We dedicated our performances of Silver Moon in 2022 to musicians and writers who had died in the peak years of Covid, 2020 and 2021.
I watch the funeral on my own, in bed, after recording it. I don’t want to watch it in real time with others around me, the people who don’t understand, who tell me I'm being silly.
Here's a fine piece by Matt Zurbo that covers a lot of ground: work, ambition, festival sabotage, a funeral...
The song, like him, is drenched in space. The unhurried chords set the scene perfectly. Space.
I’ll blame the sweet caress of the violins.
But I remember watching Sinéad on stage. I remember trying to absorb some of her strength, to physically inhale it across the crowd. That’s how you construct identity, surely?
Dad stands at the bowser. I sit in the passenger seat. The thrum of petrol is like a bassline.
It reminded her of when the conductor moves to the podium and, with a couple of taps, signals the dawn of the main event.
Mary Pomfret writes a lyrical response to the song Fairytale Of New York in the wake of the death of Shane McGowan.
I sent you a goodbye message in the chat you’d set up because, unlike the song, we never really did talk on the telephone.