For a select few, the guitar becomes an extension not only of the hands, but above all of the mind. In the documentary Rory Gallagher: Irish Tour 1974, The Irish musician dazzles even when he is just tuning his guitar and, without meaning to, he gets a delicious sound out of it. His virtues with the six strings could rival those of Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix or Jimmy Page, only a few years older than him; Gallagher (Ballyshannon, Ireland, 1948 – London, 1995) could have become a member of The Rolling Stones when they had to replace Mick Taylor or join Deep Purple for Ritchie Blackmore. But he wanted to go it alone and represented the opposite of what is expected of a rock star. He was a simple guy who lived a simple life, who performed more in theatres and small halls than in stadiums, who never changed his clothes to go on stage, who made no concessions to managers or record companies, who refused to release his albums. singleswho did not move in a limousine but on foot, who did not give fodder to newspapers and magazines. Irish Tour, Their most acclaimed double live album was released 50 years ago. The accompanying documentary was shown in cinemas at the time.
Rory Gallagher lived since he was a teenager clinging to the blues (Muddy Waters) and the Rock And Roll (Eddie Cochran, Chuck Berry), and was also a jazz fan. At the age of 15, he bought a stratocaster second-hand and imported, which he always carried with him and still brought out at his last concerts. At 18, he made a name for himself as the frontman of the trio Taste. When he died in 1995 at the age of 47 from complications of a liver transplant, he had not moved from the same spot.
Taste emerged in 1966 as a guitar-bass-drums trio, emerging around the same time as Clapton’s Cream and The Jimi Hendrix Experience; in all three cases, torrents of music poured out from the most basic possible line-up. It reached its first peak when Taste was invited to the legendary 1970 Isle of Wight Festival. Hendrix died at 27, Clapton joined different projects without regularity, Page triumphed with Led Zeppelin and Gallagher began a solo career that earned the respect of his colleagues and a sect of very loyal followers, although not so much of the general public. He exercised a blues rock very energetic, which takes full advantage of distortion, what some call hard blues either heavy blues; but in some songs it transitions to a folk acoustic and melancholic, with some moments of sound experimentation typical of progressive rock.
The documentary directed by Tony Palmer (hard to find in Qello, an extra service from Prime Video) follows Gallagher in his most inspired moments on stage during the tour he undertook around his native island around New Year’s Day 1974. This is alternated with street scenes of the cities he stopped in (some of them desolate) and intimate recordings, in which the camera discreetly sneaks into the dressing room to show the band (there were already four of them: he added keyboards) getting ready or chatting. Everything is as informal as the artist wanted it to be. There is no actual interview, and it is surprising that there is hardly any talk of the very conflictive political context of that tour.
In the worst years of sectarian violence in Ireland, Rory Gallagher was determined to cross the border again and again with his music. He was born in Ballyshannon, in the Republic, but only 9 kilometres from Ulster; as a child he lived in Derry, on the other side; his family settled permanently in Cork, in the south. On New Year’s Day 1972, he was scheduled to perform at Belfast’s Ulster Hall, at a time when only local bands played in the city, and not very often. These were the worst times of the Troubles, as they called the years of lead due to the terrorist violence of the IRA and the Protestant paramilitaries, and the excesses of the British forces.
In Belfast, the guitarist was staying at the Europa Hotel, just 200 metres from the Ulster Hall. The hotel boasts the rare honour of being one of the most heavily bombed hotels: 33 explosive devices have been detonated there. On New Year’s Eve, 10 bombs exploded in the Northern Irish capital: Rory did not even consider cancelling the concert, which added to his legend. “I don’t see any reason not to play in Belfast. The kids are here and they will be fed up with listening to the records,” he said. There were no explicit political messages in his lyrics, but he became an icon that united Protestants and Catholics. The gig was held in the middle of the afternoon, because there was a curfew and the bus service ended at 8 o’clock. Later that month, Bloody Sunday occurred, with 14 protesters shot dead in Derry.
Less than two years later, the situation was not much better. Two IRA members had been killed on Christmas Eve, along with a passerby, when bombs they were preparing exploded in nearby County Down; two car bomb explosions in England were still fresh in the air. The Irish tour that includes Irish Tourr started in the same Belfast venue (a historic building) on December 29, 1973. And we see in the documentary an enthusiastic crowd shouting non-stop: “Rory, Rory, Rory.” The sectarianism that was bleeding the country dry and that kept the streets empty did not exist inside the venue. Concerts followed in Dublin and Cork, no less enthusiastic. He belonged to everyone.
In March 1975 he performed in Madrid during the throes of Franco’s regime, at the Teatro Monumental, a concert that greatly impacted a young Rosendo Mercado, who put his stamp on the sound of Leño, and it was broadcast on TVE. In the eighties, difficult for Gallagher because he did not fit into the dominant fashions, he moved to hard rock, Although I couldn’t help but return to the blues frequently. In 1990, knowing that he was ill, he published Fresh Evidence, the album in which he recovered his roots and whose lyrics spoke of pain and mourning. He did not release any more.
In Ireland, the places that remember its great guitarist are marked. In Temple Bar, the area with the most pubs in Dublin, there is Rory Gallagher Corner, with a guitar on the wall presiding over a small square. In his hometown he has a statue and an annual festival is held in his honour. In Cork there is another memorial with a sculpture. The Stratocaster that he bought for 100 pounds in 1963, and which he used until his last days, is now up for auction at an estimated price of up to one million pounds (more than 1.18 million euros).
One day he was asked what was Irish about his music, which had clearer American roots, and he replied: “Everyone knows where I’m from. What am I supposed to do to prove it? It was inappropriate to question his attachment to local music, which traveled with the emigrants and permeated folk and country from the USA. He was on the return trip. Some chosen for glory prefer to remain authentic.
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