Okay. I’ll skip the “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned” part and move straight to the confession. I had no idea Thin Lizzy was an Irish band until last year. My Irish father owned only one of their albums (Jailbreak) and never mentioned their origins. I heard the album once when I was growing up, because my mother wouldn’t let Dad play it when she was around. I distinctly remember thinking that “The Boys Are Back in Town” was the dumbest song I ever heard.

I never gave Thin Lizzy a second thought until I attended the 2025 Bloomsday celebration in Dublin. Alicia and I were strolling down Harry Street when we came across a statue of a black dude holding on to a bass guitar like a crutch outside the Bruxelles Rock Pub. The legend on the statue read, “Phillip P. Lynott 1949-1986.”

I turned to Alicia and asked, “Who the fuck is Philip P. Lynott?” It took her about five minutes before the bell rang. “Now I remember—Phil Lynott—he was the lead singer for Thin Lizzy. Javi (her brother) used to play their records all the time.”

None of this made any sense. How did a black guy who fronted a band I thought was meh at best earn a statue in a country whose black population hovers around 1 percent? Concluding that I must have missed something (I was probably about 13 years old when I listened to Jailbreak that one time) and encouraged by the symbolic acceptance of a person of color in lily-white Ireland, I pulled out my iPhone and set a reminder to research Phil Lynott and Thin Lizzy.

I forgot all about Thin Lizzy until late in December when I started planning for 2026. I read Mark Putterford’s bio, Phil Lynott: The Rocker, watched the documentaries The Thin Lizzy Story and Songs for While I’m Away, and began sampling Thin Lizzy’s studio albums. None of those albums grabbed me, but I remembered something English music journalist Malcolm Dome said in The Thin Lizzy Story while assessing Jailbreak, the breakthrough album considered their best effort: “The only thing that lets it down somewhat is the production. The production doesn’t quite gel with the songs. If only they’d had Tony Visconti, who was coming into their lives soon afterward, then this would have not just been the greatest album of Thin Lizzy’s career, but aptly in the top five of all time.” That comment triggered a flashback to something my father told me when I was preparing to write a review for the J. Geils Band’s Live Full House. He had played me the live album, then immediately followed it with one of their studio albums.

I knew it was The J. Geils Band because I’d just heard six of the same songs performed live. Those same songs all sounded deader than a dysfunctional dick.

“Oh, my God, what happened to them? Were they sick? Are you sure these are the same guys?”

“Same guys, same songs. Some bands are studio bands, some bands are live bands, some do both. J. Geils is a classic case of a live band. They need the crowd for a kick-start. I bought that album, their first studio album way back when, played it once, and put it in my reject pile to trade it in for something better on my next trip to the record store but never got around to it. Then they showed up at The Fillmore right before it closed, on a bill with Eric Burdon & War. Eric never had a chance. J. Geils blew him away.

So I checked out Live and Dangerous, produced by Tony Visconti, and holy fuck, Thin Lizzy was one helluva live band!

“At last,” says John Burnham, “Thin Lizzy came alive, in both senses of the term. As a record company we tried hard, as did Philip, to get the studio albums to recreate the excitement of the band on stage, but for whatever reason it just didn’t happen. Then came the Live And Dangerous package and everything fell into place. That album had everything: power, energy, excitement, emotion, humour, melody, dynamics . . . plus something extra, something that most rock’n’roll bands didn’t have.

Putterford, Mark. Phil Lynott: The Rocker (p. 137). (Function). Kindle Edition.

