Green Glowing Skull

Denny glowered at his companion, causing Clive’s head to drop further and turn away. ‘There you have it! There you have it! As I said: Clive was only in the Langans for want of a roof over his head! There were some of us still in that movement idealists and activists! Some of us to the last meant to take the dream home and rescue Ireland. If only more of you understood what the Davy Langans was for and it might still have been a force today. But it’s all gone now, and a pity. The last branch of it died out in the Cape Colony some ten years ago, I believe. We once had been a very active branch here in New York.’

‘Ach,’ said Clive, ‘long ago, long, long ago, before any of us –’

‘We died on his watch!’ said Denny, wagging a finger in Clive’s direction. ‘He was both secretary and treasurer when we went under. All North American funding for the movement came through New York. A sudden disappearance of money killed us off! There are questions still unanswered! We died on his watch and he has to live with that!’

‘The writing had been on the wall for a long time,’ said Clive, laughing it off. ‘We folded anyhow, and we merged with the Cha Bum Kuns up the street, and the few of us left in the branch were taken in here, at a reduced subscription for a while.’

‘“Merged” is a good word for it!’ Denny adjusted himself in his seat. ‘Eaten up! Utterly subsumed! By golly, if they’d known there were some of us would have borne arms for a cause would they have taken us in so fast?!’

***

It was difficult to sing through all the many interruptions. There was one pesky club member, a man from an old Dutch family, who took enjoyment from bursting into the room. Usually this man had been enjoying wine somewhere else on site.

‘Here they are again!’ he boomed in one evening. ‘Oh, they’ll love you, the hussies! You’ll have them lining up outside the stage door at the Carnegie Hall.’

‘Go away now!’ said Denny. ‘I won’t have this, or any excuses that my friends make for you.’

This particular interruption on this night moved Denny to make a vow:

‘From tomorrow we take our rehearsals to my apartment. What do you say, men? The environment here is not conducive. I think it is time to strike out on our own.’

He pointed to the ceiling. It was a chequerboard, of orange and blue panels.

‘East Prussian orange amber and Dominican blue amber. The soapstone beside us was shipped from Persia. They’ve plundered the mineral and cultural wealth of the world. From us they’ll take our spirit, put it up there in mahogany in mawkish motifs of fiddles and harps. I’ve always felt a certain condescension within these clubhouse walls towards the Irish, haven’t you, Clive?’

Clive looked uncertain, rearranging the flaps of his jacket at his groin, and dithered over a response.

Denny jumped back in: ‘There’s a latent racialist sentiment in this city. The reason these pug-dogs are so popular in New York today is that blackface entertainment has been outlawed. There’s a latent irrepressible fondness in the people for little white clowns with painted black faces. They will seek to characterise you. I think it would benefit us to take ourselves away from this clubhouse. We must work to extract the essential in what we do and concentrate on it, never lose sight of it. Keep it and concentrate ourselves in it. We will not get that here.’

‘Hey, you guys! Are you still fighting off the hoes or what?’

‘We will not get it with that nincombocker around.’

Denny turned his gaze on the Dutchman until the Dutchman had shrunk behind the door again. His eyes lingered on the closed door for some moments; furious, then pensive.

‘I will say though that he has brought to my mind an important issue. If we are to be committed in what we do we must commit fully and no compromises. Both of you would do well to take on board, before the start of your singing careers, a bit of advice. I heard it first from Maestro Tosi, my singing teacher in Milan. I did not pay much attention to it at the time; I remembered his words only too late, and how forcibly they struck. I remembered them on the very day of my wedding. They seemed like the most fearful admonition at that moment. He had said, “Do not go rushing into marriage before your career has begun!” Now let me be fearful with you both – let me be fearful with both of you! But then the time for marriage has long passed for you, Clive! And you, young man – Rickard – no woman would have a man that looked like you!’

***

In the privacy of Denny’s apartment, away from the taunts of other club members, physical exercises could be performed. The purpose of these exercises was to improve the musculature of the chest walls, diaphragm, lungs, throat, tongue and mouth, and to bring legs, spine, shoulder-girdle, neck and head into the correct relationship.

The first exercise of any evening involved adjustment of the pelvis in a standing position by means of rolling movements so that it was relaxed and the intestines lay relaxed also, as in a basket. The idea was to inculcate good posture. Legs were held in such a way as to cause the balance of the body to shift backwards. To this end, splints and yokes carrying buckets of water were imagined. The singer, said Denny, was no different in a certain respect from the butler or the docker: his was work performed on the feet.

Broad vowels unknown in speech were held to keep the pharynx open. Denny said that eventually he would introduce eggs into the men’s throats and that when each man could keep an egg in his throat without breaking it he would know that his pharynx was elastic enough to achieve all the necessary shades of dynamics and timbre. Scales and a system of forced coughs would sharpen the ventricular mechanism. Correct unhinging of the mandible was practised, with particular regard to coordination with lip shapes. Awareness, on singing of the brighter ‘ee’ and the duller ‘ah’, of the muscles that closed the entrance to the smelling bulb in the upper nose would burn a nerve pathway to allow the voluntary control of these muscles. These muscles could then be brought into play for tonal manufacture, along with the muscles of the throat.

