Phil Lynott, the first true Irish rock star, a rocker with a poet's heart and the man who made paddy cool.
It's not just that Phil Lynott was the first black Irish rock star; he was the first Irish rock star full stop. Before him, Van was a roots man who regarded the smoke bombs and mirror shades of rock 'n' roll with utter contempt. Rory Gallagher always played the unassuming blues craftsman. Horslips were – well nobody knew what Horslips were exactly, a glam-trad carnival sideshow maybe, a hall of mirrors in which you could choose your own reflection. But Lynott was the closest thing to a Crumlin Keith Richards. From the beat group days of 1960s Dublin, he was the first native rock icon to prove that the terms ‘Paddy' and ‘cool' didn't have to be mutually exclusive, a local legend on a par with Brendan Behan and Luke Kelly. And when Thin Lizzy appeared on Top Of The Pops doing ‘Whiskey In The Jar' in 1972, it proved to a generation reared on the blackthorn shtick that the twin personas of traditional folk rake and gypsy-ringed rocker were first cousins.
But if he could carry off Keef's louche-limbed swagger with ease, he also had Jagger's chameleon instincts. Early Lizzy were a confused but beguiling hodge-podge of influences, from Hendrix-style acid rock to prog folk to romantic balladry to amped up trad ballads. Even in his band's decline – and especially on his often overlooked solo albums – Lynott could make a credible fist of anything from lounge jazz (‘Fats'), New Romantic electronica (‘Yellow Pearl' with Midge Ure) and keening folk (‘Tribute To Sandy Denny' with Clann Eadair).
But then, Phil Lynott was always miscast as a hard rocker. In actuality, he was an accomplished songwriter with ambitions towards lyric poetry, ambitions he might eventually have fulfilled had he beaten his own addictions. As early as ‘Randolph's Tango' and ‘Shades Of A Blue Orphanage', the singer betrayed more of an affiliation with narrative-driven storytellers like Van, Dylan and Springsteen than his hard rock contemporaries.
Yet no matter how Lizzy fluctuated on record, their live shows were always akin to tribal gatherings, especially in Ireland. This writer caught them on the 1983 farewell tour, and while it was obvious Lynott was in bad shape, bloated and blunted, his effortless rapport with his crowd still made it special – he could charm the knickers off a nun.
The famous video for ‘Old Town' perfectly captured that charm: Phil striding down Grafton Street flashing that rapacious grin, teeth and earrings gleaming, afro over one eye, waltzing with the girls and all but high-fiving the pedestrians – a warm portrait of a hometown hero soaking up the vibe. Lynott was every bit the star, but streetwise with it, and it was these street smarts that enabled him to survive the punk upheavals that threatened the credibility of the heavy rock dinosaurs. While Rod and The Stones and Led Zep were off in tax exile, Lynott was associating with Nick Kent and Steve Jones and Paul Cook and Rat Scabies and Johnny Thunders. Mind you, given that crowd's proclivity for heroin chic, it mightn't have been as good for his health as it was for his cred.
To read the full story, you need to be a subscriber member to hotpress.com
JOIN NOW AND SAVE HEAPS OF CASH
Not a member? Well, join hotpress.com now and you get to read this AND you'll save yourself heaps of cash with our cool collection of member benefits - discounts in clothes shops and cafes, CDs for €10.00, books at a knockdown rate, great music merchandise and lots more.
*PLUS: Secure member access to the other 20,000 superb, original articles on hotpress.com (going back as far as 1977 and growing at around 1,000 articles a month).
To join click here.
To learn more about hotpress.com member benefits, go here.