Christy Moore – A Terrible Beauty: Album Review

By Seuras Og on 8th November 2024 • ( Leave a comment )

In his 80th year, Moore shows no sign of slowing down or mellowing out, in a powerful mix of emotions and a record of two sides.

Release Date: 1st November 2024

Label: Claddagh Records

Format: CD / vinyl / digital

retirement…?

It now 27 years since Christy Moore first announced his retirement, on the back of his then newly diagnosed heart disease, with that on the back of a relentless half century of touring and recording: solo, and with Planxty and The Moving Hearts. A then hefty alcohol problem had also contributed, something now decades behind him. Clearly the retirement was only temporary, this being his ninth subsequent recording, with an additional four live records to boot. Moore is now quite the elder statesman of Irish music, a gentler beast than perhaps(?!) he was, and becoming maybe the republic’s answer to Willie Nelson, an icon, respected across age and demographic, albeit a decade and some short of the country singer.

album 24…

This is album 24, his first on this side of covid, and remains the usual mix of overtly political, traditional songs and the gently whimsical. His usual calling card, then. A performer rather than a writer, the songs here are a mix of those he has found and those written especially for him, and features material from writers he has maintained form and connections with, throughout his career. But, in the centre, in the thick of it, it is his voice and his delivery. A curious instrument, it can wax between the slash of a scimitar and the waft of a feather, sometimes within the same sentence, and inhabits a midground between elegant declamation and strident appeal, instantly identifiable.

setting a high bar

The album opens with the beautiful Boy In The Wild, Moore’s voice at it’s lower register, a flickering ember, over a quiet guitar and piano backing, pipe organ pulling extended notes behind what sounds like double tracked harmony vocals. However, the second voice is of Andy Moore, his son. It is utterly gorgeous. The last song written by Wally Page, it sets the bar high, both for the rest of the album and for any other from his peers might be able to offer, 56 years in. Lulled into the reverie this song induces, it takes a moment to capture what Sunflowers, up next, is referring to. A stark piano phrase sets up an atmosphere fully redolent of Strange Fruit, before Moore starts up with spoken word. A gaunt and daunting tone poem, he gives a chilling ode to the fallen of Ukraine, through the eyes of a mother.

If it doesn’t stop you in your tracks, finger on pause, and then on repeat, you haven’t a heart. Or soul. Written by Mike Harding, astonishingly, yes, it is that one, the Rochdale Cowboy.

rolling gaits and comfy brogues

Moore follows that with what first might sound an unaccompanied fiddle de dee type song. But, as the words sink in, it becomes clear this is no jolly tale, and is, instead, a goosebumps inducing portrayal of strong drink, as it destroys a family. Territory Moore knows only too well, and it is the first of a couple by Brian Brannigan, Briany to Moore, of the Dublin post-punks, A Lazarus Soul. Tied up in the rolling gait of a traditional drinking song, it casts a rather more jaundiced eye on the levity that alcohol is more usually gifted in Irish song. (It also should point you, as it did I, toward the A Lazarus Soul page on Bandcamp).

Moore’s brogue, here and throughout, oozes a comfy charm at odds with the darkness of the direction. Andy again provides the harmony. The second Brannigan song is Lemon Sevens, an avant-trad ballad, in that it is a new song that carries the weight of centuries. Moore’s voice is barely above whisper, the backing a mix of guitar and bouzouki, each pluck of the strings spare, sparse and well-chosen. I’m suddenly having to revise my best of year rankings for this late entry.

an angry riposte…

It is a genuine standard, Broomielaw, that comes up next, a song learnt from Mick Moloney, and sung by Moore for 60 years, if without, until now, ever being recorded by him. Accordion drifts in to gild the simple melody, Moore’s voice wielding an uncanny power through the the quiet splendour of his delivery.

Talking of delivery, anyone missing the classic hiberno-rap style of ’70s and ’80s Moore, in songs like Lisdoonvarna, worry not, he still has it in him. Cumann Na Mná, translating, simply enough, as Women’s Association, starts off as the benign tale of the aftermath of the Scotland versus Ireland women’s soccer match of October 2022, where Ireland won, away from home. The commentator, for Sky TV, took umbrage at the winning team’s post match chants and taunts, suggesting their historical education incomplete and lacking.

And then, what started as a descriptive narrative, blue touch paper duly lit, becomes a fierce and fearsome diatribe on said history, as in a more accurate depiction of the crimes of the British Empire, with neither punches pulled or stones left unturned. An angry and righteous riposte, lest any idea of loveable ol’ Uncle Christy be misassumed.

a return to despair

Whilst all that soaks in, an instrumental track follows, The Rock, with 5 string banjo to the fore, with guitar and bodhran, it provides a effective block to any kickback from the song before it. This also provides the applicable space between anger and despair. For if Cumann na Mná is angry, The Life And Soul bleeds despair.

If anyone recalls Song For Anne Lovett, a song sung by Moore, in 2013, or Middle Of The Island, even earlier, in 1989 and with Sinead O’Connor, this touches on the same subject, the death, in childbirth, of the 15 year old Lovett, her baby dying too. Here the format starts as as scat vocables, before the music drops away to nothing, Moore reciting the anonymous eulogy spoken at a memorial event. It then reverts to the same glib burst of paddywhackery, along with the chilling sound of a tolling bell, in spookily effective contrast.

social and political commentary

Sticking with social and political commentary, Lyra McKee is a song, by James Cramer, about the murder of the journalist and activist of that name, in 2019, and how it happened. Very much in the style of one of Dylan’s historicals, thinking Joey, Hurricane and similar, it offers a straightforward depiction of the tragic events, all the more moving through the senselessness of it all. And, as if to show a full equal handedness of Moore’s bite, Darkness Before Dawn, which follows, is a condemnation of a botched paramilitary assault on a NAAFI canteen in Moore’s own hometown. Botched as there was a failure to identify the innocent family resident in the same building, and who were killed. Again, the style is of a broadsheet ballad, set to guitar, piano and a lasting conscience.

something lighter

After this run of heavy topics, something lighter is called for. Moore duly delivers, with another semi-spoken reverie, with a loose connect to his own career in music. When he does this well, such as with Cumann na Mná a song or three before, he does it very very well. And then there are those that are a little more wince-inducing, and, sadly, The Big Marquee tends more to the latter. It certainly changes the direction of flow, but not for long, as Palestine, a song by Jim Page, follows.

A brave song and one I can’t really argue against, it has led to some criticism of Moore’s assumed stance. I can see it getting appropriate applause when aired, but it is actually a little thin in construction, and, as a song, a little too weak to carry the weight intended. It bears reference to note it was written well before any of the events of the past year and a bit.

Unfortunately, again, the closer, Snowflake, whilst a reasonable enough attack on anonymous and pseudonymous keyboard warriors, it is clad in a lazy borrowed melody and some slightly clunky spoken word. This makes for a disappointing conclusion.

a record of two sides

This is a record of two sides. At least two sides. The first five tracks are as good as anything Moore has ever put out. Two good tracks follow, bridged by the excellent instrumental. However, once the final salvo gets unleashed, the trajectory begins to slip, with the last couple of songs possibly dispensable altogether. I can’t help but wonder whether the fault may be in the programming, with a little judicious jiggery pokery having avoided that outcome. I recommend unequivocally what would be side one on the vinyl recording, with just a little more buyer beware for the flip.

Here’s Boy In The Wild, only the second time there has ever been a Christy official video: