Today’s post should perhaps be renamed ‘Many Songs, Many Lives’ as I’m going to do something slightly different this time. Over the past month or so, I’ve had a few conversations with people about songs that Rory brought back into his set later in his career. I thought it might be fun to explore just a few examples here.

This isn’t about comparing earlier and later versions – I still stand by what I said in my very first post: Rory’s music is best appreciated as a continuum. If we follow it over time, we can see how he evolved as a musician, not just technically, but emotionally, spiritually and creatively. My hope is that this encourages less focus on superficial commentary about his weight, appearance or more static stage presence and more attention to the enduring depth and brilliance of his playing.

These later performances remind us that Rory never stopped taking risks, never stopped digging deep, and that his bandmates, too, had to stay sharp and agile. Watching them respond immediately to an old song reintroduced to the set – brushing off their surprise and effortlessly rising to the occasion– is a real testament to their talent.

‘Cradle Rock’

‘Cradle Rock’ was written by Rory for his 1973 album Tattoo and recorded using his Danelectro Silvertone – a guitar later gifted to Johnny Marr by the Gallagher family. In an interview with Sounds at the time, he explained that the song was “really driven along by the guitar,” although he also credited Bo Diddley’s ‘Cadillac’ as a lyrical influence. Speaking to Melody Maker, he described the track as having a “gritty bite” and “slight J. Geils feel.” Later in his career, Rory reflected that, in terms of pure sound, he was most pleased with ‘Cradle Rock’ (along with ‘Just Hit Town’) and that, had he been interested in releasing singles, it could have had radio potential.

Indeed, ‘Cradle Rock’ is an absolute powerhouse of a song, which doesn’t let up over its six minutes, featuring killer slide, roaring harmonica and Lou’s rolling piano. It’s one I often use to introduce newcomers to Rory’s music. In fact, I did just that at the British Association for Irish Studies conference back in 2021, closing my talk with the Irish Tour ’74 version, which I think blew a few professors out of their chairs!

The song was a mainstay of Rory’s live set during the four-piece era, with particularly blistering renditions captured on the aforementioned Irish Tour ’74 album, the recently released 1974 Midnight Special episode and the 5 December 1973 edition of BBC Sounds of the Seventies. I also recommend checking out performances from San Diego in 1974, Montreux in 1975, Madrid 1975 and Offenbach 1976.

But after that, we don’t hear it at all.

Until, that is, 29 July 1989 at the Rock the Lough Festival in Ballyronan, Northern Ireland.

Perhaps being back in his ‘second home’ reminded Rory of the classic annual ‘70s tours and the song came to mind. It definitely feels like a spur-of-the-moment choice, slotted unexpectedly between ‘Kickback City’ and ‘I Ain’t No Saint’ – both from 1987’s Defender.

Rory switches from his Strat to his Tele and casually breaks into the song’s familiar opening riff. He plays a few bars, then stops, smiles and points at the crowd, who respond with a huge cheer. He then repeats the riff. Video footage shows Gerry quickly telling Brendan what song it is. Without missing a beat, they both follow Rory’s lead and launch into it, not fazed at all.

I just love hearing this song with Rory’s more mature voice – it really brings out the rough-edged soul of the track in a whole new way. He can’t quite remember all the lyrics, but that only adds to the spontaneity and emotion of the performance. The two slide solos here showcase just how much he had developed as a guitarist since the iconic Irish Tour ‘74 version. He’s pure fire, even scatting along with what he plays, just like in the old days. There’s space for drum and bass solos too, before Rory bursts back in like rolling thunder. I just love how happy he looks here, bless him. “You best forgive me. We haven’t done that one for a million years,” he says with a laugh as the song comes to a close.

