Directamente da taverna ao cenário

Celebrando Ortigueira (e agardando por Zás, que como todos os anos fai-se de rogar...), aqui vos deixo un vídeo dun dos grupos que honrará este ano o cenário principal do festival de festivais. Son The Dubliners, tocando a duo cos míticos The Pogues un tema ben coñecido da tradizón musical irlandesa, "The Irish Rover". A letra, como podeis ver, fala-nos dunha estraña tripulazón que parte cara a Nova Iorque e dun dramático naufráxio. Todo, por suposto, adubado co espírito rebelde e trangalleiro destes devotos da taverna. Ao mellor estilo Irish, como non.
Por certo, xa vedes que por unha boca tan maltreita como a de Shane McGowan poden sair versos ben xeitosos. Aru!

On the Fourth of July, 1806

We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork

We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks

For the Grand City Hall in New York

Twas a wonderful craft

She was rigged fore and aft

And oh, how the wild wind drove her

She stood several blasts

She had twenty seven masts

And they called her The Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags

We had two million barrels of bones

We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails

We had four million barrels of stones

We had five million dogs

And six million hogs

Seven million barrels of porter

We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides

In the hold of the Irish Rover

There was awl Mickey Coote

Who played hard on his flute

And the ladies lined up for a set

He would tootle with skill

For each sparkling quadrille

Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet

With his smart witty talk

He was cock of the walk

As he rolled the dames under and over

They all knew at a glance

When he took up his stance

That he sailed in The Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee

From the banks of the Lee

There was Hogan from County Tyrone

There was Johnny McGurk

Who was scared stiff of work

And a man from Westmeath called Malone

There was Slugger O'Toole

Who was drunk as a rule

And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover

And your man, Mick McCann

From the banks of the Bann

Was the skipper of the Irish Rover

For a sailor its' always a bother in life

It's so lonesome by night and by day

That he longs for the shore and a pretty young whore

Who will melt all his troubles away

Oh, the noise and the rout

Swillin' poiteen and stout

For him soon the torment's over

Of the love of a maid he is never afraid

An old salt from the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years

When the measles broke out

And the ship lost its way in the fog

And that whale of a crewWas reduced down to two

Just myself and the Captain's old dog

Then the ship struck a rock

Oh Lord! what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over

Turned nine times around

And the poor old dog was drowned (1,2,3!)

I'm the last of The Irish Rover