Gael-force rockin’ blues from the Deep North
John O’Groat Journal

Stephen cashmore discovers the trials and tribulations of life on the road with the Howlin’ Gaels – and finds that, 15 years on from their humble beginnings, the group’s no-nonsense brand of blues rock is blowing stronger than ever.
We are back in the winter of ’89. The gloom snuffs out a rain lashed Far North day. Late afternoon has been and nearly gone and there’s still no sign of the Transit. What now? Somebody knows a body with a car; someone else can get a loan of a trailer. Soon they’re all on the road to Tain, four musicians sharing a beat-up Austin Maxi with a full-size drum kit, a tiny trailer loaded with amps and PA gear bouncing along behind. Dangerous, man – but this is only the beginning.

Halfway to Tain and the drum kit decides that it no longer desires the company of the two dudes crammed into the back seat with it, so…Bang! It breaks out through the back windscreen, which promptly disintegrates in a shower of glass onto the hapless back-seat passengers. And still it rains. And it’s black dark too. But baby, this is rock ‘n’ roll!

Tain at last. Through the narrow streets of the ancient burgh whose every stone wheezes history, a place of pilgrimage for saints, thanes, kings and Caithness music-makers come to educate the ears of Ross-shire loons. Already the hall is open for business, a no-nonsense wifie on the door.

“Your money, please, boys.”

“It’s okay, we’re the band.”

“The band? The band? There must be some mistake the band’s already here – on the stage warming up…”

A double booking! Who’d believe it? Still, there’s a hotel around the corner and they’d appreciate the offer of some free Saturday night Fever. And sure enough, the proprietress strikes a deal. Bed, breakfast and free drink in exchange for a helping of your best rock ‘n’ roll.

It turns out to be a great night. Plenty of punters fill the dance floor, money flows across the bar, drink ebbs the other way. Everyone is well pleased. Forget the B&B – the rain’s stopped and the boys will see dawn break over the Ord.

Off up the A9 charges the rattletrap Maxi with all lights blazing. And that’s the problem. Once on, the headlight’s stubbornly refuse to go off. Stuck on full beam with a hundred miles before them, the lights guide the Maxi on it’s merry journey north, passing three police cars on the way. Fortunately, the Northern Constabulary appear to have declared a one-night amnesty on bad-mannered motorists, and our men arrive home safe, sound and free from criminal conviction.

The above escapade was but one mile on a long hard road that began 15 years ago when four young Thurso boys decided to form a band…

In 1983 Donnie Williamson was a Thurso loon playing the drums in a group called Home and Beyond. Like many outfits in those days, Home and Beyond ladled out a wholesome stew of pop rock. But the blues was in Donnie’s blood, a common complaint among males in the Far North, which has supported a health blues scene ever since Mad Alex Harvey and his Insane Six adrenalised audiences at Thurso Town Hall. Donnie wasn’t even a gleam in his old man’s eye when Mad Alex was in his pomp and glory, but he grew up with a taste for the great one’s brand of hard-edged, bawling blues rock.

Two years later Donnie had teamed up with another Thurso blues freak, Alex Macintosh. Alex picked a mean guitar. Together with drummer Henry Mackinnon and bass player Billy Wares, Donnie and Alex made up the first version of the Howlin’ Gaels. Donnie himself no longer played drums – he was now lead singer with a blues band. And he blow a loud harmonica, too.

The Gaels practised hard, and long at Billy Wares home at Scrabster. Their first public airing was in 1985 in Thurso’s Newmarket Bar, a place with a strong musical tradition, a place tailor-made for rockin’ the blues, and the nearest thing we have to a Deep South juke joint. They played numbers by Alex Harvey, Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead and others of that breed. It hit the spot just right and they began to build up a loyal local following.

A year or so after the Gaels got going, Henry Mackinnon left the group. Another local boy, Marty Sutherland, took Henry’s place behind the drum kit. This happened in early ’87, the year when the Gaels started blowing beyond the County March to Brora, Golspie, Dingwall, Inverness; then it was Aberdeen, Dundee and Glasgow. Touring costs money, so by now the band were in it for the cash as well as the fun. They also made a start at writing their own material, drawing on their varied influences and blending in a bit of Deep North soul.

As well as playing away from home, the Gaels kept immaculate company, too. Local music fans may remember them supporting the great Blues ‘n’ Trouble when those pedigree wailers rocked a tentful on Thurso’s Millbank field. Dr Feelgood and the Sensational Alex Harvey Band also had their stage shoes pre-warmed by the Gaels during the band’s early years.