‘I’m Not Awake Yet’

Recorded for Rory’s second solo album Deuce in 1971, ‘I’m Not Awake Yet’ is often seen as a ‘sibling’ to ‘Just the Smile’, albeit even bolder in theme and sound. Speaking to Shiv Cariappa in 1991, Rory described it as one of his personal favourites:

It is an unusual theme, because it was the nearest thing to an Irish-Celtic guitar part with a 12-string and so on. The actual idea was… well, not like astral traveling, but quite often where you can control that point where you wake up and where you are still in semi-control dream state. That was the idea.

This idea of drifting between dream and reality gives the song a nostalgic, almost otherworldly atmosphere. That oneiric, semi-conscious mood is matched by the shimmering twelve-string acoustic sound, which draws on both Celtic folk and jazz, creating a sonic texture that feels utterly unique to Rory. Rory’s vocal delivery is warm and wistful, with the timbre in his voice always giving me goosebumps.

Rory’s brother Dónal revealed in the 2023 Deuce 50th anniversary boxset that the lyrics were, in fact, inspired by Rory’s memories of their childhood and the absence of their father:

The excitement about, “Today’s the day you’re coming home” because we were traveling a lot. My dad worked in Coventry after the war, and my parents were separated at times. Rory was separated for a while, left with his grandmother. It was a complete mess.

Speaking to This Is Rock magazine, Gerry elaborated on how the track came together in the studio

The chords for ‘I’m Not Awake Yet’ are very folk. G minor, but what is very interesting is how the song was recorded. Rory was in the booth with the acoustic, when he was usually outside, and he started to sing with that somewhat whiny, calming timbre, you know (sings the chorus). On the other side, the drum was in the room. They were like two parallel jams. The rhythm section, us, playing very powerfully, and on the other, Rory there, singing more peacefully. Like two opposing forces. On the one hand, that more folkie part of the 12-string acoustic, and on the other hand, a sharp hard rock rhythm section, but that strangely ends up amalgamating with each other. Something strange. I don’t exactly know what Rory was intending, but that’s how it came out.

Dónal jokes that all it was missing was a bodhrán to fully round out the song’s Celtic vibe.

Despite the song’s delicate beauty, Rory didn’t tend to perform it live. Perhaps its introspective nature and intricate arrangement didn’t quite fit with the typically high-energy electric sets he favoured. However, saying that, he often played other introspective numbers like ‘A Million Miles Away’ and usually had a dedicated acoustic section in his shows, so it’s curious why this one didn’t feature. That was, until a surprising moment at the Rockhaus in Vienna in 1992, when he performed the song live.

This gig took place at a time when changes to Rory’s medication were sometimes affecting his live performances. It followed closely on the heels of the infamous Town & Country Club incident and came just two days after a troubling episode in Zurich, where his fingers suddenly went numb mid-performance, brought on by a negative reaction to his medication. To avoid a recurrence, at the Vienna show, Dónal staged a ‘burglary’ of Rory’s dressing room, stole his medication and later took it to a German chemist who, horrified by the “evil concoction,” replaced it with placebos. Rory’s bandmates and friends also noted that he seemed particularly low in spirits on this tour, frequently repeating how vital it was to take care of your health. Given these turbulent circumstances, I’ve often wondered if they somehow influenced Rory’s decision to play the song – perhaps prompting him to reflect on his childhood or even his life more generally.

Here, Rory plays the song electrically on his Stratocaster, right after ‘Nadine’. The performance stretches to nine minutes and gives me chills every time. While the original acoustic recording carries a nostalgic, dreamlike quality, this live electric version takes on a darker, more melancholic tone. Rory’s voice sounds tired, strained even at times, but it’s deeply heartfelt and vulnerable – the sound of someone wearing their heart on their sleeve.

At points, the performance feels on the verge of drifting – possibly a reflection of Rory’s fatigue – but Mark’s harmonica provides a haunting, emotionally charged thread that holds everything together. Full credit to David and Richard too – neither played on the original recording, yet they step up beautifully to support Rory, bringing a rising intensity as the track unfolds.

Rory would go on to perform the track once more live, in its original acoustic form, at the special 1993 gig for his Uncle Jimmy at Cork’s Regional Technical College.

