Goodbye to all that.

The title of a book that I remember from school days, at home in the Moy. One that my brother might have been reading by author and poet Robert Graves, a reflection of his experiences as a soldier in WWI.

A book I never read but a title I never forgot.

It’s the phrase that comes to mind as I do some reflecting of my own on 2025.

Goodbye to all that.

2025  was (appropriately) The Chinese Year of The Rat.

For the second time in as many years I made off for winter sun – this time Fuertaventura, last time Marrakesh where I had made a New Year’s resolution to see more like music and read more books over the course of 2025.

Musically, I did well, the year starting off with Lyle Lovett and his Large Band, at the Ulster Hall, an artist I’d first discovered in the late 1980s who’s arguably better remembered more for being Julia Robert’s short-lived husband than the writer of some of most durable music of the Americana / Alt Country genre.

Supported by a formidable band that included Leyland Sklar and sporting yet another uber-cool suit, Lovett performed admirably if not quite having that voice he once had. (He’s a couple of years from 70…)

I had been introduced to the Afro Celt Soundsystem in 1999 whilst living in London. A fusion of the finest African groves and Irish trad, their first album became the soundtrack to my year of solo global travel into the Millenium.

A few albums and 25 years later,  I was off to see them play in Belfast.

Any pre-gig excitement was quelled at a show which became the musical equivalent of Triggers Brush – only one of the original artists appearing and much of the original ensemble replaced by technology and whilst the human substitutes performed admirably, it all felt a little underwhelming.

No Iarla Leonard.

A few of the original members now play with Shooglenifty and whilst I wasn’t expecting a note for note replay of Volume 1 Sound Magic, the gig just felt flat.

(For context, I’ve seen both The Drifters and The Wailers and I know what it feels like when your expectation meets the experience.)

Next up Ryan Adams at the Waterfront Hall and the year’s most memorable gig for all the wrong reasons.

Where to start?

Go do a search online and you’ll get all you need on the enigmatic troubadour’s mini-breakdown and the subsequent barrage from Belfast’s drunken finest.

On the upside, I did rediscover his brilliance through some of his more recent work and was reminded of first seeing him at the Waterfront 20 odd years ago on his sell-out tour.

Adam’s quest for redemption continues as did my quest for a decent gig.

And so, back to the Mandella Hall in May for TInawiren a collective of Tuareg musicians who are credited with the origins of desert rock.

A well-attended show where the audience was treated to sublime musicianship and a whistle stop performance of tunes without names – a product of listening to music digitally now over vinyl or CD.

It wasn’t long before I was back at the Mandella Hall for one of the musical highlights of the year – the vision that is Julie Fowlis, Scottish Folk singer, in collaboration with Zoe Conway, John McIntyre and the Ulster Orchestra.

A magnificent concert taking place in the middle of the day as part of Belfast Trad Fest – a stunning collaboration that even the automated door of the Mandella Hall couldn’t tarnish.

In August, I got my second trip of the year to the Ulster Hall for the gargantuan Father John Misty (Joshua Michael Tillman) and his band – a torchbearer of sorts for Lyle Lovett with a catalogue that transcends the Alt-country / Americana genres into Southern Gothic, Gospel (sic), Indie  and rock.

Gifted the ticket, this was such an uplifting evening – a mix of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds and The Polyphonic Spree – a pure gorgeous evening of music.

One of my very first gigs was Bob Dylan at Slane Castle in 1984 – a shocking shit show of a performance from Dylan that would linger as a disappointment for years against a back drop of brilliance from Santana and UB40.

Enough of a reason not to see him 40+ years on…?

November at the Waterfront Hall again with memories of the Ryan Adams debacle very much front and centre.

The 84 year old shuffled on stage and put on a show that the Irish audience had been deprived of at Slane Castle.

In truth, he never was a stadium rocker and the acoustics and intimacy of the Waterfront Hall provided a much better canvas for the fussy Judeo-Christian folkster.

He was brilliant – speaking only once, for the briefest of moments, he played flat out, with the occasional mistake on piano for a flawless performance.

I wasn’t on target to do the 12 gigs for the year but with the exception of the Harlem globetrotter-esque Afro Celts, I was doing rightly.

I closed the year out with 2 artists unknown to me but clearly adored by Belfast and the world, judging by the streaming numbers on Spotify.

Mick Flannery and Susan O’Neill (swoon).

I’d be lying to you if I said I’d heard of either of the pair of them before that night.

My loss and if you haven’t heard of them, yours too.

A late introduction is only a blessing as you look forward to listening to their back catalogue – Flannery is a double-platinum selling artist with 8 studio albums to his credit.

Who knew?

Yeah, millions of people, that’s who knew.

If it hadn’t been for Mick, Susan, Bob, Fr John, Julie, Zoe, the Tuareg lads and Lyle Lovett, 2025 would have gone down as one of the worst years on record for me.

Some very harsh, wounding moments both professionally and personally, I say goodbye to all that and welcome in the Year of the Horse.

Happy New Year.