I think many like me are scared listening to the new single from U2 prelude to their new album. It had already happened in the past but we forget about forever. Get On Your Boot's is what was The Fly for Achtung Baby, Pop or Dischotèque for How To Dismantle An Vertigo Atomic Bomb. They always try there. We try to surprise and unsettle their audience by launching an individual who has little or nothing to do with the rest of the album.
My first impression after listening to No Line On The Horizon are enthusiastic. It 's useless to venture into comparisons with the distant past. U2 goes ever recognized a lucidity and regenerative capacity of constantly re-read this very uncommon. This album is a mature, refined (directed to the console Eno feels and how!) And that brings in the folds of guitars dell'inossidabile Edge content at the highest level.
It will be certainly the mainstream pop album of the year. Seeing him and hearing him, but another emerges certainty in No Line On The Horizon is not only all the music of U2, but there really any music. The genres are hiding and emerge in a constant game of quotations. Gospel, country, rock ellettronico, 60's rock, ambient ... everything!
U2 are also musically more generous and brave: Adam's bass riffs, guitar solos Edge and skins on which Larry beats sound changes depending on the piece. Bono is stratospheric, as usual, but this certainly does not surprise anyone.
Until a few years ago I considered Ireland a sort of Toyland is not just for the sheer beauty of its landscapes, the warmth of its people and the magical atmosphere of its pubs, but also for the wonderful opportunities that the Irish labor market could offer. Today the scenario has changed considerably.
The Republic of Ireland have climbed the summits of the European ranking of decrease. For this reason it is the first EU country to officially declare a state of "recession" economy.
For almost twenty years our green Ireland was one of the most dynamic economies in the Old Continent, but the reversal suffered in recent years have won her a decidedly unenviable record. With a decline in GDP of 0.5% in the second quarter, in addition to a precendete negative quarter, the Republic of Ireland have climbed the summits of the European ranking of the decline of the euro becoming the first country to officially enter into recession. The reversing of Dublin right now scares the main European economies, after quarters, and in some cases years of minimal growth likely to fall seriously in the dreaded "freezing" in "trend GNP."
Among the intended victims, the Financial Times has suggested, there would be a continental G3 consists of Germany, France and Italy.
To promote decisively the Irish recession is clearly a crisis of real estate and construction, the segment of the physical market on which more than any other weighs the credit crisis. Inflation (but it would be better to say "stagflation"), the difficulty of access to credit and falling demand are producing a sharp fall in what is traditionally a leading sector in the more advanced emerging economies. Here are the details of a crisis. In 2007 there were 78 thousand new buildings made in Ireland, confirming an average growth of 7%. At the end of 2008, however, should not exceed 50 thousand share in 2009 while the number of new buildings will be around about 20 thousand units.
I take this opportunity to have witnessed last night at a concert (in the bottom of this post you find a video testimony of the night) to tell you about the extraordinary Lúnasa.
The Lúnasa are, in my opinion one of the nu-Irish folk formations most interesting and talented of all. The band name is taken from one of the most important festivals of the Celtic calendar. Lúnasa The fact was the harvest festival dedicated to the deity Lugh (patron of the arts) and fell in the night between July 31 and August 1.
The Lúnasa consist of: Seán Smyth - Violin Kevin Crawford - flute and bodhrán Trevor Hutchinson (ex Waterboys) - Low Cillian Vallely - uilleann pipes Paul Meehan - Guitar
Training was originally published in the brilliant guitarist Donogh Hennessy (universalemente recognized as the best Irish guitarist and former band member of Sharon Shannon) who now is working on personal projects and collaborations with Pauline Scanlon is not the last.
The Discography includes:
Lúnasa (1999, 2001)
Otherworld (1999)
The Merry Sisters of Fate (2001)
Redwood (2003)
The Kinnitty Sessions (2004)
Self (2006)
The Story So Far ... (2008)
The Lúnasa have as performers but often authors of traditional Irish folk (and more generally "Celtic"). They have good technical qualities and their sound is fresh and very addictive.
Their latest album The Story So Far ... is an exceptional collection of the best musical production of Lúnasa and is an excellent starting point for those who want to approach the Irish folk tradzionale rinvigrito and revisited in modern key.
Thank you all for your generous comments on the photos I posted in recent days. I dedicate a post to complete the collection of these images. Enjoy it.
Our last day in Ireland begins with the ritual of breakfast at Ardmore House. We hope to cover as quickly as possible the way from Clifden to Dublin and enjoy the last hours sula Portmarnock beach. We welcome the courteous Cathline and confess to not even pay us (although Italians) the bustle of a company of ladies that have invaded the Mediterranean b & b.
