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Extra.ie
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Posthumous debut album from Dublin singer-songwriter Graham Mitchell announced
Following the tragic news of the death of Graham 'Milky' Mitchell back in February, friends of the Irish singer-songwriter have announced that his posthumous debut album is on the way. Loveable Mess will be released on July 25, and is available to pre-order now on Bandcamp, on 12″ 'milk white' vinyl and as a digital album. All proceeds from the album will be shared between several charities closely connected to Graham. 'Three months ago, the world lost a beautiful soul far too soon, Graham Mitchell from Raheny,' the Bandcamp page reads. 'Graham was not only a gifted singer-songwriter, but a radiant light to all who knew him. Graham has released several singles over the last few years, but this his first and only album, stands as a powerful testament to his dedication, talent, and deep love for music. 'Over the years, Graham poured his heart into every lyric and chord, carving out a space for himself in Dublin's vibrant music scene. From countless open mic nights in cosy pubs to late-night writing sessions, his journey was built on perseverance, humility, and authenticity. He touched many with his soulful voice and thoughtful lyrics, often drawing from life's joys and sorrows to create something truly moving.' Loveable Mess has been in the making for several years, and includes the previously released singles 'Who Came Up With Love?' and 'A Beating Soul'. The album is described as 'not only a celebration of his work, but a tribute to all his fans, friends and family whom he loved very much'. Graham, who passed away unexpectedly at home on February 20, had previously played on the Hot Press Y&E Series in 2020. Back in March, Damien Dempsey dedicated his performance of 'Chris & Stevie' to the late musician during his Windmill Live show, presented by Hot Press.
Extra.ie
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
15 years ago this week: Villagers released Becoming a Jackal
Originally published in Hot Press in May 2010: Mentioned in dispatches by Jon Pareles in the New York Times. A glittering Other Voices set. A much-lauded appearance on Later… With Jools Holland. An upcoming slot at the Richard Thompson-curated Meltdown festival. Hailed by Jape man Richie Egan as embodying 'everything I hold dear about music'. Somethings gone very right for Conor J OBrien since the dissolution of his first band The Immediate left him free to hone his skills as a sideman for Cathy Davey before forming Villagers, an ensemble who, before theyd even released their debut album (more of which in a moment), were opening for acts like Tindersticks and Neil Young. 'Every single step of the way, you're constantly a sponge, trying to take stuff from people, how they sing, how they perform,' O'Brien says on an April afternoon in the Brooks Hotel in Dublin. 'I hope that never ends.' Before we proceed, did he get to meet ol' Shakey? 'I didn't speak to Neil Young. He kind of walked by us in a haze of green smoke and wandered to his dressing room. I spoke to his crew; they were all awesome. They are a mafia, but a very friendly mafia, a very helpful crew. You can tell they've all been with him for years, really old dudes. 'I was very excited watching him. I came to him quite late, I was only starting to listen to him properly at the beginning of writing these songs, which was two years ago. I think I just heard Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and On The Beach and Harvest. Vampire Blues was very important, just the general looseness of it. Tommy (McLaughlin), who engineered the record and plays guitar in Villagers, he's a massive Neil Young fan, so he was very happy about my new love of Neil. We were just trying to maintain the space that's in some of his recordings and copy his drum sound, geeky little things like that. The songs had already been written, but it was more how to present them.' The album Conors is talking about is the extraordinary Becoming A Jackal, due for release on the Domino Recording Company. Says label boss Laurence Bell: Villagers is a powerful and brilliant blend of poetry and melody. Conor has the voice of an angel and performs with a rare intensity. I'm glad our paths crossed when they did. Bells Domino colleague Harry Martin recalls the label's first encounter with O'Brien: 'Myself and Laurence had actually seen The Immediate play at the Dublin Castle in Camden many years ago', he reveals, 'and we enjoyed that, it reminded us a bit of Sebadoh in the way they kept rotating as a band. It seemed like a novelty in a way, but a great performance, great songs. We were busy enough and thought no more of it, but when Cass McCombs came to play in Dublin towards the end of 2008, Villagers were supporting, and (Friction PR boss) Dan Oggly mentioned that I should check it out, that Conor was doing his own thing, freed of the band restrictions. I caught a bit of the set and was really impressed by it. 