18 May 1967
Are we sure this isn’t actually the Boston Strangler? I ask because we leave the light-fingered narrator “serving up full twenty years in the penitentiary” – a bit draconian for your common-or-garden spot of breaking and entering, unless he had been burglarising Trevelyan’s corn. On the upside, that dolorous train trip from Boston to its suburb of Charlestown is just a short-hop commute compared to his Irish fellow lags getting prison-shipped to Tasmania. Anyway, this New England larcenist’s tale of crime, punishment and transportation doesn’t quite tug on the heartstrings in the same way as most Irish ballads.
I can’t say I’m any more favourably disposed to Johnny McEvoy’s telling either. An intro of wheezy mouth organ and rustic guitar strumming throws a bone to the new-folk Dylan fans. Once that’s done, though, ‘The Boston Burglar’ is a humdrum waltz-time trad ditty. Maybe so many people of 1967 Ireland bought it just to hear if this Bostonian was a relative.