‘Used to Be’

Sticking with the Deuce theme, ‘Used to Be’ is one of several songs in Rory’s repertoire that channel the deep hurt and emotional fallout of the Taste break-up. Like many of his compositions, it sounds on the surface like a romantic parting, but listen more closely and it becomes something else entirely. This is no simple love-gone-wrong track; it’s a defiant farewell statement to his former band, full of frustration, weariness and a hard-won sense of release:

The troubles you gave me, gonna wrap em’ up in a box          
Tie em’ up with string, send em’ back to you      
They no longer mean a thing to me         
Better get used to bein’ my used to be.

Rory delivers these punchy lyrics with a real sense of vindication, closure on his own terms. Critic Stephen Hunter later wrote that one of Rory’s great strengths was in “holding back just enough of himself” to give his songs a timeless, mysterious quality. For him, songs like ‘Used to Be’ rise from personal experience but transcend the individual, becoming expressions of universal emotion. It is as if Rory is saying directly to the listener, “Yes, I know life can be lousy and that you’re hurting. I’ve been there too. But listen to this awhile and we might both feel better…”

Writing in the Deuce 50^th anniversary boxset, Gerry recalls that ‘Used to Be’ was the first song they rehearsed for the album. Rory simply said, “Let’s have a go at this. It’s in the key of A” and started the riff. A Melody Maker review of Deuce praised how Rory’s guitar tone on the album had grown “even more unmistakably unique to him” and for me, ‘Used to Be’ epitomises that. With its chunky riff, driving rhythm and biting lyrics, it’s the perfect album opener.

The song did the rounds in Rory’s live sets throughout the all-too-brief Wilgar years. There are so many superb versions from that time like Beat Club and Germersheim. It resurfaced occasionally with the four-piece in 1974, with particularly strong takes in Paris and Kortrijk, but my personal favourite from that period is the version captured on the Check Shirt Wizard release, recorded at Newcastle City Hall in 1977. Thereafter, it seems to drop out of the set. A shame, really as I’ve always thought Rory could have delivered a particularly mean version during the Ted years.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, it returned during Rory’s 1991 US tour – what would turn out to be the last time he played the country. At the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis on 20 March, he closed the show with ‘Used to Be’, tacking it on after ‘Bullfrog Blues’ and ‘Loanshark Blues’. Sadly, video footage cuts out before this final number, but the audio survives and it sounds incredible.

Rory’s more mature voice lends new depth and weight to the lyrics, making them feel even more lived-in. The energy is immense; the guitar solos are ferocious. It’s unbelievable that this performance came at the end of a 2.5-hour set, especially given how ill Rory was by that stage. Brendan’s drumming deserves a mention here too – tight, urgent and driving the song forward with conviction.

I can’t help but wonder if Rory’s decision to bring ‘Used to Be’ back to the set during that tour was influenced by the knowledge that Brendan and Gerry were leaving the band. There was a lot of awkward tension offstage and a strained atmosphere, echoing the breakup of Taste. Rory may have been a man of few words, but he always expressed his emotions powerfully through his music. Reviving a song so rooted in farewell and frustration feels like his own cathartic reflection on letting go and resolutely starting over again.

‘Laundromat’

Rory Gallagher was the first album of Rory’s that I ever tracked down, wanting to find out more after hearing his name mentioned for years. I put it on not quite sure what to expect, and within moments of that opening riff to ‘Laundromat’, I just knew that my life would never be the same again. I thought it was such a great riff and, as a bassist, I was really impressed by how closely Gerry’s bassline followed Rory’s playing. It was a part I immediately wanted to teach myself.

Then, Rory’s vocals kicked in and I thought, “Wow!” He gets a lot of unfair flak as a singer, but I just loved the rawness and power of his voice from the word go. I thought it was absolutely perfect for the type of music he played. Another thing I love about ‘Laundromat’ is those little bursts of harmonica that Rory weaves in between lines. And that solo! It’s just so uniquely Rory, as I came to learn – there’s a real Celtic lilt to it, with hints of jazz and blues, and that tone… soooo clean and sharp! Before I even moved onto the next track, I had to rewind and listen several more times.

