Hothouse Flowers bloomed at around the right time for inclusion in Dead Man Singing, although I wasn’t sure whether Dave Masters himself would have come across them before the events of the book. Their debut album, People (1988) was possibly too recent for Dave to have caught up with before his post-death reinvention, so I had him discover them courtesy of someone else’s record collection in Chapter Nine of the book. Here’s the relevant section:

“The first track started with a basic guitar riff, with the other instruments adding deftly judged flourishes before the whole thing exploded joyously about a minute in, the whole thing reminding Dave of vintage Van Morrison.”

If you’ve never heard Hothouse Flowers, or the song I’m Sorry, which I’m describing above, I stand by that description as a decent summary. What appeals to Dave – and to me – is the inimitable stamp of authenticity to their good-time melting pot of rock, soul, gospel and traditional Irish music. They were a band who found themselves courted by the mainstream for a brief, shining moment, and then when the mainstream moved on and they fell from favour, they carried on pursuing their own course rather than throwing musical principles over the side in a desperate pursuit of popularity.

Ironically, given their doggedly un-commercial mindset, their big break came courtesy of The Eurovision Song Contest. Not that they did anything so banal as entering the competition, but their song Don’t Go – a hit in Ireland the previous year – was chosen to be played in the 1988 Eurovision show, which introduced them to a Europe-wide audience. A video of the band, part concert montage, part European travelogue, was played to fill the gap between the last of the national entries and the results from the various judging panels. The delirious feel-good romp worked its magic, caught the zeitgeist, and propelled the band into the singles charts in the UK (number 11) and across the continent, far outshadowing that year’s winner, a singer called Celine Dion, representing Switzerland and singing in French. Whatever happened to her?

I’m Sorry and Don’t Go were the two highest profile singles, in the UK at least, but they aren’t the only instances where the band feel like an exercise in unleashing unabashed joy through the speakers. Hallelujah Jordan taps into the same vein, while It’ll Be Easier in the Morning takes a slower tempo but delivers a similar energising effect.

Other tracks are more reflective, more sombre. Don’t Go, despite its irresistible verve, addresses a friend facing the prospect of a premature death. The darker side of that coin is explored in If You Go, with Leo Barnes’ plaintive saxophone painting the emotion dripping from singer Liam O’Maonlai’s voice. The Older We Get is another song that explores the changed perspective that comes with life and loss. Even on the more sombre numbers, there’s an energy and a sense of life that drips through everything the band does, certainly on this album.

All the ingredients were there. Hothouse Flowers were capable of gleefully reckless abandon, soulful reflection, hoarse-throated hollering or delicate serenading, sometimes all in the space of a single song. They could turn on a sixpence and present another side of their music with breathtaking control. They were never predictable either: they featured, uncredited, on the Indigo Girls 1989 single Closer To Fine and in 1992 they turned up, playing themselves, in an episode of Lovejoy, the cosy drama about Ian McShane's roguish antiques dealer. I was lucky enough to see the band play live a couple of times back in those early breakthrough days and they were magnificent. That was more than 35 years ago, and I’ve got tickets to see them again in September of this year. I’ll let you know if they’ve still got it.