'And then a few months later, Laurence heard the track Becoming A Jackal and thought it was an amazing song, and asked me if I'd heard of Villagers. And I suppose when Laurence picks up on something, you start to think, I should really pay more attention to that. So I went to a show in Whelans last spring with a more attentive head on and was blown away.' Was the scope of the songs evident in early recordings? 'The early demos we heard were Jackal, Set The Tigers Free, quite a few songs he had knocking around, and he had, of course, the Irish seven and EP (On A Sunlit Stage and Hollow Kind). Conor pretty much had mapped out how it would all happen, up to Donegal with Tommy, he took 15 songs and came back with 15 great recordings, and we had to battle and fight and struggle getting it down to ten or 11. There's four amazing tracks left off the album; if you were to hear them, you'd probably weep. Well, get them out at some point. We're here for the long run. We're very excited about the first lap.' Villagers are, it's worth mentioning, the first Irish act to be signed to Domino, whose roster includes like-minded mavericks such as Franz Ferdinand, the Arctic Monkeys, Bonnie Prince Billy and James Yorkston. 'I remember reading that and going, 'Really?'' O'Brien says of this distinction. 'Maybe it's just a geographical thing.' Maybe it is. There is a strong sense of place about the album, and an even stronger sense of time. O'Brien, a Dun Laoghaire native, found himself looking beyond the pier and into a welter of possible pasts. 'It's a pretty powerful thing, thinking that way,' he admits. 'I think when you're making art, a lot of that can show itself in a really subconscious way that you shouldn't really be aware of. There's a real power in it, but it's dangerous; you have to preserve the individuality of your own writing to a certain degree. But you can't ignore the surroundings and the history of where you grew up.' O'Brien's songs are steeped in atmosphere, most evident on the album's opener, I Saw The Dead, as extraordinary a piece of music as you're likely to hear all year. Indeed, the term song hardly does it justice. The musical equivalent of a Hitchcock or Polanski film, it radiates the eerie magnetism of a fairytale, or maybe the moment in The Sixth Sense where we see what Cole Sear sees hanging bodies in a school hallway ('That's a really good scene in that film,' OBrien concedes). 'The night we signed the contracts, we were in a bar marking the occasion,' recalls Harry Martin,'a great pub called the Cats Back around the Wandsworth area down by the river. And Conor sat at the piano and started playing the melody line, almost to himself, and it hooked into our head, and then about a month later, this demo came through, and it was that song. The whole thing is timeless in many ways. It could be from any era.' Indeed, I Saw The Dead might be an album unto itself, with its ghostly vocal set to a modernist but melodramatic neo-classical piano line. It's a shoo-in for inclusion on the soundtrack of any Hollywood remake of Let the Right One In. 'I was trying to copy Philip Glass with the music,' O'Brien explains. 'I had this piano piece which didn't have any words for ages. The song is a repetitive chord sequence, which was a small part of a bigger musical piece, which had loads of different kinds of slightly dodgy rock opera parts, and I really needed to make myself edit them out. I was thinking, 'that's a good bit, and that's a good bit, and that's a good bit. Everybody should hear all these good bits, and they should all happen in these four minutes.' Which is not the way to write a song at all, I think the simpler the better.' And what of the creepy-crawly lyric? 'The words were… like all the songs, I was just playing with words. The title was the first thing, and I wrote the rest of the lyrics knowing it was going to be the first song, cos it was the last song I wrote for the album. I wanted to write a sweeping introduction. I knew Becoming A Jackal would probably be the second song, so the idea of scavenging… all these human traits that I was exploring, I wanted to make it almost grotesque and physical with I Saw The Dead, the You take the torso/And I'll take the head bit… I don't know why. I find it really hard to do interviews about these songs to be honest, cos they're all just automatic and a bit subconscious. It's that thing, talking about music is like dancing about architecture. That's my current motto right now. But at the same time, I've had good times figuring it out.' And presumably, he's having fun hearing people's interpretations and misinterpretations of the songs? 