Kevin Myers: A mystifying feature of Ireland is the unfailing failure to celebrate some of its greatest talent
ISING the praises today of two fine men: one just passed and one still in his prime. A truly mystifying feature of Ireland is the unfailing failure to recognise and celebrate some of its greatest talent.
Take Red Hurley, for example. His acclaim is vastly smaller than he deserves. With his astonishing voice, he'd be a national figure in the US or Britain. But I'd be surprised if many Irish people under 40 know his name, never mind be aware of his music, his amazing vocal range or his scintillating live performances.
Please, catch him on YouTube -- especially his version of 'How Great Thou Art' with the Samaru Choir of Nigeria. To sing with an African choir is one of the most daunting tests for any European performer, because almost all African cultures revere music as the highest form of human artistic expression.
Being accompanied by such a choir as Samaru is a challenge enough: to be visibly extolled by them -- as Red Hurley clearly is -- constitutes a major triumph.
Their combined performance confirms that there is no such thing as 'multiculturalism' in any civilised society: just tolerance of difference and a fusion of beauty wherever possible.
His intuitive sense of the beautiful is one reason why Red Hurley is such a wonderful singer. He will find the key element of any song -- a single note or phrase -- and elevate that into an unexpected little musical jewel, thereby making it the high point of the performance. Moreover, his voice has retained a remarkable clarity, timbre and power in even the highest registers, though he is not as young as he once was. It makes no difference. Has he ever been asked to sing for the President, as he would have been in the US? Is he ever asked to grace national events, such as an All-Ireland final?
Red belongs to a rich tradition going back to McCormack. It is utterly incomprehensible that he isn't the formal voice of Ireland, the instantly recognisable vocal brand that is associated abroad with this country, as Pavarotti was for Italy, or Crosby, Sinatra and Presley respectively were for the US, or Rossi, Piaf and Brel were for France, and Tom Jones is for Wales (imagine that duet, if you please: Hurley and Jones). That melodiousness, that vibrant musicality, that purest of pitches and that effortless cross-over of genres: they are unmistakably Ireland.
Red is performing in the Grand Canal Theatre in Dublin this coming Saturday, September 25, and in Cork with Rita Coolidge on Sunday, the 26th. There should not be a single empty seat in either house for Ireland's finest living male singer. And no, I've never met him and am doing him no personal favours: for he does us all the favours.
As we all know, not being properly acknowledged is a common fate in Ireland and it was one that befell Vinnie Doyle, the former editor of this newspaper, who died on Tuesday and who was gravely under-appreciated outside our industry.
Now, I have no time for the insincere sentimentalisation that so often follows death in Ireland and I am tempted to reach for a sledgehammer when I hear posthumously that someone had been a "real character", which probably means he was a bowsie and bore.
So I won't call Vinnie "a real character", but merely state that he was the last great working editor to stay toiling at his lathe from the days when there were three strong morning indigenous titles in Dublin and blood was on the floor when the first editions arrived.
The other two editors were Tim Pat Coogan and Douglas Gageby: but Vinnie was the only one who truly belonged to the greatest of all movies about journalism, 'The Front Page'.
For Vinnie Doyle, the story was the thing, first, last and foremost. He thought nothing of mischievously lifting a 'scoop' from the first edition of a rival newspaper and splashing it 'EXCLUSIVE!' on the front page of this one, without any acknowledgement.
When I worked in 'The Irish Times', that habit of his used to infuriate us, until I finally realised: Of course! That's the business we're in.
We break the news. We entertain. We communicate. That's what we're here for -- not being priggish and precious about where a story originated.
IONLY once drank in his company, in the Oval Bar, about 15 years ago. Drinks were apparently dropped from outer space in rapid succession upon us and merrily unleashed a non-stop cackling, chuckling prattle of anecdotes and banter. After about a couple of hours spent consuming the hops of half of Kent, I raised the white flag of surrender: could I go home please?
So he escorted my tottering frame out of the Oval, before suddenly wheeling towards the Independent staff entrance.
"Where are you going?" I croaked brokenly.
"To work, of course," he carolled. "I've got a newspaper to get out."
And with a "Tally-ho!" he vanished into the building
Rest in peace, Vinnie. You've made the final edition.
kmyers@independent.ie
Irish Independent
