The great Cathal Coughlan died unexpectedly on the 22nd of May at the criminally young age of 61. I read about it via The Guardian online; I’m still waiting for them to publish an obituary for this immensely talented, multifarious songwriter, caustic lyricist, and one of the truly underappreciated musicians of the past forty years. Whilst others waver, my friend and Cathal uberfan Tom Dixon has duly stepped forward to pen this wonderful tribute to Cork’s greatest musical son.
Folded up in my wallet, somewhere between Café Nero loyalty cards and the other seldom-used plastic and paper we all carry around, is a yellow bus ticket.
Even though the wallet has changed, that ticket has been carefully preserved since I’d rediscovered it in the breast pocket of a jacket some months after riding the bus back to Cork airport, the 27th of April 2015. I never really understood why I kept it.
I have visited Ireland three times now, and each time it has been because of one man, Cathal Coughlan.
A few days after learning about Cathal’s passing, my friend Kevin McCaighy messaged me about writing something about him to post on his blog. I agreed and said I would think on it. Ideas have ranged from small to grand plans and from enthusiastic to defeatist from day to day.
On the morning I started writing this, I was on a defeatist day, until I spotted a yellow corner of paper sticking out of my wallet.
In 2015, the idea that Microdisney would reform was about as likely as his other band The Fatima Mansions doing so. Even solo shows were a rare occurrence.
I told myself if something was announced, whatever, wherever, I would go. Hence, I found myself at Cork Opera House watching the Paul Dunlea Big Band providing backing to a roster of different singers, including Cathal Coughlan.
He sang “The Bacon Singer” from Black River Falls and “Rat Poison Rendezvous” from Foburg. I had travelled a long way for two songs, but it was worth it and the night before I had come frustratingly close to actually meeting him.
I had been taken to dinner by my friend in Cork, John Byrne. A man whose strong Irish accent at times I struggled to understand.
We were joined at The Quay Co-op, a vegetarian restaurant on Sullivan’s Quay, a stone’s throw away from where the legendary Sir Henrys venue once stood, by a friend of John’s, and without much thought I took a seat with my back to the room.
I’m not sure if it was John’s thick accent, him trying to keep his voice down or my hearing not being what it used to be after listening to The Fatima Mansions for so many years, but after nodding politely a few times to Johns increasing confusion, my Irish to English translator finally kicked in.
John had been trying to tell me that Cathal and a friend had walked in and moments later, maybe wise to a table of fans, had weighed up their options and fled.
I looked out the window to see them stop briefly on a bridge that crossed the river Lea before disappearing off into the night.
The closest I would get to meeting him would be the front row the following night, or so I thought.
Once more in the company of John, on the 2nd of June 2018, I headed to Dublin to witness the impossible. Microdisney were back.
I had spent the day taking in the sights, listening to stories of old venues, perusing records shops, with the obligatory visit to a vegetarian co-op restaurant, this time a set menu place run by Hare Krishnas called Govindas.
Before the concert, we met up with a few other fans. I had my first ever Guinness in Ireland and if I’m honest, it was about the same as the ones I drink in Yorkshire.
We walked to The National Conference Hall in a small group including a chap called Patrick McGahern, a man who lives and breathes music and resurfaces later in my tale.
A lot has been written about this concert, including a great piece in the Dublin Review of Books by John Fleming that I read as I was making notes for this.
The band played seminal 1985 album The Clock Comes Down the Stairs from start to finish, then a selection of fan favourites (464, yes!) before ending on an amazing cover version of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, The Night.
After the concert, as I tried to remember the name of the actor Aiden Gillen, who I had spotted pre-gig and people clutching fresh pressings of ‘Clock…’ queued to meet the band, John announced he was needed back in Cork on a work matter, and he would have to catch the last coach back to Cork.
As not only my guide to Dublin but also provider of accommodation that night, I left for the hotel.
I had got closer I suppose and this time, was facing in the right direction.
