said object

“We are seeking biographical materials from or touching upon the lives, work, opus and debauchery, both public and clandestine, of the seminal Irish rockers, “The Naked Rowdies.”

Thus began a request on Fictionaut, from David Ackley, seeking fictitious stories about an Irish Rock Band, “The Naked Rowdies”.

So, we had some fun and the Rowdies’ adventures rolled on out:

(Photos by me & others are vintage photos from my collection)

Feckin Murther (David Ackley)

Each day, the poor wee boys went off trembling to St. Agatha’s School, in their blazers, striped ties and grey shorts, the hopes of their middle class families contained in these sprightly containers and the little briefcase each carried filled with books and scrawled upon paper.

Down Killarney Road, across the bridge where their nemeses dove and swam in the summer, and past the long rows of flats and alleys–anyone of which might be the source of the rain of missiles, rocks, bottles and occasionally, ripe handfuls of shite that met them nearly every morning from the wretched urchins who waited to jeer, chase and throw.

In Hanranhan’s class, to make matters worse he roared at them, threatening deadlier bodily harm if they came “Under the influence of them evil little snots.” As if INFLUENCE was the problem. “Feckin’ murther, more like,” Paddy said to Liam, out of Hanrahan’s hearing of course. Meaty fist shoved right under Paddy’s nose, the English master roared and spluttered,” You stay away from them evil little turds,” and in late spring, when the boys stripped down to dive off the bridge, ” them clothesless devils, them naked rowdies.”

Paddy quailed appropriately his eyes wide, but inwardly exulted. At last, out of the blue, a gift! Brilliant! The name of the band!

Effin’ and Blindin Years (Shelagh Chopra)

Roddy’s mum kicked the band out of her basement just when they were going strong. She didn’t care about the tatty drumbeats or Liam’s globby strumming, it was the triangle that really erked her, “I keep thinkin’ ’em angels are calling me up to the sky,” she’d whisper. So their neighbor, Old Man Feng, gave Roddy and Liam his noodle factory at night. They’d set up the amps, cords and mikes and Liam would squirrel the factory floor for noodles, holding up the best ones for all to admire.

The girls filled the place most nights until Tilly, one of the clever ones, (she wrote most of the Rowdies songs while giving Roddy credit) lost her hand in an electric sheeter as Brian sang, “Please Babe, Take Them Knickers Home”. After that, the boys practiced in Paddy’s plastic shed his step mum had installed in the back yard. She kept the sprinkler on for most of their playing and Roddy often felt damp and hedged in by “them herbs” she liked to grow so much. “I love them effin’ and blindin years,” Roddy told one reporter later, “we had a lot of “gumption” as you yanks would say.”

Sister Bejesus (David Ackley)

It’s a little known side note in the history of this seminal band that the boys collectively took an oath to eschew all use of hard drugs, before Paddy and Liam’s venerable (In fact, virtually, incommunicably senile) catechism teacher Sister Bejesus, the Ghost of Mary.

“Who?” She kept saying,”Are you them little sh__tes that was always after swearin’ in me catechism?” The group were firm in their zeal to reform–all, of course, save Roddy Doyle, the legendarily catatonic drummer; simultaneously addicted to crack and smack, he had been 3 times declared legally dead from overdoses and 3 times resurrected; er, resuscitated. (We think. We’re not really sure how well that last one took.) On being asked to join in the Oath to swear off hard drugs, Roddy said…well, here we must draw the veil of probity and good taste. But it wasn’t very nice.

Turkish Bath Delite (Shelagh Chopra)

The “Naked Rowdies” third album, “Turkish Bath Delite” did dismally in downloads, so their manager, Kip “Streaker” Kaplan, decided it must be an image problem.

Gone were the sheer codpieces and experimental “birthday suits”. Brought in full force were opaque leotards and vats of horse tranquilizer; the only thing that calmed the boys down a little.

It worked for a short time and their next album, “The Hirsute Agenda” became an underdog success with Jesuit Priest and Sikhs throughout the world.

