My favourite room: ‘With the spare room, I had a bit of space and started painting again' – inside artist Carolyn Walsh's artisan Stoneybatter cottage
Kerrywoman Carolyn Walsh studied textiles and graphics at art college but was drawn more to creating her own artworks with photography and paint. A period of seven snowy nights that confined her to her artisan home in Stoneybatter acted as the catalyst for a new career
These days people talk endlessly about making memories; making memories for little ones of their childhoods, making memories among friends and lovers to strengthen relationships, making memories for us all to reflect back on when we can no longer go out and have the experiences.
People are usually at the centre of this memory making but so too are places. As John Lennon sang in the poignant lyrics of his song In My Life: 'All these places had their moments.'
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Irish Daily Mirror
30-05-2025
- Irish Daily Mirror
Parade atrocity hit hard in Ireland thanks to our unique links to Liverpool
News of the atrocity which befell the city of Liverpool on Monday quickly reverberated around the globe. Shortly after 6 pm, a 53-year-old man drove into multiple fans who were attending the Reds' bus parade. What started as a truly joyous occasion quickly turned into utter devastation. Nearly 80 people were injured, some of whom remain in a serious condition in hospital. Here, in Ireland, our strong ties with Liverpool meant it hit hard. The decades-long deep-rooted connections between Ireland and the English port city meant the pain and devastation were felt even more deeply here. Figures show there are nearly 500,000 Irish Liverpool fans and it's estimated around 75 per cent of Liverpudlians have Irish ancestry. The link is deeper, though - from music to accents to our vernacular and emigration, there's a lot that connects Ireland with Liverpool. Here, we take a deeper look at the unique Liverpool-Irish links. Everybody knows the Beatles hail from Liverpool. But some might be surprised to learn that the four members of what is arguably the most famous band in the world had Irish roots. John Lennon's grandfather James was born in Down while his great-grandmother, Elizabeth Gildea, hailed from Omagh in Tyrone. Paul McCartney's clan had connections with Monaghan. His maternal grandfather, named Owen Mohan, came from Tullynamallow. Ringo Starr is considered the most English member of the band, but his roots go back to Mayo. George Harrison's family, meanwhile, originally hailed from Wexford as it emerged that they were landowners before being stripped of their land by Oliver Cromwell during the plantations. All the families eventually found their way to Liverpool. During the Beatles' infamous visit to the Irish capital in 1963, Lennon declared: 'We're all Irish!' A more recent musical connection would be Nathan Carter. The 35-year-old Wagon Wheel singer was born in Liverpool to Northern Irish parents. He moved across at 18 and is now based in Fermanagh. Liverpool was also featured in songs by The Dubliners, including The Leavin' of Liverpool and Liverpool Lou. Trade Unionist leader James Larkin, who, along with James Connolly and William O'Brien, founded the Labour Party, was born in Toxteth in Liverpool in January 1874 to Irish emigrants. Big Jim gained national and international acclaim for his part in organising the 1913 strike that sparked the Dublin lockout. The lock-out was an industrial dispute that began over pay and conditions and the right to unionise. It involved around 20,000 workers and 300 employers and lasted from August 1913 to 18 January 1914. It is widely considered the most severe and significant industrial dispute in Irish history. Another well-known Irish figure with connections to Liverpool was William Butler Yeats. A New York Times article recalls how, as a youngster, he would frequently travel across the Irish Sea to Liverpool on board his grandad's boat. Many Liverpudlians have Irish heritage. Most of this can be traced back to the famine, but some stretches even further back. The Irish Famine began in 1845, at which point around 50,000 Irish settlers were already living in Liverpool. The numbers grew exponentially in the subsequent years as conditions in Ireland continued to deteriorate. A staggering 120,000 Irish arrived in Liverpool during the first three months of 1847. Eight months later, around 300,000 had landed. Most had plans to continue on their journey to the USA, but a large portion, who were considered the poorest and weakest, remained in Liverpool. It's been estimated that over the course of 63 years, between 1850 and 1913, more than 4.5 million Irish men and women left Ireland for Liverpool. The famine had a lasting impact on the demographics of