Lover’s rock
A ROCK To Cling To is the new album by Cork singer and songwriter John Spillane. It is a slower and more contemplative affair than previous albums. The songs cover themes of love and family and range from the title song, which was written after the death of his mother, to Purple Mountain which was inspired by a photo of Spillane and his wife climbing the Kerry hill of the same name early in their relationship. By contrast, songs such as Passage West and Lovers Leap resemble more traditional Irish ballads.
Spillane is now on a whirlwind tour of Ireland to promote the album which will, no doubt, prove extremely popular, and Spillane himself is cautiously optimistic.
“Certainly it has a softer, more emotional feel with themes of love, life and family,” he says. “I suppose all my inner secrets are on show, but that is the choice you have to make as a songwriter. You have to lay yourself bare and that is something you just have to accept because that is where you will find the best material. The reception so far has been really positive.”
It is a lesson Spillane has learned over his long career which has seen him carve out a distinctive niche in the Irish music business by combining his own brand of madcap humour with finely-observed stories from his local city. However, his current success has its roots, not only in his musical talent, but also hard work and dogged persistence.
“I went to school in Bishopstown in Cork and we formed a rock group called Sabre and off we went in a van playing gigs full time,” he says. “I then played with Noel Shine, a traditional musician from Clare, then ballads with Jimmy Crowley for two summers, I started a band called the Stargazers — a three-part harmony group doing swing music — for a laugh but it lasted seven years, and then I joined a traditional band and travelled the world for five years or so.”
It wasn’t until 1997, at the ripe old age of 36, that Spillane released his first album. It was not a success and Spillane admits he was floundering and, in his own words, “taking water fore and aft”. However, the arrival of a new manager in Lorcan Ennis and a record deal with EMI, to whom he is still signed, gave his a career a much-needed boost. Yet even then his mixture of wry, dark humour, and deceptively simple stories was lost on some critics. “I remember being interviewed by someone from the RTÉ Guide after my first album and he thought I was mad or a simpleton. He didn’t get what I was trying to do,” Spillane says.
His dilemma was perhaps best illustrated by the song Johnny Don’t Go To Ballincollig; a song which namechecks numerous Cork suburbs. Its theme remains universally applicable, and there may well be the equivalent of a Ballincollig in every town the world over. However, the town of Ballincollig, while welcoming the publicity, was less than enamoured with the suggestion that it is a place which, as the song suggests, habitually disappoints.
“I wrote Beautiful Ballincollig by way of compensation,” he says. “I also recorded an advertisement for the development association where I took it all back and I think I have been forgiven at this stage. Any concerts in Ballincollig have been great craic since then.”
Mixed in with the local madness there were always slower, more contemplative, songs which were often inspired by his childhood or the world around him. “I went to school in St Joseph’s on the Mardyke and there were always swans along that section of the Lee River to the Shaky Bridge. There was an orchard and woods and a quarry which was a most fantastic place near where I lived; there was lots of magical places,” he says. “I used to take the bus to Bantry for summer holidays to my Uncle Tim. He was a great man for water divining, horses, dogs and bees. We saved hay and cut rushes and we loved it. I wrote the song Gortatagort (The Farm) on my 2008 album My Dark Rosaleen And The Island Of Dreams as a sort of requiem for him. But where the songs are set doesn’t matter that much; you don’t have to know the places in the songs to appreciate them.”
While the new album successfully mines this reflective side of his persona, the concept needed to be teased out. “The original album was finished by Christmas and it featured a wide range of stuff including songs such as Martin Is Mad About Fish, The River Lee and various other forms of derangement,” he recalls. “There were also a couple of love songs and the main title song. When Willie Kavanagh at EMI listened to the album, he suggested that the more melodic songs were the strongest elements and suggested a uniform album of love songs. ‘Welcome to the hit factory,’ I said. ‘Give me a month to get them written and you can pick them.’”
It may well turn out to be an inspired decision and indeed EMI and Kavanagh in particular have form in this regard with Spillane. “He was persuaded to come and see a gig in the Cobblestone Bar in Dublin,” he recalls. “I played about 20 songs that night but at the end of the gig he handed me a piece of paper and said, ‘These are your best songs’. He was right.”
It was also Kavanagh who came up with the idea of a nostalgic album of children’s songs. Spillane, an avid fan of the Irish language which he studied at UCC, responded with Irish Songs We Learned at School. The hunch paid off and the album was a huge success.
Spillane works well with a deadline and there were already a number of unused songs and melodies which could be dusted down and reinvigorated. “I got out some bottles of Spanish red wine and got started,” he says. “At this stage of my career I had a big back catalogue to draw on. For example, Purple Mountain was written 15 years ago. Paul Lenihan from the Frank And Walters had a great song about hurling picked out for me but his song Memory Lane was more in keeping with the tone of the album and I fell in love with it. I wrote Love is King with an Australian friend, Shane Howard.”
While his back catalogue was important, age and experience have also given him the confidence to create an album which is more intimate and revealing. “I don’t think I would have been in the right mental space to write an album like this when I was 30,” he admits. “I am probably stronger in myself and more content with life at this stage and that makes it easier to write softer, more emotional songs.
“Mind you I am still one of the lads; there may be no madwomen, no whales, no talkie numbers, no sarcasm and no mad Cork Stuff, but I am still a rashers, sausages and Beamish Stout man. After all, I have to try and keep at least some of my macho credentials intact.”
CONNECT WITH US TODAY
Be the first to know the latest news and updates
