Sugar-thin portrait of the Thin Lizzy singer

Phil Lynott and

his iconic band Thin Lizzy occupied my hearing organs in 1976, in connection with the first really successful album Jailbreak and it has sounded pleasant in my ears since then.

Well, it was a long time ago, and it only took ten from the time I discovered the band until Phil Lynott's drug death, but his influence was so strong that he has a bribed place in my mental Hall of Fame, next to other greats like Neil Young, David Bowie and Led Zeppelin.

The passage of time was

also

in the slightly different press screening that was visited by unusually few reviewers, but all the more gray long-haired men with leather pies and denim vests.

It was as if someone had rolled away the stone and released a cadre of rock zombies who stumbled upon a soundtrack by this hard rock industry's, musically speaking, most creative band.

Because even though Thin Lizzy was included in the metal world, it was not a simple headbanging, make-up or poodle-rocking gang.

Phil Lynott was a dark-eyed wordsmith as if he had been Swedish would have been self-written for the caramel poetry scholarship.

He made sure that Lizzy stood firm with her boots in the Irish soil, drawing inspiration from contemporary Dublin (and her own life) as well as folklore and old Irish myths.

Songs for while

are largely in the spirit of nostalgia and common recognition.

In the usual rock documentary style, an impressive array of rock potentates is presented that glorifies Lynott's greatness, so far nothing new under the spotlight but Emer Reynolds, one of Ireland's most successful documentary filmmakers, knows where she has her audience.

Of course we want water on our riveted mill, but the intended audience is already probably sitting on so much information that more is needed to appease that child in the candy store.

And there will be more.

Lots of fun details from the recording studio, entertaining testimonials and telling tales.

In addition, tangible snapshots from a cramped childhood that describe Phil Lynott as the only black child in Ireland, with all that entails of exclusion and sublimated racism.

Emer Reynolds

also highlights Lynott's soft parts, lets the women and the immediate family around him nuance the slightly boyish image, tells about the dark sides, about the rootlessness and the drugs, about the mother who left him to grow up with his grandparents, the search for the unknown father , the relationship with his two daughters (the son who was later recognized as Lynotts, is strangely not mentioned at all).

No, of course it is not a Mission Review, it is basically a tribute portrait, mainly for fans, but without a doubt a lively, ambitious and nicely pulsating one.