The Sharon Shannon Big Band – O2 Institute, Birmingham, or, as Cait O’Riordan corrected, Digbeth Civic Hall – 20th December 2024.

The Friday before Christmas, or Mad Friday, is no time to be levering into winter woolies and trudging the streets of Digbeth without good reason. And with the train packed with “witty” Christmas jumpers and santa hats, the city centre was in for a lashing, with the odd more astute passenger having other things on their mind. Which, it’s true, may also involve drink being taken.

Digbeth remains one of the spiritual heartlands of Ireland, even with the shocking hole in the ground opposite, left by the long closed and now demolished Irish Centre, nearby tonight’s venue. The myriad Irish bars, real Irish bars, none of your ersatz tourist travesties, that fill this strip of Birmingham, were dealing with the national Guinness shortage by selling, what joy, Murphy’s, the cream of Cork. And the crowd filling out this grand old venue had generously partaken such libations before the 8.15 prompt start.

Sharon Shannon plays generally as a trio these days; indeed such as we had caught her, nearly a couple of years back, literally around the corner. It’s been a while to see her with the whole shenanigan, with many bets as to who, apart the listed guests, would be making up the numbers. With the number of microphone stands and instruments strewn about the stage, big was certainly seeming to be the case, drumkit, piano, melodeons, guitars, mandolins, banjo and fiddles. Even a harp standing, stage right, at the front. The big band is something she brings out for special occasions, and tends to cherry pick from a rich cast of who is available.

Indeed, one regular guest was Shane MacGowan, explanation, if needed, why this tribute was to be convincing and appropriate. Tonight her singers were to be Liam Ò Maonlaí (Hothouse Flowers), Imelda May, Camille O’Sullivan and Mundy, each also with a track record alongside the accordion maven.

But first it was the band, all eight players bounding on stage as Shannon took her raised chair, set centrally. Straight off into, Neckbelly, one of her own tunes, and then Blackbird, they were immediately alight. And who was that lithe figure, at the far right, with a grin as wide as her santa hat tall, gouging notes out her electric bass? In a nod to continuity, this was none other than Cait O’Riordan, her presence gifting the concert with even more authenticity. Also in a santa hat, the far left of the stage was graced by the taioseach of sax himself, the great Richie Buckley, sometime sidesman for all the greats of Irish talent, from Van the man to Christy Moore and many points between, thinking specifically of Mary Coughlan.

Blue touch paper lit, it was time to bring on the singers, they careering and crowding in around the microphones, trading verses of Dirty Old Town. Ò Maonlaí, as ever, rocking the Saville Row boho look he has made his own, hair and beard flowing, alternating between bellowed verses and tin whistle, whilst May oozed sultry charm in a long gown. Mundy had the Irish cowboy look off pat, matching black stetson hat and nudie jacket. O’Sullivan I had always seen as being an elegant nightclub torch singer, but in reality far from it, she a whooping volcano of voice and emotion. The four of them were not the only singers, mind, as O’Riordan only too happy to also show off her pipes, with no small vigour, proving that enthusiasm can be at least nine parts of talent.

Without a pause they then cracked straight into Irish Rover, the audience needing no invite to join them. The thump of the drums against the back row of banjo, fiddle and mandola was a mighty sound, Buckley parping righteously, with the hands of Alan Connor a blur on the keyboard. All the while, leading by intent, Shannon was having the time of her life, face split by her elfin beam. By and large it was now turn taking, each singer in turn left by their cohorts to take the lead. So Ò Maonlaí took Summer In Siam, before May then stirred the Popes’ roustabout Mama Lou into a rockabilly/rockapaddy broth of some potency. All the while, between each song, Shannon was gabbling away, excitement making her all but incoherent, acknowledging the support of Shane’s sister, Siobhan, and widow, Victoria, to this project.

Things get a little muddled, but I think it was then Mundy to holler through A Pair Of Brown Eyes and O’Sullivan to channel Streams of Whiskey, almost literally. O’Riordan then took the lead, revealing she could actually sing, and quite well, at that, reprising a role that she took at MacGowan’s funeral, for I’m A Man You Don’t Meet Every Day. By now it was all becoming a righteous hooley of celebration, both a wake and an early birthday party for the man, all at the same time.

The move of starting with singalongs, trads made even more popular by MacGowan, ahead of his own writing, proving a shrewd move. O’Sullivan for The Broad Majestic Shannon was endearingly wobbly, but Ò Maonlaì’s Lullaby of London showed his professionalism, even if the harp lay untouched, his earlier attempts at plucking to no avail, a victim of too many microphones and too few engineers. Fluffed by a combination of emotion and cheeky asides from Ò Maonlaì, O’Riordan had to take a second start for Dark Streets Of London, with her touching explanation more than making up for that.

Cavan Potholes, another of Shannon’s signatures, gave the singers some time off for exemplary behaviour, and was itself one of the show highlights, with each of the band given a turn to take the spotlight. I am ashamed to say I caught neither then name of the fiddle player, possibly Dezi Donnelly, or the mandolin/mandola player, but the former gave a slinky gypsy jazz turn from the reggae groove the tune had kicked off with. The banjo was in the hands of the great Gerry O’Connor, delivering a sidelining showcase.

Beginning with slow twangy notes, Duane Eddy meets Link Wray, he gradually upped the tempo into an astonishing flurry of notes that seemed impossible given this was a 5 string tenor. Buckley teased us with some sonorous play, never quite enough of a phrase to fully recall it, before demonstrating his automatic added value. Which left only Connor, who had switched to guitar, to give his blistering band director’s best, with a cheeky lift from Whisky in The Jar, the Lizzy/Eric Bell solo, at the outset. Caught up in the moment he then decided to play guitar and piano simultaneously, which, somehow, he managed, keyboard flurries with his right hand being mirrored by left hand pyrotechnics on the neck of his guitar. Astonishing!

Back to MacGowan though now needed, with memories evoked of his duet, with Sinead O’Connor, for Haunted, and words said also around the loss of this other Irish icon of modern times, lost this same year. Possibly a less familiar tune, it was performed superbly by the singers each swapping roles. We’d had a Sick Bed Of Cúchulainn somewhere too, and a terrific Rainy Night In Soho, but, can you tell, it was all getting a bit hazy. Suffice to say the instrumental build for the latter was immense.

Even the band now was getting confused, Mundy leaving the stage ahead Shannon having to call him back and issue her instructions. Ad hoc? I don’t know, but his rendition of Galway Girl, the Steve Earle one, clearly(!), that Shannon had played on, was a showstopper. (And yes, there is form, Mundy having sung it, with MacGowan, at an earlier Big Band incarnation.) Segueing in Iko Iko to the middle section, before returning to Galway, the raised roof must now have been at within MacGowan’s touches!

Announcing the final song, an exhausted and still excited Shannon thanked us all for being part the party, and the rousing intro of Fiesta brought the show to a near unimpeachable climax. Wait a minute, what about…….. Worry not, near unimpeachable, of course they came back, the date itself a guarantee, and Fairytale Of New York had perhaps the most incandescent version it could posibly have, outside the presence of the original singers. It was glorious, and if there were any dry eyes in the house, they certainly weren’t mine. Wonderful, simply wonderful, and what a way to steal the gig of the year trophy, ten days before 2025.

Here’s an earlier version of the Big Band, from a TG4 2008 Christmas Show, featuring St. Shane himself, with, Mundy, Buckley, Donnelly all also present and correct, as well as, obviously, Ms. Shannon herself, from tonight’s team.

Sharon Shannon online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram

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