We leave behind the Sky Road and try to enjoy the last glimpses of the ocean while the sun seems determined to lord it. We reach the outskirts of the capital of Ireland in advance (a special greeting goes to the poor Garda in motorcycle on the M4 was unable to pull his speedometer while sfrecciavo laptop in front of 220km / h possessed by a Zafira in great shape . friend I'm sorry ... maybe next time).
The time for a meal and a pint in the Star last alas Swords and Malahide and then we head up to the beach of Portmarnock. The day is beautiful and we decide to take a long walk on the sand.
Guido towards Aereporto and I already feel at the mercy of nostalgia. Consign the Zafira the Hertz office. We have grown. Let's check in, the gate and we engage in an endless trek up al'uscita D77. We go on the flight and already feels too speak Italian. We land in Orio al Serio airport on time.
We wake up and immediately our expectations of a beautiful sunny day are betrayed by the very thick blanket of fog that envelops the Sky Road. An excellent breakfast at Ardmore House gives back some confidence and take the road to Roundstone still decided to visit the beautiful beaches of Connemara.
The first beach out from Clifden and 'The Coral Beach whose name does justice to a vast expanse of sand crisscrossed by strips of fragments of coral of all colors. The temperature is nice but the sun is struggling to fight their way through a blanket of low clouds that seem too fond of the region.
We decide to head for the Manin Bay, where we reach on foot a real corner of paradise. I would really want to stop time exactly in this place where a white beach and the hills that encircle pruned to a perfect crystal blue sea. Sin always the lack of sun, but we also enjoy a nice walk.
We return by car to Roundstone where we allow the last visit to the shop. I take a cup of hot coffee and some sweets in a little place on the pier overlooking the village. We decide to take the road and find a beach that we remember near the Connemara Golf Club
We reach the beach just as the sun decides to take courage and show even if timidly. The beach and 'wonderful and can not resist the temptation to take off our shoes and try a bit of skin on the ocean. The sand is beautiful and for a few minutes, so walking barefoot and my kite, I'll be forgetting the whole child.
I decide that this is the place to say goodbye to my shoes. V seem strange that talk but you know that I put these shoes for the first time during my first trip to Ireland 13 years ago. With me I have walked the length and breadth of this island sopattutto, now do not make it anymore but I'm sure that if they could talk I would pray to be left to rest here, here on these beaches where they are in a sense born.
We go back to the Sky Road with a good dose of melancholy in the heart. The holiday in Ireland is about to end but the beaches of Connemara have promised a goodbye.
The breakfast with french toast Lorraine color a day that there is rather gray and full of rain. From the windows of the dining room there is a view of all the crazy hills of Doolin, the Cliffs and the Arann Islands.
We take to the road towards the Connemara not before being passed by the Clare Jam Company, which is a paradise where the jam is easy to give in to all sorts of temptation surrounded by dozens of different kinds of jam or marmelade. The owner and vendtore seems to come directly from the past: a few words and with an accent almost incomprehensible. I left the shop with 8kg of jams and no idea how to bring them to Italy. And 'That's the beauty of being on vacation ... or not?
I ride through the moonscape of the Burren along the old road that leads from Ennis to Galway. Today, the day seems really determined to bad and when we reach the Connemara a sparse but constant drizzle accompanies us to our destination along the Sky Road. We stop for lunch at the old railway station in Clifden where the delicious goodness of sadwiches is ruined by the annoying noise of a company of Italian maleducatissimi who manage to obscure the captivating charm of a place from another time. Italy is how we feel so far away from these people. Too bad.
After a short break we decided to go where the obligatory stop at Roundstone and 'Craft Village where we kidnapped by the extraordinary beauty of the jewelry, and musical instruments of porcellene types of Irish tradition.
We return to Clifden and prepare for dinner at Ban Pangur near Letterfrack. Tomorrow is our last whole day in Ireland. Tuesday traveling to Dublin where the magic begins and ends, where I leave a part of me every time I come home safe, however, find it during my next trip.
We wake up early and eat pancakes favolsi of wild honey in the veranda of the b & b that hosts us. The view over the bay of Dingle is wonderful and the spell is broken only by precipitation, which sometimes rushes to the roof. The goal now is the magic of Doolin in County Clare, a tiny fishing village that owes its fame to a musical tradition that is lost to the origins of Irish folk.
We decide to skip the usual Limerick and take the ferry to Tarbert on the Shannon. From Dingle we head over the Connor Pass and we stop on the shores of the ocean in a beautiful white sand beach. The wind is cold and the clouds promise rain. We are preparing to arrive in Doolin tradzionale blanket of fog and humidity.
