Culture That Made Me: Mary Black on folk clubs, Nuala O’Faolain, and sound advice
Mary Black plays Cork Opera House on February 24.
Mary Black, 66, was born in Charlemont Street, inner-city Dublin, into a musical household: herself, her sister Frances, who is a Senator, and three brothers recorded albums as the Black Family. Her children are also musicians: Danny O’Reilly is lead singer of The Coronas; her daughter is singer-songwriter Róisín O.
Mary recorded and toured with De Dannan in the mid 1980s. She has released several classic solo albums, including No Frontiers and Babes in the Wood, and has performed duets with legends such as Joan Baez, Emmylou Harris and Van Morrison. She is currently touring Ireland, including Cork Opera House (February 24). See: www.corkoperahouse.ie
My eldest brother was five years older than me. He used to collect songs. He listened to BBC Radio 4 and Radio Scotland for all these folk songs. He had this old reel-to-reel tape recorder. His voice was beginning to break at early teens so he got me to sing the songs. I started to learn proper songs from around 10. I remember singing Ewan MacColl’s song School Days Over, which I still sing on stage.
At that age, I wasn't thinking much about the lyrics of School Days Over. I didn't really understand what it was about. I thought it was like somebody saying goodbye to someone, but it's much more than that. It's about young kids, maybe even 12 to 14, going down to work in the mines. That was their life. The mother is saying goodbye to her son, who she knows is going to have the hardest life ever. It has such emotion. I used to feel sad when I sang it, but I didn't really know why.
As a teenager, by degrees my older brothers began to go to folk clubs. They'd push me up to the front and make me sing. There was little folk clubs opening up around Dublin: The Coffee Kitchen, Leinster Cricket Club had a folk club. I was about 15. You could put your name down and sing. There would be one guest artist. It might be someone like Mícheál Ó Domhnaill or Paul Brady. You’d pay in. You’d have your cup of tea or your orange juice or Coke. There was no drinking involved. That was how I got my start.
I could sing at a session, a party, in a pub no bother. I had my voice and I just felt the songs out, but standing up on stage – sometimes I’d sing unaccompanied for 40 minutes – is a different story. I would be sick with nerves for the week before. I remember somebody saying to me, “Listen if you're going to do this, you're gonna have to get over it. It’s going to stand in your way.”
I had little words with myself. Before there was counselling, I counselled myself! I’d say things like: “Remember how it feels when you’re up there and everyone is enjoying it.” “Don’t be thinking of the negatives; think of the positives.” “Remember how you feel afterwards.” By degrees it got easier.
One of my first influences was Sandy Denny from Fairport Convention. I loved the songs she sang. I loved the way she sang. I bought her album Sandy around 1972. I was 16, 17. I knew every turn, every twist, every note, every guitar run on that album. At that age, too, you're soaking up so much. I got inspiration from her. I looked at her: she was famous, as far as I was concerned, doing big gigs, singing folk songs I could sing. I sang a lot of her songs. I recorded at least eight or nine of her songs down through the years, beautiful, beautiful songs.
I always used to say, “I can't wait to see Sandy Denny live on stage”, but she died before I got the chance. She died at 31. This might sound weird, but, especially in the earlier days, when I'd be up there singing and trying to give it my all, I would feel Sandy Denny pushing me – standing behind me and saying, “Go on, girl. Do it.” I kind of felt she came through me – from her to my audience. I often wonder is there anything in that – would her spirit have been near me. Who knows. We won’t until we die.
I met Declan Sinnott through Christy Moore. We knew each other from the clubs around Dublin, but I'd never played with him. We put a few songs together. We did a gig supporting Christy at the National Concert Hall. I remember the night was special. Musically, we connected. He came from a different background. He came from Wexford. He was more into the rocky side of music. I brought to him the folkie side. He brought to me something much broader. The musical partnership worked. He produced my first five albums. Some of the arrangements and songs I still sing now. His influence was huge.
When Maura O’Connell left De Dannan, she rang me. She wanted to wish me all the best, as I was joining the band. At the end, she said: “Can I give you one little piece of advice? Don't take any shit.” So I went in there with my sleeves rolled up.
In the earlier days, let's just say I had a few disagreements with Frankie Gavin. We laugh about it now. It was great advice. It meant I had the three best years of my life with De Dannan.
Sometimes when you read a book at a certain time and place in your life it means so much more. I was recording Shine in Los Angeles in the late 90s. It was the first album that I did without Declan Sinnott. My kids were in Ireland. I was missing them. I brought Nuala O’Faolain’s book Are You Somebody? I was on my own. She kept me company. I was looking forward to going back after a day in the studio to my little hotel room. It was like as if Nuala was waiting for me in the room. She was talking to me, telling me her story. She had a very difficult life at times. The things that brought her through life resonated with me so strongly. I wasn't lonely because of it.