There is some controversy over the use and extent of overdubs. Visconti claimed the album was only 25% live, while the band members fiercely insisted that it was 75%. The album was pieced together from two separate concerts, one at the Hammersmith Odeon and another at the Seneca College Fieldhouse in Toronto. Most live albums need some cleanup, particularly in the mix, but the popularity of live albums in the 70s encouraged the unethical types to cheat, as explained by Dylan Chadwick in his article “In Defense of Live Rock Overdubs,” on Invisible Oranges:

In the ’70s, live rock albums did MEGA-business. The heady combo of live music and crass marketing beckoned rock fans from every corner of the bumfuck backwoods to sup from rock’s knowledge tree, recreating the grand spectacle of the rock ‘n’ roll live show conveniently for their home stereos. One of the genre’s greatest commercial achievements? You bet, but they come with this painful caveat: many of them, even the most famous, aren’t as “live” as they purport. In fact, some are so riddled with overdubs and edits, like Queen’s Live Killers, as to render them veritable Frankenstein pieces, a single song cobbled together from 5 different recordings. Others have been simply manufactured in the studio, shellacked with a canned audience and some sneaky overdubbing.

I still look at the chalice half full though. However disingenuous to the “live” moniker, I equate studio doctoring as a necessary illusion, one which enhances the quality of the listening experience without ruining it.

In an interview with Malcolm Dome, Phil addressed the issue: “I get this question coming up all the time, and the answer is that we kept the overdubs to a minimum. To do anything else would have ruined the atmosphere on those recordings and made a mockery of putting out a live album in the first place! We did do a little bit of fixing in the studio, just where it was necessary. But I’ll look anyone in the eye and tell them what I’m telling you now . . . ‘Live And Dangerous‘ is most definitely a live album.”

After reading as much as I could about a man his wife described as “a very, very complex person,” I doubt that Phil Lynott would have ever perpetrated a fraud on his fans. Thin Lizzy was his baby, and once he got over his initial shyness, he did everything he could to develop an intimate relationship with his audience. As future keyboardist Darren Wharton said in Songs for While I’m Away, “He had all the moves but was very sincere with the audience. He knew how to connect. It wasn’t an act, it was Phil.”

*****

Though they were quite popular in the U.K. and Ireland, Thin Lizzy never became a top-tier band due to a combination of lineup instability and rotten luck. Guitarists came and went (Gary Moore even quit the band in the middle of an American tour); another American tour had to be canceled when Lynott came down with hepatitis, and still another was canceled because drummer Brian Downey broke his hand in a bar fight. These incidents explain why Thin Lizzy never caught on in the States: “The Boys Are Back In Town” was their only hit single, and Jailbreak was their only hit album. The only constants in their lineup were Lynott and Downey; the band’s most stable period lasted four years, with Scott Gorham and Brian Robertson handling the trademark two-guitar attack. Live and Dangerous proved to be the swan song for that lineup, and Phil Lynott’s heroin addiction would soon lead to more instability and eventually cost him his life.

You can read about the causes and effects of Phil’s decline in Phil Lynott: The Rocker, but Putterford makes it clear in the introduction that he believes Phil should not be remembered for his poor judgment, but for his courage and contributions to rock music:

Philip Lynott was one of the most colourful and charismatic characters in the history of rock’n’roll. As leader of Thin Lizzy he was responsible for some of the best rock music of the Seventies and Eighties, including a string of smash hit singles such as ‘Whiskey In The Jar’, ‘The Boys Are Back In Town’, ‘Dancing In The Moonlight’, ‘Rosalie’, ‘Waiting For An Alibi’ and ‘Sarah’. But as the consummate Rocker he couldn’t resist burning the candle at both ends, and he died a slow and painful death in 1986. This is the only major biography of Lynott ever published and it has been researched through a wealth of interviews with his family, close friends, band members and associates, roadies, management, former record company employees and most other people who knew or worked with him. It tells the amazing story of an illegitimate half-caste kid born into a strict Catholic family from Dublin in the late Forties. It shows how with a mixture of talent and determination Lynott overcame prejudice to make Thin Lizzy the first internationally successful Irish rock band, and become the biggest black rock star since Jimi Hendrix.

Putterford, Mark. Phil Lynott: The Rocker (p. 7). (Function). Kindle Edition.

