GRAHAM PARKER & THE RUMOUR / THIN LIZZY

Fri 10/21/1977, Tower Theatre, Philadelphia, USA

Thin Lizzy hit the Tower theater last week in the middle of a rock n' roll blitz, but they were the highlight, and with good reason; the band's music is a mixture of soaring guitar work and a street-tough, yet sensitive persona that distinguishes it from any other group on the scene. The crowd knew it too, because at the second show, Lizzy had everyone on their feet by virtue of their sheer intensity. Imagine the theater packed with screaming, frenzied people, stomping and calling for the first of the three encores the band gave that night.

This story really begins at the first show, because on that chilly Thursday night in October, a certain kind of pandemonium started for Thin Lizzy in Philadelphia. From the fourth row vantage point, this writer could feel the churning excitement in the first few minutes of the show, when the silvery Lizzy logo began to take nebulous shape behind the drums. The strains of "Jailbreak" began to fill the ears, and the band was off on a musical journey through their brand of rock sorcery. "Soldier of Fortune" was another one of the killers in the beginning; the odyssey of a soldier through a forgotten war not of his making. Of course, they gave us "The Boys Are Back in Town," the hit of the streets last summer. There was a stunning Brian Robertson guitar solo on a tune from the album "Nightlife," called "Still In Love with You," the one that Phil Lynott said was for all the girls in the audience.

Lynott's stage patter lacked a bit of his usual swagger, but he did get in a few good ones. Right before the close of the set, we were treated to an incredible solo from drummer Brian Downey, who is rarely mentioned as one of the best in rock, but has to go onto the list of anyone who was there as just that.

The first night showed Lizzy at it's peak musically, but for some reason, (maybe the week night, or the vibe in general,) there was a lack of energy in the crowd's reception. The band was lacking in nothing; all the fire was there, but they missed the audience feedback that had lost an edge somewhere. Oh, they were excited all right, but no rushing the stage, no dancing in the seats; this is what the music asks you to do with yourself, and nothing less.

Backstage was crowded with the usual press, photographers and God knows who hangers on. Phil held court, surrounded by a crowd of eager women. Eager for what, we don't have to do into. There is something about Lynott that demands that kind of attention. Tall, rock star fashionably slender, his dark looks accentuated by silver jewelry, he appears to be the sultan in the middle of his harem. Lynott has a keen intelligence that easily pierces through all the backstage bullshit but he plays the game well, because he knows he has to, realizing all the time the falsity of it. He sat on the couch dispensing his book of poetry, simply called Philip, and was his cocksure self. Later, as the band was leaving for the hotel, he stood in a corner and offered to unzip his fly for the shy girls huddled around him. Now, you just know he would never do it: or do you?

Scott Gorham, one of the dual lead guitarists,drifted through the room, in and around the cliques, his long, wraith-like hair fanning out behind him. "Where's this place, Artemis?" the roadie asked him and when I answered for him, the roadie said, "This girl knows her stuff, eh?" "Well, she lives here," Gorham answered, with that ghost of a sarcastic smile passing over his thin, Indian like face. Brian Robertson, the on-again, off-again Lizzy guitarist, stomped around the room, scowling and drinking. In spite of the aura around Robertson, one gets the impression of a very sensitive young person who takes his excellent playing quite seriously.

Drummer Brian Downey relaxed in the smaller of the two dressing rooms, unwinding from the total outpouring of energy that he put into the show. His long, black hair was matted from sweat, and his baby face was hidden by large dark sunglasses. Downey is the one with the true Irish sense of humor in the band. "Do you have any Irish in you?" he asks, and no matter if you say yes or no, the answer is, "Would you like some more Irish in ya?" Then comes the mischievous laugh and the knowing look in the eyes. Finally the band filed off to the limo, announcing the end of the festivities for that night, and leaving you to wait, chewing fingernails all day, for the show on Friday night.

You walk into the Tower on Friday night and the smell of stale popcorn greets your nostrils, and your nervous stomach. You take your seat, watch the rock n' rollin set of Graham Parker and the Rumour, and wait anxiously for Thin Lizzy. The last show for a while; you know it's going to be great.

The Friday night crowd delivered all the wild frenzy that was absent on Thursday. 'Cowboy Song,' 'Bad Reputation,' 'Opium Trial.' All the hymns of a rock lifestyle, of deserted streets, dangerous men, romantic love lost and won, filled with the bending, sweeping fluidity of Gorham's and Robertson's guitars, the tight, relentless rhythms of Lynott's sinister bass and Downey's onslaught of drums.

At the end, the entire crowd was on it's feet, and Lizzy met the demand for three encores in grand style. At one point Gorham and Robertson ran across the stage and crossed paths in mid-guitar flights, a time honored rock tradition. The band left the stage drenched in sweat, and if the Tower had been open all night, it could have gone on all night.

The backstage gang was a smaller one that second night, and there was an air of belonging, a lack in hesitancy to speak to the band. You knew it was over and you didn't want it to end. Also, the tragedy of Skynard hung like a pall over the room. Pete, Lizzy's sound engineer, (and it is notable that Lizzy is one of the few bands that ask the audience for a round of applause to cheer on the superb work of the crew,) stood in the corner, nibbling at some fruit and said, "It really effects you. All the guys knew the guys in Skynard. When you're associated with a rock band, it hits you that much harder. Everytime you get on a plane, you wonder if that will be it." Glancing over at Phil, again ensconced on the couch, signing autographs and chatting, a tightness hit my throat, and then they thought blew away.

Robertson and Downey returned from the mobile unit outside looking tired and worn. Both shows had been taped for the King Biscuit Flower Hour, and they had been listening to a playback. It didn't seem that the tape was up to par in sound, but the very quality of the music has to make it sound great when we finally hear it on the radio. Before too long, it was time for the trip back to the hotel. The party at Artemis was over; no more listening to comments about that "fooking disco shit." Robertson's volatile Scottish temper was quiet; the only evidence was some break throwing at Downey. "That hurt, man," and then came the playing around. Mock tension blown off and dissipated.

Thin Lizzy slid out into the night, into the waiting limo, leaving us with the memory of a music filled with Irish melancholic tenderness and fierce tough lad visions. The next stop on the tour was New York, and the then Boston. They'll be back here in six months and it will be a long wait to hear it all again.

- Sandie Salvucci   

Reproduced with kind permission from Sandie Salvucci.

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