Sinead Ryan

'He's not here." The words travelled out from the Olympia, fizzled down Dame Street like a burning fuse wire. "Larry's not here."

No need for surnames. Hardly a need for a Christian name. Almost everyone milling in to see Ireland's Showbands last Friday night knew that it could be none other than, yes, ladies and gentlemen, you have it, none other than the legendary Larry Cunningham. The man whose gentle, lilting voice brought work to a standstill in kitchens across Ireland for a quarter of a century. Children were instantly banished. Soup boiled over on Jubilee ranges from Derry to Cork. Husbands were left untended, as a whole generation of women, complete with beehive hairdos, living bras and clacking stilettos, drifted helplessly into a trance. But central and all as Larry was during the golden years of the showband era, the disappointment sparked off by the news that he wouldn't be performing lasted only 10 seconds. "Brian is coming instead." Brian Coll, The Plattermen's silky-smooth vocalist. But would he do Walk On By? Paroxysms of joy. A sudden surge of memories; cycling to Las Vagas, Templemore, stockings in the handbag to avoid ladders, furtive moments in the dark behind the marquee in Rathdowney. "And will you ever forget the time when . . . ?"

The show was a roaring success before the first note sounded.

Dapper in his mohair suit, George Jones, Radio Ulster's terminal gagger, shot to centre stage. Not far behind was the affable, silver-rinsed Ronan Collins, king of nice-easy-listening on the airwaves. No crowd-winning tactics necessary from that quarter, but he delivered a quick Marty Whelan hair-dye jibe, just in case. Jones, with all the panache of a music-hall impresario, rattled off a few jokes, drawing the audience together - as much in laughter as in incomprehension. His Falls Road/Drumcree quips had lost a lot of their fizz on the journey south. Still, Jones had the show format to a T. It was a classic line-up, an eclectic mix, with something culled from almost every form of popular entertainment; stand-up comedy, the big bands of the 1930s and 1940s, the Country and Western roadshow, a dash of cabaret and pantomime thrown in for good measure, and - of course - the sobering, lightson, midpoint raffle.

Jones was at home with it all. Maybe a bit too much at home with pantomime, evident in his boyish delight at the faux flatulence patiently produced by the backing group's brass. This ensemble, the Galaxy Showband, all in matching tuxedos, was versatile to a fault. Drum rolls, ragtime interludes, country twang and rock 'n' roll thump, all done with ease and humour. First on was Brian, the only hint of Nashville a heavy cowboy buckle on his belt. Walk On By sounded every bit as good as it did over 30 years ago on the Pye, bakelite dial firmly fixed on Athlone. "Only great stars are remembered by a single name," was Ronan Collins's introduction to the next act.

From somewhere up in the dress circle came the roar: "Gregory". And on he came, strutting penguin-like from the wings, Gregory, onetime lead singer with the Cadets, back from Newfoundland for the show, Newfie jokes galore, soon re-conquering hearts with More than Yesterday.

Fast on his trail, gyrating to the thud of Don't you Give me No Dirty Looks, came Joe "Boots" Clark, dancer par excellence, mainstay of the Witnesses showband. Maybe a bit short on stamina now, but just as supple, just as rhythmic as in his heyday. The audience begged for Haunted House, The Witnesses' number one for what seemed like months. Boots and fellow Witness, Trixie Hamilton, were unreservedly happy to oblige. Surely an act like this deserved a roving mic?

Next came Pat Lynch, 23 years in the classroom since his days as lead singer with the Airchords. And the audience, hell-bent on catching memories, was brought to breaking point with When We Were Young.

A word of warning. If you fell victim to the virulent form of the "cool virus", endemic since the late 1960s, this show is not for you. It's much too unselfconscious, too exuberant. Equally, it's not for people who have gone down the cul-de-sac of cynicism. Maybe if you only suffer a mild form of these inhibiting maladies you could take a chance. Who knows, this could be the cure you've been looking for.

"I didn't die, I just took a rest," Roly Daniels drawled with Clint Eastwood precision, before launching into the most alive version of Suspicious Minds, ever sung on a stage anywhere. Kneeling down at the front, "because I love you too much baby", he reached out, handing back lost youth to Marys, Bettys and Joans who craned forward from the parterre to seize it with both hands. "Don't stop clapping," he begged. And they didn't. "It's all right," Ronan Collins confided when he eventually left: "You can see him in Swords, doing the weekend shopping".

It was often claimed that Frankie McBride, formerly lead singer with the Polka Dots, would have won a Jim Reeves sing-alike competition even if Reeves himself was taking part. His heart-wrenching Five Little Fingers never sounded as poignant as it did in the Olympia the other night. Armrests were gripped until knuckles went white. Forget all that nonsense about 1950s men being unemotional.

And the king - Brendan Boyer - was still to come. When he finally pounced on stage, launching into The Hucklebuck straight away, there was a near riot. Before long there was frenzied dancing in the aisles, rock 'n' roll in the boxes. Boyer gave it his all. But Boyer the legend was one step ahead a lot of the time, making I'm All Shook Up seem that bit too literal. Close at hand were a towel and an outsize drinking beaker. Boyer dived on them at the end of each bout, like an panting boxer at the end of a round. But, spectacularly well supported by the Galaxy Showband, he fought on, and in the end won the day with a medley which brought the entire theatre to its feet. It was our triumph over the years just as much as it was his.

The audience, that much-talked-about coitus interruptus, may have had a lot to put up with from a domineering church and an ultra-conservative state but one thing for sure, they had an appetite for fun - and it's not one bit diminished. It came as no surprise to learn that the show, travelling on to the Waterfront in Belfast, was fully booked until the end of its run last Thursday. That final performance was being filmed for a BBC screening sometime in the New Year. Plans are already afoot to bring the show back here to Dublin in this summer   X