Don McLean at the Carlton Cinema, Dublin, Ireland - May 20th 1975
(Review from the Irish newspaper 'The Irish Times')

		Don McLean's recipe blends several top-selling lines of the past few years - his patter, social-crib-oriented, shades off into the Tom Paxton idiom and his image-piling semi-surrealist numbers take off in the Dylan direction.  The opinions on which the social-oriented material is based, however, appear to be, as is so often the case, unsorted.  The "fear to bring children into the world" is, it seems, the worst infliction possible, but those who don't want famine by the end of the century wish there were more of it around.  This sort of target-for-target's sake thing is cheap and easy, and works only with audiences that don't correlate this with that - or of course, who refuse to take philosophy-via-concerts seriously at all, but surely Don doesn't want all that? Now, to be positive, I love the one about the natural history of the American, which belongs to neither of the above schools and so did everyone.  And the '20's takeoff, 'Wonderful Baby'.  Also 'Waters Of Babylon' with it's sparse accompaniment, and that transformation of the audience into a quite creditable choir singing a part against his.  They need no urging to sing along, either, Don having the knack. - G.D.R

Above is a review of the very first Don McLean concert I went to, in Dublin (some 100 miles away).  Don did not visit my home town (Belfast, Northern Ireland) until five years later.  The photo with this review was taken by myself.

On the 'Late Late Show' on Irish TV in 1973, when Don startled Irish audiences with his rewritten (updated?) lyrics for the Percy French composition 'Mountains Of Mourne', and (right) Don on a 1978 RTE show called 'Words and Music', hosted by Pat Kenny.

  A letter (from the 70's) by an Irish fan   (From the Irish magazine 'Starlight')

What makes me sick these days is the kind of treatment that professional artists are receiving. Artistes like Don McLean - mention his name to most people and what is their first reaction?  "Oh yes he's the fellow who sings American Pie" or "he sings Vincent beautifully".  Looking back at his Irish concerts, when he started to sing 'Wonderful Baby' and 'Vincent' there was an uproar in the hall, but when he went on to sing songs like 'Old Joe Clarke', there wasn't a stir, letting Don know that his audience didn't know it.

I'm not knocking all the people of Ireland, of course. There is about one in every sixty teenagers who are devoted fans of McLean, who in my opinion is one of the greatest songwriters in the world.  But anyone who thinks he or she is a 'fan' of Don's just because they like 'Vincent' or whatever, is making a big mistake.  Go out and buy one of his LPs and you'll really appreciate his music.

Joe Cavanagh - Dublin 12

  ED - Fair enough, Joe, but then for most people, an artiste is only as big as his last record.

Don McLean at Simmonscourt, Dublin, Ireland - April 1985
(Review from the Irish music magazine 'Hot Press')

After last year's Siamsa in Cork, I had some reservations about Don McLean's style.  There was what seemed like an element of unadventuroness in his choice of material and it's presentation.

On talking to him after the gig, lets say that my opinions were forcibly refuted by the man. Now coming away from "this vast barn", called Simmonscourt, I couldn't recall having enjoyed myself as much since - since B.B. King anyway.

The man was in sparkling form, building up an immediate rappore with the audience.  He does more with just his guitar and songs than the majority of bands utilising ten times his power.

McLean gives the impression that it's all so easy because he's a natural communicator, at all times aware of, and totally in contact with his audience - whether it's with 'Waters Of Babylon', on which the whole house is completely behind him, or in a totally different vein, 'Everyday' by Buddy Holly. He's an instinctively warm performer and you feel it.

Of course, the greatest hits were sung, but other songs, such as 'When My Blue Moon Turns To Gold Again', reminding me of Houston Wells and The Premier Aces, were equally effective.

The greatest cheer of all was reserved for his encore, and from the first note of 'Starry Starry Night (Vincent)', the crowd milled forward like communicants in the Vatican, eager to receive their daily bread from John Paul himself.

For better or for worse, it was a bit like a religious occasion between McLean and his audience.  But it didn't detract, for me, from what was unreservedly a very fine gig.

OLIVER SWEENEY