*****

One word of caution before we begin. In both documentaries, you’ll hear the various interviewees gushing over Phil’s lyrics while reminding us that he published two volumes of “poetry,” mostly consisting of Thin Lizzy lyrics. I would say that for the most part, Phil’s lyrics fit well with the music and occasionally his imagery leaves strong impressions. That said, Live and Dangerous is a hard rock album, and you really don’t want to get too poetic when you’re attempting to raise testosterone and estrogen levels in the audience. I suggest that you keep the comparisons to Yeats to a minimum.

“Jailbreak” (Lynott): Oh, fuck yeah! The crowd welcomes the band with a hearty “Hey-Hey-clap-clap” in perfect rhythm as the boys take their places, then we hear a LOUD combination of a high held note and a powerful, beautiful, fuck-me-right-now chord from the two guitarists, then Wham! Phil and Brian Robertson start pumping away to a power chord pattern of Ab-Eb-F5. The only way the guitarists could pull that off is to tune their guitars down a fret, and lo and behold, the first three songs all use Eb tuning, giving them a delightfully deeper bottom.

A quick riff cues Phil to begin his vocal, and the man is on fire from the get-go. His tone is one of desperation and anxiety as he takes on the role of jailbreak mastermind, lowering his voice only on the closing lines:

Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak
Somewhere in this town
See me and the boys we don’t like it
So were getting up and going down

Hiding low looking right to left
If you see us coming I think it’s best
To move away do you hear what I say
From under my breath

Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak
Somewhere in the town
Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak
So don’t you be around

I love a thoughtful criminal, and I think it’s sweet that he gives us all a heads-up. I’m amazed at how Phil can sing the chorus with everything he’s got and still produce a series of upward bass runs that knock me on my ass. After a searing guitar solo, Phil digs deeper into their determination to get out of that hellhole, whatever the cost, employing a metaphor that even the non-violent folks in the crowd can understand: Monopoly.

Tonight there’s gonna be trouble
Some of us won’t survive
See the boys and me mean business
Bustin’ out dead or alive

I can hear the hound dogs on my trail
All hell breaks loose, alarm and sirens wail
Like the game if you lose
Go to jail

The boys keep rocking and Phil keeps delivering the goods up until the line “so woman, stay with a friend,” which he follows with “I think it’s safer there” in regular speech. Thanks for thinking of us, Phil! The band tones it down for a few bars until Phil shouts, “Breakout!” and the band launches into a set of rising power chord patterns that finally peak way up the fretboard while Downey gets a good workout. After returning to the main riff, the band lays back to give Phil a chance to connect with the audience. He shouts, “We need your help on this!” and the fans immediately comply with joyful hand-clapping. Phil then riffs on the chorus, inserting the line, “Tonight’s the night all systems fail,” by which I hope he means the prison systems. I have never aided and abetted a criminal, but Phil told such a compelling story that I want those guys to get away with it.

Bob Seger claimed that rock is “that kind of music just soothes the soul,” and one can make a case that “Jailbreak” is a metaphor for the deep desire we have to break out of the humdrum and let it loose. All I know is this—for four minutes and forty-four seconds, I forgot all about the awful things taking place in this fucked up world . . . and felt like me again.

What an opener!

“Emerald” (full band composition): At the end of “Jailbreak,” Phil asks the audience, “Is there anybody here with any Irish in them?”  I was not surprised to hear the positive response, whether Phil posed the question in Toronto or London. Thanks to diaspora, the Irish are everywhere! Then he asks, “Is there any of the girls who’d like a bit more Irish in them?” Naughty boy!

