The Laddie In Red

I've never really held an opinion about Chris de Burgh. He's sold many records, but none of them have ever troubled my collection. During slack periods in my life, I've seen him on afternoon television, talking earnestly to the digestive-dunking set. They always ask him about Lady Di, and he obliges with a stirring anecdote. And while he's probably got a generous self-image, that's not uncommon with best-selling crooners and romancers. He's entirely welcome to his life.



But poor old Chris has recently got into an intemperate lather about a live review in the Irish Times. It was a fairly routine drubbing from the ranks - no immense insight, but little in the way of actual venom. I have a mild sympathy for the critic who would really have preferred to be elsewhere, but the commissioning editor thought otherwise. So the writer is underwhelmed, the review is filed and then de Burgh turns several shades of crimson.



Now the singer's response has created a heightened interest in his art, his performing style and the mindset of his enraptured fans. The journalist has also become feted in some quarters - he has scored a cheeky little goal in the game of art versus entertainment. If I was Chris, I would have let it pass.