The short trip aboard the ferry that crosses the Shannon is always nice as long as you brave the cold standing on the bridge that runs along the sides of the boat. We cross the mouth of the largest river of reland and disembark in Clare where she awaits the pouring rain. I drive to Doolin and amazement the day turns into a few minutes and when we are in sight of the beautiful hills that descend to the village a warm sun is high in the sky of Ireland.
A compulsory stop at the Magnetic Music Café where a hot cup of zero and a slice of cake with plenty of cream brings us back to the world. This place is truly unique, infused with a mystical atmosphere and gathering where music is the main element. A quick tour of the negozzietti and head to the very root.
From here you decide rilsalire the coast to the cliffs. The spectacle of rock's great if you feel like walking over a giant form of Swiss cheese. The afternoon was perfect and after a long walk we reach the base of the Cliffs from which there is an indescribable view. I sit perched among the rocks in layers. I like to think so that you hear a seagull here. I also would like to take the flight from Ireland and see this. I'll be back with your feet and mind to resume the land and slowly wasting away in the very middle of the fields bordering the beach.
We return to the b & b to rest a little before we dive in the night atmosphere of the village.
The recollection of the memorable dinner at Paddyfrog is still very much alive when we wake up early ready for breakfast. We go down the stairs leading to the ground floor of this wonderful b & b and ask for our daily dose of pancakes.
The sky is gray but nuovole are moving quickly and they let us hope for an imminent timely fill that gets no wait. We continue our journey and head for Dingle. We meet an immense bog bordered by an impenetrable forest. Convinced that certainly is the abode of some fairy, we park and we walk among the trees. The play of light filtering through the leafy barely covered with moss is amazing. We walk on what seems an immense animal soft and furry. Our footsteps make no sound completely absorbed by the silence of the forest. The atmosphere is worthy of a fantasy saga and reluctantly we take the road.
About twenty miles before Dingle is the beach of Inch (so called because it looks like a big toe of dunes and sand that juts into the ocean). The sun is high in the sky and the wind begins to whip it's time to prepare the kite. The gusts of wind, I let a few minor changes and, I confess, I enjoy as a child. The feeling of having all that wind in your hands is intoxicating.
We spend a coffee break at the beach where a display case full of all sorts of cake easily wins our strengths. From the window of the coffee you can enjoy a magnificent view of the beach and once again I feel invaded, drenched, permeated of Ireland. Ireland can not tell it in words it with photographs. The Ireland must feel with its cold wind, the smell of burning peat, the clinking of glasses and the smile of an old man who seems to have a thousand and one stories to tell.
We resumed our march, and we enjoy the way down the coast without rushing the show last peninsula of Dingle and Kerry before reaching the Connor Pass Road where we will stay for the night.
A blue sky in the morning we wake up from a restful sleep. We eat breakfast at the b & b including delicious pancakes drenched in maple syrup topped with bananas and strawberries. The beautiful day immediately puts us in a good mood and there we journeyed to the southwest.
I drive to Kenmare where we stop to stretch your legs. The center of Kenmare is terribly quaint and immerses the visitor in the lively and colorful atmosphere of the typical Irish villages. Every shop, pub or restaurant seems to compete with others to get noticed and eventually the effect is a set of complementary colors magically perfect.
We continue the road that follows the coast south of Kerry Sneem and stop near a beach to visit indicated a hidden reason "White Sdrand". The white sandy beach overlooking the sea, embraced by a rugged and slippery rocks. The show is indescribable. There's just us and a couple of seagulls. The sun is warm and the wind slaps my face nicely. I feel really at peace with the world.
We resumed our journey and we decide to have lunch on the beach between Liss and Glanberg (on N70) where there is' a little place which overlooks the sea. A great fish & chips and a stroll on the beautiful beach. To my surprise I notice a couple of local customers who surf the internet with their laptops. I ran to get my car and within seconds they are networked to one of the most remote beaches in Ireland. For an instant contact with the computer takes me back to reality and reminds me of the commitment, work and Italy. Another sip of stout and memories fade away. It 'like crazy in this place you can really lose (in the figurative sense of the word) and phase out all contact with reality.
Continue along the road to Waterville as the sun and the blue sky as leave room for some rain clouds. We are getting ready to shower daily Irish.
I think many like me are scared listening to the new single from U2 prelude to their new album. It had already happened in the past but we forget about forever. Get On Your Boot's is what was The Fly for Achtung Baby, Pop or Dischotèque for How To Dismantle An Vertigo Atomic Bomb. They always try there. We try to surprise and unsettle their audience by launching an individual who has little or nothing to do with the rest of the album. 
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