Cassandra Voices

Tag: musician

  • Musician of the Month: Johnny Jude

    When I was ten years old a blind man by the name of Mr. John Mitchell taught me how to play the piano accordion. I learned how to read and write music over the next two years and I could play a good selection of waltz’s and  marches. The Centenary March, The Boston Burglar, You and I are a few I can remember. It’s a tricky instrument to play, with the bass keys on the left the piano keyboard on the right and the pulling and pushing it in and out. You feel a bit like Silas Marner at his loom when everything is trundling along together. With each new tune you learn you go through the process of feeling that this is impossible; this is barely possible; this is okay; I can do this without thinking about it.

    I find the process of committing something to muscle memory fascinating. It was around this time my mother, who is an excellent singer, decided she would learn to play guitar to accompany herself. She bought a wine sunburst acoustic guitar and attended a weekly class, keeping a folder of songs with chords written in over the lyrics and diagrams of the chord fingerings.

    I can still remember the first time I took it out of it’s case and began to learn these shapes from the diagrams, G… C, that was all that was needed for the first line of the first song in the folder – My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean. When I sang that first line and changed the chord under the melody something switched on inside me that has never switched off ever since. My mind was blown. I could feel the vibrations of the chords and it felt like every cell in my body was resolving as the chords changed supporting the melody. From that moment on the accordion gathered dust and what could only be described as an obsession with the guitar began.

    All I wanted was more chords and more songs to play. Every day I would play through the folder of songs until my fingers were raw and I would have to wait in frustration until the following day to play more. My mother became disheartened with her progress when she could hear me flying through the chord changes and she was still struggling. The simple fact was I was practicing fifty times as much as she was. There’s no big mystery or gift involved in learning to play an instrument, it’s just a matter of whether you are obsessed with it or not.

    I’m not as obsessed with huge amounts of practice anymore. I just target specific pieces  that I am working on or gigging at the time and rehearse those for a couple of hours. I find that it’s just as important to prepare mentally for a show or recording as it is to physically prepare. I had to develop relaxation techniques and routines to calm my body and mind before and during performances. When I say develop I mean tailor my own personal program, the actual techniques themselves have all been around for centuries. I use a combination of yoga postures to ground my body and connect with my breathing coupled with the practice of positive visualization.

    There are so many things that can go wrong that could spoil a gig or a recording, if you start worrying about them you will drive yourself crazy. So stick to the positive outcomes only. Of course it pays to have all your equipment in good order and your chops down.

    I am currently the guitarist in the Dublin based band Shakalak. In this outfit I get to play fun electric guitar lines over a fusion of electro-poetry. It’s a very creative group and our songwriting process is organic and spontaneous. At our rehearsals we allocate time for creation, sometimes nothing of interest will arise and other times we write an absolute hit, start to finish in twenty minutes.

    All of us in the band have our own solo projects and we tip away at these concurrently. I am almost finished writing my second solo album and I am working on the pre-production of these songs at the moment. I am not trying to consciously target any specific genre with these new songs.

    Are they cool? I don’t really know what “cool” is anymore. There are so many different types of cool now it’s a mine field.  I am just following my gut instinct and playing what I want to hear at the moment. Hopefully they will resonate with some people and I will step on a cool bomb every so often.  I am really enjoying playing and singing these new tracks so that makes me happy. I went through a fallow period a few years ago and it feels wonderful to be back in love with writing songs. It’s easy to lose your confidence and mojo for writing. I have psyched myself out of the game a few times at this stage. You just have to keep showing up at the office and something will eventually happen. These are the glory days.

    My first solo album released 12-02-2020: https://johnnyjude.bandcamp.com/album/vitamins-wine

     

  • Musician of the Month: Caterina Schembri

    On November 14th I am releasing my debut album Sea Salt & Turpentine on the Ergodos label with a launch concert at the National Concert Hall. The album is a collection of chamber and vocal works I composed over the past two and a half years for Ficino Ensemble and Michelle O’Rourke in rotating subsets. It also features original lyrics and text written by me.

    The music is an intimate portrait of my inner landscapes and explores some of my main creative interests: a focus on colour and nuance, rich soundscapes, naturalistic imagery, obnubilated symbols, connections with the written word, and literary allusions translated into music. With this music, I want to create a sense of suspension, spaciousness, and introspection.

    And with water printed unto my bones
    I break asunder from the flock…

    Out of this light,
    Into this dusk.

    The title piece, Sea salt and turpentine, plays last and it carries the soul of the album. Written for string quartet and two voices, Sea salt and turpentine is about finding a sense of refuge in nature and creativity. It is mapped as a ritual of individual affirmation and sensorial connectivity with the landscape. I find solace and moments of deep reflection and stimulation in proximity to the ocean; this piece condenses in one moment a constellation of rebirths. Its germinal idea alludes to Virginia Woolf’s poetic novel The Waves, a work that has been very influential to my creative work and perception of the world.

    I decided to open the album with a solo viola piece for Nathan Sherman, creative director of the ensemble and key collaborator in this project. Soft charcoal over moonstone is the opening gate to the sound universe of the album. It explores the idea of chiaroscuro through the viola, contrasting light versus shade and all possibilities in-between. The title establishes a visual reference, the charcoal as a dark drawing tool over a shiny luminous material, the moonstone. These two opposing forces emerge in many shades providing the palette and arc of the piece.

    Nathan Sherman recording Soft charcoal over moonstone.

    When light bleeds out of the day.
    To see your gestures blur,
    Deform,
    Wolfsbane blue, underwater
    Screams cross a long distance
    Embellishing themselves.

    These eyes, these hips, these hands
    Clothes spread wide and mermaid-like
    Let the light flicker mercurial…
    Let the light flicker and fade.