'Well, that's the thing. If you're writing a song, you're being playful, you're being childish, there's space, and a lot of people have different ideas about it. Someone will say, 'Is that song about a girl? Well, it obviously is for you. You just said it was!' But the artwork for that song is important as well, it's two old ships on which people had perished. In 1804 or something, Dun Laoghaire harbour hadn't appeared yet, and the only reason it appeared was two particular ships had perished on the rocks and hundreds of people had died, and I just had this image in my head when I was doing the artwork. But that was only after I'd written the song.' If Becoming A Jackal wasn't such a strong collection, O'Brien might have had some serious problems following that tune. Fortunately, the rest of the record is as rich in dramatic irony and emotional potency, sometimes digressing into Arthur Lee territory, as well as exhibiting a fair grasp of pre-rock' n' roll song-forms. The Meaning Of The Ritual, The Pact and Pieces all execute the classic David Lynch trick of juxtaposing doo-wop sweetness with pure horror. 'Transcendental darkness and the weirdness,' O'Brien laughs. 'You're onto me! That's what I was trying to go for in some of the songs. Dark imagery or feelings alongside really mundane domestic everyday things. Let them rest beside each other, peacefully. Or not so peacefully. The first time we saw Twin Peaks' Killer Bob was in the doily-like Palmer household. Which was, perversely enough, far more frightening than if we had encountered him in a cabin in the woods. 'That's true, it's got the total childishness of 50s teenage life. There's a sweetness and beauty to doo-wop music that when you put it in a certain context…' Scare the bejesus out of a soul. That other Lynch favourite, Roy Orbison, had it too. O'Brien, as it happens, is a fan of the Big Os' gothic pop operas. You can hear it in songs like Ship Of Promises and That Day. 'The chord changes, the lyrics, everything works with Roy Orbison,' he enthuses. 'He's a master. Although I'm not too sure about Drove All Night! That's kind of weird. But still kind of cool.' O'Brien, for all his impeccable sensibilities, is not afraid to occasionally go OTT. There are moments in his songs when, bizarrely enough, I'm reminded of Richard Harris doing Jimmy Webb's MacArthur Park. 'I don't know that,' he confesses, 'but I saw The Field recently for the first time. Amazing. I'd never read it or seen the play. I thought Harris was phenomenal, I was completely in that film, his acting, the ideas that it raised, it was mindblowing. It gives you really strong ideas about power and lust and the sadness of the whole thing, how it turned him into a complete monster. And that scene where he's fighting the sea, it's like Lear in a storm or something.' If there's an equivalent operatic moment on the Villagers' record, it's at the end of Pieces, when O'Brien abandons language and howls at the moon. A great moment, precisely because it dares to go beyond indie-schmindie notions of restraint. 'I remember recording the demo for that,' he says, 'and it was about three or four in the morning, and I was on a break from touring with Cathy Davey. Pieces was written in about five minutes, but the arrangement took about a year, and when I came upon that doo-wop version with the different time signature on the piano, it opened the song up for me. I remember having this moment of epiphany, howling as I was recording it, really excited and joyous, the most joyful experience I've ever had, which contrasts with the song's meaning or feeling. That jackal howl.' That jackal howl. A phrase to put hair on your chest. And an atmosphere not a million miles away from Elvis' Blue Moon. 'I think it's just blues,' O'Brien concludes. 'A lot of people in interviews have gone, (adopts Euro accent), 'What exactly is Pieces about? What was happening to you in your life at that time?' And I can't remember, it's just like a blues song, you're singing, and you hope whoever is listening to it knows what you mean in their own terms. You're not trying to focus on your ego, you're not trying to get everyone in the room to listen to your problems, you're putting it out there so it can make a general connection. You can just howl. Everyone's going to understand that.' Listen to Becoming a Jackal below:
Extra.ie
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
30 years ago today: Supergrass released I Should Coco
On this day 30 years ago – May 15, 1995 – Supergrass released their chart-topping debut album, I Should Coco, featuring the era-defining single 'Alright'. To celebrate, we're sharing frontman Gaz Coombes' reflections on the album, taken from one of his classic Hot Press interviews… 'Sometimes it feels like yesterday, and then other times it feels like another lifetime ago. I was listening to it recently because we're planning this anniversary reissue, and it was great to hear it again. It felt really fresh and full of energy. It's been great talking to people involved around it as well. There's a lot of love for that record, and we all feel proud of it.' 'I was like 16 or 17 years old when everything blew up, and it was insane. Life was so fast-moving. We hit the road pretty early on that album and started touring America for six or seven weeks, and by the time we got back, 'Alright' had been released. It had all gone crazy, and suddenly everyone was recognising me in the street. It was bonkers but exciting.' Supergrass play The Telegraph Building, Belfast (May 27); 3Olympia Theatre, Dublin (May 28 & 29); and the Iveagh Gardens, Dublin (July 13).
