Happy St. Patrick's Day!

[Annie]

http://www.suntimes.com/output/music/cst-ftr-danny17.html

The lure of 'Danny Boy'

March 17, 2005

BY MIKE THOMAS Staff Reporter

This time of year, without fail, they dye the river green, taverns serve green beer, people wear green clothes, delis sell corned beef, and singers of all ages join in not-so-rousing choruses of that timeless, quintessentially Irish-American tearjerker "Danny Boy."

You know, the death-themed ditty with pipes calling from glen to glen, the summer gone and all the roses falling, etc. A barnburner at wakes, it's an unabashedly mournful dirge that tugs so hard at the heartstrings as to nearly cause a coronary. Yet it wields a wondrous power.

Set to the centuries-old melody "Derry Air," a k a "Londonderry Air,", a ballad supposedly composed by the chief harpist to Baron of Dungannon Hugh O'Neill (plum gig, huh?), it has been assigned more than 100 sets of lyrics over time and sung by the likes of Tom Jones, Bing Crosby and Johnny Cash.

The Irish Tenors cover it in a Rosemont Theatre concert airing at 7:30 tonight on WTTW-Channel 11. They may or may not do the best-known 1910 version by English lawyer and radio personality Frederic Weatherly, but there'll be tears regardless.
'DANNY BOY' SINGING CONTEST

When: 6 tonight
Where: O'Brien's, 1528 N. Wells
Admission: Free
Call: (312) 787-3131

"This song has captivated so many people, and it's not just the Irish," said Tom Boyle, an 18-year member and former president of the Irish American Heritage Club. "It's popular across ethnic groups. I don't know what it is about the magic of the song. People love it. You get so many requests for it. And it often makes people cry. You'll see people weeping."

Mark Piekarz, a local tenor, has crooned the tune countless times, most recently in a "Danny Boy" contest at the Fitzpatrick Hotel. Is he tired of it? "I think the attributes of it and the lyrics, they still mean something after singing it so many times," he said. "I guess what I'm sick of are the actual requests and the expectations to do so, because there are so many other good songs."

Rocker Eric Clapton had his say in "Danny Boy: In Sunshine or in Shadow," a 1997 PBS special. "It seems to be the perfect song about grief," the ax god mused. "I think it's both a very Irish song, and I think it works anywhere, in any situation, really. It's one of those things [where] you could be in the middle of a very sophisticated cocktail party or something like that, with masses of very wealthy people. And if someone started singing that song, it would grind everything to a halt."

The proprietors of O'Brien's Restaurant would surely prefer a less funereal atmosphere at their 13th annual "Danny Boy" contest tonight. With a raffle benefitting Mercy Home for Boys and Girls orphanage on West Adams, the annual gathering is open to anyone. Charity gets cash, patrons have fun. Everyone wins. But the guy or gal who belts "Danny Boy" the best wins dinner for four.

Prospective vocalists, start your gargling.

Not quite Irish, but definitely Danny
In the early '90s, I took part in a "Danny Boy" contest.

Sponsored by a Cleveland beer distributor, the contest brought singers to local watering holes, where they crooned "Danny Boy" and one other Irish tune for a panel of judges. Semifinalists met at the West Side Irish American Center for a showdown -- a kind of "Irish-American Idol." First prize was a trip to Boca Raton, Fla. I decided to give it a shot.

I'd sung for much of my short life, but never "Danny Boy." Know this: It ain't easy. Its wide dynamic range falls just outside the vocal comfort zone -- kind of like "The Star Spangled Banner" and much of the Led Zeppelin canon. And it shouldn't be rendered too slowly. Or too quickly. Or too mawkishly.

"It touches your heart. It makes you cry and smile. It's life all rolled up into one salute and one beer."

-- PETER O'BRIEN OF O'BRIEN'S RESTAURANT ON THE ENDURING APPEAL OF "DANNY BOY"

A college student at the time, I practiced for a couple of weeks and learned the upbeat "Wild Rover," as well. Then came the semifinals.

A few pals in attendance, I had a brew, cleared my throat, got onstage and let it rip. Then I got offstage, cleared my throat, had a brew and waited. Lady Luck must've been grinning, because I made the cut. I, marginally more Gaelic than Omar Sharif, was a "Danny Boy" finalist. Miraculous.

A week or two later, when I arrived very late to the Irish American Center, festivities had already begun. Onstage, a bold female singer performed while sprawled on her back. I made a mental note: no sprawling on back.

When my turn came, so did mild nervousness and pre-flop sweat. Gazing at the expectant throng, who would cheer wildly, applaud tepidly or go all Showtime-at-the-Apollo on me, I breathed deeply and began an a cappella ode to youthful recklessness: "I've played the wild rover for many a year/And I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer/But now I've returned with golden great store/And I never will play the wild rover no more."

Then I settled into the one that really mattered, the one for which I'd traversed Cleveland at well over the legal speed limit: "Danny Boy." Starting out low, sans accompaniment, I managed to hit the money note on "bend" with only minor cerebral hemorrhaging. In my poetically licensed mind's eye, the crowd roared.

I snaked my way to the bar and waited. About 30 minutes later, the judges had determined 1992's "Danny Boy" champ.

What happened next was wholly unexpected -- yours truly, Irish only in my admiration for Harp Lager and Shaquille O'Neal, snagged the trophy, actually more of a double plaque. Think I got a nifty beer stein, too. And, of course, the crown jewel: Florida. Mom and Dad, long overdue for a tropical getaway, were bound shortly for the sunny shores and early dining specials of Boca Raton -- as soon as they filled out the appropriate tax forms. Me, I had a test to study for.

As I drove home that night, eager to break the odd news to friends and family, "Danny Boy" swam ceaselessly through my brain. Thirteen years later it's still there, etched indelibly in gray matter. That's what great songs and Poison ballads do -- latch on forever. And though it's never made me cry, it does make me nostalgic for those thrilling days of yesteryear, for that sentimental song that gave me (well, my parents) so very much. Yes, those were good times. The best.

OK, now I'm getting misty. But only a little.