    There is a willow for voice, viola clarinet, and harp is the first piece I composed in this collection, written in 2022 as part of the Ficino Ensemble Composers Workshop it was also my first link to Ficino Ensemble. Depicting Ophelia’s death, the text of There is a willow opens with a quote from Hamlet and then evolves into original text. I wanted to explore her experience first-hand, things her eyes might have seen, but also thoughts that could have crossed her mind. I am fascinated by the timelessness of this character and her representation of the feeling of surrendered disembodiment that a first heartbreak can generate. The text is scattered with images of flowers that carry a symbolic meaning, a secret message.

    This idea of floriography (the meanings of flowers) was the main inspiration for the visual aspect of the album, flowers and trees that carry a symbolic meaning are found in the lyrics of three of the pieces. To create the cover, I made cyanotypes using flowers I collected around Dublin, the dry flowers were then organised on top of the finished cyanotype and beautifully captured in photo by my dear friend Néstor Romero Clemente.

    Sea salt & Turpentine – album cover.

    Cold storm pines tangle and expand
    Tracing maps of empty cities,
    Empty palms.

    My fingers follow scarlet roads
    Of chins, of ears,
    Of mouths that turn to stone

    If I wake up slowly,
    I’m off the shore.

    The third track of the album, I wake up in the night when I dream in black and white explores the elusive nature of dreams and the arrested rhythms of broken expectations. The musical gestures trace blooming lines that crest and die out traversing the liminal space between reality and dream, disclosing fragments of the darker corners of the mind often ignored during daytime. The visual idea of an unknown silhouette coming in and out of focus without fully revealing itself, beautiful and slightly unsettling.

    This piece was written for String Quartet and speaker, it features a segment of spoken word. I loved working on this element as it was the first time I wrote a piece of standalone text in this context. The text was brewing in my head for a while and came together on a winter afternoon in Paris.

    This piece is one of three in the album that include vocal elements, I was very lucky to work with vocalist Michelle O’Rourke on all three of them. Her care for nuance, her versatility, and her understanding of intention and meaning elevate the text and the music.

    Paris, winter, 2023.

    The full instrumental ensemble comes together for It was only half as far.

    In the twenty-first poem of Pictures of the Gone World (1955), Lawrence Ferlinghetti opens up with the line: ‘Heaven // was only half as far that night // at the poetry recital…’ and proceeds to describe a scene that to distant eyes could seem simple or mundane, but that encapsulates an instant of bliss to him. I always loved this image of the wide distance to the ether shrinking, a vivid and clear representation of those moments of fleeting elation that often come unexpectedly, in ordinary scenarios, leaving deep imprints behind. It was only half as far echoes the times in which this sentiment shone a light on me.

    This album is the result of a collective effort, it has been a great joy to work with a team of exceptional musicians; Ficino Ensemble and Michelle O’Rourke gave the richest and most soulful performances I could have wished for. The care and artistry in the capture and production of the record are all in the hands of co-producer Garrett Sholdice and sound engineer Edu Prado, with the final touch from mastering engineer Christoph Stickel.

    Sea salt & Turpentine found its perfect home in Ergodos. The label, founded by composers Benedict Schlepper-Connolly and Garrett Sholdice is a beautiful ecosystem of careful curation for music projects that I have long admired and that has been a very active part of my creative life. I am proud to see my music there and always grateful to the two powerhouses in this operation Garrett and Benedict.

    Link to Album Launch at the National Concert Hall on Thursday November 14th.

    Feature Image: Néstor Romero Clemente

  • Musician of the Month: Greg Clifford

    I was born in Dublin in 1987, and grew up 5 kilometres west of the city centre in a village called Inchicore. Since birth I’ve been completely enveloped by music and creativity. My father, Dave Clifford, was involved in the counterculture performance art scene of the late 70s / early 80s in Ireland. Additionally, he played in the original line-up of Thee Amazing Colossal Men and was the editor of Ireland’s VOX music magazine (1980-83). My mother, who in fact typed the VOX articles, is also innately artistic and adept in crafts such as tie-dyeing and jewellery.

    David Clifford performance art, live at A Dark Space in the Project Arts Centre in 1979.

    My brother and I were privileged enough to have parents that valued and prioritised creativity, curiosity, application and dedication. We grew up in an art rich household. The walls displayed, and still do, works of Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky, abstract sculptures and my father’s photography. This environment naturally piqued my interest in the alternative and the absurd.

    The VOX music magazine.

    My grandmother once declared ‘you’ll ruin that boy’! Maybe what she was really inferring was they would awaken me to the point of no return? Musically I was mesmerized by the sound of the 60s. The Beatles, The Doors, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, The Small Faces all gripped me. Witnessing Hendrix burning his guitar left me spellbound. There was no going back from that incandescent display. I was changed forever.

    My talent and proclivity for music was always fostered, never stifled. For this I am truly grateful. I began music tuition at the age of 7 and started guitar lessons at 9.

    Greg Clifford aged 9.

    ELEVATOR

    I later founded a 3-piece blues / indie rock band called ELAVATOR in 2006 (intentionally spelt incorrectly, something we later regretted). We disbanded in a most Spinal Tap-esque blaze of glory in 2012 – quite literally breaking up on stage, mid gig.

    ELAVATOR

    ELAVATOR served as my musical apprenticeship; honing a writing style, exploring effects pedals, learning to navigate and control the live arena, while embracing the intricacies of collaborating with others. During this time I also studied music in university; graduating with a Bachelors of Music and Masters in Contemporary Classical Composition. I also toured nationwide and internationally with the Diversus Guitar Ensemble (a 20+ classical guitar group).

    After ELAVATOR I became something of a solo singer-songwriter, by circumstance rather than choice. This, however, was liberating and permitted me to embrace my musical eclecticism.

