Player on the Black Keys
Tony MacMahon
In an extract from a memoir in progress, musician Tony MacMahon remembers moments of inspiration, captivation – and terror. Photos: Lucy Clarke
Sing a song
for the mistress
of the bones
the player
on the black keys
the darker harmonies
light jig
of shoe buckles
on a coffin lid
from ‘Ó Riada’s Farewell’ by John Montague
***
If ever you stroll down Capel Street with your arse to the Liffey and your belly to Bolton Street, you will come to the smallest shop in Dublin, the last but one on your left. The Horse Shoe at number 85 is a Polish breadshop today, the facade in buttercup yellow and the inside awash with the smell of freshly-baked bread. But from 1946 until 1989 it was where the late John Kelly from west Clare ran a small business, reared a family and held court to three generations of traditional musicians.
At Oireachtas time in early October, when the first Claremen arrived, Sonny Brogan was sure to turn up and suggest, politely, to Mr Kelly – as the locals called him – that it was time to close the shop. Sonny arrived most days, neat and tidy in a dark blue suit, a white shirt and a grey, cloth cap. The cap was always perfectly level. He did an occasional bit of painting and decorating, but his speciality was discussing the intricacies of a tune, as customers came and went, looking for mousetraps, hot-water bottles or...
