There’s always a lovely sense of excitement when we gather at the bus in advance of a tour, even a weekend burst of shows. We leave the nest in Ballincollig hopeful and happy to hit the road.
Oftentimes, we’ll route some stepping stone shows to get to our end destination and back, not to demean the stepping stones but travelling the length of the country for one show is onerous and breaking the trip with some other shows is practical, fulfilling and invigorating. So, for this trip to Belfast, we’ll head to play Portlaoise first and touch down in Durrow on the way back.
It’s funny how we are creatures of habit when it comes to the bus – no sheepdog needed for this flock, each to a man beats a path to the familiar spot. I’m like some bold schoolboy, back corner, where the laughs echo and the vantage is good. It might be headphones and snoozes for the first part of a journey, but the babbles of chat will build as the miles do, inevitably hitting piercing pitches of laughter. The bus is a mobile men’s shed, cathartic and chaotic, a corner for everyone, willing ears and rapier sharp replies.
The adventure and fun of hitting the road is freshly present every time – even as we drift into our middle ages, a youthful exuberance is there in all of us, not that deeply hidden or repressed. The White Horse Guitar Club number 11, but our team for the road is bolstered by our engineer Chloe Nagle, videographer Fionn Mulvey and bus driver Dave Whyte. A good bus driver gets the job done; a great one becomes part of the circle.
Our journey as a band, 13 years together, has been fuelled by a wonderful camaraderie. Through peaks and troughs, friendship has been the linchpin and the journeys here and there are often as memorable as the destinations we seek. As the dark and dreary January eve whizzes past our windows, the jokes start and the giggles soon turn to chortles, then howls. We arrive at our first concert in no time, and vault enthusiastically off the bus into the welcoming arms of Kavanagh’s, Portlaoise.
A gorgeous show in Portlaoise Friday eve and straight on to Dundalk as a sleepover to have us primed to arrive early Saturday morning in Belfast for a matinee show in The Black Box, as part of the Out to Lunch Festival. Our woolly, tired heads need lifting, so straight off the bus when we land and into Established Coffee for a heady, dark and surly espresso, croissant in pocket for midmorning pick me up.
Soundcheck next, the old industry adage of “hurry up and wait” ringing true, but all the attention to detail here makes for a great show. Funny how the discipline and lessons derived from past mistakes mean that there’s a spare for everything, from strings to batteries to guitars, and we’re tuneful, ready and eager after a little conducting. Our engineer Chloe dials it in and soon we’re ready to explore again.
Out into the bustle of the Cathedral Quarter we lurch, and one gets a sense that this is a Belfast brimful of colour, confidence and clatter – busy and buzzy. We do what any self-respecting band of hairy heads do and dive straight into the Duke of York to test the Guinness. An atmospheric spot, friendly and well-worn in terms of popularity with tourists and locals alike. Had we more time, it would be a short walk to the Sunflower or to a trad session in Maddens, but alas, showtime beckons and the dander starts to rise.
The nerves gather and tickle the belly, which is a lovely thing – it means there’s something on the line, and collectively when we feel this, an energy forms that almost guides us to the stage and through the first songs. It never ceases to amaze when we walk out to a full room, especially on the first visit to a city or town. The Black Box fits its name – a sea of barely discernible faces, packed together in a blacked-out venue, all eyes fixed upon the soap box stage.
‘The road is no place for old and stiff bodies, but if the conditions are right, it can do wonderful things to lift the spirit and fill the heart’
There’s a warmth and attention in the room that belies our first meeting this city and sometimes, it’s lovely to pause and acknowledge the fact that here we are, together in this space, as the world rattles and spins outside. Songs as the centrepiece. Melodies that have travelled through time, as unblemished and pristine as the day they were conceived 50 or 100 years ago.
We often say we don’t cover or even interpret songs; rather we carry them from room to room, and each show is a chance to unpack them, open them up to new ears and maybe let them be carried off anew by the audience. It’s a privilege and one we don’t take lightly.
Even though this is a matinee, the room is full to the brim and the reception as warm as we’ve witnessed. We don’t hold back – leave everything on the stage, there’s no room for dressingroom postmortems. It’s bloody exhilarating, all of us singing as one, shoulder to shoulder, cheek to jowl. Afterwards, with still half-heaving chests, we take time to meet everyone and say hello, and we’re all struck again at how warm and appreciative the audience are. Lots of laughs and tears through the show, so afterwards there are plenty of shared moments to chat about too.
If the soundcheck is a task to be ticked, the breaking down of the gear and “get-out” is another chore for tired limbs, hearts still racing from showtime shenanigans.
Sometimes, I feel that being a musician is one part performer, one part furniture mover.
There is, however, the carrot of a pint and a bit of grub, so we summon a big burst of energy and pack the bus to the whistles of the Tetris tune.
Time is of the essence, but lucky that we’re here in the Cathedral Quarter so every second door has a beckoning hand – boozers, speakeasys, cocktail joints, plush restaurants and everything in between. We head across the road to The Dirty Onion, rate another pint of Guinness or two and grab some grub in Yardbird upstairs – kitsch and cool, all things fried chicken.
No one is counting calories on this one, besides, there were moments of athletic endeavour on stage. That’s our excuse anyway. With a bit more time and a future visit in mind, Ox is high on the list and the Muddlers Club is right around the corner from The Black Box.
We mount the bus, sated and happy, to begin our journey south, driving out of the city as the multitudes head towards its heart. There’s a visceral energy in the place, the past fading and the future iridescent and welcoming.
The gig resonates still and there’s a lovely vibe as the bus gathers pace – a band of brothers, content and inspired, all of us grateful in the moment for what we do. There are lots of lovely lighthouses dotted across the land, harbours that are safe and welcoming, so we leap and land in one of them – beautiful Bob’s Bar in Durrow. We walk in and the faces light up, old friends reunited. Another Guinness is toasted and some songs are exchanged in a barter of sorts. Bob and his family have this beautiful, big-hearted tavern at the side of the road, a resting spot for the weary and it’s a tonic to be within its embrace tonight.
We saddle up again and begin the final leg, beaming but tired eyes as the glow and dark exchange on our faces from street lights and highway signs. The road is no place for old and stiff bodies, but if the conditions are right, it can do wonderful things to lift the spirit and fill the heart. We often laugh that if we had planned this band, we’d be geniuses, but the truth is there is fate and luck at play more than blueprint or map and the journey unfolds of its own accord. We’re humbled and happy to be on the adventure together.
The White Horse Guitar Club will perform on May 2nd and 3rd at The Everyman Palace Theatre, Cork, with special guests The Raines and The White Horse Gospel Choir; and on May 31st at The Tung Auditorium, Liverpool. For more information visit whitehorseguitarclub.com
