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RTÉ News
01-08-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
Remembering Sean Rocks - the Irish arts community pays tribute
It's been a heartbreaking day, with the Irish arts community mourning a true champion, RTÉ Arena host Sean Rocks. It's only fitting that his RTÉ Arena team gathers members of that community to celebrate the life and times of a man who enjoyed a distinguished career as an actor before becoming the voice of arts and culture on RTÉ - listen to an emotional tribute to an extraordinary talent above.
The Journal
31-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Journal
In tribute: Seán Rocks showed us with warmth and wit that the Irish arts matter
ANY OUTLETS THAT shine a light on the Irish arts are precious these days, but none more so than the daily arts show Arena on RTÉ Radio One . Today came the terrible news that its stalwart presenter, the erudite, warm and witty Seán Rocks, has died aged 64 . You will see many tributes to him today, all extolling what a talented, informed presenter he was, a true champion of the arts. Seán Rocks himself probably would not have expected such an outpouring of love and sadness from strangers, because those of us who worked with him in any capacity did not experience him as a man seeking fame or attention. I first met the Monaghan native in 2009, when I started contributing as a reviewer to RTÉ Arena. Back then he had just moved from Lyric FM, and he wouldn't have known it but he taught me a huge amount about how to be a brilliant presenter, and how to up my game as a contributor. One could only wish for the combined gift he had of deep knowledge and an expansive love of the arts. Having been an actor himself, he could think about the arts from the point of view of both a performer/artist and an audience member. There was no artistic genre he wasn't capable of talking about, and he was as adept interviewing an actor or director as an artist or writer. He also had the vanishingly rare characteristic of being incredibly informed while free from ego, and it was this which meant he could do a deeply interesting and probing interview without coming across as snooty. He clearly thought of the listener: what would they want to know? What interesting nugget could he discover on their behalf? Advertisement 'He took his role seriously' View this post on Instagram A post shared by RTÉ Radio 1 (@rteradio1) So many of us have had evenings and dinnertimes soundtracked by his great interviews. They were always filled with gentle curiosity; humour was deployed with ease. Artists clearly enjoyed talking to him because Seán cared about what he was doing; he cared about the arts, and he wanted to champion them. He took his role seriously. He treated every interviewee with respect. I've mostly contributed to Arena as a music reviewer, though over the years I've contributed in other small ways too. It was and continues to be an incredible honour to get to contribute to the show in any capacity. My first thoughts when I heard the terrible news about Seán were of his family; earlier this year post-show we'd had a great chat about what his much-loved sons were up to. But I also thought of his team, because Arena was not just Seán – it was and is a team who care as much as him about the arts and about art-makers. Together they endeavour to cover all aspects of the arts, from independent bands to literary awards. They look across the country and are not satisfied with focusing on Dublin above everything else. It's a herculean job and I don't want to think about what the country would be missing if Arena wasn't on air. A rare and welcome show Many of us paying tribute to Seán today are freelancers and arts journalists who know what a precious gem Arena is. It's given us work, it's taken us seriously, and Seán always provided us with a welcome and rare opportunity to talk about the arts on air in an in-depth and serious way. Related Reads RTÉ radio presenter Seán Rocks dies aged 64 But he had a cheeky side to him too. While doing reviews, we'd joke around often between songs. He would always recover with panache from our shenanigans just before the mic was back on. He might have had a look of divilment in his eyes when asking a probing question about an album, but he was never dismissive about even the most dire of records. He always treated the work with respect and the genres reviewed on Arena have always been incredibly wide-ranging. When I look back on my own career since 2009, even if I was only on Arena a handful of times in a year the show has always played a huge role in keeping me validated, informed and on my toes as a journalist. I think I can speak for all contributors when I say that you want to do your best on Arena. Seán Rocks would show up to the mic – with the great support of the Arena team – ready to do excellent work. You couldn't show up and do half a job in response. There is a saying that you should 'give someone their flowers' before it is too late. I hope that Seán Rocks knew to some degree how respected he was, and how much his work on Arena has mattered to art-makers, journalists and art-lovers. We are all truly sad today, sad for his family, sad for the Arena team, sad for his colleagues at RTÉ, sad that we won't hear him on air tonight. If there is anything we can take from this terrible time, it is to treasure those who, like Seán, make an active contribution towards championing the Irish arts in a world that does not always value it. I hope Seán Rocks' family can glean some small comfort during this devastating time in seeing just how much he meant to the country. