What do you think of Robert Anthony Noonan? Doesn’t ring a
bell? Well, he’s originally from Buffalo but could just as well be hailed as
the Mayor of Bleecker Street.
Oh,
you mean Willie Nile? Yeah, the very man!
I don’t know when I first met
Willie thought I do remember his record company president, the legendary Clive
Davis, boasting that Willie would be the next Dylan. Back in the early 80’s
that was akin to a death sentence.
Willie
has had a number of near misses in the superstar stakes but I’m firmly
convinced this is his time. Why, because he’s got great songs and the
wherewithal to deliver them onstage. His new album, American Ride, is a
revelation.
It
hasn’t been easy for Willie, but then again, the man wanted it all – the
family, the music career, the home life, the bright life. He raised four
children and still managed to hone his craft and turn out a number of top-class
albums – all the while developing his legendary stage presence.
There
were times he had to do without himself in order to put food on the table for
his family. That’s the Buffalo Irish ethic. You do it, you do it quietly, and
you only talk about it years later when it’s history. “We all got through it,
and were tougher and wiser for the experience,” he shrugs, although those of us
aware of the full story know the cost.
That’s
what a dream does for you – and no matter what calamity befell him Willie
always kept his eyes on the prize. Probably no surprise since he’s descended
from Noonans, Kiernans, Kanes, and Gallaghers; from an early age he was
determined to fuse the immigrant poetry of their lives with the rock & roll
he grew up listening to on FM Radio.
That’s
what propelled him onto the mean streets of New York as a young man. He got a
job in the mailroom of a publishing house and played the Bleecker Street strip
at night, burning the candle up the middle as well as at both ends. Ending up
with an illness that one doctor feared was Leukemia he was forced to return to
Buffalo for some years to restore his health.
No
one on the strip doubted that he’d be back and his friends were always there
for him. Willie too was never less than encouraging to his peers: I don’t know
how many nights I saw him in Paddy Reilly’s bopping to the beat while urging on
Black 47.
But
he never lacked for his own fans. The late great Mayoman, Pat Kenny booked him
numerous times, and it was while performing at Kenny’s Castaways that the New
York Times gave him a spectacular endorsement on his return to New York.
Bruce Springsteen is another
admirer and has invited him onstage at Shea Stadium and other arenas.
I
asked Willie about that experience – “It was great, man,” he replied with a
glint in his eye, “except that one night Clarence Clemons’ ring fell off and
rolled over center stage. When I tried to retrieve it for him, I looked up and
Bruce was staring down, no doubt wondering what I was doing on my knees in
front of him.”
Bono
too thinks the world of Willie. Speaking about American Ride, he enthused, “There
are a few Americas here to discover - the mythic, the magic, the very real.
It’s one of the great guides to unraveling the mystery that is the troubled
beauty of America.
”
Willie’s
family is grown now. He raised his kids and did the right thing. But the dream
still shimmers before him. He’s on the road much these days, in Europe and all
across America, punching the Rock & Roll clock and enjoying every moment of
it.
There’s
a lot of ear candy out there – mucho gloss with very little substance. When you
want to get to the heart of the matter and come face to face with the real
deal, Robert Anthony Noonan is your man – or should I say, Mr. Willie Nile.
