Culture That Made Me: Cork singer Ger Wolfe picks his favourites
Ger Wolfe is originally from Mayfield, but now lives near Macroom. Picture: Liam Carroll
Cork singer-songwriter Ger Wolfe, 51, grew up in Mayfield, but has lived near Macroom for the past 25 years. During that time, he has brought out nine albums, including last year's The Morning Star. He headlines the revival of the legendary 1970s Feakle Folk Club with the first in a series of autumn gigs at Pepper’s, Feakle, Co Clare, 7pm, Thursday, 15 September. Tickets via www.eventbrite.ie
I loved the English ska movement. This would have been around 1978 and ’79. Then I got into reggae. I remember my sister had Babylon By Bus by Bob Marley & The Wailers. I can still picture my friend playing the record in his front room, with the needle scratching. I loved reggae – it really moved me.
With my broader circle of friends, a big gang of us got into playing guitars and learning songs. Somebody would get, say, a Bob Dylan or a Grateful Dead album. You'd be mad to hear it. You’d be crouched over the record, listening, trying to make out the lyrics, trying to figure out what chord the band were playing. It was good, informal education – you’d be training your ear.
When I was about 14 or 15, a few of us would go busking into town. We’d meet in Prince’s Street in Cork. The seasoned buskers were probably about 19 years old, but we thought they were “ancient”. It was an adventure, and good experience for performing because you’d be learning without realising it. You're singing your head off. It gives you great old confidence. You're kind of anonymous, but you’re not so it’s a good balancing act. At that age, I was playing non-stop. I remember being told: “Come down and watch the television; don't be playing that guitar all day.”
Neil Young has a very honest way about him. I like the melodies he makes up. There’s always a bit of old heart in his songs too. He gives out about things, although he doesn’t ram it down your throat. I probably don't give out about things myself or if I do it’s very subtle. Because something you believe now, you might not believe it in two weeks’ time, not to mind in 20 years’ time.
A jazz sound l loved growing up was Quintette du Hot Club de France – Stéphane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt. I saw Stéphane Grappelli around 1988 at the Cork Jazz Festival. It was brilliant to see somebody so gifted, so inspired. He must have been in his 80s. He was an unbelievable presence. I love that – when you see someone so dedicated, on fire, but in a gentle way, in a very non-egomaniac way. Nothing else going on just beautiful music and someone pouring their heart out. That’s what gets me always.
I love opera. I love Puccini. Some of the opera composers are unbelievable. There's a big tradition in Cork city of opera, going back a hundred years or more. In my grandparents’ time, it would have been a thing that people of all classes went to see – and certainly listened to – opera when perhaps we think opera was just for wealthy people. I've heard stories of people up in pubs in the north side of the city singing arias on a Friday night. That tradition of listening out for a good voice is a human thing everywhere. People would be arguing about who was the better tenor – Enrico Caruso or Beniamino Gigli.
The best folk club, when I was around Cork in the early ’90s, was The Lobby Bar, which had been Henry Africa’s. It was run by Pat Conway. I wore that place out. There was sessions downstairs a good few nights of the week. It was a great place to play and meet people. There was all kinds of trad music. It was a very open session. Upstairs used to have gigs all the time. Pat loved the thing as well. They're the kind of venues I’ve tried to play in for years. Good listening venues are usually run by people who are passionate about music. You’d get that vibe in there – that people would love the music.
One of my favorite conductors, a Romanian fellow called Sergiu Celibidache had a spiritual, Zen Buddhist approach to live music. He didn’t want the music he was conducting recorded but EMI recorded a lot of it because, well, it was the music business. He feared that you missed so much by not listening to music live. It makes you think about Spotify and people going to all this trouble recording in studios, availing of all this fantastic engineering equipment and then people are listening to it on a phone speaker that's about a quarter of an inch in diameter.
Celibidache did things at such a beautiful pace. The pace of music for me is really important. I haven't a glimmer really about classical music, but when I heard this fella conducting, say, Boléro by Ravel. It has a big drum roll. People gave out that he conducted it too slowly. To me, it was like a completely different piece of music [he created] because the pace of it was so musical. Some people hated what he did, but he was against rushing over things.
I love Martin Hayes, the fiddle player. I love that East Clare style. It's very gentle. I love the rhythm. Not everybody would have the same taste of rhythm that I would have, but I love when a piece of music is dance-y and you don’t have to think about it.
I love instruments. My house is full of them – guitars, harmonicas, bouzoukis, fiddles, piano. I just got a shruti box, which is a little Indian harmonium set to a single chord – and a great present from the world. I need to start hanging them up on the wall so I’m not stepping over them anymore. For songwriting, it’s great to have different instruments to explore. The work that goes into making an instrument is extraordinary. I have a guitar that I bought in 1990, my first classical guitar. I love it. It's a bit crocked for gigs, but I play it at home all the time. It's my favorite one to play. The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune.