Though he was born an illegitimate child in England to Irish and Guyanese parents and spent his early school days in Manchester with his mother Philomena, she thought it was best for Phil to live with her parents in Dublin, where Phil developed “a lifelong fascination with the history and legends of the Emerald Isle.” “Emerald” covers part of that history, but there are two warring interpretations about exactly which historical period is depicted in the song:

• Guitarist Scott Gorham told Songfacts: “It’s got the real sort of Irish-y feel in it. Brian Robertson and I, we came up with the harmony guitars in there. But the main riff came straight out of Phil. It’s a song about ancient times in ancient Ireland, talking about the warring clans and all that.”
• White Rose Research Online: “The theme of Irish heroism is taken up again in the song ‘Emerald’ from the 1976 Jailbreak album. The lyrics recite the story of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army and the English conquest of Ireland, particularly the Sack of Wexford and the Siege of Drogheda in 1649. Throughout the song, Ireland is depicted as an emerald, which the English came to take, and without it they could not leave.”

I have to go with White Rose due to its scholarly connections, while Scott is an American who is unlikely to have delved into Irish history. I also doubt that Phil would have written an Irish vs. Irish song without adding the moral to the story.  The lyrics clearly support the Cromwell interpretation, with only a passing mention of the clans, the “overlords” of Ireland at the time:

Down from the glen came the marching men
With their shields and their swords
To fight the fight they believed to be right
Overthrow the overlords

To the town where there was plenty
They brought plunder, swords and flame
When they left the town was empty
Children would never play again

From their graves I heard the fallen
Above the battle cry
By that bridge near the border
There were many more to die

Then onward over the mountain
And outward towards the sea
They had come to claim the emerald
Without it they could not leave

The guitar interludes between the verses display the “Irish feel,” as the pattern and time signature are reminiscent of an Irish reel played by a red-hot fiddler. The fierce double guitar attack in the instrumental section and fade maintain some of the Irish feel, combined with plenty of bluesy and hard rock riffs. The intensity of the arrangement is off the charts; the mood is suitably dark in sync with the lyrics.

“Southbound” (Lynott): After two pretty heavy pieces, Thin Lizzy gives the fans a much-needed break by taking it down a few notches on “Southbound.” The song is about the typical Irish rover who heads for America during the California gold rush and now that the frenzy is over, “A ghost town is all that’s left here,” “the wild west has been won,” and the economy is in the tank. Like Kerouac, he decides to head south, hoping “new horizons will appear.” Despite the narrator’s obvious disappointment that the good times are over, this is a pleasant little song with nice harmonies in the chorus and a lovely melodic guitar solo by Scott Gorham.

“Rosalie/Cowgirl’s Song” (Bob Seger/Downey-Lynott): Phil introduces the song by giving Bob Seger proper credit, then Thin Lizzy blows Bob’s version to smithereens with an amped-up performance that proves to be quite the crowd-pleaser (if the audience can be believed). It’s obvious that Phil loved the song, as he imbues it with deep admiration for the chick who likes music as much as he does. When the band takes it down toward the end, you can hear the fans clapping to the beat, and Phil seems both surprised and delighted that they’re already doing what he was going to ask them to do.

“Dancing in the Moonlight” (Lynott): The boys play it cool with this number that could have been written by Van Morrison. Phil was a big fan of the singer, and the song has the feel of some of the songs on Moondance (including the reference in the title). The song takes Phil back to his teenage days, long before he became the epitome of the smooth-talking lover. He also displays two features you rarely hear in Van Morrison’s work: a sense of humor and the ability to laugh at his old self:

When I passed you in the doorway
Well, you took me with a glance
I should’ve took that last bus home
But I asked you for a dance
Now we go steady to the pictures
I always get chocolate stains on my pants
And my father, he’s going crazy
He says I’m livin’ in a trance

He also reminds the audience of those days when parents imposed curfews and teens fudged them to the best of their ability:

It’s three o’clock in the morning
And I’m on the streets again
I disobeyed another warning
I should’ve been in by ten
Now I won’t get out until Sunday
I’ll have to say I stayed with friends
Oh, but it’s a habit worth forming
If it means to justify the end

I absolutely love John Earle’s sax fills (another Morrison touch) and how Phil slows the song down to tell the audience, “We need your helping hands . . .  on saxophone from the Graham Parker band . . .  I’d like you to make a lot of noise . . .  John Earle on the saxophone!” That’s CLASS!

