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RTÉ News
25-07-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
From Croker to the Hills: how one song defines Donegal GAA pride
Sunday, September 23rd, 2012. I'm freshly fifteen years old, and standing in the lower Davin stand. I'm with my older sister, and we're alone in a crowd of eighty thousand people. The final whistle was blown, but we couldn't hear it in the sound vacuum we had discovered in Croke Park. It was only when we saw a sea of green and gold raise their arms that we knew that Donegal had won the Sam Maguire for only the second time in the (at that time) 128-year history of the GAA. The overwhelming joy I felt was immediately replaced with anger; why the hell were they playing Hall of Fame by the Script, and not Las Vegas In The Hills Of Donegal by Goats Don't Shave when the match had finished? Watch, via RTÉ Archives: Goats Don't Shave perform Las Vegas In The Hills Of Donegal, circa 1991 Since the song's release in 1992, it's come to define the county, and what it means to those who live there. I can't remember the first time I ever heard the track, because it feels like I was born with the words in my mouth. Being a Rosses man (Rann na Feirste mother, Dungloe father; like a modern day Montague and Capulet), the Goats were the soundtrack to many a trip along the N56. Highland Radio on in the Honda Civic, Charlie Collins providing pre-match commentary, plain ham sandwiches in the tinfoil to be ate in Ballybofey when we arrived. And of course, we had no idea what a "chicken ranch" was. Listen: Goats Don't Shave frontman Pat Gallagher on Las Vegas In The Hills Of Donegal The more time that passes from the track's first play to now, the more incredulous I get at how the lyrics don't seem to age at all. Of course, not every cultural touchstone has remained; you'll be hard pressed to find someone in their twenties who has any idea of who Neil Blaney and Brigitte Nielson are. Donald Trump did find his "chunk to live in solitaire" in Ireland, but found it in Doonbeg, rather than Inishowen. But the general feeling of being from Donegal has not changed vastly in the past 30 years. "The Forgotten County" isn't a nickname that appears out of thin air. Lonely nights on the Atlantic coast can feel like where you are is "still a mystery" to the rest of the county, where even getting public transport seems like too much of an ask for some. It could be easy to feel ignored when issues like poor building regulations, road safety, and access to important public services don't feel prioritised. But why kick yourself when you're down? Why not embrace the positives of living in one of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, with a rich cultural history and the friendliest communities in the country? One phrase that's been bandied about in regards to Jim McGuinness' Donegal team is a "siege mentality". They've built a wall around Donegal, and are embracing the riches within. Of the 2012 team, only Paddy McBrearty and Michael Murphy remain in the squad, with the Glenswilly man returning in a fashion not unlike another successful Michael. It's not only the squad that have a hunger for Sam to return to the hills - there's over 160,000 people supporting their every move. Eventually, Goats Don't Shave played over the speakers in 2012 - I hope I hear it again this Sunday.
The Guardian
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Romeo and Juliet review – star-crossed lovers resurrected in the wild west
The warring Houses of Montague and Capulet are resurrected in the wild west, with the star-crossed lovers in cowboy boots, gingham and Stetsons. Director Sean Holmes's high concept production might have been preposterous and, initially, the idea speaks louder than the play, but by turns it woos, bewitches and becomes irresistible. Romeo (Rawaed Asde) and his brawling compatriots wear holsters while Tybalt (Calum Callaghan) is referred to as something of a lone ranger. There is a blood-smear – as visual foreshadowing – at the back of Paul Wills's incredibly handsome clapboard set, which has a Shaker-like simplicity: three swinging saloon-bar doors and an upstairs window which opens to a band of musicians that includes a harmonica and banjo player. More outlandishly, there are clear comic elements, with a light, funny lilt to many of the lines. Juliet's nurse (Jamie-Rose Monk) is like a rambunctious Wife of Bath; Paris (Joe Reynolds) is like a musical hall clown and Benvolio (Roman Asde) wears a Chaplinesque hat. Juliet (Lola Shalam) looks like Calamity Jane and speaks like a bored teenager, in an emphatically stolid, lowbrow twang. Yet her broadness works, alongside the inner steel she shows to have later on. The comic bonhomie feels ungrounding at first but its heartiness does not grate against the central tragedy. Juliet turns giggly with Romeo and their relationship is sweet, callow, bearing the single-minded ardour of young love. It seems flagrantly to be a crowd-pleasing production with aims to reach a young audience but that mission does not undermine the text or patronise its older audience. And the frontier backdrop fits surprisingly well into Shakespeare's fractious Verona. The masked ball features period line-dancing, there is tension to the brawls and shootouts, as daggers are drawn from the hip, as well as pistols. It is not without its flaws: some actors declaim lines, flattening away the nuance. Rawaed Asde as Romeo certainly brings intensity but every line is spoken in the same determined tone, so that he seems perpetually incensed. Mercutio is over-animated too, albeit entertainingly playing to the audience. It is also long – far closer to three hours than the two stated in the text. And yet you can't begrudge it. The last hour is immaculate in its execution. The dead rise, eerily, and sometimes speak. The ghost of Mercutio delivers news of Juliet's death to Romeo here. The final act is stark for all the earlier laughter. For a while it stands in the balance but, ultimately, here is a rare production where high concept meets high-class execution. At Shakespeare's Globe, London, until 2 August