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam. Aoife Barry is a freelance arts journalist and author. Readers like you are keeping these stories free for everyone... A mix of advertising and supporting contributions helps keep paywalls away from valuable information like this article. Over 5,000 readers like you have already stepped up and support us with a monthly payment or a once-off donation. Learn More Support The Journal
RTÉ News
09-06-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
Book Of The Week: Let Me Go Mad in My Own Way by Elaine Feeney
Elaine Feeney's new novel is a masterclass in Irish storytelling, combining good elements from canonical classics like Anne Enright's The Gathering and John McGahern's That They May Face the Rising Sun with her own intuitive sensibility about the contemporary west of Ireland to deliver a novel which manages to eschew cliché. Yes, there is the familiar 'return of the native' narrative. Yes, there is bereavement, heartbreak and solitude; so much that, at times, protagonist Claire O'Connor's reckoning with her difficult past threatens to tip into sentimentality. But it never does. Feeney leaves enough of Claire's foibles intact - her self-righteousness, her latent gifted school-child predilection for quoting Yeats and Lady Gregory - that we end up encountering a breakdown which feels terrifyingly close to the real thing. Listen: Oliver Callan talks to Elaine Feeney about her new novel Claire is a forty-something writer and lecturer, who has been forced by grief to return from London to the farm she grew up on near Athenry, Co. Galway. Her mother is dead and her relationship with long term English boyfriend Tom is on the rocks. After its initial collapse when she storms out of their shared flat, seemingly for good, she learns that Tom has followed her to a nearby cottage in the west of Ireland; one which has been gifted to him rent-free by a wealthy female patron. "I imagined the kind of woman who… was bright, and perhaps she was scrawny with a thigh gap, smart shoes, minimal jewelry - and before sleep, I wondered, did he f**k her or just pretend to want to?" What makes Feeney's characterisation so refreshing is that she doesn't expect her reader to like - much less root for - her protagonist Differences in grief are rendered sharply from person to person and region to region. In sister-in-law Lara, we have the sophisticated Dubliner's impatient need for closure. In Tom, we have the stiff upper lip English need to endure and keep up appearances. In Claire, Brian and Conor, we have the raw thing - the highs and lows, the jagged rocks, itchy scrub and salty air of emotions so unrefined they could have come out of the land itself - until we're left with nothing less than the near-disintegration of a whole family. Remembering that Tom begins the novel as Claire's long-term boyfriend, his initial detachment from the catastrophe of her mother's death is heightened by the fact that he delivers his condolences by phone call. "Look, I am sure this can't be easy on you," he says. "I can't imagine - Oh sugar, Claire, I am - I'm sorry but I have to run, I'm launching Steve's book in five and they're calling me… Such bad timing." Listen: RTÉ Arena reviews Let Me Go Mad in My Own Way It should come as no surprise that Let Me Go Mad in My Own Way is replete with badly-behaved men. Claire's violently abusive father hangs like a dark cloud over much of the narrative, while her younger brother Brian detaches himself emotionally. Her older brother Conor prefers to abuse alcohol as a coping mechanism for loss, such that each sibling becomes illustrative of a different strand of changing aspirations for different Irish classes and generations. Where the ownership of land once represented security and fulfillment for small-holders like Claire's father and grandfather, for the university-educated siblings it is a 'noose' that fastens their ambition. There is even a shrewd reversal of the Mother Ireland trope, where Claire's father becomes so tied up in the land that it eventually leaves him embittered, angry, patriarchal and lonely. He debases his reputation by agreeing to sell a black mare to representatives of Queen Elizabeth II, and when that goes wrong, he unleashes a sustained physical assault on his wife; one we are given to understand is emblematic of the norm. Not that Claire isn't filled with faults of a different kind. What makes Feeney's characterisation so refreshing is that she doesn't expect her reader to like - much less root for - her protagonist; preferring instead to insinuate self-examination from her audience. Claire is so frequently high-minded in her wrongheadedness that all we can do is be compelled; watch as the car crash spins spectacularly over the road, feeling every nauseating turn as it rolls toward conclusion.