The song was famously written about the public laundromat in the basement of the bedsit where Rory and Dónal were living in Earl’s Court. As Daniel Gallagher explained in a recent Hot Press interview:

They spent a lot of time in the laundromat in Earl’s Court, where they lived, because they were pretty much broke after the Taste days. They would go in there because it was warm, compared with the bedsit they were living in, and people would drop by to see them. Not to get too weird on it, but Rory sweated intensely onstage! So much so that my dad and him were constantly in doing loads of laundry!

Rory himself once said that the song was about a “derelict” living in a laundromat, but he meant it more as a symbolic idea than a literal story. Interestingly, when I was speaking to Eoin Gallagher earlier this year, he told me that he always sensed a subliminal crime theme in the lyrics – dropping off a bag with no laundry inside, meeting shady characters, the “craziest place I’ve ever been” referring to underworld activity… Given Rory’s deep love of hardboiled fiction, I can see it.

Writing in the Rory Gallagher 50^th anniversary boxset, Gerry recalled that every song for the album had been rehearsed, except ‘Laundromat’:

It must have been on the morning of day nine. We went into the live room, Wilgar at the drums, I strapped on the bass then Rory put on his Stratocaster. He plugged into the little Fender Champ and not the AC30. “You haven’t heard this one, guys. Give it a go.” The riff for Laundromat came screaming out of that little Fender Champ. It sounded like 1,000 watts. I remember looking at his fingers and thinking it’s in the key of A. At the same time, my mind was crying out, “WHAT A RIFF!” It was so unusual, so fresh. It later became a storming live number.

Some critics felt that the solo on the studio version was a bit “short and careful” and that Rory’s playing seemed almost resigned in places. But you definitely can’t say that about the live versions! There are so many great examples from the Wilgar era – top of the list for me is Beat Club, closely followed by Amsterdam and the John Peel Sunday Concert. And of course, I can’t forget Live! in Europe. Moving into the four-piece years, Montreux 75 is an absolute standout, but there are cracking renditions from Toronto 73 and Offenbach 76 too. The performances from Bottom Line 78 and Madrid 79 with Ted are incredible as well – so fast-driving and packed with energy!

Then… silence. ‘Laundromat’ was dropped from the set until 1991 when Rory suddenly brought it back on his world tour. At Minneapolis’s Guthrie Theater, the crowd was treated to a surprise when this banger rocked up in the setlist again. But my personal favourite version from that tour is Tokyo. After an encore of ‘Bullfrog Blues’, the crowd begin clapping, cheering and calling Rory’s name. He comes back out, thanks the audience and then tears into that unmistakable opening riff. If I didn’t know the date, I’d have sworn it was a Wilgar-era performance. The energy is absolutely immense! And his voice? Damn right exquisite. Then, the solo roars in like a thunderclap, shaking everything around it – proof that some magic never fades. And just when you think it’s over, Rory dives straight into Little Richard’s ‘Keep a Knockin’, firing up the energy all over again.

‘All Around Man’

It’s well known that Rory hated swearing and was uncomfortable with overly racy blues lyrics, often modifying them to better reflect his sensibilities. ‘All Around Man’ is a perfect example – a 1930 Bo Carter song packed with cheeky euphemisms about the protagonist’s sexual prowess. As Daniel Gallagher explained in a 2019 interview:

The original is quite pornographic and Rory pretty much rewrote the lyrics to it. He made it a bit more subtle about what this all around man might do for you. Rory changed the lyrics to be a little more to his taste. He was very shy about stuff like that.

That shyness certainly comes through in a 1975 live version from Sausalito where, rather than admit the original was full of innuendo, Rory bashfully tells the crowd that he rewrote Carter’s lyrics because they were “about the farm and various animals.” I can’t help but giggle every time I hear him say that.

