Thin Lizzy, Slane and the beginning of the love affair

(Piece first appeared in the 'Slane at 40' anniversary supplement produced by Meath Chronicle in August 2021

ANNE CALLAN

I was working in Dublin when it was announced that there was going to be an open-air concert in the grounds of Slane Castle in County Meath in August that year. The headline act was Thin Lizzy. Hazel O’Connor and U2 were on the bill. I had seen Thin Lizzy in the Downtown Club in Dundalk in 1980, me and a thousand others crammed into the long narrow venue.

My then boyfriend had been one of a handful recruited from the Regional Technical College to be roadie for a day for Thin Lizzy. Their remit was to lug heavy stuff and, emphatically, not to bother the band. I got into the Downtown Club easily that afternoon, thanks to a little local networking, the guy minding the door was also from the college. I’d only ever been in the club at night when it was full of people. The big empty hall had an eerie feel with its forlorn shuttered bar and bitter whiff of alcohol.

A couple of strangers moved about onstage doing a sound check. I loitered near the back on the lookout for my boyfriend.

Next thing I knew this tall, longhaired vision came strolling across the floor toward me. It was Scott Gorham. Scott was slender, in narrow jeans and rocker boots. Not to mention laidback and smiling. I stood in awe of him, thinking, this is what a rock star looks like. He drawled a few words as he signed his name on the first thing to hand, a Major cigarette packet.

Phil Lynott proved to be more elusive. He didn’t wander the hall. My boyfriend got his autograph later, on the reverse side of the cigarette wrapper. My memory of the performance that night is vague. In those days it was all about the booze.

Hazel O’Connor had been on Top of the Pops with her single, Will You. The song features a saxophone solo. I had a friend who used to change the speed from 45 rpm to 33 rpm for the sax part which he claimed gave you a better appreciation of the instrumental.

U2 were a band I had noticed in Dublin’s Dandelion Market. There was a lot of talk at the time among people I worked with who considered themselves well informed, that U2 were going to be BIG. I’d been to a gig in Belfield Bar and honestly, thought they were just a lot of noise.

My boyfriend, the same one who had roadied for Thin Lizzy the previous year, had a Triumph Bonneville 750. He had notions of striding into Slane, all swagger and throttle, but I had my doubts. The bike wasn’t reliable. It broke down constantly, spent as much time in the repair shop as it did on the road. He had zilch mechanical knowledge and I had even less. We got to Slane that Sunday the same way we got most places, by hitching. Nonetheless we wore our leather jackets. It was easy to get to Slane from where I lived. We simply walked to the other side of the village and stuck out our thumbs. The first lap was to Ardee. Once there you were on the main Dublin-Derry road which led straight to Slane. I’d already done the odyssey to Macroom a couple of times for Rory Gallagher. Slane seemed nearby in comparison.

At the crossroads we thanked our lift. Naturally the first stop would be a bar, but the pubs were full. Customers cloggedd oorways, barring access.

We followed the crowd out the Navan road along the stone wall under the trees.

A long dark car glided elegantly by; I saw our reflections mirrored in its sheen. Hazel O’Connor sat in the back, eyes darting like an excited child. Hey that’s Hazel O’Connor, we exclaimed, surprised to see her up close. She flashed us a toothy grin.

The entrance to the site was thronged with vagabonds swigging from bottles and cans, swapping stories, native counties announced with pride, how they had travelled -buses, vans- other concerts they’d been to and all that sort of ephemeral chat. Tickets were on sale from a wagon which reminded me of the stalls that sold religious paraphernalia when the Mission came to our village church. We had purchased ours in Golden Discs.

The queue moved good naturedly. Ticket checkers shouted, Have your tickets ready, please!

Inside a remarkable panorama stretched before me. Across the way the Castle stood, stately, grand. In the foreground a sweeping curve of hillside overlooked the stage, the stage itself set in countryside. Fields and trees brushed the sky forming part of the tapestry. In the background the river sparkled as it swept quietly by. The day was a scorcher. Boys sat shirtless in the sun, roasting their white bodies. Girls bared as much as they dared.

Vendors lined the edge selling hippie clothes which reeked faintly of patchouli. I bought a pair of cream drop earrings, little resin baubles I put on right away. Long queues formed at chip vans, lured by the tantalizing aroma of sizzling onions. In front of and to the side of the castle a wall of chicken wire cordoned off the exclusive VIP area. I noted in my diary that Hazel O’Connor was spunky and U2 sounded better in the open air than in Belfield Bar.

I awarded Thin Lizzy several gushing platitudes. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t love Thin Lizzy. We took them for granted I suppose. It is forty years ago since that first Slane gig and now that I had heard the music (Thin Lizzy could do no wrong) and felt lightheaded on alcohol and known the wildness of dancing on grass and seen the castle’s parapet stark against the evening sky, I had fallen deep. Serenity washed over me, and yet a madness.

It was all a wonder. I was hooked on the buzz.

Fireworks fizzed and crackled in the sky as we trudged back to the main road to stick out our thumbs. Straight away got a lift to Dundalk, made it into Russell’s Saloon in good time for last orders. Townies who would never contemplate discommoding themselves from the comfort of their bar stools waited eagerly to hear our story of the day in Slane.