Liverpool. It is believed that an estimated 75 per cent of the city's residents have some Irish ancestry. The company that built the Titanic, known as the White Star Line, had its headquarters on James Street in Liverpool. The infamous ship was constructed in Belfast and set sail from Southampton to the US, stopping in Cork. She was registered in Liverpool and, as a result, bore the city's name on her stern. The ship left for New York on April 10, 1912. In total, 2,208 people were onboard when the ship struck an iceberg. More than 1,500 lost their lives. Many of those onboard the ship, including passengers and staff, had ties to Liverpool. The Scouse accent and particular words and phrases are heavily influenced by the Irish who emigrated there. One example of this is the 'Ta-ra' which is regularly used by Liverpudlians. It is a shortened version of 'take care' and is often used as a way to say goodbye. The exact origins of the phrase are disputed, but one theory is that it emerged from the Irish phrase 'tabhair aire' which means take care. Another example of this is calling someone 'a wool' when they are from outside of Liverpool. It is thought to come from Irish slang when referring to people from the countryside, 'a woolyback'. Other common slang phrases which are heard in both Ireland and Liverpool include words and phrases like 'grand', 'melter', 'gaff', 'baltic' and 'swelterin'' and 'craic'. The roots of the late Cilla Black go back to Ireland. The British singer's great-grandparents were all Irish while her maternal grandfather was born to Irish emigrants in Wales. Her Irishness also shaped her upbringing. She was raised as a Roman Catholic and lived in the Irish-Catholic stronghold of Scotland Road in Liverpool. TV presenter Paul O'Grady, who passed away in 2023, also had strong Irish roots. During his life, he often said he'd love to move to Ireland - particularly to Roscommon. Manchester United ace Wayne Rooney also has links to Ireland and it's been reported he even considered playing for the Boys in Green.
Sunday World
23-05-2025
- Sunday World
Paul Mescal says comparisons of new film with ‘Brokeback Mountain' are lazy
As Kildare actor showcases new gay role at Cannes Film Festival, he says 'The History of Sound' focuses on love, not repression John Lennon, whose half-sister would prefer Liverpool actors to play The Fab Four. Photo: Getty John Lennon, whose half-sister does not want Paul Mescal to play Paul McCartney. Photo: Getty Paul Mescal at the premiere of his latest film 'The History of Sound' at the 78th Cannes Film Festival. Photo: Reuters Actor Paul Mescal has rejected comparisons of his new period romance The History of Sound with gay cowboy classic Brokeback Mountain, saying the only thing they have in common is the characters spend time together in a tent. The History of Sound, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on Wednesday, stars Mescal and Josh O'Connor as Lionel and David, who meet at the Boston Conservatory in the early 1900s and fall in love over their shared love of folk songs. However, the couple are separated when David is drafted into World War I. After the war, they reunite to hike across Maine in search of oral-tradition songs to record, with the adventure having a profound effect on both men later in life. 'I personally don't see the parallels at all between Brokeback Mountain, other than the fact that we spend a little bit of time in a tent,' Mescal (29) told journalists at Cannes. Variety described the new film as 'Brokeback Mountain on sedatives', while The Guardian said it was 'a quasi-Brokeback Mountain film whose tone is one of persistent mournful awe at its own sadness' and gave it two out of five stars. There should be more films about the sort of dynamics and the nuances of queer relationships Mescal rejected the comparisons as lazy and frustrating, saying the focus of the film, unlike Ang Lee's 2006 Oscar winner, was a celebration of the characters' love rather than repression. South African director Oliver Hermanus, who was nominated for a Bafta for 2022 film Living, said that comparing his film with one that came out 20 years ago showed there was a deficiency. 'There should be more films about the sort of dynamics and the nuances of queer relationships, of relationships that are beyond the context of what most movies probably deal with,' he said. Mescal – who previously played a gay character in the heartbreaking romantic drama All of Us Strangers opposite Andrew Scott, before his Hollywood turn in Gladiator II – said his attraction to such roles was based on instinct. 