Rory first recorded ‘All Around Man’ for his 1975 album Against the Grain, but he had actually been playing it live since 1973. Early performances like the loose Toronto ‘73 version or the swampy take at Cowtown ‘74 show him still experimenting with the song’s lyrics and vibe (e.g. “I ain’t no professor but I’ll get you your degree..”; “I ain’t no judge but I’ll give you my decision…”).

In a 1976 interview with Circus, Rory explained that it wasn’t Bo Carter who inspired him to record his own version of the song, but rather the Reverend Gary Davis. Back in 1971, they shared the bill at the Bilzen Jazz Festival in Belgium, and Rory had the chance to hear Davies play the blues in the hotel dining room. It was a privileged moment for Rory, and he evocatively remembered Davis playing ‘All Around Man’ as they drank hot whiskey for breakfast.

Setting the lyric changes aside, Rory’s studio version really is unrecognisable from Carter’s original in every way – yet he still credited Carter on the liner notes, as he always did with the blues greats. Rory’s interpretation transforms Carter’s relaxed acoustic swing into a tougher, electric stomp, or what Circus called “a macho-savage version.” Placed after the mellow ‘Lost at Sea’ on the album, it explodes into gear with Rory’s falsetto scat over a starkly isolated piece of slide. From there, it really is the blues at its very finest, with so much raw expression in Rory’s voice, interweaved with his searing slide work and sharp harmonica licks. Adding to the mix is a fantastic piano solo from Lou.

But the version I think we all turn to with this song is the jaw-dropping 11-minute live performance from the Old Grey Whistle Test special in 1976. It has to be up there in the top 10 of Rory’s greatest ever performances? No matter how many times I hear it, it absolutely blows me away. That middle section when Rory lets loose on the harmonica is pure genius, not to mention his tight interplay with Lou here. Then, without missing a beat, he straps back on the Esquire and busts out a brutal solo. He looks absolutely euphoric as he plays. This performance captures in a nutshell everything that made him such a masterful musician. Showcasing his incredible versatility, there’s also a stunning acoustic version of the song from French television the year before. Despite being acoustic, it’s worlds apart from Bo Carter’s original, with Rory mixing it up with slide, fingerpicking and fine harmonica throughout.

The song appears only rarely during the Ted years, but when it did, it took on a far more up-tempo and harder style, which I personally love, such as at Bordeaux 1978. There’s even a fascinating version from a 1978 concert in Eppelheim where Rory blends it with ‘Moonchild’. Unlike the other songs I’ve looked at, it never vanished fully from the set, but it did appear more sporadically in the ‘80s, often radically reimagined. In Bologna 82 and Geleen 87, for example, it takes on a ZZ Top style boogie edge, whereas the version from Budapest 85 is far more akin to ‘I Wonder Who’ in its weeping, slow blues style. Then in Paris, both in 1983 and 1986, we get surprising acoustic versions, each unique and captivating in their own way. I particularly love the latter version because of the addition of Mark on harmonica.

‘All Around Man’ properly re-entered regular rotation in 1990, where Rory finally seems to have settled on that ZZ Top style version. There are so many standout performances from this period, but I just had to highlight the one that inspired the title of 2023’s Live in London album, taken from the best of Rory’s two gigs at the Town & Country Club in 1990. This showstopping version closes the album and, to borrow a Roryism, it’s a real “downhome basharoo.” Rory leads the charge, pulling on every thread of his vast musical vocabulary. The trio’s energy is electric, with the addition of Mark on harp and Geraint on piano adding to the mix and getting a real vibe going. Throughout, Rory’s spontaneous cries of “Oh yeah!”  capture his sheer unbridled joy. It’s a live performance that leaves the listener breathless. The Nottingham 1990 version from the same tour remains very faithful to this interpretation and is definitely worth a listen too.

