Culture That Made Me: Fiachna Ó Braonáin on Dylan, Prince and Brideshead

Fiachna Ó Braonáin, broadcaster and musician. Picture: Kasia Kaminska
Fiachna Ó Braonáin, 56, grew up in Blackrock, Dublin. In 1985, he co-founded Hothouse Flowers with his friend Liam Ó Maonlaí. As well as playing guitar, Ó Braonáin works on solo projects, acts – he recently joined the cast of TG4 drama Ros na Rún – and produces documentaries. He also presents Late Date on weekends on RTÉ Radio 1
Colm Ó Snodaigh from Kila and myself were friends from aged four. I remember us both getting really excited and delighted when the Boomtown Rats were hitting number one. These were fellas from up the road in Dún Laoghaire. New wave, punk rock, lots of attitude. They were early heroes. They had such clever, sharp songs – lyrically and melodically. They had this energetic, “we're gonna take over the world” attitude. It was done with such intelligence. Geldof is such a smart guy.
Bob Dylan was the first person whose lyrics I listened to. It was, like, “Oh my God, the words, the words. This is unlike anything else.” Dylan seemed to be revolutionary without waving any flags. He found ways of making social commentary and comments about the political situation in the America of his time, which was deeply segregated and full of corruption and racism. He was the first person to bring it out from under the carpet. To think that it was Dylan’s Blowin’ in the Wind which inspired the great Sam Cooke to write A Change is Gonna Come. That shows you what a cornerstone he was – and still is.
I loved Brideshead Revisited with Jeremy Irons and company. I came to it in my late teens. I read the book also. It was such a beautifully made TV series. It brought me into this other world – very genteel, a world of luxury and of beauty. My wife and I watched it again maybe 10 years ago. We decided to go back and see was it really as good as we imagined it was. It absolutely was.
My real heroes as a kid were guitarists like Jimi Hendrix. I must have seen him on TV at some point. I remember buying a Jimi Hendrix double album collection. His guitar-playing for the time – back then – was revolutionary. The sounds he created with a guitar and a few pedals, and his incredibly long fingers, and the spirit that flew from his musicality. He had such an extraordinary palette of colours at his disposal. He was trying to reach the sky all the time, trying to transport people, and he did.
I spent the summer of ’84 busking with Liam [Ó Maonlaí] on Dublin’s Grafton St and Henry St Liam – who had moved out of home at that stage – was able to pay the rent and we were able to have food and a few pints with the proceeds. The success of busking depends on how good you are at attracting an audience, and holding onto them until you pass the hat around. You learn showmanship. We fell into doing this formation dancing, where we'd kick backwards in time with the music we were playing. It was by accident. Any moves one would do, the other would imitate. It became choreographed. Busking confirmed the freedom that I imagined I would have through music – the freedom to be able to do what you want.

The best performer I ever saw was Prince. His command of the stage and consequently of an audience was unlike anything I've ever seen before. I probably first saw him during the Sign o’ the Times tour around 1987 at Madison Square Garden. He had this elaborate stage set where everything was highly choreographed. He had an incredible band. Even physically, what he did dancing and singing and playing guitar all at once was extraordinary. Since Elvis Presley, there hadn’t been a guy with his level of charisma.
Joseph O'Connor’s novel Star of the Sea captures something remarkable – the West of Ireland man, the nobility of the West of Ireland man, the ruggedness of the West of Ireland man, the loneliness, that journey across to America. It inspired my song called Bottle of Rum, which talks about “having one screaming seagull for company”. I nicked that amazing line for my song. I had the pleasure of sitting beside Joe in New York about 10 years ago. Not long after I'd written the song. I sang it to him on a park bench near Greenwich Village and he gave me the thumbs up on it.
Imelda May’s book of poetry A Lick and a Promise is beautiful. It’s beautifully presented, and the poems are funny. They're sensual. They're empathetic. They're thought-provoking. They're personal and universal. She’s a powerful writer. There’s a very soulful spirit behind these pieces of work.
The Beatles: Get Back is an amazing piece of cinema. It brought you into the world of The Beatles in a way that had never been seen before – where you see songs like Get back and Let it Be and The Long and Winding Road actually being written. The way the personalities revealed themselves in it surprised me. I thought John Lennon was much more fun than I imagined. I thought Paul McCartney was more serious and actually more of a taskmaster than I would have imagined him. McCartney was almost the spikier of the two. In my perception of them, I always thought Lennon was that guy. All the talk of Yoko being the one who broke them up. That documentary got rid of that because there's Yoko, by Lennon’s side. They’re clearly madly in love with one another to the degree that she's with him every minute of every day, but it doesn't matter to him that she's there the whole time and it also doesn't matter to the others.
The RTÉ radio programme Late Date back in the day was presented by a man called Val Joyce. I listened to it a lot driving home from gigs. The music was more light entertainment than what I would go for myself, but it didn't matter what he played. It was the chat that reached into my soul. He had a lovely rambling, conversational style about him. He had this warmth and engagement. He was unafraid to go a little off-piste, if something occurred to him. To end up presenting that show is a lovely circle to have made.