Extra.ie
09-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
President shares special birthday message for Christy Moore: 'Through your music, you have lent voice to those often unheard'
'As you celebrate this wonderful milestone, may I express my deep gratitude for your valuable contributions to music, to our shared cultural heritage, for the decades of service, too, that you have offered to the building of a just, equal and inclusive Republic…' President Michael D. Higgins shared a heartfelt message with Christy Moore, celebrating the legendary Irish artist's 80th birthday yesterday. In the letter, shared online, the President notes that Christy's 'voice has long been one of the most distinctive and enduring in Irish life, one that speaks to universal human experiences, of resilience, kindness, and empathy, reflecting a rare talent, but more than that, a deeply humane spirit.' He goes on to thank the iconic singer for 'the decades of service' that he has offered 'to the building of a just, equal and inclusive Republic.' Christy, who received a Lifetime Achievement Award at the RTÉ Radio 1 Folk Awards in 2021 and is set to be celebrated in an upcoming exhibition from the Irish Traditional Music Archive, released his latest album, A Terrible Beauty, last year. The project was named Hot Press's top folk album of 2024, and also scored the singer his first No.1 on the Irish Albums Chart in seven years. Through the 'Christy Chat' part of his website, Christy previously reflected on a visit to Ras and Achtarn to take part in the President's special Glaoch programme in 2013. 'Encounters with Michael D over many decades have always been memorable,' Christy wrote at the time. 'Meeting him again as the elected President of Ireland was a particular pleasure. There was a feeling of having a true 'man of the people' in ras an achtarin.' Read the President's full message to Christy Moore below: A chara, Christy, Agus t ag danamh ceiliradh ar do 80 bhreithl, is mian liom fin agus Saidhbhn comhghairdeas chro a sheoladh duit ar an cid suntasach seo. As you mark your 80th birthday, Sabina and I would like to extend to you our heartfelt congratulations and warmest wishes on this most special of milestones. Christy, your voice has long been one of the most distinctive and enduring in Irish life, one that speaks to universal human experiences of resilience, kindness, and empathy, reflecting a rare talent, but more than that, a deeply humane spirit. Through your music, you have lent a voice to those often unheard, bringing to the public discourse the concerns, hopes, and struggles of ordinary people with extraordinary empathy and dignity. From your early days with Planxty to your evocative solo work, your musical legacy, including such memorable songs as 'Ride On', 'Viva la Quinta Brigada', and 'Lisdoonvarna', has ensured your outstanding contribution to Ireland's cultural heritage. Drawing from the deep well of our folk traditions while never ceasing to engage with the evolving currents of social change, your work reminds us that the arts, and music in particular, are not simply forms of frivolous entertainment, but play an important role as vital expressions of our shared humanity, of our griefs and joys. It is a gift to Ireland that you have remained, throughout your career, so firmly rooted in the values of community, equality and solidarity, constantly exhibiting such a profound sense of justice. As you celebrate this wonderful milestone, may I express my deep gratitude for your valuable contributions to music, to our shared cultural heritage, for the decades of service, too, that you have offered to the building of a just, equal and inclusive Republic. Ar mo shon fin agus Saidhbhn, ba mhaith linn comhghairdeas chro agus r ndea-ghuonna a sheoladh duit ar an cid suntasach seo, agus guonn muid gach rath ort sa todhcha. Sabina joins me in sending you every good wish on this special day. May it be a time of well-deserved celebration, surrounded by those who have travelled with you throughout your remarkable journey.
