"I'm a Far East Dubliner," Sean O'Neill declares. He is possibly Ireland's only wandering minstrel. Born and brought up in Liverpool, of Dublin parents, he moved back here three decades ago, when he was 17. He had a business as a studio photographer for many years, but since January this year, he has been working full-time as a wandering minstrel.
We're in the Portobello area of Dublin, on an unpredictable afternoon of sun and rain. The first 15 minutes of tracking the wanderer are spent huddled under a wall while the rain pours down. Stoic Minstrel O'Neill passes the time by telling me about his musical career to date, but it's a bit hard to concentrate when the rain is louder than his voice. . .
The rain abates. We step it out again. O'Neill pressed his own CD, Losers and Sinners, last year; a collection which he describes as being "country, folk, and blues songs". He decided he wanted to give up photography to concentrate on singing. "I knew I wouldn't survive a winter busking unless I learned lots of Oasis songs, and the Fields of Athenry, so I thought I'd try being a minstrel instead and sing my own songs."
What O'Neill does is to choose an area, usually in Dublin or environs - although he sometimes passes through other parts of Ireland - which will be his patch for the day. "I walk around, knocking on doors. If someone answers, I'll ask them if they would like to hear a song. I show them my CD and ask them to pick a track number, and I'll sing that song for £1. Or sometimes for nothing. Some people buy the CDs afterwards. The thing is, getting people in. Everyone is out at work these days, and I don't go to houses that look like elderly people live in; I don't want to scare them."
We've passed several houses by now, and nobody is answering the door, although there are certainly a few dogs in residence, judging by the banshee barks they emit. O'Neill goes up the path of a house with a Nissan Micra in the driveway. "I never have luck with Nissan Micras," he confides.
This door does open. A mother and her small child peer out. Loitering at the gate, and looking on, I realise I am probably not making a helpful contribution to the scene: one wandering minstrel is enough to see when you open your door, but a hanger-on in the background calls to mind those persistent minority religious sects who always travel in pairs and are infamously unwelcome on most doorsteps.
"No thanks!" says the mammy, and snaps the door shut, the small child staring, all agog.
"Told you," grins O'Neill. "There's something with that car."
A few houses down, a door opens again. This woman will hear a song. She looks a bit taken aback, and a bit embarrassed, but she's smiling all the same, and she's on for it. Out comes the guitar, and O'Neill sings the song
she has chosen from the CD. If you were coming down the street now, you'd stop and stare; you'd remember it and tell people about what you saw on the street that day.
Not only does the woman at this house like the song, she also buys a CD. "I'd sing about 10 songs a day, and sell maybe five CDs," O'Neill says, as we walk on into the rain. "Sometimes eight CDs. I once sold 10. See, when you're busking, you often only have someone listening to a bit of the song, because they're passers-by. The best thing about doing this, singing songs door to door, is that you have your own audience and they hear the song from beginning to end."
He tries not to be out longer than six hours a day, although sometimes it will be longer, with people now on holidays. O'Neill reckons about only one-third of people are home during the day, and of that number, about a third again will hear a song. It's enough to keep him going, for the time being at least, although he hopes to get a few support gigs in the near future. "What I would really love is to go to Nashville and see if I could make it over there," he confides.
Losers and Sinners is on sale for £10 at Freebird Records. Sean O'Neill can be contacted at seanbirdfish@hotmail.com
