It concerned a certain Peader Kearney - who wrote The Soldier's Song, our little republic's national anthem - and the issue of copyright when said ditty was given an airing in Dublin cinemas of the day..
The Soldier's Song was later translated into Gaelic by our cultural nationalist leaders, who felt it wasn't Irish enough in its vernacular form, rendered as it was in a way that most of us could understand.
And maybe they were right, for once?
Most national anthems are jingoistic gibberish.
Even the catchy Italian one - which sounds a bit like Rossini's Thieving Magpie crescendo from start to finish - is accompanied by bloodthirsty lyrics that might even have made Padraig Pearse blush.
It is probably for the best that people don't understand what is being said.
But copyright? Have a read of the extract below.
See also: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjUx75M7yX4
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7 comments:
Hi GM, so we have long since been a nation that sues people (copyright of the national anthem is not that dissimilar).
That's true, Ella. The only difference is they should be compensating us for having to listen to the dirge...
I never stand for this blood-thirsty piece of crap anthem, the most recent occasion being the works do for Christmas this year, after the dishco, when it is always played. I can never understand why. "New York, New York" follwed by Kearney's bombastic dirge. I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps, but instead I woke up in the city that's full of sheep.
The most memorable occasion of my non-standing was probably in The Wexford Inn in the 80's during a gig by every nationalist Gombeen's favourite band, The Wolfe Tones. I had been dragged along under duress. I lived to tell the tale, despite the thumps I got to try and make me stand..
You're a brave man, Jim.
I played in a pub band, Jim, and we didn't play the national anthem after gigs. Why should a band play the national anthem, after all?
Anyway, you'd get lumpens coming up to you and asking why we didn't play it and how it was a disgrace and all the rest. The Kestrel in Walkinstown was one venue where this happened regularly and O'Connors in Blessington was another... where you'd get the occasional banjo boy trying to look up the female singer's skirt into the bargain.
Memories...
Fine countraaaay it is, where sheep have learned to sing.
Baaaahdly...
Ah, The Kestrel. I am from Walkinstown originally and used to have a pint in it sometimes. I was in there one evening with my ex and some friends of ours in the eighties. Our conviviality was rudely disturbed by a gang of "freedom fighters", armed with hammers, who barged in and told us all to shut up whilst they beat the crap out of a suspected drug dealer who was having a drink with his pregnant girlfriend. She also got a blow or two in the melée. Glory O, glory O, to the bold Fenian (anti-drugs thugs who deal in drugs themselves) Men
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