'I personally celebrate actors who lean into their artistic compulsion, and if that's what I'm about to do at this moment in my career, I'm going to just hopefully pursue that for a little while longer until that compulsion changes,' he said. Meanwhile, Mescal's role as Paul McCartney in a series of films to be made charting the rise and lives of The Beatles has come in for criticism from John Lennon's half-sister. John Lennon, whose half-sister would prefer Liverpool actors to play The Fab Four. Photo: Getty Mescal will star alongside Harris Dickinson, Joseph Quinn and Barry Keoghan in a quartet of films about The Fab Four being made by Oscar-winner Sam Mendes. In an interview with MailOnline, Lennon's half-sister Julia Baird expressed her disappointment that the director did not decide to use actors originally from Liverpool. Mescal is from Co Kildare and Keoghan is from inner-city Dublin, while Dickinson and Quinn are from London. When the casting was announced, many Beatles fans complained about the actors, who they said bore no resemblance to the Fab Four. Now Lennon's sister has spoken out to back up their criticisms. It will be interesting to see what kind of accent he comes up. Nobody can do a Liverpool accent. They all get it wrong 'What's wrong with Liverpool?' she asked, suggesting the producers should have chosen unknown local actors for whom these could have been breakthrough roles. 'We have actors, and they speak the language. Paul Mescal is in everything – get real, come on,' Baird said. 'There are more actors out there waiting for a go and for a chance. 'It will be interesting to see what kind of accent he comes up with, because nobody can do a Liverpool accent. They all get it wrong.' Each of the four films will focus on a different member of The Beatles, with Mendes claiming they would all be released in cinemas within a month of each other.
Irish Times
22-05-2025
- Irish Times
The mystery of Spotify's disappearing songs: What we lose when artists erase their music
Not long ago, while skidding through the melodious hall of mirrors that is Spotify , I had the urge to play a half-decade-old EP by an independent Dublin rapper I've long been a fan of. But there was a snag. Upon arriving at their artist page, I found it was no longer available to stream. Searches of SoundCloud and other platforms yielded the same result. All traces of the EP seemed to have evaporated, as if the music had never existed. This was not the first release I'd looked for that turned out to have been deleted. It makes you feel helpless, the music permanently out of reach, lost to listeners forever. The EP had never been released physically, and I'm unsure it was ever available to download. Its accessibility, it would appear, was entirely at the whims of its creator, who had apparently decided it no longer spoke to their artistry. This is a consequence of the streaming era: as critics have often pointed out, you don't own the music. John Lennon once said that music is everybody's possession. Traditionally, you might say, artists have ceded the spiritual ownership of their recordings to their fans. Every seven-inch single they released was locked into their catalogue and became part of their legacy. READ MORE But the concept has become flimsy as music has evolved into something less tangible. As neatly as a body of work appears on an artist's Spotify page, it can be clipped, altered, rearranged. This raises moral questions: should it be acceptable for musicians to constantly primp their discographies as if they were bonsai trees, removing what they no longer like, retroactively shaping their legacies? Or once a work is in the world should it stay out there forever? Digital expungement more broadly has been a tool in the writing, or rewriting, of recent history. When Donald Trump became US president for the second time, his department of justice deleted information from its website about the storming of the Capitol Building on January 6th, 2021. It was the first of many official erasures. The New Yorker magazine soon remarked on the symbolism of Trump firing the head of the US National Archives and Records Administration, an institute guided by the motto 'The written word endures'. [ We are up to our necks in a rising tide of AI-generated slop Opens in new window ] I'm uncomfortable about music deletion as an artistic practice. I dislike the thought of musicians hindering fans' access to their work – and an artist's release history should stay intact, for better or worse. But music has always been heavily shaped by technological advancement. The emergence of formats such as cassette tapes and MP3s provided exciting new ways for artists to record music and get it to their audiences. Streaming has opened up new possibilities, too, and many in the business enjoy testing the boundaries. The talented, and entirely independent, Dublin-based rapper Jehnova is in complete control of his music and the way it is released. In his mind a body of work is malleable, susceptible to his whims. 