BREAKING: Tributes pour in as rock icon dead at 79
Kaff's current band, Mutual of Alameda's Wild Kingdom, confirmed his death on Facebook.
'Our brother David Kaffinetti passed away peacefully in his sleep yesterday. We are devastated by this event. David always had a kind word and a quick wit that would slay you where you stand. Then he'd make you smile doing it! R.I.P,. Dear brother,' they posted.
Born in southern England in Kent, he launched his music career in 1969 as a founding member of the progressive rock band Rare Bird.
The group released five studio albums between 1969 and 1974.
Their single Sympathy reached no.1 in both France and Italy as well as no. 27 in the UK singles charts in February 1970, with the track having sold an estimated one million copies globally.
Kaff was also involved in session work on Chuck Berrys 1972 album, The London Chuck Berry Sessions.
He was later cast as Viv Savage, the keyboardist for the fictional rock band Spinal Tap, in the 1984 mockumentary film This Is Spinal Tap.
Following the release of the film, the group continued as a band, performing at concerts and live television appearances.
Kaff's final involvement with Spinal Tap was their 1984 appearance on Saturday Night Live.
By the end of that same year, Kaff had departed from the group and was no longer associated with any subsequent Spinal Tap projects.
Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, a follow-up to This is Spinal Tap, has been announced with a cinema release date later this year.
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Extra.ie
15 hours ago
- Extra.ie
Brendan Gleeson can't go to pubs anymore without it becoming 'selfie country'
As Brendan Gleeson prepares to take to the Irish stage once more in Conor McPherson's The Weir, he has revealed that his ability to pop to the pub for a quiet pint has gone in recent years. The play follows a group of friends who meet for a quiet drink in Co Leitrim before a stranger in their midst makes a startling personal revelation, and will be staged in Dublin's 3Olympia Theatre this August until early September. When chatting in a recent interview about the production, the 70-year-old revealed there's a sense of irony to it, as the show focuses on a group of friends going for a quiet pint, but he's not really able to do that anymore. Domhnall Gleeson and Brendan Gleeson Pic: lbertofor Disney In recent years, Gleeson's star has risen even higher than it already was, earning an Oscar nomination for his performance in The Banshees of Inisherin, and he was even tapped to host the iconic Saturday Night Live. Coupled with the fact that most people live through their mobile phones, and he sighs thinking about how much he misses being able to go to the pub for a music session without being photographed or recorded. He told The Irish Times: 'I can't go into a place any more in terms of pubs, because it turns into selfie country. I really miss [it], particularly going into music sessions. You mightn't believe me, but people will do amazingly dumb things about interrupting you. I draw the line at funerals. Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell in The Banshees of Inisherin Pic: Searchlight Pictures/Moviestore/REX/Shutterstock 'The mobile phones mean you can do nothing. I'm not an elite musician. I was always running after the bus that way. But before you'd hear of a few quiet tunes somewhere, and you could go and you'd get a couple of hours spare [playing]. Now somebody has texted, and it's rammed within half an hour.' When asked if he feels isolated as a result, he revealed that he does as he simply can't 'pop into a place' to sit and chat to someone or do a crossword in peace. The Weir runs in Dublin until September, when it will then tranfer to London, where it will run until December, giving Gleeson plenty of time to spend with his grandkids who live in the English capital. Elsewhere, Brendan recently stated he won't take back calling Taoiseach Micheál Martin a 'moron' almost 20 years ago, but the actor added he now prefers a more constructive approach. The Hollywood star said it was the way he 'really felt at the time' after witnessing 'unacceptable' treatment at a hospital.