Liam was especially pleased as he had written the chorus to “The Clothed Bottom”. But Roddy thought the whole publicity stunt was a sham; he went back to wearing little and ruining the band’s new clothing with cans of flesh colored spray paint.

Diocesan Newsletter (D. Ackley)

“Citing the band’s continuing refusal to abide by even minimal standards of decorum and dress, the Roman Catholic Diocese of New York regretfully announces the cancellation of tomorrow’s Concert Appearance of the Irish band, “The Naked Rowdies” —Originally scheduled as part of the celebration of St. Patrick’s Day Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

“Sausage Soothsayer” (S. Chopra)

Last November, Trex Hastings from Blunder Fudge interviewed the band on the origins of several of their most famous songs:

TH: And your first hit, “Sausage Soothsayer”?

PM: That was Brian’s wonder child. We was in the studio and Liam horfed on the mixer and what came out was sorta scary and scarlet, like them blood sausages me Blarney gran made me eat as a child, and Brian looked at it queerly, all starry eyed and mystic shitty like and said, “I got a revelation, lads, like this little world around us ain’t as bad as we thought, cause if ya get the shit oughta ya, ya can be just as   good as the others.” And we moaned and rolled our eyes and he said” That   there’s the sausage Soothsayer.”

TH: That’s a gas, truly, man. But what about, “Beast Ribbon”? I have to say that’s a favorite of mine.

PM: “Beast Ribbon” came about because Liam was always dressing like a damn dandy in the early days, thought he was Bowie or somethin’–he dolled up a lot, wore the shadow and what not and then got it in to himself to tie ribbons everywhere, colorful little fuckers tied everywhere and once at a concert he exposed himself, let it all hang out and the girls   screamed, you see he had a ribbon tied around his cock, bright purple, frilly sort of thing and he shouted, “Get a load of this beast ribbon!” We got kicked off the circuit for awhile for that one.

Irate Rowdies Fan: (D. Ackley)

“They’re always getting it wrong about the Rowdies, lyin’ and shit. Like Rolling Stone said that this one night, Paddy went and pissed on the mosh pit. Only I was in the club that night and I saw it and he never pissed on no mosh pit , cause I saw him piss in a cup, like a Big Gulp, right at the back of the stage.

I even saw him throw the cup at the waitress. And that cup was fuckin’ Full!

“A rowdy would never piss on his own fans.”

Sabatical (S. Chopra)

It was a dire and dun-colored year when groupies wept and autograph seekers put down their pens. The Naked Rowdies were on a sated sabbatical. Roddy had a bum leg or so the press was told, and who wanted a gimpy and bloated guitarist up on stage, throwing soiled crutches at fans anyway?

Behind the dressing room doors, the real picture was pretty grim; Roddy, on his way home after a clumsy threesome with two cousins and a candystriper, had been attacked by a roving band of aesthetically minded hobos.

The homeless, tired of being stereotyped as drab dressers (woeful holey wingtips and soiled raincoats) had banded together to form a new “aesthetic”. Their fresh look; jackets and shoes made from discarded Hermes shopping bags. They were often seen crawling the alleys, naked, save their orange, slipshod attire.

Old Roddy, sulking on the dark streets that night, stumbled over a rather glamorous bunch sleeping near a dumpster. They swarmed over him like a pack of dingos on a baby. Liam found him the next morning, striped, filthy and trembling over a pile of his own stool. Buck up Roddy, them bums may be more naked and rowdy then us but we still ‘ave the name.

The Naked Rowdies: Rehab and Resurrection? (D. Ackley)

Much is being made of the rumor that Naked Rowdies founders–lead singer Paddy McRory and Guitarist Brian ” The Snake” Dooby–are talking of a reunion tour. Nothing has been heard from the band since the epic brawl with Secret Service agents during a concert at the White House. Stories persist that the boys were renditioned to a secret rehab center in Somalia, where they’ve spent the last three years chained to the walls of adjacent suites, on a purification diet of Comfrey Tea and Burdock root.

Stay tuned.