to being 18
I have quite sparse memories of the day of my 18th birthday. Partly as it was 23 years ago, partly as there was a fair amount of booze involved. But it was a Bank Holiday and the vague plan was pub with the usual heads for a legal bottle of Fosters Ice (which was £1). This is the first indicator within this sweet recollection that my taste was to expand somewhat over the years.
One strong feeling I do remember from that day is being in a mild huff and feeling a bit slighted as the lads were so keen to go see some fella with a hole in his guitar play in Cool Discs, a local independent music shop. I don’t recall being particularly wowed by the gig but probably as I was in the kind of seemingly world ending mood you can only muster as an 18 year old. I cringe a wee bit at this now, 23 years later, as it was the first time I saw Glen Hansard live. You can watch the gig here.
I didn’t truly get it until another pal burned a Frames CD for me and I took it with me to uni in Scotland. The renowned live version of ‘Star Star’ that intermingled with ‘Pure Imagination’ that just lit up something in my soul. But it was a grainy recording of Glen performing ‘Homes of Donegal’ with Paul Brady in a pub in that county that really that made me a feral fan of this man’s storytelling and performance through music. He’s in the background and doesn’t even sing in to a mic but the through line and connection to Irish singers really got its claws in me. He’s always there, bringing everyone together, be it in Leo’s Pub or the Royal Albert Hall or Grafton Street at Christmas.
The world copped on after the film ‘Once’ was released in 2007. I can genuinely say thank you Cillian Murphy for passing on that role as it would not have been the same gentle performance of a broken hearted hoover fixer sucker guy.
A song can soundtrack potent memories and moments in your life, connect you back to a time or a person or a feeling. Maybe a former flame burned you a mix CD and the memory of youthful attraction sparks something alive in 40 something you. Glen Hansard’s songs have that power in spades and he has given us some crackers. And the raw sometimes unhinged just fucking real way he sang them was a sight to behold and a power to receive. No wonder the guitar had a hole in it. He had a voice that seemed to scream raw from the very soil and craggy rock of our country. The outpouring of feeling for this man who most didn't know and had never met is a testament to that gift he has left us with. For me, it is that connection to the tunes of the land of my birth and such fond memories of being only 18 surrounded by your mates with it all laying out before you. Some of us who were there aged 18 have been reaching out to each other in the last fortnight to hold the music and memory; that is a gift in and of itself. We've all had some real hardships to bear since then but to paraphrase one of those mates, imagine just sitting on the floor with only your A levels to worry about?
Since I originally wrote this (on the day after he died when the words raced out of me), his life and contribution to Irish culture have been publicly celebrated at his funeral. He has been laid to rest. There has been a fair bit of chatter online (a guaranteed occurrence after any sort of major event) about certain aspects of character of the man and his interactions with women. I'm not going to comment on that here but it did make me pause before posting this in case I was seen to be deifying someone who had possibly a more complex past than we all understood. The personal potency of the moment has more been about a kind of longing and grief for the simplicity of being 18, contrasted with the reality of the occasional grind of modern adult life. To be able to go back to my friend's garage, listen to tunes and be accused of being 'bandwagon' with my music tastes as if it was the highest social offence. The memory glimmers. But we know it wouldn't be the same as we have hardened a bit over the years. It's like the resurgence of bands and artists we listened to then, cashing in on our nostalgia. It's never the same. But glorious to revisit once in a while.
An gloine slán (parting glass) for Glen, his music, and our 18 year old selves. But let's look forward where we can, and hopefully together.
