In Malahide, Mondays mean Dave McNally and Hair of the Dog at Fowlers

Dave McNally waits, drinking a pint of Guinness at a reserved corner table at Fowlers pub in Malahide.

Kieran McWilliams is the first to join him. He starts to tune his guitar. Soon after, Brian Lawless arrives, followed a few seconds later by Tony Hennessy.

They are members of Hair of the Dog, an Irish band formed by locals from the northside.

By 9:10pm on 22 October, they’re all in their seats, and all of the nearby seats are taken too.

Most of the crowd who come to Fowlers on Monday nights are there to sing along with the band, said pub owner Derek Fowler. “It’s Monday and it’s music.”

“It’s pretty much the only place that offers live music on a Monday night,” says Fowler.  “Anyone is welcome to join the musicians and sing along.”

They have, for years. Some locals have been dropping by the Monday Club for more than two decades, they say, looking for a way to enjoy the first night of the week after a weekend of working.

“Nobody drinks on a Monday night,” says Tony Douggie Dunne, one long-timer who used to work in security.

“Many people work during the weekend,” says  Colm Gregan, another regular who used to work as a taxi driver.

The succession

Dunne remembers the Monday Club as far back as 20 years. The No Name Band were the act then, he says.

The instrumentation had an Irish vibe, with banjos and tin whistles, he says. But it was a similar style to now, he says.

Hair of the Dog has been featured for about a year, says Fowler, the pub owner.

McNally says that he was asked to play first. He invited the three members of Hair of the Dog to join him. McNally isn’t actually part of that band, he says – just an add-on on Mondays.

Hair of the Dog formed during the pandemic, says Hennessy. Now 54, he has played music since he was 13 years old. His day job is as a plumber, he says.

“But don’t give people my number,  everyone is looking for a plumber these days,” he says, jokingly.

McWilliams is a builder. Lawless is an extra in the film industry. McNally is retired now, but he used to be a banker.

Lawless and Hennessy used to play together in the band El Diablo before the death of one of the band members, says Hennessy.

Throughout their 15 years playing together, they have never had a cross word, says Lawless. “The secret is a bit of give and take.”

“If someone thinks something is not going to work, then okay we don’t do it,” says Lawless. They bounce ideas and there is no leader, he says.

They have fun together, says Lawless – and if someone makes a mistake, they make sure to let the crowd know. “And they laugh about it.”

Joining in

At the corner table, the band strummed and tremolo-ed through the single “Those Were the Days”, a 1960s folk hit.

They la-la-la-ed, rocking back and forth, leaning into the theatre of it all.

Other familiars follow. The jaunty 1960s hit “Sunny Afternoon”  and the luminous 1980s folk-rock classic “The Whole of the Moon.”

And the crowd joined in.

“That’s part of the fun,” says McWilliams. “We keep it light. If we screw up, so what.”

The band never rehearse together, he says. They swap song suggestions on the phone, learn them separately and perform together for the first time in the pub.

“Play a shit song, I need to go to the toilet and don’t want to miss a good song,” shouts one man in the audience.

“Play ‘Country Roads’,  I’m dressed for the occasion,” says another, a young lad in jeans and a black-and-red chequered shirt.

A karaoke atmosphere takes over. One man sings into his crutch.

The evening wraps with the call and response and “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river”.

“We like people to sing along. In these situations singing along makes a great night for everyone,” says McWilliams.

Gregan has enjoyed himself as always, he says later. The only Mondays he has missed are when he is on holidays, he says.

Although he doesn’t sing along much, he says. He is more of a foot-tapper, and occasional dancer.

He has to work the next day, he says, but there’s no guilt to being out on a Monday. “It’s just a few pints,” he says.

“I don’t get Monday blues,” he says, jokingly. “I get Tuesday blues.”