Tommy Doyle – Song Description
“The only man in Ireland who liked what he could hear.” The easy reading is that Tommy is deluded — a man too tone-deaf to know how bad he sounds. But listen to the line again: it doesn’t say he can’t hear the difference. It says he likes what he hears. That’s a different claim entirely, and I think it’s the more interesting one. Tommy isn’t confused about the sound. He’s simply decided, somewhere along the way, that the sound isn’t the point of singing for him. He’s the one person in this whole book, songs and prose both, who arrived at its central argument without ever having to think about it. His ego doesn’t need the trophy. It only ever needed the Tuesday night at the hall, the same three songs, the same terrible high note reached for and missed. What keeps him going back isn’t self-belief exactly — it’s something closer to loyalty, to the singing itself, regardless of what it gives back. Most of us spend years trying to unlearn the need for the win. Tommy never had the need in the first place. I wrote him as a joke and found, by the end of it, that I envied him a little.
Title – Tommy Doyle
Verse 1
Now Tommy Doyle loved singing
From the day that he was born
He’d sing at wakes and weddings
And most every Sunday morn
And if you asked old Tommy
Who possessed the finest voice
He’d smile and point right at himself
And say, “There isn’t much choice.”
Chorus
Oh Tommy Doyle, Tommy Doyle
The singer of the year
The only man in Ireland
Who liked what he could hear
He’d hit a note on Monday
And find it Friday night
But no one ever loved a song
The way Tommy Doyle might
Verse 2
Now Tommy loved the Sunday hymns
More than most folk could tell
For when he sang of Heaven above
He sang with all his soul as well
The trouble was the notes he chose
Were rarely written down
And halfway through Amazing Grace
The choir would lose the sound
Verse 3
The priest once thanked him kindly
For helping with the choir
Though secretly he’d pray each week
The microphone would tire
But Tommy took it as a sign
His voice was heaven sent
And doubled all his practice hours
Wherever Tommy went
Verse 4
Now Tommy’s dream was stardom
His name aglow with light
Bringing down the rafters
On every Saturday night
He’d picture crowds applauding
And calling out for more
While somewhere in the front row seats
The priest slipped out the door
Verse 5
He entered the competition stage
With the finest voices there
He cleared his throat and sang his song
Without a single care
Tommy closed his eyes and smiled
And gave it all he had
Certain he was witnessing
The greatest night he’d had
Chorus
Oh Tommy Doyle, Tommy Doyle
The singer of the year
The only man in Ireland
Who liked what he could hear
He’d hit a note on Monday
And find it Friday night
But no one ever loved a song
The way Tommy Doyle might
Verse 6
The finalists were called aloud
One after one that night
Tommy listened carefully
Expecting sheer delight
But when the final name was read
He looked around once more
Certain they had overlooked him
Like the year before
Verse 7
Tommy sought a singing coach
To polish up his art
Not because he lacked a thing
But simply for a start
“I’ve nearly cracked it,” Tommy said,
“The signs are plain to see.
A lesson or two should be enough
To bring out the best in me.”
Verse 8
The teacher listened patiently
As Tommy gave his best
Then stared a while out of the window
And suggested he should rest
But Tommy took this kindly advice
As proof he’d nearly won
And booked another twelve lessons
Before the day was done
Final Chorus
Oh Tommy Doyle, Tommy Doyle
The singer of the year
The only man in Ireland
Who liked what he could hear
He’d hit a note on Monday
And find it Friday night
But no one ever loved a song
The way Tommy Doyle might
Final Verse
Now Tommy never made the charts
Or saw his name in lights
Or brought down any rafters
On those grand Saturday nights
But every soul in Ballymore
Would smile when Tommy sang
For nobody loved music more
Than the man to whom it sprang
Lyrics Michael Forty
Voice Michael Forty