    I released a number of albums, EPs and singles over the next 10 years. The standout offerings being the Quodlibet LP of 2017 and Lines of Desire LP (2022) which was accompanied by a 40-minute making of the album documentary (filmed by my father) and a 13,000 word book that reflects on the sources of inspiration, studio anecdotes and music theory.

    My Dad and I regularly create music videos and independent documentaries. Our current project is ‘Outsider Artists: The Story of Paranoid Visions’, which delves into the world of Ireland’s longest serving punk band – Paranoid Visions (who formed in 1981). The film provides an insight into the conditions that spawned punk and the subcultures in Ireland. It’s a DIY endeavour about a DIY underdog band made by bloody-minded DIY filmmakers.

    MANA

    Musically my main focus for now is MANA – based primarily in Berlin. For this project I collaborate with musicians Shane Byrne and Niclas Liebling. I enjoy being involved in a band again, both for the sonic landscape and general camaraderie. Style wise we’re a fusion of post-punk and indie rock. Shane’s guitar tones are reminiscent of the late 70s and early 80s, while the lyrics allude to how polarized, cynical and fragmented the world has become. Our songs embody communal disenchantment whilst also offering a sense of solace and solidarity. Melancholy imbues the work, but hope is always present too. In the words of Albert Camus ‘a man devoid of hope and conscious of being so ceases to belong to the future’.

    MANA – image Stephen Golden.

    Our latest release is entitled Nauseating Me. I deliberately wanted to deliver something urgent, unapologetic and relentless; a visceral soundtrack of frustration that reflects society. The track considers themes and notions such as romanticizing recalcitrance, wanderlust and liberation, while staring into the inescapable abyss of a world strung out on fake news, quotidian click bait snares, spam, fraudulent authorities and relentless terms and conditions.

    Future Projects

    As for future projects and releases, that’s anyone’s guess. I am interested in some day returning to instrumental music and investing time in film scores. In reality, there are not enough years in a lifetime to explore and develop all the artistic ideas I have. However, I endeavour to remain receptive to stimuli and glimmers, and move towards what inspires me.

    Early 2025 the plan is to focus my attention and energies on songwriting. I feel recently I’ve dropped the ball on that front. It seems these days being a musician is less about actually interacting with your craft and more about posting on social media, graphic design, writing press releases, admin, video editing, booking shows, promoting etc. I abhor social media, but rely on the very thing I resent, for without it I’d be rendered anonymous and redundant.

    There are times I flirt with waving the white flag and embracing security away from music. I wonder if I’m ignoring my better judgement and doubts that scream ‘time to step into an acceptable paradigm’. However, this would be spiritual suicide.

    I have a deep undeniable urge to create and fight the good fight. In a self-devouring world, increasingly conditioned by AI and instant gratification, for me art is the only answer. Artistic expression is a form of survival and revolt. It doesn’t always provide answers, but it asks the right questions.

    Aside from its cathartic qualities, art binds, creates communities and transcends cultural divisions and boundaries. Art is life, purity and hope. Creating helps me understand the world around me, and my position in it. My goal ultimately is to illuminate myself and be as authentic for as long as possible before slipping into the big sleep.

    Feature Image: Stephen Golden

    https://www.youtube.com/gregcliffordmusic/videos

    https://www.gregcliffordmusic.com/

  • Musician of the Month: Finn Doherty

    Early Influences

    I tend to cite the same small handful of artists as my early influences, but I always find myself defining the difference between ‘influence’ and ‘inspiration.’ As a kid, I was really inspired by bands like Green Day, and I loved Arctic Monkeys, but that doesn’t necessarily reflect the music I make now.

    You could probably draw comparisons between some of my songwriting choices and Alex Turner’s, but these bands were probably more ‘inspirations’ as opposed to ‘influences.’ In many ways, it was more about wearing a leather jacket and slicking my hair back, or pairing black eyeliner with shirts and ties, than it was about the music.

    I grew up in North London, going to a lot of sessions with my parents, and I think trad music played a big part in the way I write melodies. Trad tunes are so much about repetitive phrasing and short motifs, which I think has ultimately translated into me writing music that is pretty hooky and catchy. Also, learning to play Irish music is a lot about learning tunes by ear, and I think that influenced the way I write, where melody often comes first and is generated really quickly.

    Current Practice

    I just released an EP called ‘if you’re bored of this city’. It’s a project about desire, obsession, and self-destruction. It’s kind of a personal exploration of my own identity, and about how relationships can become complicated by self-discovery.

    I had a very complex relationship with a friend a few years ago, and that was a big drive behind the narrative of this project. Musically, I looked to the songs and sounds that were soundtracking my life at the time of that experience, so it was a lot of dark pop music off the back of the first Billie Eilish album, and the production on the early Chance The Rapper projects, and the breakout of hyperpop.

    I was also really inspired by Son Lux’s soundtrack for ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’, which I saw while I was mapping out a lot of the production for the EP. I think that had a big influence on the project, especially when I listen back to ‘Figure It Out’.

    I made a whole series of videos to accompany the project, which string each song together and use the music to soundtrack this night of partying and recklessness. The project tells the story of such a pivotal time in my life, and I wanted to retell that story to the fullest extent through this lens of the art I was into at the time.

    I think that’s why the videos are such an essential part of this EP. I’m really proud of what my friends and I managed to achieve with the visual side of this project, as it was all produced independently. It’s all available to watch for free on YouTube.

    Future Plans

    I’m really only just getting started. Right now, I’m focusing on ways to bring ‘if you’re bored of this city’ to more people, so I’m working on new shows and various other projects.

    I think it’s so important to experience music in face-to-face environments with other people, and I want my work to be a catalyst for those kinds of experiences. I love creating and engaging with content online, but live events are really where I thrive, and playing my songs live is the reason I do what I do.