A strong local support, bookings all over Scotland, billed alongside the great and good of British blues rock. Just as it seemed things were on the up and up, a series of mishaps knocked the wind out of the Howlin’ Gaels.

First a fire wrecked the band’s practise room at Billy Wares place. At Dornoch equipment went missing. Marty Sutherland parted company with them and was replaced by Slim, an English chiel. What was the mysterious sothron’s real name? To this day no-one knows, nor can anyone remember. Then there was the trek to Oban…

The West Coast is God’s own country, but man-eating midges temper its breathtaking beauty and sudden squalls spring up unheralded from the wild Atlantic. And when rain falls it comes down by the bucketful. When the Gaels blew into Oban sometime in the late ‘80s they had found that the storms, which had accompanied them all the way from Caithness, had left the venue ankle-deep in water. The gig was cancelled. With a heavy heart, they turned round and prepared to take their sodden equipment back to Thurso. It was not so simple. The band’s van was stuck fast in the mud of the same rain-drenched field that the Gaels had hoped would be a scene of musical triumph. Forlorn and alone, the band waited for someone to come and tow them away from this desolate spot, sick to the back teeth and cursing their luck. Perhaps, like many blues singers before them, the Howlin’ Gaels had indeed been born under a bad sign. Slim the drummer certainly thought so. He quit in 1992.

When Billy Wares was injured in a bad road accident, leaving the band minus a bass player and an experienced drummer, it looked like road’s end for the Howlin’ Gaels.

For the next six years the Gaels were nothing but a hot memory in the minds of those Far North folk who know that raucous rockin’ blues, played loud, is something more than just a string of notes. It’s a musical equivalent of Tina Turner’s onstage gyrations, and anyone who just wants to listen to words had best stay home along with a song-sheet.

Bonded by the blues, Donnie and Alex kept right on wishing and hoping. If only they could get the right rhythm section… Remember, it’s not just sympathetic musicianship. Four young guys living on one another’s nerves for long periods have to get on personality-wise. Having no luck locally, they advertised in the national music papers. “Wanted. Drummer and bass player to join established blues band” (or something along those lines).

Replies came from all over. “Yeah, I’m interested. Scotland, you say. Whereabouts? Near John O’Groats? *!*! Sorry…”

One English dude – clearly lacking geographical savvy – offered to come up to Thurso. Phoning from Edinburgh, he asked was he nearly there? Was it much further? He promptly boarded the next train south.

In 1998 Donnie Williamson was teaching music at Thurso College when two young musicians signed on to the course. Ewan Barker was a Thurso loon who’d had a bit of previous behind the drums with a local group called New Experience. Orkney-born David Tashinizi played guitar – any variety, rhythm, lead and bass. Ewan and Taz were also members of Trudge Euphoria, who recorded that memorable CD Festering Days at Murkle Sound Studios. Would they be interested in playing a little blues now and again?

A pair of old hands and two young bucks- the Howlin’ Gaels returned to find that not only were not only were they not forgotten but they still boasted a loyal following. Thurso’s Newmarket and Coral lounges were among the first to roll out the “welcome back” mat.

A series of local gigs and it was business as usual. Practising, playing, penning new tunes, off over the Ord, new audiences to conquer, new venues to storm, a real travelling band again. The six wilderness years soon became a historical footnote.

Last year the Gaels played across the Firth in Orkney, where the islanders response was overwhelming that the band decided to record their long-planned first album at Phil Anderson’s Kirkwall studio. To mesh in with a tight touring schedule, the album was slapped down in a hurry – but it’s all the better for a few unpressed seams.

Aptly titled Rock the Millennium. The Gaels CD hit the shelves in time to coincide with that great milestone in time. Eight tracks, all the bands own work, a tour de force of tradition shin-kickin’ blues rock with some more melodic ingredients mixed in. It’s showcase for the Gaels collective and individual talents, and if you didn’t buy a copy – well you’re the loser.

And the future? The Howlin’ Gaels are presently hard at work on material for their next album, which is currently being laid down at Stainland under the guiding hand of Mark Wright, himself no mean musician. They recently played support to the Commitments at their Kirkwall date where, by all accounts, the Gales were just as exciting as the main act.

To promote their forthcoming album, the band plan to tour England and maybe venture further afield to Europe.

Naturally this costs money and the appearance of a sympathetic local sponsor would help matters along.

Caithness has a recent history of neglecting its own in favour of half-baked acts from the south. That’s alright if you want to wallow in nostalgia, but if you prefer to leave the dead where they belong sign on to the Howlin’ Gaels and support real live music. It’s the right thing to do.

RL