Extra.ie
09-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Happy 80th Birthday Christy Moore: Revisiting a Classic Hot Press Interview
To celebrate Christy Moore's 80th birthday this week, we're revisiting a classic interview with the Irish folk hero – in which he tells the late, great Hot Press writer Bill Graham of his growing sense of worth and self-confidence; defends Sinead O'Connor's right to free speech; and explains just why good hecklers are worth their weight in gold… It's surprising how many performers hide from the stage. The likes of Kate Bush may banish themselves from the boards for a decade; Roger Waters of Pink Floyd constructed his own 'Wall'; Axl Rose seems to have more demons than a distillery of Jack Daniels can vanquish. Others downgrade live performance and just play by rote. Or, create a playground where they can lose both themselves and their audience. This is not Christy Moore's way. Others downgrade live performance and just play by rote. Or, create a playground where they can lose both themselves and their audience. This is not Christy Moore's way. The solitary troubadour can't visit the bathroom during a drum solo. Or take a costume change while the hired lead guitarist flounces out his vanity solo. The lonesome picker needs absolute physical and mental stamina. Of course, there are advantages. The Moore operation is eco-friendly, small, and mobile. He doesn't have to pause to berate the soundman because the keyboard player's latest gizmo has started communicating with air traffic control or Jodrell Bank Radio Telescope. No regiments of roadies for Moore, a factor which has kept him securely in the black, independent and not overbothered by the whims of record companies who can prefer their artists mortgaged to them. But solo work is also more than a marathon. Hypersensitivity is even more important than endurance. It's the ability to detect, catch and share a mood; to take a cue from a heckler and spin it every which way; to renew an old and battle-weary song that all thought was beyond reinterpretation; to communicate comedy and tragedy, compassion and scorn, love, awe and confusion, pathos and conviviality and all the emotions in between. Bob Dylan once famously and accurately called himself a song 'n' dance man; the less enigmatic Moore is a song 'n' cracksman, joker who can make small and intimate the largest auditorium and then dominate almost 40,000 Féile reprobates, not bad for a 47-year-old when most artists his age are looking forward to playing golf on the Grateful Dead seniors tour or getting a bus-pass from the David Crosby Retirement Home. This week, he's at it again, playing Cork and The Point in Dublin. He's been fiddling around with nine new songs and played some at a recent warm-up in Dublin's Mother Redcap's. But he makes no guarantees about their inclusion. 'I never sacrifice a gig for new material,' cautions Christy. Some may make it to his next album after being refined in early preparatory sessions in a small Wicklow studio. Moore talks of continued collaborations with Wally Page and Johnny Mulhern and hopes to start serious recording once these dates are over. We could talk about causes, about Christy Moore the dragon-slayer, but that Moore will anyway be giving his own slant at the concerts. Instead, we talk about his craft and how he views his career in the wider context of Irish music. We talk of record companies and new issues since he last faced a tape-recorder, like The Saw Doctors and Sinéad's recent travails. Of course, there is a bit of politics. The government was finally busting up when we talked last Wednesday fortnight in Monkstown, and Christy was angered by the waste, folly and irrelevance of it all. We chatted lightly about Albert Reynold,s but somehow I preferred to put my own spin on his line when he told me: 'I once cycled to Dreamland.' Bill Graham: Are these concerts going to be completely solo, or will you have other guest musicians? Christy Moore: No. I think it's established in my own head that I am a solo performer and I don't visualise myself having other musicians on stage in the near future . . . The way my thing has developed, I can't do it with other musicians. I can't be as spontaneous as I need to be. I can't be as free as I need to be in the context of a band. It's impossible. I need to be alone for the moment. BG: How do you see your own music in the context of the last ten years? CM: I suppose in the last ten years, what I do has become more important to me. I take myself more seriously in 1992 than I did ten years ago. BG: Surely you took yourself seriously ten years ago. What's the difference? CM:I spent a lot more time working at what I do. I've a lot more confidence. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have had much confidence in my own writing or in my own interpretations. Ten years ago, I would have been embarrassed, but now I feel I'm good at what I do, and I am not embarrassed about saying it. I'm not saying it like I'm a great fellow, but I take pride in what I do. BG: Like Van Morrison's 'Cleaning Windows' with his line 'I'm a working man in my prime'? CM: I'd feel that way. At the same time, I do know it's not quite like cleaning windows either. Like, there's a friend of mine on the other side of the bar, and he does clean windows. I couldn't convince him what I do is the same as he does. In a way that's crap but what we do isn't ordinary, it's extraordinary. I try and behave as if it's ordinary even though I know it's not. I don't get carried away by the trappings of it. At least I hope I don't . . . I feel as if it's having pride in the work but not having pride in the status. It's being determined that it will be as good as it can be, but not getting carried away by the reaction. I tend to place more emphasis on the performance, but it's the same with the songs. I've been writing songs for the last while. Ten years ago, I would have been happy with them and recorded them a few months ago, but now, I seem to keep wanting to go on and on and on until the fucking song is really finished. BG: What gave you that sense of worth and self-confidence we've been talking about? Was it Irish audiences or non-Irish audiences? CM: I don't know the exact answer (pauses). I suppose for the first twenty years of my career as a musician, I was always in awe of the people around me. I went into a band, Planxty, in the Seventies, and I went into a band, Moving Hearts, in the Eighties. And both bands received acclaim. But some time in the last five or six years, I realised I could generate as much power with my voice and guitar as any band I'd been in could generate. It might not be as musical or varied, but the actual power and the feeling, well, the realisation of that gave me the confidence to take myself seriously. BG: How do you respond to the Saw Doctors? Would you see a little bit of yourself in them? CM: A little bit at times. I think they're brilliant. I love them. I think they're very real. They're not trying to put anything over, and I tend to like people who go out on stage to have a good time. BG: Perhaps you and they have similar audiences at Féile? CM: Well, I certainly related to it this year. I felt very comfortable for the first time in the outdoor arena at that kind of mega-gig. I had no hang-ups. It was okay for me to be there with my acoustic guitar between all the mega-watts. I felt a lot of good feelings, love, and it was reciprocated. Like, I know I picked out my twelve biggest, loudest, chorus-y songs and lashed them out, but it wasn't subtle. BG: Are people in Dublin not realising that rural Ireland, and I don't just mean the obvious big towns like Cork, Galway, Limerick and Waterford, is getting rather crazy? All that space between Newbridge and Tuam may be getting rather more interesting than Dubliners realise. CM: Absolutely. What I pick up now is that the urban/rural divide is getting obliterated by modern communications. Everybody has access to the same information now, but there was a time, even in my life, when the amount of information in Dublin was vastly greater than what was available 30 miles down the road in Kildare. You can be just as up-to-date and hip in Newbridge as in Grafton Street. BG: But has the sort of Anne Lovett/Valley Of Squinting Windows syndrome broken down? CM: Well, that can never break down to the extent that if you're in a place that has 300 people, everything is far more visible than if a place has 3,000, 30,000 or 300,000. So you'll always have the valley of squinting windows because you're always going to be curious about what's happening in the valley if there's only ten houses in it. Like, I live around here in Monkstown. I don't know what happens here. But if I lived in a townland, in the butt end of south County Kildare, I'd have a fair idea of what was happening. You don't need to be Irish or rural about it; it's human curiosity. BG: Would you have been more ideological ten years ago? At least in the sense that maybe you needed a spine, a crutch to support your thinking? CM: I don't know if I was ever ideological, but I suppose ten years ago, I would have been more aware, 'is this correct or is this not correct'. Whereas now I would make my own decisions about what was correct without any ideology. BG: How did that evolve? CM: Again, I think it's a thing of confidence. BG: On your last album, you had a song, 'Burning Times', about the Inquisition and burning witches. I suspect a song like that might not have been included on an album of yours, five years ago. CM: No, I would have had different concepts. I found that particular song, and I thought it was wonderful, and it gave me the perspective of starting from the Inquisition and the torturing of all those thousands of women. BG: Let me rephrase the question. Five or ten years ago, you might have sung a traditional ballad that had a basic, primitive feminist message and not been fully aware of that strand in it? CM: Go back to 'The Well Below The Valley', which we recorded as far back as 1970. When I first recorded it, I recorded it as a very great song, and I was oblivious to what was in the song. As far as I know, it's a thousand years old, but when I sing it now, I sing it about something that still happens . . . Now I've an awareness of what happens behind closed doors, in the valleys of the squinting windows and in the suburbs of the urban sprawls. The abuse, the hurt, the pain, the suffering. I was not aware of that in 1970. BG: What's your opinion of the recent controversies surrounding Sinéad O'Connor? CM: Well, I'm not going to say I feel sorry for her because she wouldn't thank me for that. But I would certainly support her right. To me, she didn't do anything wrong. I think she's been very courageous. BG: When you read a piece attacking her, what's your response? CM: I suppose I've more faith in Sinéad than I have in a lot of the people writing about her. I