‘The face is a mask for the purposes of singing,’ said Denny. ‘It is one of our key resonators. The mask has to grow so that it reaches behind the ears. Then it will have the maximum opening.’

To improve suppleness of the ribs, the men vigorously beat imaginary timpani with their fists while singing in the middle voice for thirty seconds at walking tempo.

‘Let’s be wary at all times, men, of the Bs, Ds and hard Gs, and I am not here talking about musical notes. I am talking about consonants. Firm closure of the glottis could kill stone dead the vibrations of the vocal cords.’

Strength was built in the omohyoideus muscle by saying the word ‘omohyoideus’ one hundred times at an increasing pace. A strong omohyoideus was needed to keep the larynx lashed to the backbone during singing of the A-range of vowels.

All exercises were ultimately assumed to give native vowel sounds the best possible chance.

‘The special character of our songs is held in the vowels. You see, men, in music there is a unique set of Irish vowels. They are rounded like the English vowels but their articulation must never result in the sacrifice of the R sound. The R must, at the very least, be trilled. Our Irish vowels will be found by knowing and practising the Italian, English, French, American and German vowels. They lie somewhere among all of those.’

During exercises a set of charts was tacked to the wall depicting the anatomy of the structures under improvement. These charts were huge powdery things, variegated with minute creases, which had to be unfurled with great care. Denny had taken them from Italy with him. They had originated at the medical school in Bologna. The larynx looked an immensely complex piece of machinery in the charts. The ribcage was simple, stark and frightening. Awareness of these structures would lead, the thinking went, to more nerve pathways.

A formula for sublimation was written on a sheet of paper and also stuck to the wall. It was never mentioned. It read:

100 JOULES OF ONANISTIC FERVOUR = 100 JOULES OF RELIGIOUS ZEAL = JUST AS EASILY 100 JOULES OF ARTISTIC PASSION

***

‘Tell me more about Denny’s time in Milan with Maestro Tosi,’ Rickard said to Clive one Thursday evening ahead of rehearsals. They had met outside the clubhouse and were now – having been delivered by the uptown subway – waiting for a crosstown bus to Morningside Heights and Denny’s apartment. A smell of caramelisation on the air – a uniquely New York feature of the colder months – tortured them both.

Clive said, ‘It was a period so brief and embarrassing in Denny’s life and career that it rarely comes up, and I’m surprised that it ever does.’

Rickard said, ‘I’m ashamed to say that I hadn’t heard of Denny before.’

‘I’m not surprised that you hadn’t. This was a star that burnt brightly and went out quickly. But a source of historic light.’

‘I see it,’ said Rickard. ‘I see it. It beams through the universe.’

Clive stood stolid, beaky in profile, looking up the avenue at the crest of the hill against the fading pearl of the sky and at the approaching cells of headlights. Rickard was suddenly embarrassed at his own open enthusiasm. An icy cold wind blew through the cross-street. He pinched at his dripping nose.

‘Nineteen … when was it?’ said Clive. ‘Early fifties. I was a young lady in Heet. (Heet is the name of a townland.) My parents left me one night with my brother on our own to go to a concert in Bundoran. I believe it was for the opening of a ballroom. Denny Logan was giving the concert. I did not know this at the time. Only later, after I’d met Denny, and I wrote to my mother, did I know this, did I know anything about Denny. I’m afraid that Denny’s time in the limelight had passed me by entirely. He was one of a crop of young Irish tenors in his day, one of the best, so it was said of him. There was no shortage of tenor singers or concerts in those days. For a very brief time. Before the girls’ attention moved elsewhere, on to the rock and roll and what have you. Then the tenor voices were forgotten, and with them Denny Logan. You young people would find it hard to believe that tenors were ever a popular success. I found it hard to believe. But the girls went crazy for the tenor voices, they came with flowers to the concerts. The singers used to hand out photographs of themselves in the carte style, and they looked all blushered up in them, bruised below the eyebrows, and flushed in the cheeks. My mother brought home Denny’s that night, and posted it, later, to me here in New York. I could not understand the magnetism, but I understand it now I do. You bring me out you do.’

Clive took a long pause.

‘You do, you do. You bring me out in Donegal you do. I have not spoken like that in a long time. Must be that you’re Irish. I do not like it.’

‘I see it too,’ said Rickard. ‘That magnetism, despite certain masking features. But I don’t hear …’

He checked himself.

‘The voice?’ said Clive.

‘I don’t mean to be so plain but it’s quite …’

‘Monotonous,’ they said together.

‘Yes,’ said Clive, looking at his feet. ‘It is sadly limited.’

‘So what happened to that voice in the meantime?’

Clive leaned back against the glass of the bus shelter, then stood forward again.