His is a dying art. A judicious mix of singing, storytelling and recitation has always defined Liam Clancy, whether as a solo performer or as the most voluble member of The Clancy Brothers. Now straddling his 70th year, he has barely succumbed to the ageing process, although he has the good sense to flag the occasional memory lapse as "just another senior moment".
Clancy's vocal cords have certainly lost some of their elasticity, and his faltering start hinted at a singer struggling to tackle material that once would have rolled off his tongue. Ar Éireann Ní Neosfainn Cé Hí was a foreshortened tale of thwarted love that struggled for air, but Clancy's canny use of concertina provided the ideal backdrop to a song whose melody lines have long set it apart.
Ably accompanied by guitarist Paul Grant, Clancy gradually rose to a gallop as he swing-shifted through a diverse back catalogue, pausing a while inside a rake of standards that included Ewan McColl's Freeborn Man (Of The Travelling People), Shoals of Herring and one of his hallmarks, Waltzing Matilda. Tommy Makem's reading of Red Is The Rose was considered by many to be the definitive version, but Clancy took robust repossession of what is probably one of the greatest audience-seducers in any repertoire, in jig time.
Tales of Dylan Thomas's sexual proclivities merged with stories of Kilkenny flophouses, his first encounter with Luke Kelly, his friendship with a young folkie by the name of Bob Dylan and the Pegasus wings of Paddy Kavanagh, each anecdote imbued with a credibility that only Clancy could conjure.
As his larynx loosened, his comfort level rose imperceptibly until he found himself hurtling headlong into the song that he's truly made his own: The Dutchman.
Liam Clancy is Ireland's answer to Pete Seeger: a troubadour whose identity was forged on stage, his love of language and of music underscoring everything he does, unafraid to admit deep surprise at the twists and turns his life has taken.
He lured John Sheahan, of The Dubliners, on stage for a brief incursion into The Wild Rover, a pair of icons of folk music happy to revisit old ground. And of course, he had the good grace to depart to the strains of The Parting Glass, ever the consummate host, ever the social animal, reluctant to leave good company.