think she's been very abused in the media because she speaks out very loudly and spontaneously. Maybe she doesn't always get it right. BG: What's your personal sense of her? CM: My personal sense of her is that she's a true person. Right through all the recent furore, she wasn't trying to sell products; she was responding to situations, expressing her hurt, anger or pain. BG: Would you have ever talked to her about those matters? CM: No. I certainly don't know Sinéad privately. I've worked with her a few times. I've had the pleasure of recording with her. I know her, but I'm not a friend. The last time I spoke to her was about three years ago. I've sung with her on stage a number of times, and it was always wonderful. I would love to sing with her again. BG: Abroad, you got increasing audiences throughout the Eighties, but it never quite translated into record sales. Did you feel you lacked understanding and support outside Ireland? CM: The only record company that supported me abroad was Newberry. WEA never supported me abroad. There was a token effort made with the 'Voyage' album, but the proof is that with Newberry, 'Smoke And Strong Whiskey' totally outsold 'Voyage'. It was only when we started our own label and launched our own album in Britain that we realised how little had been done previously. It actually got into the Top 50, whereas previously I'd only got into the Eighties and Nineties. BG: But you would have been annoyed in that you were getting kudos from such as Bono and Elvis Costello, and the record company was doing little or nothing? CM: I think that having had dealings across the decades with record companies, I've never relied on them too much. I've been frustrated a number of times over the past decade by the inactivity of labels abroad when I would have sell-out dates in major venues and there would be no interest. You'd go into the office and there might be a poster on the wall saying 'Atlantic Welcomes Christy Moore to New York', but you know fuckin' well the minute you walk out, they take down the poster and that's all they do. But I've never relied on record companies for my livelihood. I've always made my living as a performer. BG: But you'd go to a major city outside Ireland and very possibly play to more non-Irish people than an act that the record company might be seriously pushing? CM: It's frustrating. But I can see the problems they have as well. Here I am, a 47-year-old making very specific albums, and I'm dealing with a record company that also has Madonna, and they're geared for that sort of problem. WEA in Ireland can handle Christy Moore because when I was signed to them, I was their biggest-selling act. I feel I could sell records in other territories, but if that were to become a burning desire, it might become a burning resentment. I suffered long enough in my life with burning resentments about record companies, and it's something I let go of because it's excess baggage I can't afford to carry. BG: What would you listen to? CM: I don't listen to anything. Honestly. BG: What's the last record or song you got enthusiastic about? CM: What I listen to – when I'm not playing my own stuff, which I do every day – is Wally Page, Johnny Mulhern, the people who send me songs, that's who I listen to. Somebody sent over the John Prine album the other night, and I listened to it, and then I sent it back. I'm being honest when I say I don't listen to anything. I know it's probably hard for you, you probably think I'm joking . . . Look, I was up this morning at eight and then playing for three hours. I'll probably play again this afternoon. I'll probably play again tonight. When I'm not working on my songs, I don't listen to music. The albums I would buy and bring home and listen to once would be Van Morrison, Sinéad O'Connor, The Pogues, Jimmy McCarthy, and Mary Coughlan. Sometimes when I'm out on the road, young bands give me their stuff and I listen to it. Like in the Seventies, I used to listen to a lot of music – Santana, Dylan, Van Morrison. I used to listen to Mountain, I loved Mountain . . . Dory Previn. I used to listen to a lot when I was into smoking dope and listening to albums. BG: Do you distinguish between your audiences here and abroad? CM: It's not different from country to country. It doesn't vary. It's people who connect with the songs, the lyrics, the feeling for various reasons. But it seems to be in the last ten years that people see my music for what it is, and they connect to that. It's nothing to do with style. It seems to be something to do with content, and I touch people in certain ways. BG: So it's the lone man with the guitar in front of over 20,000 at Féile. Where does that put you in competition with everybody else's technology? It's where I like to be. At this point in my life, I find it exciting and really quite dangerous to be out on the edge of a big stage with just a guitar. And I find it particularly thrilling in the way my life has gone over the past few years. BG: How are the hecklers? The hecklers are still good. Very important. Worth their weight in gold. A good heckler is as good as a good light show. BG: When was the last time a heckler really pushed you? I don't remember. But then the last three gigs I did were Féile, London Fleadh, and Glasgow Fleadh. You don't have hecklers there. I mean you don't hear them at Féile because there's 60,000 of them. They're all hecklers at Féile. Or they're the performers and I'm the heckler.