“Massacre” (Downey, Gorham, Lynott): Meh. One song about slaughter is more than enough, and the intensity on this one feels a bit sloppy. Originally titled “Little Big Horn,” Phil sings of the massacre that made Custer infamous, and though I don’t care for the music, Phil manages to get in a few good lyrical licks like “Six hundred unknown heroes/Were killed like sleeping buffalo,” and my favorite:

If God is in the heavens
How can this happen here?
In his name they used the weapons
For the massacre

“Onward Christian Soldiers” is the ultimate in oxymorons.

“Still In Love With You”: (Lynott): This beautiful lost-love song harks back to 1974’s Nightlife and is largely remembered for the guitar work, particularly the extended solo. Gary Moore composed the solo and performed it on the album, and his work was so respected that the guitarists who followed him made few changes. I found an interesting video titled “Thin Lizzy – Still in Love With You (the solos) Gary vs Robbo” on YouTube comparing Moore’s original with Brian Robertson’s solo on Live and Dangerous. The consensus seems to lean towards Robertson.

The song is blessed with a pretty melody and a chord pattern of Am-Dm-G-C that allows for trips into blues land and plenty of melodic restatements. Once again, Phil riffs on the lyrics, adding phrases and modulating his voice in sync with his feelings. Some people may bitch about the song’s length (7:42), but the guitar work makes it all worth it. If you don’t believe me, try this: get naked with your partner and do a slow dance to the song. Assuming there are no psychological barriers in play, this treatment should cure any form of erectile dysfunction or vaginal atrophy. Because I have no medical credentials and am sharing this technique as a perpetually horny bitch, you may want to consult with your doctor first.

“Johnny the Fox Meets Jimmy the Weed” (Downey, Gorham, Lynott): I’ve never been a fan of gangster movies, so it makes sense that I wouldn’t care for a gangster song. I’ll have to take a pass on this one, though I admire the shift from hard rock to funk.

“Cowboy Song” (Downey-Lynott): I wish with all my heart that Phil had never watched American westerns on TV or in the cinema. The good news is that after Phil semi-talks us through a series of Wild West cliches, what follows is a pretty solid rocker that makes me want to dance, with yet another hot guitar solo and twin guitar play that morphs straight into their signature song.

“The Boys Are Back In Town” (Lynott): It turns out that my initial opinion of this song involved missing one very important line: “But man, I still think them cats are crazy.” Without that line, I got the impression that the singer was celebrating violence in the form of dumb boys picking fights with one another. It was very comforting to me to learn that Phil thought they were jerks, too.

I’m not going to apologize for my first take. For chrissakes, I was only thirteen! I was more concerned with zits than lyrics! And I wasn’t the only one who thought the song was a loser! Here’s a snippet from an interview with Scott Gorham on Classic Rock:

CR: Until Jailbreak and its hit single “The Boys Are Back In Town,” Thin Lizzy really had been on the precipice of extinction, hadn’t they?

Gorham: Yeah. Everyone around us was telling us it was make-or-break time. So no pressure there, then [laughs].

CR: But the song that saved the band wasn’t even intended to be on the album.

Gorham: That’s right. We had demoed maybe 15 songs and were only going to put ten on the album. As a band we chose that ten. It was one of the managers that went through the ones we’d rejected and “The Boys Are Back In Town” was among them, though it didn’t have any guitar harmonies on it at the time, though the lyrics were complete. So we swapped it over. We were pretty bad at picking the singles [chuckles]. It was these two deejays in Louisville, Kentucky, that made the song a hit by playing it incessantly until other radio stations caught on.

Though the name of the gang has never been confirmed, there’s no doubt that the song grew out of Phil’s experience in Manchester, while spending the summer months with his mother. Philomena ran a hotel that catered to a late-night/early morning crowd of entertainers, footballers, and yes, gang members.

