John Francis Flynn
Dalymount Park★★★☆☆
John Francis Flynn is up against it at Bohemian FC’s Dalymount Park, where he has to overcome not only the revelation that he once had a passing fancy for Bohs’ nearby rivals Shelbourne, but also the audience’s incessant chatter.
“Shut the f**k up,” goes up a shout from the front row – a much-needed admonishment directed not at the Dublin folk singer but at the loquacious punters at the back of the temporary Plexiglas structure just behind the away end at Dalymount Park.
The shushing arrives at the midpoint of an enjoyably knotty and gnarly set that begins with Flynn’s brooding cover of 19th-century lament The Wind that Shakes the Barley and which reaches an emotive crescendo with his tribute to Bothy Band uilleann piper Paddy Keenan, who died recently.
Flynn is headlining the Saturday night of the Last Days of Dalymount, a four-day grand farewell to the fondly-regarded if rather post-apocalyptic stadium on the northside of Dublin which is set for the wrecking ball having hosted Bohs games since 1901.
The twist is that he’s going on later than originally slated. He’s been bumped up to occupy a slot initially billed to a “special guest”. Social media had kept itself busy in the run-up to Saturday speculating that the surprise headliner was either Slane-bound Fontaines DC or Irish-language rappers Kneecap – both of whom have served as handmaids to Bohs’ recent reinvention as the club that launched a myriad of replica shirts. Of course, if the club really wanted to pull out all the stops they could have invited Oasis, who, inevitably, have a Bohs jersey of their own, too.
Then at lunchtime on Saturday it is revealed that the extra addition to the bill is Cormac Begley. He’s a talented concertina player from west Kerry but not the sort of musician to have fans rushing the barricades for a closer look. However, this tangled tale has a happy conclusion in so far as Flynn is a fine headliner, going on after a joint performance by Whipping Boy’s Paul Page and A Lazarus Soul’s Brian Brannigan and funkateers Bricknasty.
His music is soaring and sad. This is the perfect vibe given how miserable the Jodi Stand looks at the opposite end of the pitch. It’s almost as if it knows that the final curtain looms and it is soon to be reduced to rubble and faded dreams so that a shiny new stadium can take its place.
Evocatively framed by static lighting, the hulking singer begins the concert as more shimmering outline than concrete presence. In the twilight-like gloom he looks like a yeti touting a tin-whistle. His rich, deep voice, meanwhile, has the quality of an ominous wind creaking through the branches during an ill-advised walk in the woods at 2am.
Or at least it would if people stopped talking. Which they do eventually. And in enough time to appreciate his gorgeous take on Kitty, a dirge from 19th-century Tipperary excavated by Shane MacGowan of The Pogues and featured on their 1984 album, Red Roses for Me.
He finishes with My Son Tim, a magnificently dark ditty which recently featured on season two of Guy Ritchie’s geezer-riffic Netflix drama The Gentlemen. It’s a blistering folk barrage and the perfect way to bring down the shutters, even if chattier members of the audience were probably there for Kneecap.