Just over 8 months later I was back in Ireland for a third time. Microdisney were playing Cypress Avenue, Cork, in what was being billed as the final show they would ever do.
I had regretted viewing a lot of the previous NCH gig from behind a camera and being cautious about my alcohol intake. This time, for want of a better phrase, I was going to ‘Have it.’
We ended up in The Hi-B Bar on Oliver Plunkett Street before the gig. Once more in the company of John, Patrick, who had no ticket, and in the corner, tonight’s support act, Luke Haines (Ex-Auteurs, Black Box Recorder and with Cathal, The North Sea Scrolls) amongst various other fans I was getting to meet for the first time in person.
Luke was having a quiet drink with his partner and child, and we kept a respectful distance. Patrick knew I was a huge fan, so stopped him as he left to get a photo of me with him. I was over the moon.
Me and Kevin McCaighy had been one of the dozen or so people who saw Luke play a criminally under-attended concert at York Fibbers in 2017. I asked him if he would ever come to York again. His mirthless laugh spoke volumes.
I chatted with some other fans and let the Guinness get to work before setting off to the gig. We left Patrick at the door to try to blag his way in.
Luke Haines performed a setlist similar to the set myself and Kevin had witnessed in York and much to my surprise, somehow Patrick managed to get himself into the concert after a punter with a spare ticket took pity on him outside.
Unlike my previous experiences, this was a standing-room-only concert, if you wanted a seat, there was a bench outside, and a totally different atmosphere inside from the formal National Conference Hall in Dublin. A camera crew dashed around throughout the gig and before we knew it, we were back in the bar, picking up commemorative posters and stickers of the event produced by another fan. It was all over.
At some point later, Sean O’Hagan and Cathal came out to start packing away. News travelled fast and a group of us wandered over to the stage where Cathal was stood already signing what looked like the complete back catalogue of Microdisney for a female fan. I wish I could say that I patiently awaited my turn but being a loud, obnoxious drunk I probably didn’t. Passing comment, no doubt on this fan having so much to sign.
All I had was the poster I had just collected. I’m not sure what I said to him in introduction. Another fan, one I had met in the Hi-B, vaguely introduced me as I presented him with the poster to sign. What do you say to him? Thankfully, Patrick intervened with his camera before I embarrassed myself any further.
It is not the greatest of photos. Cathal has his eyes shut and I have stuck my tongue out and I had removed my glasses. The last time I have seen a picture of me without my glasses must be circa 1990, the year the optician told my parents that I needed them, but for all the bog water I had drunk that night, I remember the circumstances to that photo as clear as day.
Patrick had suggested a photo and Cathal had graciously agreed. He was wearing glasses himself and had removed them for the picture. Me being the stout-infused wag that I am, removed mine as well, sticking out my tongue as we both laughed as I passed comment on our vanity.
A brief moment and one made even more fuzzy around the edges by alcohol and the passing of time, but I had finally met one of my heroes and he hadn’t disappointed and more importantly not told me to fuck off.
The rest of the evening is hazy. I shouted at Luke Haines, receiving a withering look in reply and I appeared in another photo this time with Sean, Rhodri (Marsden – Microdisney’s keyboard player for the final gigs), and some other fans. We all moved onto a late license bar, thinning out as we moved across Cork until only myself, John and Patrick remained.
The next morning I spent worrying about not having a seat booked on the coach back to Dublin airport. My head reeled with a mixture of excitement from the previous night, the inevitable hangover and lack of sleep. I do not travel well.
Thankfully, I got a seat on the coach, and I write this from the comfort of my home and not from a squat in Cork.
So, there it is. My trio of gigs and my run-ins or near run-ins with Cathal Coughlan. I never really thought about them in the linear way I have presented them here until I chanced upon that yellow bus ticket, but I never needed to.
There was a handful of other shows I could have attended after the Cork gig but, I always thought there would be one more.
RIP Cathal.
Love your enemies, Keep music evil and all that
Tom Dixon.
Tom Dixon’s brilliant novel “On Suicide Bridge” is available now
kevinmccaighy 
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