    I think through playing more shows and being at more events post-pandemic, I’ve also found myself considering how the music I’m making will work in a live setting, and I’m really enjoying being out, and dancing, and just having a good time.

    I’m always working on new music, so it’s only a matter of time before the next project clicks into place in my mind and I start rolling out the next thing…

    Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2e3gFNiRxdNMh5TaVNwUHF?si=Ocqg4oaqRr6oGib1VRVMlQ

    Apple Music: https://music.apple.com/gb/artist/finn-doherty/1211574396

    YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@finndoherty_/

    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/finndoherty/

    ‘if you’re bored of this city’ EP: https://hypeddit.com/finndoherty/ifyoureboredofthiscity

    All Images Simon Jafrato

  • Podcast: Musician of the Month John Cummins

    We have a special edition in our Musician of the Month series as Frank Armstrong interviews John Cummins of the Dublin band Shakalak.

    Aficionados of the Dublin cultural scene over the past decade or two are likely to be familiar with John Cummins. Cutting a dash with a distinctive Rasputin beard and Reggae styles, John’s poetic performances in the Dublin vernacular have mesmerised audiences young and old. His playful, rhyming verse always had great musicality, and it seemed a natural progression for him to begin collaborating with musicians, culminating in the formation of the band Shakalak in 2018, which also contains another former Musician of the Month in Fin Divilly. If you haven’t made it along to one of their gigs yet, you are in for a treat.

    John recalls some of his earliest musical memories:

    Absolutely loved music … I remember going into into the record player in the room and putting her on and learning how to treat the needle respectfully and all that. So you just listen to whatever was there. What was that? Leo Sayer, you know, things like that … And then when I was a little bit older, maybe my brother [Paul] was probably fifteen and he got his hands on the guitar … So Paul would be playing and learning songs in the room, and yeah, I’d be left handed picking her up upside down, just playing one string or something like that, you know, that kind of thing. He’d be doing Simon and Garfunkel songs. I remember your wonderful tonight, Eric Clapton. He learned how to do that one, and he told me that that was his song and that he wrote it, and I believed him. I was of an age to believe that … I must have believed that for years, until it was years later when I was at a party somewhere and I heard it …, fucking Penny dropped … I am old enough to remember Bob Marley when he passed away and and everyone getting the the reggae into you. The knitted jumpers [with] Bob Marley R.I.P. all around and Bobby Sands at the time, all that. And then people going off to the Lebanon, maybe bringing back cassette tapes … and they do the rounds around the estate … So you’d be getting all sorts. And then you may be working and then you’re buying, buying your own music, whatever you like.

    And talks about moving from poetic performances into becoming a musician:

    So everything that I’ve been writing for a good number of years has consciously been with structure around where it’s easily adaptable to a template for a song. So everything’s been written with music in mind for years and sometimes they’d have melodies, sometimes they wouldn’t, sometimes they’d have certain BPMs or whatever, or even a key. And around that time, 2010 was when I first started. I suppose really performing … I started doing the open mics [in the International], and Stephen James Smith would help me a lot back then. The glass sessions, the Monday Echo, similar things that Minty is doing now on the Tuesday nights and the circle sessions on the Monday nights. Great stuff. This is a great old spot.

    …

    And that was where I came out of the shell. I started off hiding behind the page. Then I’d be doing things with my eyes closed. And then you’re just meeting people and you’re hooking up, and you’re there strumming a guitar, and you’re chatting your poems over and it’s all coming together. Loads of little collaborations down the years … Played with a band during the Lingo Festival. I don’t know if you remember that. The Lingo Festival 2014, 15, 16, … played with a band. Then I got the bug and then there was a couple of vibe for fillers where I jumped up on stage with these amazing musicians. And I was doing my poems in between, and that gave me the bug as well. You know, I kept feeding the bug, as it were …  So Fin and I just got just got chatting. It just really happened very naturally, organically and quickly, you know? Meanie. A friend of Finn’s, came in with a couple of little beats because we were looking for a drummer back then, you know, a real life human being drummer like, which, you know, are not that easy to come across.

    As to the vibrancy of the Dublin cultural scene today compared to the time he was starting off in early 2010s he says:

    It’s a shilling thing, I think. It’s a money thing. Definitely. Things are more expensive. There were some Wednesday nights back then you’d be like a stone going across the town trying to catch several nights that were going on, and the talent, as it were. I don’t really like that word, the talent, but the people sharing their songs and doing their bits and bobs, it was great … there was something in the air … Well venues are less. That’s maths isn’t it. That’s just out there. You can Google that and find out all them that’s disappeared and gone … [But] I think it’s going strong [still] … If you go down there to the sessions on the Monday night [in the International], that room is jammed down there, you know. And then there’s the Smithfield creatives that do bits and bobs. I haven’t been on social media now for for a few years, so I feel that I’m not up to speed to tell you what’s going on around town. But from word of mouth, from what I’m hearing, it’s not the same. Not as maybe … prolific or strong or whatever, but it is happening. Definitely. Yeah.

  • Musician of the Month: Squalloscope (Anna Kohlweis)

    There is a poem by Mary Ruefle called „Provenance“. It ends with with the following words:

    „So I have gone up to the little room
    in my face, I am making something
    out of a jar of freckles
    and a jar of glue

    I hated childhood
    I hate adulthood
    And I love being alive.

    This is also what my artist statement closes with, the one I occasionally have to send out to residencies or other art institutions to prove that I am always ready to be my entire weird self and produce something out of nothing (or a jar of freckles and a jar of glue) for a humble chunk of money, or simply a room to live, sing, sketch, write, sew, paint, film, and make noise in.