Irish Times
3 days ago
- Irish Times
Brendan Gleeson: ‘I can't go into a pub any more. I really miss it'
'It was an odd experience,' Brendan Gleeson says with a smile. Seated in a rehearsal space in a leafy part of Dublin, the Irish actor is reflecting on the episode he hosted in 2022 of Saturday Night Live, the US television sketch show that likes to have stars deliver questionable comedy skits to a studio audience. 'I didn't have experience of it, and I first said, 'No, absolutely not.' Then Colin Farrell said, 'You should do it,' and I know him well enough to trust him – that he's not a surfacy person, that there was something that was worth doing,' Gleeson says. 'The whole process was fascinating. They don't really want an act, and yet you're not yourself. They only make up jokes that week. You get things that half-work. It's very gruelling. And you don't know who the audience are. I didn't really want to watch it back.' It's a measure of Gleeson's popularity that, although his hosting of the show with Farrell attracted a few nitpicky reviews, for many it felt akin to watching a beloved groom give a wedding speech after a long engagement. We were on his side, willing to live through the cringy bits in the service of seeing the show acknowledge a simple truth: Gleeson is a star. READ MORE With roles in The Guard, Paddington 2, The Tragedy of Macbeth, In Bruges, Joker: Folie à Deux, Calvary and The Banshees of Inisherin , Gleeson is one of Ireland's most prominent and charismatic actors. At 70, the Malahide resident – father of his fellow performers Domhnall and Brian Gleeson – is in the remarkable position of being busier than ever. Or, as he puts it, 'I haven't time to wash my face.' We're meeting today because Gleeson is returning to the stage after a decade's absence, specifically to the 3Olympia Theatre in Dublin, followed by the Harold Pinter Theatre in London, where he will make his West End debut as Jack in The Weir, which is being directed by its writer, Conor McPherson . A tale of friends meeting for a drink in Co Leitrim when a stranger among them reveals an emotionally engulfing personal story, the play features little surface action yet delivers a remarkable punch. The Weir: Brendan Gleeson with fellow cast members Seán McGinley, Owen McDonnell, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor and Kate Phillips. Photograph: Rich Gilligan As I slip into the rehearsal space at Wesley House in Ranelagh, Gleeson and the rest of the cast are into their second week of line reads and stage preparations. They're not sweating it yet. Or not quite yet. Playing the part of the oleaginous estate agent Finbar, Tom Vaughan-Lawlor has thrown away his playbook to summon up the words from memory. So has Seán McGinley , in the role of bachelor Jim. Both have monologues to give. There are rueful chuckles as occasionally a prompt is needed or a line flubbed. Gleeson is sitting between them, on a bar stool, his white shirt and suit jacket on, hair slicked back, a spider web of lines tracing his forehead, inhabiting his role with earthy precision. Across the room, McPherson, inscrutable in a cap and glasses, is a quiet, watchful presence for all the actors, who also include Kate Phillips and Owen McDonnell. 'I'm trying to allow them to be as close to themselves as they can be,' McPherson says later. 'Brendan has a huge presence. He's very powerful, very funny, but he can give you lots of depth. It's a pleasure. It's like if you get into a very expensive car: you don't have to do very much; it's just, 'We're going.'' 'I'm bad for the planet?' the actor huffs amicably when I quote the expensive-car line back to him. But he's smiling. 'Ah, that's nice.' He enjoys collaborating with directors and has a healthy respect in particular for the Irish theatre-makers he has worked with over the years. 'In America, in a lot of TV, tailoring the dialogue is almost taken for granted. A lot of actors would take control of what they're doing themselves. But with somebody like Conor McPherson or Martin McDonagh , the rhythm of the language is so important; everything is so precise. You'd be an idiot to try and mess with it.' Gleeson loves The Weir, which was written nearly three decades ago, and is set entirely in the bar where the group meet, for how it portrays us as Irish people. The stories that are told are pithy and revealing, a simulacrum of life in Ireland in the 1990s. 'Lads would come down to the pub, and the level of conversation that used to go on in those places: underestimate these people at your peril,' Gleeson says. 'There was an incredible beauty in the way people informed themselves. In England you'd go into a pub and you didn't strike up a conversation the way you would over there. In Ireland there was too much drinking; it was no harm for that to shift. But the pub was a centre whereby people touched base. It was like the postman coming, the small community, the ties that bind.' There may be a certain irony for Gleeson in that the play is all about the quiet pint, something the actor no longer feels able to enjoy. He sighs when the subject comes up. 'I can't go into a place any more in terms of pubs, because it turns into selfie country. I really miss [it], particularly going into music sessions. You mightn't believe me, but people will do amazingly dumb things about interrupting you. I draw the line at funerals.' I wonder if it's his roles in global film franchises – in the Harry Potter series he plays Mad-Eye Moody; in the world of Paddington he appears as the winningly abrasive chef Knuckles McGinty – that have made the difference in the past decade. Not so, Gleeson says. It's the mobile phones and the likelihood of people texting their friends to let them know if Gleeson might be sitting in on a session. 