Meeting Nick Kelly and the Fat Lady Sings
On creativity and the joys of fandom
Meeting my Heroes is an occasional essay series from Matt Carmichael.
30 years ago we got a demo tape of Johnson by the Fat Lady Sings at the Art & Performance office. Several copies actually. And I think most of the editors picked it out of the pile and thought “Ok. It’s an Irish band with a song called Drunkard Logic. Intrigued.”
Several of us took it back to our dorms and apartments and popped the cassette in and gave it a listen. Turns out it was a really great album. It lived in my Walkman during the brutally cold winter of ’94.
Sadly it was the bands’ last. They didn’t break through in the U.S. and called it a day.
Never got to see them live, but my friend Sean I always joked that if they got back together we would have to get on a plane.
When I went to Ireland and Scotland a few years later I would pop into record stores and ask after them. The indie rock clerks were always a little taken aback and begrudgingly impressed that this random American came in and asked after a local Irish group that I had basically no business having ever even heard about, let alone really liked. But there wasn’t much news.
Still, I kept an eye out. Nick Kelly, the bands singer and songwriter got a job in advertising and started also making short films.
Ten or so years ago Nick came to Chicago to bring his film to the Chicago Irish Film Festival. I was excited to go see it and even more excited that he would play some songs after the debut. I emailed him about a photo pass and he assured me that wasn’t really necessary.
Sean, Izenstark and I trekked down to Beverly. The film was great and his ‘concert’ was basically just him and a guitar in the cafeteria at the Arts Center. If I recall correctly the sound system wasn’t really working so he eventually just sat down in a chair on the floor with 20 or so of us sitting around him in a circle and played. I finally got to hear one of my all-time favorite songs performed live and the acoustic version was lovely but not quite the same as the full-band. Regardless it was great to meet him.
Time passed. We all got older. Nick kept making music here and there. And films here and there. And commercials for his day job. During the pandemic he, like many artists, played some shows from his living room and porch and streamed them on Facebook. His kid would wander through looking for Legos. All of it was sweet and Nick seemed very genuinely touched that people from around the world were tuning it, tipping a few bucks and enjoying the old songs. He also seemed to enjoy dusting them off. He struck me as someone who had had a moment, realized that moment was gone and moved on with his life. Always scratched his creative itches. But also as someone who was finding the nostalgia a little endearing.
Then an amazing thing happened. Nick essentially called our bluff. He announced a reunion show with the Fat Lady Sings celebrating the 30th anniversary of Johnson. In Dublin. Essentially on my 50th birthday. Pam said I should get Sean to go with me and that if I didn’t go I was never allowed to call myself a fan again. So we found flights on discount Icelandic airlines and I found myself in Ireland for my 50th.
I again emailed Nick and asked for a photo pass, which he again said wouldn’t be a problem. I also found a small fan community on fb and posted my excitement about coming and asked the locals for hotel recommendations. Nick himself gave a detailed and thoughtful reply with some great options and we promptly booked one within walking distance of the venue.
Being alone on my 50th itself was kind of weird. I got in before Sean did so I went to an Irish steakhouse and sat myself at the bar. I told the bartender it was my birthday and I’m generally a bourbon drinker but wanted to try some Irish whiskey. He made me an incredible smoked cocktail. After I was done with my steak, they brought out a 50th birthday desert for me, which was quite kind. He pulled over a waitress and they sang happy birthday but when they got to the part with my name they realized they had no idea what my name was and the waitress quickly covered with “Mr. President,” with all the Monroe-esque suggestion. Well played.
Sean and I had both recently been to Dublin recently with our families so we did some more adult touristy things like the Dublin Rock and Roll Hall of Fame/museum and a literary pub crawl.
Then it was showtime. We grabbed some dinner nearby after trying and mostly failing to make friends with the bartender at the venue. Thankfully we had bought our tickets well in advance, because the show sold out. It was fantastic. Two sets, one from each of their records. Nick said it was the longest show they had ever played. I got to hear all my favorites with the full band, who hadn’t played together in so long that the guitarist had to buy a new guitar for the show. Oh. And I got a birthday shout out from the stage. Can’t top that.
There was an aftershow gathering upstairs that Sean and I got invited to join. In typical small-world style, we wound up chatting with a couple from Chicago who were Poi fans with mutual friends.
But of course the highlight was getting to thank Nick for everything. We chatted for a while and the part that stood out was when he started talking about creativity. He described creativity as “long bits of messing around and then sudden bursts of brilliance.” This was specifically in relation to a weird guitar tuning only he uses. Certainly it applies more broadly, too.
I admire the way Nick has never stopped creating, even if it’s not for the huge audiences the Fat Lady Sings had likely hoped for when they came over to “do America” in the ‘90s. I also admire the fans who don’t care that this wasn’t the biggest band in the world, it was still a big band for each of them.
I was sad that I couldn’t hop over this week to see Nick’s latest band, Dogs, debut their new album. But also forever glad we got this adventure in.
Perhaps ironically the Dogs album, Joy, contains a song called “All my heroes are assholes.” Sounds like Nick needs better heroes.