of royalties after contributing lyrics to dozens of songs. He would eventually gain ownership of the band's name. The Beach Boys still released an occasional hit single: Kokomo, made without Wilson, hit No. 1 in 1988. Wilson, meanwhile, released such solo albums as Brian Wilson and Gettin' In Over My Head, with cameos by McCartney and Clapton among others. He also completed a pair of albums for the Walt Disney label, a collection of Gershwin songs and music from Disney movies. In 2012, surviving members of the Beach Boys reunited for a 50th anniversary album, which quickly hit the Top 10 before the group again bickered and separated. Wilson won two just competitive Grammys, for the solo instrumental Mrs O'Leary's Cow and for The Smile Sessions box set. Otherwise, his honours ranged from a Grammy lifetime achievement prize to a tribute at the Kennedy Centre to induction into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. In 2018, he returned to his old high school in Hawthorne and witnessed the literal rewriting of his past: the principal erased an 'F' he had been given in music and awarded him an 'A.'
Irish Independent
3 days ago
- Irish Independent
New Ross Singers to host concert for Fethard RNLI
Next Friday, June 13, will mark the group's last concert before their summer break, which will be in aid of Fethard RNLI. 'The lifeboats on our coasts are indispensable, and continue to come to the rescue in all weathers. Fethard has had a lifeboat service since 1996, having reopened after an 80-year break, and it relies heavily on donations,' said the Singers' Musical Director, Connie Tantrum. 'This concert is in the beautifully refurbished hall in Fethard, and it's a great chance to take a trip down memory lane, whilst maybe humming along too, as the choir will perform a mixture of music from the Messiah to Bohemian Rhapsody, and have recently been learning many of the classic popular songs, by, among others, the Beatles, Queen, Simon and Garfunkel and Billy Joel. The concert promises to make for a great night, and it's all for a good cause,' said Ms Tantrum. Ms Tantrum also explained that following the group's 'well-earned rest', they plan to perform 'a completely different sort of music in November' such as Rossini's Petite Messe Solonnelle. The New Ross Singers will return after the concert in September, where new members are welcome. The concert will begin at 8 p.m. in Fethard and tickets cost €15.
Irish Examiner
01-06-2025
- Irish Examiner
Culture That Made Me: Music legend Brush Shiels picks his touchstones
Brendan 'Brush' Shiels, 79, grew up in Phibsboro, Dublin. In 1967, he formed Skid Row, Ireland's seminal rock group, which briefly included Phil Lynott on vocals, and Gary Moore on guitar. The band released two acclaimed records, Skid and 34 Hours, before disbanding. He fronted a show, Off Yer Brush, on RTÉ television for two seasons, 1986-87, and he has released several solo albums. He will perform at Connolly's of Leap, Co Cork, 6pm, Saturday, June 14. See: Save the Last Dance for Me We lived in one room on the Phibsboro Road. Beside us was a pub, across the road was another pub. We had no radio. Seven nights a week, people came out of the pub and would sing for another two hours. Some fella used to sing, 'If I can help somebody as I pass along … Then my living shall not be in vain' again and again. Right at the railings, about a yard away. That's how I learned Save the Last Dance for Me and all these songs – from people singing them outside. After that, we got a radio. I started listening to Saturday Club with Brian Matthew on BBC. I remember hearing the very first Beatles live programme, Too Much Monkey Business. It must have been '63. The Beatles had harmonies and a sound I'd never heard before. I loved them for that. Bob Dylan I couldn't believe Bob Dylan when I first heard him. To this day when I hear Like a Rolling Stone, it has the same effect on me. I've learned hundreds of Bob Dylan songs. I love Desolation Row, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall and Mr. Tambourine Man. I still have the same fascination for his use of lyrics and symbolism. Until he arrived, it was Elvis, Cliff Richard, songs like Take These Chains from My Heart, and The Beatles were all kiss me quick numbers and meeting girls. When Dylan came along, it was a different way with words. I never looked back from that. He was my biggest inspiration. We Gotta Get Out of This Place Funny enough, I started off on the guitar because of The Shadows and that sort of stuff. Then around 1965, I