Now that I get the song and absolutely adore it—and firmly believe that the lyrics are some of Phil’s best—I doubt that the song would have been the breakthrough hit without that memorable two-guitar harmony riff. The damn thing sticks in your head for days, and it’s hard not to sing along to that rising melody.

Needless to say, the crowd goes ape shit when they hear the opening riff. As is often true of a hit song that a band has played a gazillion times, Thin Lizzy shakes things up a bit on the live version, performing the song in a slightly quicker tempo and adding a few frills here and there. The response vocals in the chorus are a bit thin, but Phil compensates with additional oomph on his vocals. Brian Downey’s drumming is spot-on, showing no signs of boredom as he bangs away on the kit. Once I got over my hangups, I learned to love Phil’s proto-rap vocal and its essential jive.

The parts of the song that move me the most involve Phil’s concern for the safety of others, echoing his protective orientation on “Jailbreak”:

Guess who just got back today
Them wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven’t changed, had much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy . . .

Friday night, they’ll be dressed to kill
Down at Dino’s Bar ‘n’ Grill
The drink will flow and blood will spill
And if the boys want to fight, you better let ’em

There ain’t a damn thing you can do when the boys are on a testosterone-cortisol high, so get the fuck out of there!

“Don’t Believe a Word” (Lynott): Phil originally intended this song to be a ballad, but Brian Downey instigated a revolt that turned it into another rocker. Bad idea. I listened to the slow version with Phil and Gary Moore trading vocals, and it works much better as a slow semi-blues number. For fuck’s sake, the lyrics indicate that the guy is struggling with depression! The slower tempo encourages empathy, while the fast version makes you think the guy’s fucking with your mind. Pfft!

“Warriors: (Gorham-Lynott): Scott Gorham explained to Songfacts how the song came about: “Well, that’s just a lick and a chord pattern that I had. We were at a rehearsal and I just started playing it. Phil (Lynott) looked up and said, ‘What’s that?’ And I said, ‘Well, it’s a riff and a groove I have.’ He goes, ‘Okay, man. Let’s try to develop that.’ And he and I, we just sat down and started developing it, put the different licks in there. We’d developed a solo spot, he continued,’ and I said, ‘I think Brian Robertson will be perfect for this, rather than my guitar.'” What this tells us is that Phil’s antenna was always in search mode and that Gorham was more than willing to give his ego a rest and admit that his more melodic approach would be a poor fit for a very dark and heavy song, and that his partner was better suited to handle the solo.

Phil plays the role of the archetypal warrior who serves the “death machine” and is set to “deliver the final blow,” modulating his voice to create a sort of robotic creepiness. Brian Downey must have been tickled pink to play a key role in this anti-ballad, filling the song with a chaotic attack that suits the theme. The highlight of the piece is Robertson’s solo, a screaming performance that gives one the chills. “Warriors” isn’t the most pleasant listening experience, but it works within the context and provides plenty of thrills for the fans.

“Are You Ready”(full band composition): Phil introduces the song as “a new one.” What he doesn’t say is that the song was designed to replace “Jailbreak” as the concert opener going forward, as the band was getting tired of the same-o, same-o. Though I love “Jailbreak” in the pole position, “Are You Ready” is a direct invitation to fans to get up and start rocking, making it the perfect crowd warm-up song. The song starts in overdrive and never lets up, chugging along at high speed to get the collective adrenaline flowing. It also allowed Thin Lizzy to give “Jailbreak” a spot in the playlist after a slower number to maximize its impact. Good call, guys!

“Suicide” (Lynott): This song dates back to the days when Thin Lizzy was a trio, with Eric Bell as the sole guitarist. That early version was titled “Baby Been Messing,” with different lyrics and no middle. The song received a complete overhaul with the classic lineup on the album Fighting. The inspiration for the new-and-improved version tells us that Phil was a TV junkie whose tastes were not limited to corny American cowboy shows. From Songfacts:

Written by band leader, bass player and vocalist Phil Lynott, it was inspired by an episode of the American TV series Perry Mason. Called “The Case Of The Lover’s Leap,” it was first aired on April 4, 1963; to quote from one on-line TV database: “Slippery Roy Comstock attempts to swindle his partner, Peter Brent, fake his own suicide, and disappear with his slutty wife. Comstock’s plans come a cropper when he’s discovered murdered. Peter Brent is accused of the crime and it’s Perry to the rescue once again.”

