CONCERT REVIEW
The Irish Take England's
by Seth Rogovoy(PITTSFIELD, Mass., Oct. 28, 1996) -- The Irish-American, rock 'n' rap group Black 47 brought its well-honed, pub-rock style to the city's downtown on Saturday night, inaugurating The Studio -- the latest of Mort Cooperman's efforts to bring big-city entertainment to the Berkshires -- with a typically rousing, unifying performance at the former England Bros. department store.
While the place, like the Night Shift Cafe at Mass MoCA before it, may have been recycled, there was nothing second-hand about the music, a unique fusion that juxtaposes landscapes as different as the pastoral, green hillsides of Eire and the gritty sidewalks of the Bronx.
Led by the diminutive yet charismatic, carrot-topped, singer- guitarist Larry Kirwan, Black 47 kicked off its set with "The Big Fellah," one of its horn-drenched, political anthems steeped in the complexities of Irish history, in this case the story of Irish nationalist Michael Collins, whose negotiated peace with the British cost him his life at the hands of an assassin in 1922.
"Funky Ceili (Bridie's Song)" got the crowd, until then unsure of the protocol, up and dancing in front of the stage, which was tucked into the northeast corner of the building. One of the group's most popular tunes, it's a seemingly light-hearted dance number that disguises the pain of trans-Atlantic separation of immigrants and their loved ones. Its mix of funk rhythms, cutting lead guitar and Irish whistles and pipes prompted the evening's first attempt at body-surfing -- in which a dancer is held aloft over the crowd -- which was quickly pre-empted by a security guard.
"Fire of Freedom" was an upbeat reggae tune that induced pogo- dancing. Kirwan shared lead vocal duties with retired New York City policeman Chris Byrne, who played pipes, whistles and bodhran throughout the evening and did duty as the group's chief rapper. Byrne's circular pipe melodies snaked around the ska-style horns of Geoffrey Blythe and Fred Parcells, making for a unique sort of contemporary world-beat music.
Byrne's skills as a rapper were put to the test on "Time To Go," one of the evening's high points. The song makes clear the roots of Black 47's politics and directly addresses false accusations that the group advocates violence. "I support one thing, that one thing is peace/Peace with justice and the troubles will cease....I know this much, this much I know/People are dying -- it's time to go." Anyone who didn't start out at the beginning familiar with the song's protocol soon figured out that it called for raising one's fist in the air on the chorus and shouting out "go," as in "English out of Ireland." That in this case the Irish were in England's in a city named after British Prime Minister William Pitt did not seem to matter one whit. The crowd was mostly answering the heraldic call of the Celtic horns.
"Rockin' the Bronx" was another dose of Celtic hip-hop. In the tradition of rap groups that celebrate themselves in song, the tune told the story of the genesis of Black 47, gigging in Irish pubs around New York and mostly getting thrown out of them for violating the sanctity of traditional Irish music with the group's inclusive musical approach.
Through other favorites like "40 Shades of Blue," "Who Killed Bobby Fuller?" and "Losin' It," a choice bit of '60s-style British Invasion pop with some uplifting modulations thrown in, a packed crowd in front of the stage kept up its fervent dancing and cheering. That stage, by the way, needs to be raised so that the majority not in the front of the crowd can see the band.
The band ended its main set with "Maria's Wedding" and returned for a brassy rendition of Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone." The group seemed to be in a particularly playful mood throughout the evening both musically and behaviorally, mugging for the crowd and each other and apparently improvising some of its parts in giddy fashion. You couldn't have asked for a more lively, unifying show to launch this new venue.
Immediately following the encore, the band members retired to one of the retail kiosks set up in the opposite side of the building, greeting fans and well-wishers and signing posters and CDs.
Carl Bowlby, a Pittsfield native and singer-songwriter who has recently returned to his hometown from where he hopes to launch a career in music, warmed up the crowd with a set of his original tunes and a few covers.
[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on Oct. 28, 1996. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1996. All rights reserved.]
Seth Rogovoy
rogovoy@berkshire.net
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