'The mobile phones mean you can do nothing. I'm not an elite musician. I was always running after the bus that way. But before you'd hear of a few quiet tunes somewhere, and you could go and you'd get a couple of hours spare [playing]. Now somebody has texted, and it's rammed within half an hour.' Does he feel isolated? 'I would, certainly. It does make the world smaller. Being able to drop into a place and just do the crossword and talk to somebody, you can't do it any more.' A memory surfaces: the opening night of Enda Walsh 's Ballyturk at Galway International Arts Festival in 2015. Following the play, which starred Cillian Murphy, the Gleeson family went with other theatregoers to an after-show gathering at a nearby hotel, where they clustered fireside in the lobby. You could feel the implicit plea from them in the ether: to be allowed to enjoy a night out without being bothered. I did leave them alone, but I will admit it was hard work pretending to ignore them. Gleeson nods when I mention seeing them. 'It's only the last couple of years I've realised it's uncomfortable for everyone. It alters the equilibrium. So you just say, 'Okay, I've got this far. I'm 70 now, so I should really not be going into those places anyway.'' Gleeson has the complicating virtue of having come to acting relatively late. Formerly a teacher at Belcamp College in Balgriffin, in north Dublin, Gleeson was 34 when he was cast as Michael Collins in the RTÉ drama The Civil War. His ascent was far from assured in the early days: casting agents wanted him for character roles, but whether playing the Dublin criminal Martin Cahill in John Boorman's The General, Mel Gibson's sidekick in Braveheart or the lead in McDonagh's Oscar-winning Six Shooter, Gleeson had an ease in front of the camera that meant directors wanted to work with him. Ask the average Irish person about a Gleeson film and they might mention Hollywood big-budget affairs such as Joker: Folie à Deux or the Sundance TV series State of the Union , for which Gleeson received an Emmy nomination. But they're just as likely to wax lyrical about home-grown films such as The Guard, directed by John Michael McDonagh, or The Banshees of Inisherin, directed by Martin McDonagh, in which Gleeson riffed beautifully off Farrell as his forlorn former friend. The Banshees of Inisherin: Brendan Gleeson with Colin Farrell in Martin McDonagh's film. Photograph: Jonathan Hession/Searchlight Then there are the children's films, such as the glorious Paddington 2 , that Gleeson cherishes making. 'I grew to like movies as against films,' Gleeson says. 'Especially kids' films. Why would you underestimate children? Their little worlds, their beliefs, when you see kids watching something, their big eyes out on saucers, they're living this. It's important, so you do it properly if you can.' [ Brendan Gleeson the American is not nearly as agreeable Brendan Gleeson the Irishman Opens in new window ] When The Weir transfers to London, Gleeson will spend time with the junior members of the Gleeson tribe. 'It'll be exciting in terms of the lads are over there,' he says. 'I'll get to see my grandkids.' He doesn't talk much about his wife or four children, but it's obvious they're a tight-knit crew. That last stage performance 10 years ago was with his sons Brian and Domhnall in The Walworth Farce , another of Enda Walsh's plays. 'I find myself asking more and more questions of them and to give me an insight into things I'm blind to or things I don't quite understand,' he says about their acting skills. He sounds proud of them. 'I am.' The Walworth Farce: Brendan Gleeson with his sons Domhnall and Brian in Enda Walsh's play. Photograph: Photograph: Patrick Redmond Gleeson could big up his sons or name-drop all day if he wanted, but it's obvious he chooses his words in interviews with care. 'I'm moaning a lot,' he says at one stage before course-correcting. It makes it all the more endearing to hear the warm delight in his voice when he occasionally allows in some discussion of his career high points, such as his Academy Award nomination, for best supporting actor, for The Banshees of Inisherin in 2023. 'I was thrilled to get an Oscar nomination,' he says. 'When I walked in and saw the people that were there in one room. I mean, you've Spielberg over there, all these film-makers.' Gleeson worked with Steven Spielberg on the 2001 film AI Artificial Intelligence , a dystopian tale of robotic intelligence that has more resonance in today's bot-driven world than ever. The actor has recently been dealing with a deepfake version of himself that has been circulating on the internet, touting a cream that 'totally eliminates pain'. 'Two people sent it to me. I'm not on any of that stuff,' he says about social media. 'So I was blissfully unaware, and thought it was a joke. But then I realised, 'Jesus, are they asking people to actually press a link?' So I just wanted to say that I don't endorse anything other than support for the hospice.' [ Despair among young people 'really, really scary', Brendan Gleeson says at hospice fundraiser Opens in new window ] Gleeson is a long-time campaigner for improved resources at St Francis Hospice in Raheny, in north Dublin, where both his parents spent their final stages of life; his galvanising social conscience is an important part of his character. It has caused more than one person to question if there's a role for him in politics. Or, say, in the Áras when the presidential role comes free? [ 'I would be dead now if it hadn't been for the hospice' Opens in new window ] 'I'm quite opinionated,' Gleeson counters. 