Innovative sean-nós music may sound like an oxymoron, but that is exactly what Iarla Ó Lionáird creates, writes Siobhán Long
For many, sean-nós singing conjures nothing more than repulsive aural memories of a nasal whine that made about as much sense to untutored ears as the tribal war cries of the Sioux in ancient Hollywood westerns. But for others, sean-nós satisfies a primal appetite for a particular kind of sound, evoking an aural landscape that's as tangible as the geography that defines our home place.
Iarla Ó Lionáird's voice somersaults past all conventional notions of sean-nós, its belly-deep ache reinvents old songs, big songs and even shiny, happy new songs, and in the process divests the centrepieces of traditional singing of their often cumbersome baggage. What this means for the listener is that Ó Lionáird's music wastes no time clinging to past certainties. It forges new ground in a place where the boxing off of musical categories is plain nonsense. Sean-nós, traditional, folk or roots: none are labels that sit easily with his repertoire. In fact, Ó Lionáird's record label, Real World, best sums up his sound: it's as universal as the primal chant of Tibetan throat singing and as local as the earthen choral sound embodied in Peadar Ó Riada's Cór Cúil Aodha, the choir in which Iarla Ó Lionáird first sang, in his Gaeltacht home of Ballyvourney, Co Cork.
This month sees the release of Iarla Ó Lionáird's third solo album, Invisible Fields. His first, The Seven Steps To Mercy was released in 1997, and his second, I Could Read The Sky, in 2000, a soundtrack of the film based on the book of the same name by writer Timothy O'Grady and photographer Steve Pyke.
Ó Lionáird is a singer whose preoccupations stretch well beyond trawling the laden histories of sean-nós. Simply keeping the traditional pulse beating isn't enough; his appetite for taking musical leaps into the unknown is gargantuan, and has won him as many critics as it has fans, with many trad purists horrified at the spectre of one of the most talented sean-nós singers this country has ever produced sharing a stage and a repertoire with those babes of clubland, the Afro Celt Sound System. It's this craving for innovation that's responsible for the christening of his latest CD, too.
"I'm interested in things you can't see, and phenomena of that nature. I'm sure it interests everybody, and I think music is like that too. The 'fields' in the album title refers to my relationship to where I grew up, in Cúil Aodha, in Cork: the whole 'nameness' of where I grew up. Every field had a name, every drain, every rock. I experience that now at one remove [Ó Lionáird now lives in Inistiogue in Kilkenny] so I wanted this record to concern itself with that to some degree."
As well as his ties to his home place, Ó Lionáird's awareness of the fundamental elusiveness of music is ingrained in the name he has given this new record.
"Invisible Fields also refers to electromagnetic phenomena," he adds, "and that's the business I'm in too. The track Aurora includes samples of electromagnetic activity in the upper atmosphere. I think it's a good title because hopefully it opens your head up to the world of imagination, which is what the record is all about." Though largely a collection of songs in Irish, half of them traditional and half Ó Lionáird's compositions, Invisible Fields articulates very forcefully a view of childhood shot through with an inherent sadness. It's a perspective that he feels reflects, at the very least, his own experience of growing up.
"I think that children touch the universal in a private way," he muses. "They go through their own philosophical and existential issues, much more than we realise. I remember as a child, the feeling of searching for something: myself, maybe? So A Nest Of Stars is a synthesis of memory and imagination, because I'm trying to relocate myself into the head of the child, looking into the hedges where he touches the nest, but where he also touches the universal: a nest of stars. I see that track as being about that child finding out something about himself, something pivotal. In my case, it was very much discovering that something very special happens when I sing, something 'other'."
Ó Lionáird's decision to sing as Gaeilge might be interpreted by some as a protective mechanism, one that distances him from his non-Irish speaking audience, creating a space between music and listener.
"For years, I was recorded, particularly with the Afro Celts, with the voice mixed low, because it was perceived as another instrument," he nods. "I do hide behind that to some extent, but for this record, I wanted to record it all in Irish because I really love the language and I wanted to pay tribute to it. I make no bones about that. I think it's a beautiful language to sing, and I'm not in competition with anyone. I do my own thing."
Doing his own thing is something that Iarla is pursuing with greater focus these days, since he took the decision to take his leave of the Afro Celt Sound System this year. Although the band will release a new album Anatomic in the autumn, it's time for him to focus on his own writing and his own performing. And even though he's left the Afro Celts, Ó Lionáird's sphere of musical interest is still characterised by his exploration of uncharted terrain.
"I wanted this record to sound like any ambient, experimental, alternative indie record," he says, "and that the person who buys Sigur Rós or who listens to Donal Dineen would also be interested in listening to my record. It would have that currency."
Ó Lionáird is a singer who happens to sing sean-nós. He's determined not to be defined by one style alone though. As he puts it: "I wanted to ditch all the 'isms', avoiding common treatments of old Irish songs." So don't expect to encounter any fiddles or whistles on Invisible Fields. With guest appearances from Tibetan singer Yungchen Lhamo, English composer Gavin Bryars, and vocal samples borrowed from his own parents and siblings, Ó Lionáird is utterly at home in this sonically rich place, balancing a wilful urbanity with a quiet delight in the pastoral.
Tales of Fionn Mac Cumhaill's derring-do sit alongside a gloriously childlike reading of Cú-cú-ín, and two of the big songs in the tradition, Táimse Im' Chodladh and I'm Weary Of Lying Alone. And in between lurk a handful of Ó Lionáird's own songs, which touch on, among other things, the unrepentant joy of parenthood and the miracle of birth. Life's big themes coexist with the singer's own small preoccupations, and neither is weighed down by the sometimes ponderous treatments that can burden the big songs of the tradition.
"It's more interesting to me, not to be trying to do what other people have done before," he offers, quietly. "I would like to think that I'm doing what has not been done before. For me, that's what makes it all so interesting."
Iarla Ó Lionáird performs in the Pavilion Theatre, Dún Laoghaire, as part of the Festival of World Cultures, on Aug 28. Invisible Fields is released on Aug 19
