High Noon (El Diablo, Jubilee All-Stars, Boa Morte, etc.
Myrtleville: the name sounds too good to be true as the setting for an olde time hoe-down. Last weekend, a hoard of guitarslingers, mostly from Dublin, did indeed descend upon the sleepy seaside Pine Lodge pub in way-out-west Cork for the low-key country music festival, High Noon.
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Myrtleville: the name sounds too good to be true as the setting for an olde time hoe-down. Last weekend, a hoard of guitarslingers, mostly from Dublin, did indeed descend upon the sleepy seaside Pine Lodge pub in way-out-west Cork for the low-key country music festival, High Noon.
Dot Creek kicked off the proceedings with a set laden with bittersweet melody, like the sigh of a weary cowboy sinking into his first steaming hot bath after weeks in the saddle. The quietly talented Paul O’Reilly allowed us to sneak once more into his secret garden of tales of sleepy summer days and untold love, extolled in hushed, angelic tones. ‘Waiting In Vain’ was a highpoint. Cork band, Boa Morte, impressed with their lilting tones, while a road weary Steve Fanagan played heartfelt songs from his newly released album There Is Hope.
Never before has there been such a combination of raw honesty and techno tomfoolery than in one Richie Egan of The Redneck Manifesto, whose solo set married caustic observation with a playful use of drum machines and samples. A stripped down NPB (pictured) put the tongue firmly in its cheek taking the country thing to its Nashville corndog max.
Goodtime John reminds the folks back home that you can still have a good time even if you’re a singer who just happens to write songs. A real rhinestone moment shines out from the night when Richie Egan joins GTJ onstage for a gallon-strong rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Highway Patrolman’.
Jubilee Allstars rocked having adapted to the recent departure of key allstar, Barry McCormack, before the festivities drew to a close with the much touted El Diablo, who rounded off the evening in style (a little too much style and not enough substance perhaps) with their imaginary tales of desert fever and stricken love.
Hopefully, the people of Myrtleville enjoyed themselves enough to say “Y’all come back now!” next year.
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