Culture That Made Me: Majella Cullagh - party pieces, Sir Henry's and powerful opera
Majella Cullagh: performing at the Opera House this month
Growing up, at the drop of a hat I’d sing. In those days, gatherings — weddings, funerals, visiting a neighbour — invariably turned into a sing-song. It's a shame that it is dying out. Everybody had their party piece. There was a rule of honour that you didn't learn somebody else’s song. The first song I learned — when I was three — was 'Over the Rainbow' in my sweet little Alice-blue gown. It was then they discovered I could sing in tune.
I always loved — along with my mum — watching musicals on telly, especially Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I've seen all of those movies. They sparked my imagination. When you watch Fred and Ginger waltzing around, you come out of yourself. You're almost there with them. It brings you into worlds. When Fred and Ginger were flying down to Rio that was about as far as you could get away from my life in a two-up, two-down with a toilet out the backyard in Blackpool with grey skies and rain pelting off the roof. It was almost like I had those experiences because I felt them so strongly.
When I first saw — the original with Natalie Wood — my jaw fell on the floor. It was so powerful. There were gangs and they were killing each other, people hating each other. I had this big thing when I was a child: why do people hate each other so much? It really upset me. I spent a lot of time crying over musicals.
The ending in particularly struck me, more than others, which were often light and fluffy and bouncy whereas was drama and that appealed — the combination of singing, but also the dramatic. The two connected really cranked my tractor. I've been in choirs and stood singing, interpreting songs, but it has never given me the same buzz as when I’m a character acting out a scene: the acting and music combined.
My other bawling moment growing up was going to the opera with my dad from about 11. He brought me to see Verdi’s . I cried all the way home in the car. My dad swore if it upset me that much he would never bring me again [laughs]. The Dublin Grand Opera Society would come to Cork with their spring season.
Opera for the 'every man'
When I went to England to study to become an opera singer, I was astonished at the elitism tag that opera had in England. The man who had the biggest collection of classical opera records in Cork was a docker. You'd see all sorts in the Cork Opera House going to the opera in their Sunday best. Opera was for everyone in Ireland.
On Sundays, we’d always listen to Tommy O’Brien on RTÉ radio. He was a Tipperary man. He had this amazing programme called . Anybody who loved classical music in Ireland listened to Tommy O'Brien. I loved hearing Tommy O'Brien, with his thick Tipperary accent, pronouncing — with relish — the names of all these foreign composers. It was no impediment whatsoever the fact that every Italian name was Tipperary-ised. Before he’d play the song, he'd tell you a little bit about the opera or the scene. He'd set it up. He was fascinating.
Cork has always been great for live music. I used to go to Sir Henry’s, which was a rock bar in the early 80s. What drew me there was a band called Princes Street, which was made up from buskers that busked on Princes Street in Cork. It wasn’t just the passion and the glory, they were really good musicians. I think there was some American fella involved with them who whipped them into shape. I loved them. When I left school, I got a job as a dental nurse in the city centre. At lunchtime, I'd stand on the street eating my sandwich listening to them busking, and other buskers. I loved live music. If there was live music that's where I was going to be.
Some friends of mine brought me along to set dancing. There was an amazing man, Timmy 'The Brit' McCarthy. He lived out Ballyvourney away with his wife Rhona. It was a lightbulb moment in my head. I loved the music. Dancing with Timmy The Brit was like dancing with Fred Astaire. He was like an Olympic athlete when it came to dancing. The sets were beautiful. There were all these different patterns of dancing. It was a social thing because you weren't dancing by yourself, like in discos. You were in sets of eight — “in and out, around the houses, mind the dresser” scenario.
After a set-dancing session, we’d go to The Gables pub on Douglas Street. We’d do a few more sets in the tiniest backroom imaginable. We'd be swinging around. You'd become what they call 'a tidy dancer' because you couldn't kick your legs north, south, east and west because you’d kick someone in the shins. It served my technique very well.
When I started working, my voice was more suitable for the bel canto repertoire so I ended up singing a lot of Rossini and Donizetti — and particularly Donizetti because I had a fuller voice. There was one role that I sang over and over again, which ticked all the boxes because it was historical — because I love history — and it was tragic and dramatic. It was María Estuardo, playing Mary Queen of Scots. It became drawn to me rather than me being drawn to it, but it has been influential.
Mr Verdi and Mr Puccini were masters of drama. They not only wrote the most extraordinarily beautiful music, but the dramatic intention is in every note. There's no extraneous music. They’re storytellers. They’re devils because they press all the emotional buttons. They elicit such an emotional response. It always comes back to that combination of singing and drama for me.
- Majella Cullagh grew up in Blackpool, Cork. In 1993, she graduated from London’s prestigious National Opera Studio. Her discography includes dozens of recordings on the Opera Rara, Chandos and Naxos labels. She has performed at the Royal Albert Hall and Europe’s most important opera houses.
- She stars in John O’Brien and Éadaoin O’Donoghue’s opera , Cork Opera House, 8pm, 28 July 28, and July 30-31. See: corkoperahouse.ie