    I don’t like the categorisation of creative work, those restrictive boxes for organic, wild, un-boxable growths. „I make things“, I often say. „You’re a storyteller“, my partner says. „You point at what has always been there, and make me see it for the first time“, my cousin says. „Ha ha“, my brother says.

    There isn’t one thing that was here first. I was not making music before I was painting, or painting before I made sculptures. The documentation available to me from my childhood in provincial Austria shows that I made drawings as a baby, and at one point I glued three pieces of paper together and called it „Staubsauger (Vacuum cleaner)“. There is also a cassette tape that features me at kindergarten age, passionately singing a song I had just made up called „Wenn ich alleine bin, bin ich verloren (When I am alone, I am lost)“ about feeling mistreated and very, very sad and I can happily report that nothing has changed. I still do all those things, partly because I must, but mostly because nobody was silly enough to tell me to stop. I am also, of course, still very, very sad.

    Creating music and visual art, similar to dancing, aren’t primarily fancy, romantic, dramatic jobs. It is mostly basic human behaviour. I am glad I get to do all of it to this extent.

    I don’t think the ways in which I came to make music are particularly interesting. It was just a way of saying something when things needed to be said; a way to prove to my teenage self that I, too, could say those things in that particular way. I can’t play any instrument „properly“, but I put many to good use. My music reading skills are still that of a seven-year-old learning to play the recorder. I don’t know which notes or chords I am playing most of the time, but music has been a solo endeavour for the majority of my life, so I don’t need to communicate my unorthodox ways of producing it to anybody.

    I made my first record back in 2005-ish, using a very slow laptop, the free software Audacity, a peanut-sized clip-on microphone, and the audacity to think that this is how you could make an album. I learned how to be my own recording engineer, learned how to mix my songs by knowing no theory but knowing my ears, learned how to turn field recordings into rhythms, learned how to make beats by trial and error, copy and paste, and I obsessively wrote lyrics because that was always the easiest part. I wrote in English because it was fun, it was a game of discovery and growth, and it was the right tool to reach beyond the confinements of home. When I was twelve, in the early days of the internet, I would stay up all night to talk to American teenagers in music-themed chatrooms. It made me feel connected to the world in a way that seemed vital and endlessly exciting at the time. Connecting to my international audience through poetry brings back very similar emotions.

    The narrators and characters in my work have a tendency to seem lost, searching, observing, often barely tethered to the earth. I myself have trouble figuring out the boundaries between the self and its surroundings, often losing track of who I am and what I do. My work is strongly influenced by recurring dreams and folklore, images of the subconscious that are found again and again throughout the history of humans explaining themselves. That is how i put myself in context, this is how I find my footing.

    Every morning, I wake up raw and shapeless, barely remembering who I am, as if it was all lost in sleep. Creating music and images means re-making myself, establishing my contours, every day anew. The work is what tethers me to the earth; this is gravity.

    Between 2006 and 2022, I made six solo albums, three or four EPs, an album with my band Twin Tooth, a few short film soundtracks, a bunch of singles, a hard drive full of unreleased material, and various songs in collaboration with friends, most of them long-distance because I love to make things difficult and expansive for myself.

    As I am writing this, I am sitting on a couch at an artist residency inside a former stove factory in Chattanooga, Tennessee. A fellow resident is frying something in the adjacent kitchen, and a pickup truck down in the parking lot has the bass turned up so high that the walls are shaking. At night, the freight trains blow their horns. I have an old guitar at my disposal, a stack of watercolour paper, and a lot of empty wall space to fill.

    Songs will happen here, and if not here, then somewhere else, after. There are four music-related projects I would like to finish and five I would like to start. An album’s worth of lyrics for the next Twin Tooth record need to be written. A solo EP demands polishing. A scrap of found fabric wants to be shaped into a person. Paper is patiently waiting to be sent through a Letterpress. What must be said will be said, if not in sound, then in color, light, paint, fabric.
    Jar of freckles and jar of glue, both in my back pocket.

    http://www.annakohlweis.com/

  • Musician of the Month: Aoife Ní Bhriain

    My formative years were spent growing up on a pretty amazing cul-de-sac called Verbena Grove in the north Dublin suburb of Bayside, a 1960s/1970s sprawl of low-rise semis that borders the coast road between the city centre and Howth Head. My Dad, Mick O’Brien was a schoolteacher and is one of Ireland’s leading uilleann pipers. My Mam, Fidelma is a music teacher who comes from a large family of Irish dancers and musicians. Both grandfathers were musicians, My grandad Dinny O’ Brien had a huge influence on us growing up. All of my aunties, uncles and cousins play. Music was water and air to my family. I had it on both sides, there was no escape.

    So it started right there in Bayside. Once the parents on the road realised that Mam was a music teacher they came knocking on the door for music lessons. My first memories bring me back to the front room of our house with the children of Verbena Grove sitting around the table with tin whistles, I was often sitting on the table as a baby, watching, listening. Those children were the ones I looked up to, particularly the Peat family across the road who treated me like family from day one. So when Joanne Peat started playing the violin – so did I. I was two years old when I started violin lessons. The rest as they say was history.

    Growing up in Dublin, I was very fortunate with the teachers that were available to my siblings and I. We all started on the violin in the Young European School of Music with Maria Keleman and Ronald Masin, to whom I owe my early years of practice and dedication to the violin. Then I was fortunate to study with Maeve Broderick in RIAM, Dublin before finding myself in Nantes, France under the watchful eyes and ears of Constantin Serban and eventually to Leipzig, Germany where I had my forever teacher, Mariana Sirbu. An incredible person, musician and friend. She took care of every student as a person as well as the music. But she was also very tough. She’d make me sweat. I really respected that. I’m not sure anyone had ever understood me as well as she did and I was so fortunate to have her in my life.