'It's to some degree like an art show or art gallery,' he says. 'If you're curating an art show it's not necessarily about that one piece all the time. It's about everything together, and the context of everything. So you can rearrange certain paintings. 'Maybe this painting doesn't fit by the door. Maybe I'm going to put it deeper in [the gallery]' – further back, to where people can start with the old, end with the new. Curation is an art form as well. So how you put this stuff out, how it's presented, is a huge part of how I tend to interact with stuff like that.' Some artists take advantage of the streaming format by changing music they've already released. Photograph: Michael M Santiago/Getty Jehnova says that removing some of his music has helped to foster a deeper connection with diehard fans: if they get in touch about missing tracks, he'll send them the music directly. Being independent allows this. It's not such good news when corporations get involved. I've heard of labels that order new signings to delete their early recordings; the past must be expunged so every move can be plotted carefully. Some artists take advantage of the streaming format by changing music they've already released – re-recording vocals, tweaking the mix, editing the order of songs – which again runs counter to the traditional idea of music being finished once a track or an album has been signed off. This makes music more like software to be patched and updated. 'There are definitely merits to it,' says Dave McAdam, a one-time musician and producer. 'If I write a song, release it and then go, 'Okay, no, I'm not too happy with that drum beat,' if I redo it and then swap out, am I doing something artistically against my integrity? I don't think so. I think as long as it's an artistic choice, or just a decision by an artist to change things that they put out there, or maybe take things down they just feel don't represent them, that's totally valid.' This feeling of impermanence, of fleetingness, reflects a broader issue with online-only releases: digital decay. The internet is a wonderful tool to circulate rare music – I recently managed to play Kid Capri's decades-old home-made mixtape Old School Vol 1 on SoundCloud. But its reputation as an archive – the idea that digitisation can be synonymous with preservation – is overstated. It's not uncommon for artists who took a carefree approach to backing up their work to permanently lose songs because of a hosting issue. In 2019 MySpace admitted that a server-migration error caused the loss of as many as 50 million tracks, many of which the creators had kept nowhere else. (A rescue attempt by the Internet Archive retrieved only about 10 per cent of the music.) It's a misconception that once something is posted online it's online forever. As a teenager in the late 2000s and early 2010s, McAdam would volunteer to record music with nascent bands in a small youth centre studio in Ennis, in Co Clare. Much of that work is irretrievable. [ If you find music on Spotify increasingly bland, it might be the ghosts Opens in new window ] 'We could record a lot of music and put it online, but a lot of those services are either just gone or, if you leave your account inactive for long enough, things just disappear. It was kind of a funny, unfortunate thing: there's a lot of music recorded but not a lot of physical media actually made, so, unfortunately, a lot of it was just lost. 'This was the relatively early days of putting music on the internet ... I think we all probably thought, 'Oh yeah, put our music on the internet, it'll be there forever. Put it on MySpace, we'll never have to worry about where we'll find it again in 10 years' time.'' Physical media's feeling of permanence is perhaps one of the things that makes it special. The vinyl craze is still with us; the rise in cassette tape sales suggests a yearning for the relationship between physical objects and music. Even Jehnova recently released a CD edition of his album IOU 3. He's aware that many people who buy it probably don't own a CD player but nonetheless like the idea of possessing a keepsake of an artist they like. 'Having something tangible – having something you can hold and open and touch – that's an experience I would love to give someone with my stuff, because that's the kind of experience I had first with music,' he says. There's always space for nostalgia, but streaming is likely to remain the dominant way we listen to music. Artists and their labels will therefore continue to test its possibilities, contorting the system to their will. As listeners, this brings the risk that the songs we love will change or disappear. As uncomfortable as that may be, deliberate music erasure was bound to happen, simply because it can happen.