started to hear other things. There was a baseline in The Animals' We Gotta Get Out of This Place, something about it influenced me. It spiked my interest – what you could do with the bass. Chuck Berry There was a bookshop up the road. It had a box of music magazines, all the same, called DownBeat. I got them for next to nothing. They were about jazz in America, like Duke Ellington, Count Basie. My mind went back then to this film I saw when I was about 12 called Jazz on a Summer's Day. It was about the Newport Jazz Festival. This film had a big effect on me. It had all the greatest jazz musicians in America at that time in it. In the middle of it all, this guy Chuck Berry came on, and he does Sweet Little Sixteen. When I saw Chuck Berry I realised that's the only way to do it. Brush Shiels. Night Train The jazz thing was always in the back of my head. I was interested in why the jazz scene was so big in America. A lot of it was hard to follow. I could follow them singing the melody, but once the solo came in and went off on a tangent, I didn't really understand it. Then I read in one of these magazines – I became an expert after reading 72 DownBeat magazines [laughs] – that Ray Brown, the bass player with the Oscar Peterson Trio, was the man to listen to, and the album to listen to was Night Train. That Night Train record changed my life. That's where I went next. Unison Blues DownBeat magazines also said, 'There's a great bass player called Vinnie Burke. Have a listen to him.' He had a track called Unison Blues which is the origin of the Skid Row way of doing things. A lot of the ideas about playing, I got from Vinnie Burke, his bass lines stood out. The sax, the bass and the piano playing the same line in unison gave it a particular sound, which, ultimately, I could hear in Cream and Jimi Hendrix. Lucky enough I came across Gary Moore when he was only 15 and he knew exactly what I was talking about. Phil Lynott Phil Lynott performing with Thin Lizzy at Cork City Hall in 1982. Picture: Irish Examiner Archive The first time I got in touch with Phillo, I got the bus out to his house. I knocked on his door. I went in to say hello to him. He told me he was listening to The Velvet Underground. I said, 'Forget about that.' Then he said, 'Paul Simon's I Am a Rock'. I said, 'No, if you want to come along, we'll try this Jimi Hendrix thing, which is going to be the next big thing.' A couple of days later, he sang Hey, Joe, and that was the start of it. Phillo had film-star appeal. Back in the 1960s, he lacked a bit of confidence, but the potential was unbelievable because he had everything else you needed. But life being the way it is, now he's gone. Somebody said to me once, 'How well did you know him?' I said, 'Well, he came on my honeymoon with me.' That's how close we were. Led Zeppelin Skid Row loved Led Zeppelin. We were playing in the Whisky A Go-Go in Los Angeles in 1970. Who turns up only John Bonham, Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, Rod Stewart, Ronnie Wood. We're playing away and John Bonham wants to get up to sing, and Robert Plant says, 'I'll play drums.' So, the two boys got up. These lads from a band called Slammer – I knew them – took photographs and bootlegged the gig. You can still get it on YouTube. You can't buy it. The sound was just noise, but it's up there. John Bonham Led Zeppelin in 1973: From left to right, Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, John Bonham (1947 - 1980), John Paul Jones. (Photo by) John Bonham had a particular way of drumming that we hadn't heard before. It was thunderous. It sounded like an elephant stampede, like a wildebeest with an outboard motor on its back. Carmine Appice from Vanilla Fudge had a similar style. It was the start of all these great drummers like Ginger Baker, the way of doing it with the two bass drums, even though it had been done years before in jazz. It got lost along the way, but very fast playing made a comeback. Charlie Parker Charlie Parker – one of the great saxophonists, one of my biggest influences solo-wise – was in this café once, and Hank Williams' I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, was playing. Somebody asked Charlie Parker, 'Why do you keep putting that on?' He says, 'It's the words, man.' Like he's soloing all night. He's no problem soloing. So, when somebody is singing something like that, and he has felt that bad himself, and put it into words, he wants to listen. A lot of sad songs are about when somebody puts into words what we're all feeling. There's beauty in it.