RTÉ News
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
Luail steps up - Ireland's national dance theatre takes flight
Liz Roche, Artistic Director of Luail, Ireland's all-island dance company, talks about the beginnings of the company, as it prepares to make its highly anticipated debut this May with Chora, a triple bill of new dance works. Luail takes its name from an ancient Irish word that evokes movement, energy, and impulse. Soft in sound—pronounced 'loo-il'—it also carries a deeper resonance, describing an internal, almost anatomical motion, much like the movement of the nervous system. We embrace these layered meanings, drawing from our rich culture to shape our vision: for dance to be known and celebrated across the island of Ireland and to strengthen our dance ecosystem. In 2024, the Arts Council Insights survey revealed that just 2% of the population attend dance performances. While dance participation is high in private or commercial settings, a lack of investment in dance education - unlike other art forms such as music and drama - has created social and spatial barriers. Without early exposure to dance, it's difficult to cultivate a life-long appreciation for the art form. Listen: RTÉ Arena celebrate the launch of Luail Additionally, those aspiring to have a career in dance have often faced a lack of clear pathways to support their journey. This gap in support was highlighted as a critical need by the Arts Council's Dance Policy—Advancing Dance 2022-2025, which called for the establishment of a national, all-island dance company to create stable careers for dance artists, present ambitious work, revive key repertoire, and strengthen connections across the dance community. Liz Roche Company and foundational partners at the Irish World Academy of Music and Dance, University of Limerick and Maiden Voyage Dance in Belfast, were awarded the opportunity and honour to create Luail — Ireland's National Dance Company. Together, we have been shaping this new national, all-island dance company, developing a programme of ambitious dance works and special projects that build on the incredible work already being done in the sector. Our artistic programme is forging strong connections between traditions, artists and communities, through the creation of bold, high-quality, collaborative works across various disciplines, scales, languages and performance spaces. Our work brings people together locally and internationally, driven by a fearless, inventive spirit, deep artist connection, and shared joy. The work celebrates the idea of shared spaces, both physical and emotional, and explores what they mean in our lives today. With our foundational partners we are establishing clear career pathways for dancers, and now for the first time, dancers on the island can follow a path from undergraduate to postgraduate studies in contemporary dance at the Irish World Academy, UL, into a professional national company through two MA dance placements with the Luail ensemble. After just over a year of building our new Luail team, company of dancers, and programme that has engaged with over 120 artists across disciplines through research & development and commissioning dance artists to create within and for their communities—we are now preparing to premiere our first major production for the stage. To be doing this at Bord Gais Energy Theatre as the opening performance of Dublin Dance Festival feels extra special. Chora, created in collaboration with the Irish Chamber Orchestra, is an ambitious debut featuring three new dance works: I Contain Multitudes by Maria Campos and Guy Nader, Constellations by myself, Liz Roche, and Invocation by Luail's Choreographer in Residence, Mufutau Yusuf. Chora takes inspiration from the ancient Greek word that describes a place for being that is a shared space - both real and imagined. This ground-breaking new work will see Luail's ensemble of extraordinary dancers join forces with the Irish Chamber Orchestra in a vibrant exchange of dance and live, contemporary orchestral works. The work celebrates the idea of shared spaces, both physical and emotional, and explores what they mean in our lives today. This theme runs through all of our productions in unique ways this year, and we are excited to see the many threads come together over time. Chora – along with the rest of our productions this year – is a work in dialogue with contemporary Ireland—work that celebrates our diverse culture, transcends language, and engages with complex societal themes. We hope that audiences see our inaugural production as more than just a showcase of movement – we see it as a conversation in motion, driving us toward a brighter, more connected future for dance. Together, we'll revel, rebel, and reimagine. Together, we'll move.