    Throughout those years of study and practice I was working constantly, a musical gun for hire if you will. There are few gigs I did not do. From the West End to classical recitals and concerti, Bach to Tommie Potts, contemporary music with Crash Ensemble to performances with Baroque ensembles on period instruments, jazz improvisation and jamming in studios with singers and actors. Looking back it has shaped who I am in many ways, but I often wonder what life would have been like if I had chosen one path and dedicated my life to one musical genre.

    When I think of those years I have a feeling of imposter syndrome. To exist in both and classical and traditional world musically was difficult to get my head around. Not only from a playing point of view but from a personal point of view. Who was I? And what was I trying to say with my music? Luckily I kept myself so busy I never had time to really dwell on those questions or answers! Then two things happened. A cervical cancer diagnosis put a stop to my worldwide gallivanting. Life got put on hold. Not a month after the final surgery this virus shut down theatres and concert venues all around the world. Now I had time on my hands. Lots of time and nowhere to go.

    Fast forward to 2021. Lockdown was still in effect but Other Voices Cardigan were having their festival online and I got asked to play. It was a solo gig at first until the wonderful Philip King called me up and asked would it be possible to collaborate with the Welsh harpist Catrin Finch. “Catrin who?’ I asked. “Google her” said Philip “and call me back”. It was a very quick Google search and an even speedier reply when I called Philip back and said “absolutely 100 percent yes”.

    Catrin and I met up to rehearse in Cardiff – no mean feat in lockdown. Test, letters and permission from the BBC just to play a few tunes. It was a hit. Having grown up playing music with my immediate family I knew what the feeling was to have an instant rapport with someone. It’s very rare and something I cherish anywhere that I find it. It all started with Bach, a composer close to both of our hearts. From there we just let the music take us where we wanted it to go and started composing together. We heard things similarly. We speak the same language, but we’re also not afraid to push each other. And I’ve never met anybody I’ve had that instant connection with who was not related to me or a musical friend from childhood. It was really extraordinary. From there the project has turned into our debut album “Double You”. A record I am very proud of as it combines all the elements of our musical lives and meanderings. The different musical accents we have developed over the years.

    That is something that I feel explains what I do in music. Accents. My Dublin accent my Irish, my French accent, my German accent. All part of my musical DNA and all unique. In music I knew I could never play one style over the other. I never felt I really had the opportunity to dedicate myself solely  to the classical thing because there was always the responsibility to continue with the traditional music, I knew I could never turn my back on what my family gave me as a gift. And that brings us to the here and now. A real melting pot of music and ideas.

    The future for me is as winding a road as ever. The next projects include a book on the fiddle player Tommie Potts who was a shining light for me growing up and someone whose recordings taught me a lot and allowed me a freedom I would not otherwise have known existed. A new album with the Goodman Trio (that being Dad and Emer Mayock) as we continue our excavation of the incredible manuscripts. There is an album to be released in the near future with my avant garde string quintet Wooden Elephant and the incredible spoken work artist Moor Mother, a new duo with viola da gamba virtuoso Liam Byrne; a new recording with my childhood friends Eoghan Ó Ceannabháín and Caoimhín Ó Fearghail; as well as a few solo recordings featuring Enescu, Locatelli, Ysaye and some Potts inspired traditional tunes.

    It is definitely not an easy task being so in love with classical and traditional music and trying to respect them in their truest form also blending them in live performance to bring the music, regardless of genre to a new audience. I was fortunate enough to perform Shostakovich’s first Violin Concerto in Germany recently and my encore was Enescu into the Maids of Mitchelstown. A few years ago, I would never have had the courage to step up and be so musically blasphemous, but music is music, people are people and if you can convince the audience that what you are playing is informed, authentic and true to who you are as an artist, a musician and as a human – they don’t throw tomatoes, they applaud.

    I think the future is bright for music, collaboration and open-mindedness, but, if anything, it takes twice the amount of work and practice, so on that note – I can hear my metronome calling!

  • Musician of the Month: Shortsleeve Conor

    Shortsleeve Conor was born in Lisbon, but started playing in Aberdeen when I was a 21-year-old pizza chef. One Sunday, after finishing the close, the team headed over to a pub nearby called the Prince of Wales. We walked through the double doors to be met by the most joyous music I’d ever experienced. Fiddles, banjos, guitars, loud chattering, singing, tin whistles, flutes, pints pouring and a saxophone. I fell in love with trad and folk music right then.

    My family is Irish, though I grew up in the U.K. on the Wirral, so I already knew the music but hadn’t really experienced it. I was at that time a DJ playing house and disco. Now I decided folk music was something I wanted to pursue. The next week I brought my guitar to the session and asked if I could join in. Everyone was really nice and I think I sang Raglan Road or something. I listened to lots of the Dubliners, the Pogues, Margaret Barry, Hamish Imlach and the Fureys around that time.

    There was a fella who played in the session called Sandy Cheyne, who I now know is an artist and brilliant banjo picker. He soon showed me it was more useful to play a five-string than a guitar in this environment, because there are so many of the latter to compete with.

    He encouraged me to adapt old Scottish tunes to be played on the five-string banjo. Sandy had a huge influence on my musical direction. I started listening to all sorts of country music and learnt about the roots it had in Scottish and Irish.

    I listened to lots of on musicians like Bob Dylan, Dock Boggs, Ola Belle Reed, Jean Ritchie, Doc Watson, Clarence Ashley, Nathan Abshire and too many other names to mention. But it was the trad session approach to music which had the biggest influence on me.

    I learned how to entertain a crowd, often using humour in the songs. It also showed me how to be vulnerable with my writing. Things I like to talk about in my songs are non-traditional relationships, mental health issues, class politics and the end of the world. Also love. Lots about love.

