As a new exhibition marks the 25th anniversary of the Thin Lizzy frontman's death, Neil McCormick wonders why he never quite attained the status of other fallen idols.
Growing up in Ireland in the Seventies, Phil Lynott was our local rock god. We weren’t exactly spoiled for choice, to be fair. Belfast born Van Morrison was always out of reach, operating on some ethereal plane of his own. Rory Gallagher was great, but there was something unimposing about him, like a farmer with an electric guitar. Later, Bob Geldof hijacked punk rock, and made us feel it was possible for an Irish chancer to take on the world. Then came U2, and the roar of the Celtic tiger.
But Lynott had something unique, an otherness, an alien mystique, that sets him apart. Tall, black, elegant, always beautifully dressed, he was almost impossibly cool when, really, it was just not considered cool to be Irish. Yet the Celtic twirls of Thin Lizzy’s breakthrough folk rock hit, ’Whiskey In The Jar’, and Lynott’s broad Dublin brogue and twinkling, friendly stage presence identified him as one of the people.
“He was an amazing frontman,” says U2’s Bono. “If lyrical and musical ability has to be matched with showmanship, attitude, style, if that’s your version of rock’n’roll, there’s no way past Phil Lynott. He’s at the top of the tree.”
It has been 25 years since Lynott died, in sad circumstances, aged 36, his creativity at low ebb, his health ravaged by heroin and alcohol. An exhibition opens in Dublin tomorrow, collecting together memorabilia, song lyrics, costumes, diaries, instruments, artwork, photographs and video tributes celebrating Lynott’s life and work. It has gained added poignancy with the recent death of virtuoso guitarist Gary Moore, a long term sparring partner of Lynot’s, who contributed some of his most outstanding playing to Thin Lizzy (a group whose twin guitar line-ups featured some of rock’s greatest players, including Eric Bell, Bryan Robertson and Snowy White).
For all the reverence in which Thin Lizzy are held, Lynott hasn’t quite attained the status of other fallen idols, such as Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain. Lynott’s trajectory, from talented outsider, to self made rock star, to self destructive victim of the rock lifestyle, falls into an archetypal pattern, yet he is almost forgotten. He never quite achieved the front ranking internationally that his talent warranted, and his decline took place when his most glorious days were already behind him. His death in hospital in 1986, of heart failure and pneumonia, seemed a tragic anachronism in the flashy Eighties, a leftover from another era. But his musical heritage continues to resonate.With his big afro and stylish swagger, the pervading image of Lynott is as a piratical bassist and singer. But he was an outstanding songwriter, who garnered the admiration of Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen. Lynott’s poetic, melodic anthems helped give Irish teenagers their own identity, and resonated around the world. There was the riotous celebration of belonging to a gang, ’The Boys Are Back In Town’, the macho swagger of ’Jailbreak’, the sinuous delight of ’Dancing In The Moonlight’, the bravura conceit of ’Don’t Believe A Word’, the elegiac longing of ’Old Town’ and tender heartbreak of ’Still In Love With You’. And they were allied to the staggering performances of one of the all time great rock groups, whose 1978 double album ’Live And Dangerous’ was widely acclaimed for setting new heights for live recordings (even if, as it turned out, most of it had been assembled in the studio).
Whenever you hear twin lead guitars flying fluidly together over a melodic, hard rock rhythm track, you can’t help but be reminded of Thin Lizzy’s signature sound. It’s there on the new album by Liam Gallagher’s Beady Eye, while Julian Casablancas has described the forthcoming album from New York garage rockers The Strokes as sounding like “Thin Lizzy if they could peer into the future.” Heavy metal superstars Metallica often cover ’Whiskey In The Jar’. “In metal, the number one influence is Black Sabbath,” according to Metallica’s James Hetfield. “But for the more musical bands it would be Thin Lizzy. The songwriting, the lyrics, the dual guitar and unbelievably cool drumming, it’s just magic.” Hetfield identifies a depth to Lynott’s writing that is often overlooked. “The struggles that he wrote about, with drugs, drink, ethnicity, all of those things, they almost speak louder now.”
The Ireland Lynott was raised in was very different to the cosmopolitan, outward looking country it has become. Actually born in Manchester in 1949 (his mother was Irish, the father he never knew was from Guyana), Lynott was sent to live with his Dublin grandmother aged four. According to Lizzy’s American guitarist Scott Gorham, “I think at that point Phil was the only black guy in the whole country, but I never heard him complain about it. I think he’d already made up his mind, “I’m different, and I’m just going to deal with it.’ And that’s what he did.”
Perhaps more germane to Lynott’s unique musical development was Ireland’s cultural isolation. There was no national pop radio station until 1979, international bands rarely visited and showbands playing covers held a stranglehold on the national network of ballroom venues. In a deeply religious, conservative country, rock bands could be barred for having long hair. Thin Lizzy were forged in adversity. “Phil was a forceful personality,” recalls Gorham. “He was a real driver of people. You’d be out on the road for six months and your ass would be dragging. It never seemed to get to him. He was always up for the next show. The energy on that guy was just amazing.”
Playing since the mid-Sixties, Lynott had his first hit with Thin Lizzy in 1973. Some years later, married to comedian Leslie Crowther’s daughter, Caroline, Lynott moved into a big house in the fishing village of Howth, where I grew up. He was the rock star in our midst, the object of much awed speculation. But success brought other things than the mansion on the hill.
In 1978, I saw him play in a Dublin ballroom with The Greedy Bastards, a band made up of members of Thin Lizzy and The Sex Pistols. The rising stars U2 were the support act, and the atmosphere was positively dangerous. Bono recalls “One of the Greedy Bastards came off stage, walked straight through the door (of the dressing room), threw up and then walked straight back on stage. Phil was at the end of Thin Lizzy and about to slide down the hill into the abyss. It was a strange moment. We really didn’t know how dark it could get for guys in a rock band.”
As Lynott fell into drug dependency, his confidence in his own talent seemed to evaporate. Thin Lizzy were in decline and effectively broke up in 1983. A solo career was only sporadically successful. His marriage collapsed. I remember seeing him in a Dublin night club and I was shocked by his bloated and bedraggled appearance. “Once you become successful no one wants the gravy train to stop,” reflects Thin Lizzy’s former manager, Chris O’Donnell.
“The energy and drive that got him to the top was the cause of his demise.
All he knew was that if he kept driving himself, he’d get somewhere.” Three years later he was dead. “I spent over ten years working with Phil, and I’m not going to spend too much time talking about the three years where things went downhill,” says O’Donnell. “It wasn’t all about leather trousers and swagger. This guy wrote great songs with beautiful lyrics. The rest is what happens when you drink from the poisoned chalice.”
The Philip Lynott Exhibition opens above Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre in Dublin city centre, from March 4th and into April. Thin Lizzy: ’Greatest Hits’ is out now on Universal.
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