‘Garbage Man’

Another original blues number that was a staple of Rory’s 1970s sets and didn’t return again until the 1990s is ‘Garbage Man’. Although popularised by Muddy Waters, the song was originally written by Will Hammond and recorded in 1964 by The Uptowners under the title ‘The Trashman’. The title was later registered as ‘Garbage Man’ and then again as ‘My Girl Left Me’. This original version starts with a lone vocal lament, before breaking into an up-tempo rock & roll groove. The boogie rhythm gives it a deceptively light tone, masking the risqué undercurrent of the lyrics.

Muddy’s 1973 version from Can’t Get No Grindin’ clocks in at just over 2.5 minutes and opens with a sultry burst of harmonica from James Cotton, before Muddy’s unmistakable voice takes over. It’s a slower, more sensual rendition, built around Muddy’s masterful delivery of those tongue-in-cheek lyrics, Cotton’s expressive harp and Calvin Jones’ driving bassline, with guitar playing only a supporting role.

Rory’s version is clearly modelled more closely on Muddy’s take than the original. I’m actually quite surprised that he didn’t alter the lyrics more, given their suggestiveness, particularly when you consider how freely he reworked songs like ‘All Around Man’. In a 1975 interview with Hot Licks, when asked why he covered that particular Muddy tune, Rory said that he liked to avoid signature tunes that had been over-recorded, preferring to save those for jam sessions where “you’re looking for some common grounds with musicians you don’t know very well.”

Rory started performing the song in 1974 – just a year after Muddy’s version came out. From the start, he made it distinctly his own, as this Ontario bootleg clearly shows. As we’ve come to expect from Rory, no two versions are ever the same, yet every one I’ve heard is equally phenomenal. There are some really nice versions from Madrid and Montreux in 1975, where the song builds slowly, showcasing Rory’s masterful command of timing and expressive nuance. But my favourite from this era has to be Rockpalast ‘77.

While the Montreux performance is quite laidback and more restrained vocally, Rory growls the lyrics with such intensity, every word hitting hard. The intro is gorgeous, flowing into that slow, weeping blues he does so well. Rory is so natural and relaxed here – he even has time to brush his hair back between phrases at one point! It’s such a shame that the performance cuts out to the Rockpalast presenters just as he’s in the middle of a scorching slide solo. The version from the Check Shirt Wizard album, recorded in Sheffield in ’77, is also blistering, as is the Chicago ‘78 recording. Back to a three-piece set-up, the Chicago performance really puts Rory’s guitar prowess front and centre. An interesting ‘78 version from Leicester sees him suddenly pick up the pace towards the end, leading nicely into a cover of Frankie Ford’s ‘Roberta’.

There’s a strange absence of ‘Garbage Man’ throughout the 1980s in Rory’s set, but then – bam – it suddenly makes a return in 1990. At the time, Rory spoke a lot in interviews about how, in the lead-up to Fresh Evidence, he’d been digging back through his extensive record collection and reconnecting with the blues. Re-energised, he wanted to explore and define those roots more explicitly, not just in the studio, but in his live shows too – and ‘Garbage Man’ is a perfect example of that.

The Rocklife 1990 version is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a performance that is on regular rotation for me and so good that I struggle to describe it adequately. Rory opens the song with an emotive lick as he walks over to Mark, who mirrors it on harmonica. They play it back and forth, building and building until Rory rips into a full-blown, wailing slow blues. Then, the band comes in, with Geraint Watkins adding subtle texture on accordion. Rory is absolutely in his element as he snarls out the lyrics. While younger Rory always had that slightly embarrassed smile when he sang these lyrics, older Rory completely owns it with unapologetic confidence. Rory directs the band with effortless control, smoothly cueing Geraint and Mark when to join in or pull back. Towards the end, he unleashes a gorgeous guitar solo, and just when you think it’s peaked, he cranks it up another notch, moves to the front of the stage, raises the Strat and just lets loose. I can’t help but think Muddy would have been so proud of this performance, seeing how that kid who played with him back in ’71 had now grown into a true bluesmaster himself.