RTÉ News
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- RTÉ News
Niamh Ni Mhaoileoin on faith, family, identity and her debut novel
Writer Niamh Ni Mhaoileoin introduces her debut novel Ordinary Saints, an exploration of family, grief, queer identity, and the legacy of the Catholic Church in Ireland. In October 2020, I read a news story about the Italian teenager Carlo Acutis who, this week, will become the first millennial saint. Until then, I'm not sure I believed in creative lightning bolts. But as soon as I read that article, I saw the shape of what would become my first novel, Ordinary Saints. It tells the story of Jay, a queer Irish woman living in London. She's fiercely independent, borderline estranged from her parents, and determined to ignore her past. She has a group of close friends and a new girlfriend she's really into, but she tells them hardly anything about her life growing up, including the fact that her older brother Ferdia, a trainee priest, was killed in an accident when he was 24 and she was 16. Listen: Niamh Ni Mhaoileoin talks to RTÉ Arena Then, at the very beginning of the novel, she gets a call from her father, who tells her that the Archdiocese of Dublin is kicking off the process to have Ferdia made a Catholic saint. He invites Jay to come home for a mass celebrating the news and, in the months that follow, the stark divides that she's established in her life start to break down. She finally has to grapple with her grief for Ferdia, her relationship with her parents, and her feelings about the Catholic Church. When I began writing, I knew that the question of Ireland's social and religious transformation could be of interest to a broad audience. Living in the UK for the last twelve years, I've often found myself in conversations about our national progressive glow up, with spikes of interest around the marriage equality referendum, the repeal referendum, and that Christmas when literally everyone was gifted a copy of Small Things Like These. Looking at my own experience, the first eighteen years of my life were completely infused with religious belief. But in approaching the novel, I wasn't primarily interested in the headlines or statistics. Rather, the question that animated my writing was: how did it feel to live through this period of Irish history? How did it feel being a young queer person, seeing the country changing around you but still not trusting that it was safe to come out? How did it feel, as a Catholic parent, to continue bringing your children to mass through the successive waves of scandal? How did it feel to watch those children grow up and drift away from the faith? If the family is (officially) the fundamental unit of Irish society, how have our families adapted to the ruptures of the last three decades, and at what emotional cost? For the purposes of the novel, I decided to push these questions to something of an extreme, through the device of Ferdia's cause for canonisation. But at the same time, I've tried to explore my themes with as much nuance and understanding as possible. Ordinary Saints doesn't shy away from the failures and crimes of the Catholic Church, but it recognises that these questions of faith, family and identity are complicated. Looking at my own experience, the first eighteen years of my life were completely infused with religious belief. That brought some darkness, inevitably, in the form of guilt, shame, fear, and anger at the terrible abuses perpetrated by the Church. But at the same time, there are parts of it that I miss: the music, the familiar rhythm of the prayers, seeing almost everyone I knew at mass on Sunday mornings. In Ordinary Saints, I've tried to capture this ambivalence, which I suspect many people brought up in religious homes feel. You can at once hate that way that religion constricted your life, and also miss its moral clarity and comfort, or struggle to find another system of meaning to take its place. So ultimately, Ordinary Saints is story driven by questions rather than answers. On one level, it's about an obscure theological process. But much more than that, it's about a complicated family battling with grief and change – and trying to hold on to love through it all.
