The Young Dubs?

In Cincinnati?

What the everlasting……?

…well, you know.

I was confused.

Surprised, yeah. Happily surprised, hells yeah. But confused.

See, I’ve only been a real groupie of one band. There are bands and singers that I love. Earth, Wind & Fire, Tom Jones, Jennifer Hudson, Mariza (I know. Look her up. Portuguese Fado singer & my future ex-wife) but only one band that I have driven miles and gone way out of my way to see.

The Young Dubliners.

A little history. If you know me at all you know my interest & love for many things Irish. One of the many gifts given to me by my mother Eileen. Her father was from a tiny town called Bruckless, just outside of Donegal town ( don’t call it “Donegal City”. Your Irish friends will laugh at you. For years..) Charles came over to America in the 1930’s and married my grandmother. Mom had a great love for her heritage and passed that on to her children & grandchildren, some more than others. I grew up surrounded by the culture, music & language. It took me forever to finally et over there, but that is a different story. Flash forward to the late 1980s. I’ve moved to Los Angeles with my girlfriend, had that relationship blow up, and had moved in with an actress / girlfriend in Pasadena.

Let’s just leave that story for a different day as well.

I’m taking a walk in Old Town Pasadena and stop at a funky little bar called the Loch Ness Monster pub. No, it’s not there anymore. It’s been gone for a long time, but it was a cool little hang. And this particular night there were two guys playing Irish music. They called themselves the Young Dubliners. One was named Keith and one…wasn’t. And yeah, they were good, really good. I was impressed.

Fast forward to maybe the best Irish fair I’ve ever been to. It was in Burbank in the early 90’s. The Chieftains were there, and Tommy Makem, the Clancy bros, and there again, were the Young Dubliners, now a full band. I don’t know if I’ve ever spent a day as immersed in great music, Guinness & Jameson as I did that day.

And a groupie was born.

Over the next 20 or so years I saw the boys (and a girl fiddle player for a while, red-haired & named “Lovely” no less) all over Southern California. At the House of Blues in Hollywood & Anaheim, Irish fairs ( there are a couple every year in So Cal, at least there were for a while. They’ve kinda dwindled, sadly) and at Irish bars. I’ve had friends who have “groupied” with me ( you know who you are). We would perform a show (theater) in Orange county and then jump in our cars, drive to Hollywood and see them. We’d get nasty sunburns humping around the fields at Irish fairs, getting drunkish listening to other bands and waiting for their next set. I’ve gotten involved in mosh pits which I had no business being in because, ya know, ya gotta dance. And we would.

And the years go by…

You get a little older. You get a corporate job. you get a little more settled.

They get a little older. The lead singer lost his voice, had the surgery (if you’re in the business, you know the one) and then trashed his voice again. He still gives it his all, every show, which amazes me and hurts me to listen at the same time. Keith has that Irish charisma in spades. I would’t even venture a guess about how many women have fallen for those charms. I’m pretty sure any women that ever went with me to a show, whether we were dating or not, would have given it up.

And I wouldn’t blame them….

…but I digress…

Yeah, the voice has suffered the ravages of the road and countless shows. As the 2000s turned into the 2010s, I saw them less often. The Irish fairs themselves, as I mentioned, got smaller, and the crowds got more sedate. I always had a ball, and enjoyed the show. But it wasn’t, and I wasn’t, the same.

Now it’s 2024. I left my corporate job, moved back to Cincinnati, been lucky enough to find work as an actor here on the east coast. I love my work, but I often have to be pretty disciplined to pull it off.

I haven’t seen the Young Dubs in, what, 3-4 years? If you asked me about them, I’d have said that they were probably a part of my past.

A great, wild, time. Good craic, as my friends from Derry might say. But probably in my past.

Then, 2 weeks ago, on my facebook feed.

“At the Ludlow Garage, Wed., April 24th, The Young Dubliners”

Holy Crap.

What’s the first thing I do, in bed, at 11pm?

Buy a front row ticket. Now I look for a Young Dubs T-shirt. I’ve bought a half dozen.

Nope. Nowhere. No-freaking where.

Thank the deity for E-bay.

Got a vintage 2013 Dubs shirt.

You don’t have to tell me how much of a geek I am. I know.

Tuesday, I put my ticket up for sale. I started talking myself out of it.

“I’m going by myself. My friends aren’t with me”

“I’ll bet his voice is totally shot”

“You know it’s not going to be the same as back in the day”.

As of noon yesterday, the ticket hadn’t sold. I had a new conversation with me.

“It was like having an old friend I never said goodbye to”. We had just drifted apart. Why not go? Whatever it is, at least it will be closure.

Done deal.

So, I show up. I’m in the front row, and I think I’m the only person who actually ponied up the front row ticket price. Some people eventually kinda snuck up & sat down. But now I knew why my ticket hadn’t sold. It was about half a house. The median age was probably about, umm, me. They wasn’t really a dance floor, and the few people who wanted to dance were ushered back to their seats by “security”.

But people.

It was magic.

Keith’s voice was trashed. They had been touring for a few months. He was talking as much as he was singing. I remembered Keith, the fiddler (an amazing performer who did a 5 min solo mid-concert. Also, about whom some female friends of mine had some fairly impure, graphic fantasies) and the drummer. But, on a Wednesday, in Cincinnati, for half a house, these boys tore it down. Keith was all over the stage. He told stories, cracked jokes, basically held court for 2 hours.

And I remembered.

The night in Pasadena.

The Fairs.

The mosh pits at the House of Blues.

Walking out with my friends, soaking wet with sweat, high on the drinks, the music and the vibe. On being young, on being in L.A. On being a part of the arts and experiencing their art.

It all came back. There were probably a few folks who wondered who the old bald guy was who knew the words to all the songs, and who had to wipe away a tear or two before it was all over.

I didn’t care.

I don’t care.

After the show, I asked one of the roadies to tell Keith that a guy was here who’s seen him at the Loch Ness Monster pub in 89. He came out and we talked for a few minutes about things back in the day. He mentioned that he loved that t-shirt and I lied and told him I probably bought it at the House of Blues back in the day. (Not really a lie since I actually bought a fair few. So shoot me.)

But I knew there were other people for him to see so I thanked him and took my leave.

I don’t really spend a lot of time looking back. I often say I was born without a rearview mirror. I don’t live back then, and don’t worry much about what might have been. I sincerely think regret is a wasted emotion.

But last night I re-lived some marvelous days. Some great, free, fun, happy days I spent with people I care about.

I do think that was worth the price of admission.

Even the front row seat.

Talk Later,

Bob