Attending such services is a great opportunity to experience historic churches, plus they frequently are spiritually moving, which of course is always their actual intention.
"O Great Is the Depth" by Felix Mendelssohn would be paired with "Wesley In E."
No, "Wesley In E" would not be me strumming Grateful Dead's "Truckin'" as the start of my long-awaited world concert tour. But what is it?
It's a traditional choral work for Evening Service composed by Samuel Sebastian Wesley, an English composer who was the grandson of the Methodist Movement leader Charles Wesley. Charles Wesley is best known for the more than 6500 hymns he wrote.
Perhaps in part because he was the illegitimate son of Charles Wesley's son (another composer) and his teen-aged maid, Samuel Sebastian Wesley composed for the Anglican Church of Ireland rather than the Methodist Church.
Saint Patrick's Cathedral, incidentally, is not a Catholic Cathedral, as I personally had assumed considering that 78% of Ireland's population self-identifies as Catholic.
The Reformed Church of Ireland had officially been founded in 1536, when the Irish Parliament accepted King Henry VIII as its head instead of the Pope, following in the pattern of the Anglican Church of England.
Interestingly, the nearby Christ Church Cathedral, originally founded as a Viking Church in 1028, is also Church of Ireland rather than Catholic, a pretty much unheard of combination of two Cathedrals in the same city.
Christ Church is actually still claimed by the Catholic Church, too, apparently hoping this Reformation fad will pass, but the Catholic Archbishop of Dublin holds services at St. Mary's Church, a "pro-Cathedral" parish church serving temporarily as a Catholic Cathedral.
The Evening Service at Saint Patrick's was as inspiring as we hoped, but our musical evening was not done.
We had dinner reservations at Lundy Foot's Restaurant, which features live Irish music several days a week.
Based on the sign we'd seen while having a bar-menu dinner there the night before, we believed the show would feature Irish clogging. I asked for a table with a good view of the dancing, and the Irishman's voice on the phone said he'd put us on the stage.
As to whether that guy I spoke with on the phone was one of the performers I couldn't say, but he sure sounded similar to the guitar player. During his performance, he said, "If any of you would like to dance, we'd all love to see it."
When we were seated at a table on an elevated platform quite close to the area set up for a guitar and mandolin duo, I again asked about the Irish dancers.
"There's dancing tomorrow, but not tonight," our waiter said. "But you'll have a good view of the musicians. You'll enjoy the show."
Julie and I looked at each other. "Should we find a different place?"
We decided to stay there, which proved to be an excellent decision.
My fish and chips were outstanding, as was the Smithwick's Ale which I'd tried as a change of pace, having seen the name on a building in Kilkenny, where its brewery was founded. The Irish folk music could not have been better.
The duo whose names I unfortunately now forget were outstanding. A few years older than me, they played with the energy of men in their twenties.
They had toured the world separately in their younger days, and now got together for these gigs in Dublin in the twilight of their careers.
The combination of traditional Irish songs and covers of newer songs was perfect.
In one introduction the singer-guitarist said that they rarely played new songs, but occasionally one came along that was worth doing. They proceeded to play "Galway Girl," an Ed Sheeran song Julie and I had never heard before.
It was fantastic, with energetic, inspired guitar and mandolin plucking behind traditional Irish vocals and surprisingly effective forays into rapping.
After finding the original by Ed Sheeran on youtube upon returning home, I was disappointed by his highly produced version that paled by comparison to the old Dublin duo's take.
Most of their songs were upbeat, suitable for enthusiastic clogging, but Irish music also can be heart-wrenching.
A brief introduction about touring Australia led to their rendition of a song I've heard many times before but which never fully registered. I found "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda," delivered with true Irish sorrow for beloved allies incredibly moving.
Regardless of the sadness of any given song, the patter by those natural comedians with instruments in their hands was always engaging and funny, whether with wry humor and sarcasm or over-the-top, sometimes corny jokes.
They shared the story behind the pub's name. Lundy Foot had been a purveyor of "Thrice Brewed Snuff" that became popular, with esteemed historical figures like poet Robert Burns and attorney Oliver Wendell Holmes speaking its praises. A weathered advertisement on an original brick wall inside the pub seems to be the origin of the name.
In Dublin's Temple Bar, there's also plenty of rock music to be heard, although Julie and I didn't seek out those venues this time.
On our last morning in Dublin, we walked past the Irish Rock 'N' Roll Museum Experience that garners strong reviews. Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame Nominee for 2020, Thin Lizzy, hails from Dublin and is featured prominently, reportedly.
Of greater personal interest to me personally was coming across Rory Gallagher Corner.
The late Rory Gallagher apparently remains something of a guitar legend in Ireland. He was a regular third act during weekend rock shows at the converted West Coast Fox Theater, where I attended many fantastic concerts while in college. He would come out in his flannel shirts and shred through rousing guitar solos and somewhat less impressive vocals, not unlike Eric Clapton.
Wherever you go, you should be able find not simply the music but all the experiences that appeal to whoever you happen to be at that particular point in time. "Better service leads to better trips!"
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