There are plenty of references to the episode that you may find confusing, but what matters is that Phil used the template to create an anti-suicide song.

The paper called it suicide
A bullet from a forty-five
Nobody cared and nobody cried
Don’t that make you feel sad?

Peter Brent combed his hair
And sent for the police
Policeman came, took Peter’s name
God, may he rest in peace

No one saw the note beside the body
No one knew the problems
But my God
Suicide

After Phil informs the audience that “This is a song called ‘Suicide,'” the crowd roars with approval, creating a somewhat awkward moment, soon to be obliterated by the killer opening (no pun intended). The arrangement involves a repeated guitar riff followed by some sweet moves from Downey on the high hat that could have been used as the theme song for a crime show. After Phil sings the first verse, the boys shift to a steady beat strengthened by syncopated rhythmic shots from the guitarists. The first instrumental passage features Downey delivering a rat-a-tat run that sounds like a hail of bullets, and over the course of the song, the guitarists are given several opportunities to show their stuff, occasionally adopting the rat-a-tat attack. The diverse arrangement is incredibly well-designed, and the performances are top-notch. Though I think suicide is the most uncool thing any human can do, the song itself is pretty damned cool.

“Sha-La-La” (Downey-Lynott): The lyrics are weak, the arrangement is meh, and though the crowd certainly appreciated Downey’s extended drum solo, I find the whole thing boring. Sorry, guys.

“Baby Drives Me Crazy”(full band composition): This is one of those pieces that call for audience participation, and while it certainly strengthened the connection between the band and the audience, it’s one of those things where you had to be there to feel the excitement. To his credit, Phil uses the song to call out each of the musicians, the road crew, and the crowd for their contributions, including Huey Lewis, who delivers a predictable blues run on harmonica.

“The Rocker” (Bell-Downey-Lynott): I might have liked this song if I had heard it live for the first time, because I wouldn’t have been able to make out the testosterone-drenched lyrics. Having worked in the field of domestic violence for years, I hate violence in any form, and I cringe at lyrics like this:

I am your main man if you’re looking for trouble
I take no lip no one’s tougher than me
I’d kick your face you’d soon be seeing double

In walked this chick and I knew she was up to something
And I kissed her right there out of the blue

I said “Hey baby, meet me I’m a tough guy”
Got my cycle outside, you want to try?
She just looked at me and rolled them big eyes
And said “Ooh I’d do anything for you ’cause you’re a rocker”

Sorry to end on a down note, but that’s the way it is. If I’d been that girl, Phil never would have had the opportunity to meet him outside, as he would have received a swift kick in the balls. I’d rather remember Phil Lynott as the protector, not the fake macho man. I do forgive Phil for his sins because “The Rocker” was a comparatively early effort, but I will never forgive John Lennon for “Run for Your Life.”

*****

Thin Lizzy wowed many a crowd with their power, playfulness and musicianship, but it’s important to remember that Thin Lizzy would have never existed without Phil Lynott’s unusual self-confidence. I’ll close this review with another tribute to Phil that hits the nail on its head: “It seems contradictory that Thin Lizzy could, in their particular time and place, transcend so many borders – racial, religious, geopolitical – and still remain purely and thoroughly Irish. Luckily, their frontman was used to being seen as a contradiction. Instead of running from his own shock factor, he embraced it: “To be Black and Irish like Guinness is normal”, he once told the Daily Express, “. . . everyone else is a bit weird.” (Hit Parader)

When I go to Dublin for Bloomsday this year, I’ll be sure to place flowers near his statue.

To hear the album in its entirety, click here to head over to YouTube.