'I just think I'm not a good politician. I can't get to the place. I love Michael D Higgins for what he's done, what he's doing, his reckless energy and his positivity. Everything about what he does fills me with inspiration. I'm not good at that. I do get upset about things that are patently wrong, but I'm not the fixer of those issues. I just hope we can allow people to have a place to live. I think profit-making on homes is immoral.' If politics is partly about the exchange of ideas, art can spark similarly big conversations. The Weir comes to Dublin at the same time that The Pillowman , by his friend and collaborator McDonagh, runs across town at the Gate Theatre. It's a controversial play that tackles themes of violence against children. When I tell Gleeson that I found McDonagh's play tough to watch, his gaze sharpens. [ The Pillowman review: Anthracite-black comedy. The most appalling crimes Opens in new window ] 'I heard there were people getting upset in the audience,' Gleeson says. 'Some people in particular places in their lives may not be able to handle it. Part of art is to face the brutality of the truth. That's why we keep Auschwitz. The idea of sheltering everybody from horrible consequences, it's like, if you've never been to an abattoir, that's where you go. 'Early on with Martin, I challenged him on something. I said, 'Are you just pushing the envelope for its own sake?' I said you've got to really know what you're doing. And he said, 'Everything I write is about love.' I realised with his work you don't hate anyone; you find the humanity. 'I did the same with John Boorman with The General. You go into a place where you're saying, 'This is inhuman.' No, this is human. This is humanity, I'm afraid.' Gleeson puts himself through the wringer as an actor. In addition to his work on the forthcoming film adaptation by Emma Donoghue of H Is for Hawk and the TV series Spider-Noir, Gleeson has recently returned from Atlanta, where he was filming The Good Daughter, by the crime author Karin Slaughter. 'It was emotionally demanding and traumatising,' he says. 'I was wasted when I got back, in a head-space sense.' The Weir will represent a palate-cleanser. It's a play that contains quiet truths; that suggests more than it shows. 'At the time of life I'm at, and in the zeitgeist where there's so much apocalyptic desperation, this is a beautiful piece of work,' Gleeson says. 'It's very profound.' The play is likely to be the hottest ticket in town. Anne Clarke of Landmark Productions , its coproducer, is worried about one thing only: how to distribute the guest-list tickets on opening night. 'It's like Irish theatre royalty,' she says, laughing. 'Everybody wants to come. We're having these big meetings about how we can manage it.' [ Landmark's Anne Clarke: 'Every producer, if they're honest, is a control freak' Opens in new window ] As for Gleeson, he's fretting about his lines. Well, that and the prospect of getting a break at some point. He smiles when he hears a Leonard Cohen lyric: 'I ache in the places where I used to play.' Seventy is treating him reasonably well, he says. But the body is creaky sometimes. 'I'm wiping the slate clean. I have to take a break. This year and last year was too much. I'll take time to smell the coffee, because you can run around and not see what you're looking at.' Gleeson knows he's in the right place spiritually, in part because of the distance he has travelled in his life. 'I think I was okay as a teacher,' he says. 'When I found acting, I just knew. When I was writing down in my passport under occupation, and I wrote down 'actor', I felt: I'm home.' The Weir opens at 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin, on Wednesday, August 13th, with previews from Friday, August 8th. It runs until September 6th, then transfers to the Harold Pinter Theatre, in London, where it runs from September 12th until December 6th
RTÉ News
7 days ago
- RTÉ News
Eddie Murphy and Pete Davidson flex comedy muscles in The Pickup
Actor-comedians Eddie Murphy and Pete Davidson team up for The Pickup, a heist movie that sees them sparring as a pair of incompatible armoured truck drivers. Starring opposite Murphy, 64, was "a bucket list thing" for Davidson, 31, who had admired Murphy's work since he was seven. Unlike their characters, the two had much in common. "Pete comes from SNL (Saturday Night Live). He's a standup comic. We're both from the East Coast," said Murphy. "I love to get into a scene with somebody else that's funny, improvise with them, and start playing. I love it." On a routine round of cash pickups, Murphy's Russell and Davidson's Travis are targeted by criminals. Things get personal when Travis discovers that the thieves are led by his one-night-stand from the night before, played by Keke Palmer, and the life of Russell's hot-headed wife, played by Eva Longoria, comes under threat. The duo must pull together to save the day. The script, by Kevin Burrows and Matt Mider, served as their blueprint, and director Tim Story encouraged them to go off it, the two said. "We would do one as written, and then Tim and everyone was, (sic) like, 'Just go nuts', and we would end up just trying to one-up each other. We were just trying to make each other laugh," said Davidson. "They were improvising constantly, and it was really sweet to see. It's so cool because you see two different generations," added Palmer. The generational differences also seeped into the scenes, with the fighting taking its toll on Russell's body. "Usually in these types of movies or my early movies like the Beverly Hills Cop and 48 Hrs, I was the young maverick, and now I'm the older guy," said Murphy. Murphy has been making movies for 43 years and said new challenges were few and far between. "I've played different ethnicities and different genders. I've been inanimate. I've played spaceships. I've played every type of role you could possibly imagine," he said, but added he was working on "something fresh and new". "We're doing George Clinton, Parliament Funkadelic, we're doing his life. And there's no one like George. So I'll be in uncharted waters."
