Why I was wrong about Garth Brooks

In the interests of full disclosure I should first declare that I am a self-confessed music snob. I'm of a generation that revered the classic double albums of the 1970s and treated the release of a David Bowie or Pink Floyd record as if it were some sort of second coming. I'm a handy man to have on your team in a pub quiz, if only for my encyclopedic knowledge of music trivia. In short, I'm a bit of a bore; an anorak, if you will.

•Garth Brooks pictured during his 1997 Croke Park show. Photo by Darren Kinsella

Music snobs have a nasty habit of looking down on the personal tastes of others and I'm no exception. For two decades I have derided the rise and rise of the boy bands, from Take That and Boyzone to Westlife and One Direction. I also despise musicals, be they of the classic Andrew Lloyd Webber variety or the risible 'Mama Mia' kind.

Last month, the world's forgotten musical cowboy rode into town on his trusty steed (well, it was a private jet actually). Garth Brooks was on the comeback trail. And where better to kick things off than Croker, the scene of his triumphant concerts in 1997. I struggled to remember more than two of his songs - the jokey one and the serious one. I almost recalled a third before realising that 'Achy Breaky Heart' wasn't actually his song. But you can understand my mistake.

The sight of Garth back on our shores triggered traumatic flashbacks of line-dancing, the evil first cousin of country and western music. Back in the late '90s we were on the cusp of economic salvation, courtesy of Bertie Ahern and his merry band. Peace in our time was just one year away in Northern Ireland. Things were looking grand. Sure what could possibly go wrong?

We are older now; hopefully a bit wiser as well. Fianna Fail helped screw the country and most of us can't afford the price of the bus fare to Croker, never mind a concert ticket. I smugly predicted that Garth Brooks would struggle to fill the stadium for one night; two at a push.

But then something extraordinary happened. So-called friends started to express their love for the country crooner on social media sites and bemoaned their failure to secure a ticket. Honestly, you think you know someone. It was like suddenly finding out that your mates had been members of a secret sect for all these years. Friends in low places indeed.

As I write, the feeding frenzy to secure tickets for a fourth concert on July 28 has just ended and a fifth date has been announced. A fifth! How foolish do I look now? I had posted a snide comment on Facebook just a few weeks ago that Garth Brooks was "music for people who don't like music". My wife told me it was a disgraceful thing to say. She had seen Garth Brooks chatting to one of the TV3 Xpose girls and he seemed like a lovely fella.

And therein lies his appeal. He is a very affable, likable, inoffensive chap. He also comes across as humble. We like that too. But more importantly, he likes us. Irish people like to be liked, particularly by Americans, be they presidents, actors or country music superstars. For some reason it makes us feel good about ourselves. Perhaps it's our post-colonial insecurity or something.

And if going to Croker to see a 51-year old in a stetson perform his back catalogue helps lift the mist of post-Celtic Tiger misery, then who am I to judge? Just don't expect to see me there.