    I moved to Lisbon to study in 2021 and did what I always did when I moved to a new place: looked for the music. Funnily enough the only Irish trad session in town was a five-minute walk from my new home.

    By then I had a few songs under my belt and wanted to take them to some open mics. I was then introduced to a musician called the Mighty String at the city’s oldest open mic in a nice venue called Camones. We decided to do some terracing – where you busk to tables at restaurants – and became mates. He sat me down one day and told me I need a new name. Conor Riordan was too difficult to pronounce over there and he’d always noticed I wore short sleeve t-shirts. Shortsleeve Conor was born.

    I’m a really lucky person. When things are not meant to work out they usually do. So when I moved to Lisbon I wasn’t expecting there to be a blossoming folk music scene I could jump straight into. But I soon made a great group of friends, who all happened to be excellent musicians.

    I’m also really lucky that I didn’t have to pursue the Shortsleeve project too hard. Gigs just seemed to happen and the response was generally encouraging. But there was always one problem question: “Have you got any of your music online?” I didn’t and I didn’t really have a plan to. But I had a friend who had just decided to start a record label to capture this special moment in the city’s cultural history.

    Cheap Wine Records was founded by Lee Squires with the ambition of promoting Lisbon’s folk music scene. It also aims to nurture future talent, showcasing their work so they can tour and go on to bigger things. Shortsleeve Conor was one of the first projects, so again I was very lucky.

    The album – ‘Whatever that means’ – was put together at Estudio Roma 49 in Lisbon, with my friends and fellow musicians coming together to make it happen. The same goes for the production, marketing and funding. This community-led approach to the music made me feel right at home. It’s the same mindset as being back in the Prince of Wales, sitting in a circle playing tunes over a few pints. Only now I was blessed with a hot Portuguese sun, instead of the freezing North Sea winds.

    I’m writing this the day the Doomsday Clock moved 90 seconds closer to midnight, the closest it’s ever been. It doesn’t feel like there’s a lot going on in the world to be happy about. But being from northern England I have to find what’s funny in everything. It takes the edge off. That’s why in my writing I contrast the rise of fascism with not being able to get a parking space in my song Pink Champagne. That’s why my song about being in an abusive relationship is so upbeat.

    I like to write about these things, but to add some humour into them. It helps because I also really struggle to express how I feel, which can be really frustrating when I’m in a relationship. I’m only at my most vulnerable when I’m telling an audience how I feel about someone who should have heard it first. I really try to leave nothing to the imagination with lyrics.

    Now my album is out I don’t really know what to do. I hope to use it to travel with my music and meet new people. When we started this record project the Mighty String asked me to write down what my long-term goal was for the album. I said I’d like for it to be well appreciated in a small but enthusiastic audience so I could disappear into anonymity without worrying about it too much and become a furniture painter or something. Then in forty years I’d like for it to be rediscovered and for it become a country classic so I can go on tour with it globally in my seventies.

    Follow Shortsleeve Conor on Spotify.

     

  • Musician of the Month: Cara Coyle

    The music I am performing at the moment mostly came from three different sets of songs that I began writing in 2018. The first batch I wrote when I was living in a small cabin my dad built near my family home in Donegal.

    At the time, I felt the songs come to me and I just wrote them down. I never experienced songwriting like that before. I did write in my early twenties, but It felt different with these songs.

    Since then, another batch of songs came to me in 2020 just after Covid hit. I realised that each set of songs felt that they had their own colours. The early batch felt black with bits of white. So I refer to them as the black and white songs. The songs that arrived in May of 2020 are mostly orange and my most recent songs have mostly been pink. I’ve got lots of pink songs.

    Sharing Music

    I never meant to share my music with others in the way that I am now. I was quite wary of doing so for a long time. If I shared them it was just for the fun of playing and experimenting with friends.

    There are two acts that currently inspire me to write and perform my music to others – Rónán Ó Snodaigh and Shakalak.

    At the moment I feel particularly moved by live music and feel very lucky that my favourite acts are Irish. When I go and see Rónán or Shakalak perform I want to go straight home afterwards and make something new to share. They make me feel like strengthening my inner voice and using it more.

    Their example shows how transformative live music can be and each time I’ve heard them perform I feel that I have learnt something new about myself or about the world we’re in. They remind me that music can bring us closer together. That we are all going through similar things in different ways, and we can relate to each other through our art. They continuously inspire me to bring what I have inside of me out into the world.

    Returning to Dublin

    When I came to Dublin in 2018 – having spent two years in Donegal – I began playing my music at open mic nights in the city. This helped me to integrate back into city life. I didn’t realise it would take a while for Dublin to feel like a home again.

    Playing in venues helped me connect with others and so began the feeling of community. One of the most valuable rewards of playing music has been witnessing the community that comes with it and watching that community grow. I have got to meet so many beautiful people and feel genuinely supported and encouraged by them.

    During Covid – whenever it was possible to do so – I began to play my orange tunes with a talented and intuitive drummer, Jason McNamara. Last year I was granted an Agility Award and with it I wrote more pink tunes.

    It was strange for me to sit down and say “ok, I need to write some songs” because prior to this the songs came about very naturally. It worked out though, and I’m currently enjoying hearing these songs grow legs and arms and gain a life of their own on the stage.

    Self-Expression

    Rather than pursuing music as a career, I have always just been interested in music as a way to express myself. It’s an art form for me. I feel I get to see myself grow through making art in ways that I might not find the space for in day-to-day life.

    Performing live is what I enjoy most. I did a small bit of work in theatre in the past and loved that a play would be this live, living and breathing thing for a little while.

    It existed just for the people who showed up to see it and then it would be gone. I often feel that my music was written as if it were made for the theatre stage.

    For years I have played music on the street for fun, and for experience. There, I learned how to project my voice; perform with confidence; receive a compliment; to be rejected; experiment with other artists; and connect with all kinds of people. A lot of my own music would have debuted on the streets of Dublin.

    Image: Daniele Idini

    On the Liffey

    Once Covid ended I started to make changes that meant I was playing my music to others quite frequently. In 2022 I was offered a beautiful gig that runs in the summer called ‘Music under the bridges’ by a company called City Kayaking.

    The gig usually starts under Capel Street Bridge where a group of people on kayaks gather to listen to a musician sitting on a little dingy under the bridge. The setting is just beautiful and different every time. Nature dictates the stage. Sometimes bringing sunlight that hits off the water and projects on to the arches. Sometimes you might catch a seal listening in. It’s magic no matter what the weather is like.

    The very kind and lovely thing about this company is that they hire artists to play their original music, which meant that I was suddenly playing my music to an audience on a weekly basis.

    From playing on the Liffey, things seemed to progress like a rolling stone. Next, I found myself playing at mini festivals and events in the city and beyond.

    I started to meet more artists and felt inspired to continue to create and find more ways to spend my time playing music in my days.

    At the beginning of this year I was introduced to the opportunity of playing music in nursing homes which I still do now on a regular basis. I was delighted to stumble into this area. It’s really grounding and the exchange with the people there can be very rewarding.

    At the moment I am considering some projects for 2024. I have a little studio in the city centre that I work away in. I haven’t recorded a lot of music yet since I’ve been more interested in performing live, but It seems it might be a next step for me.

    There’s talk of collaborating with an artist to make a music video for my song ‘Paper Thin Woman’ which would be magic! I’m starting to play with a wonderful bass player now as well as Jason on drums. This is new and exciting territory for me. I look forward to the adventure ahead!

    Follow Cara Coyle on Instagram.

  • Musician of the Month: Lewis Barfoot

    I grew up in Walthamstow, London listening to my Dad play finger-picking folk covers on the guitar and banjo and to my Mum’s very small record collection which we would play on repeat and dance around to in the lounge. I especially remember The Seven Drunken Nights by the Dubliners which me and my sister found an absolute gas to sing along to. I didn’t learn to play instruments as a child, I wasn’t allowed to play my Dad’s and he never taught me per se, but hearing him sing and play and look so happy put the music in my bones.

    In 2002 I went to drama school and went on to sing in plenty of theatre shows during my acting career. One of the highlights was a cute children’s show for which Kerry Andrew wrote the music. She has been a dear friend and collaborator ever since.

    In 2013 I went on a world tour of 1927’s production of The Animals and Children Took To The Streets. It was an amazing show, a fabulous experience as we toured twenty-one countries in eleven months. But I was bored creatively. I felt like a puppet performing someone else’s work and my soul was calling for more. So I decided to write a song in every country with no expectation of the outcome. At the end of that tour I decided to leave acting and focus on music. I took a three month songwriting sabbatical, picked up a guitar and taught myself how to play and went to release my first EP “Catch Me” in 2015 which contains five songs written on the world tour. This is the title track written in midsummer in St Petersburg.

    On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/5V1nUhdL270ZrGVHDka0NQ?si=Wx-PO7-UTXOJDyE3XlnnSA

    I then went on to learn piano and built a band around the music and released my first album ‘Glenaphuca”, which spoke of my call to Ireland to embrace the Irish part of my heritage. This is the first song on that album.

     

    Right now, on the first day of November 2023, I sit on the cusp of the launch of my sophomore album “HOME”, which is out in two weeks. It has been a deep dive into healing the legacy of pain and shame that I inherited from my female ancestors here in Cork. The album sheds light on a dark past of institutional incarceration, delicately transformed into a collection of beautiful songs. It is my intention that “HOME” holds the power to heal the wounds of the past and inspire future generations to live without fear.

    The songs are a mixture of ethereal folk ballads, rousing anthemic tunes, traditional folk song from Ireland and the UK, a touch of blues and a stirring a-Capella choral finale called Ancestors. I  was so lucky to have my pals Kerry Andrew, Ben See, Sarah Dacey, Essa Flett, Justin Ground, Brén Ó Rúaidh, Ellis Kerkhoven and MaJiKer sing this song with me.

    On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/65VM40sQoM74Kd55F4RFMj?si=2e88fbf0b518428c

    I’m about to go on tour in Ireland with the album starting at Whelan’s in Dublin, which I am super excited about, then onto Cill Rialiag in Kerry, before returning home to Cork for two fabulous dates at Sirius Arts Centre and The Oar.

    In the new year I will head back to my studio to start birthing the third album. I love winter. I find the stillness and darkness supportive of creative work. In my songwriting phases I like to section my day into little bursts of activity, something like; thirty minutes of songwriting, thirty minutes of classical guitar, fifteen minutes of piano scales, dance for three songs, fifteen minutes of clearing out old audio, then another thirty minutes of songwriting, play five songs, go for a walk, thirty minutes of songwriting and repeat.

    If I have a song coming through, I could easily spend the whole day working on it and do nothing else, but a regular practice keeps me steady and in flow. And when a song is coming through I just have to honour that or else I may miss it. It is like catching a wave. So I could literally be swimming in the sea and a song lands in me, so I’d have to jump out and get it down on my voice memos.

    Next year I hope to get a bit more independent and capable at recording my own material at home. I’m looking forward to that a lot. And I’ve just bought a lush Stratocaster which I’m gonna throw my fingers into next year.

    Feature Image: James Heatlie

    Download HOME on bandcamp: https://lewisbarfoot.bandcamp.com/album/home

    https://www.lewisbarfoot.com/

    Image: Kate Bean