A Conversation with Christy Moore: “These nights I feel like I’m just starting. I’ve never had such large and responsive audiences”

When Christy Moore recently announced a series of 12 gigs at Dublin’s Vicar Street, tickets sold out instantly. Described by the Irish Independent as ‘Ireland’s Johnny Cash on a one-way trip to purgatory and salvation,’ Moore’s career is nearing 60 years, yet his popularity may even be growing as new generations discover his music.

Moore was born in Naas, Co Kildare, Ireland in 1945. According to his website, while growing up, he ‘could be a right little obnoxious bollix or the nicest lad in Ireland.’ His mother, Nancy, often sang to him from a young age – “I got into songs when I was five,” he told one reporter, “I remember my mother singing ‘20 Tiny Fingers, 20 Tiny Toes’.” He established himself as a folk singer in England in the 1960s while working ‘on buildings, factories [and] oilrigs.’ In the 1970s, he returned to Dublin and found success with folk group Planxty, consisting of Moore, Dónal Lunny, Andy Irvine and Liam O’Flynn. They ushered bouzouki and a fresh new sound into the Irish trad scene. Planxty first split in 1975, but have regrouped many times since, with those who saw their comeback shows at Vicar Street hailing them as quasi-religious experiences. In Christy’s words, ‘We played for fun and fame followed… 30 years on and the music is ageing very well.’ Lankum, John Francis Flynn and Ye Vagabonds have all hailed the group as a formative influence.

Moore continued collaborating with members of Planxty once the band split, including with Lunny in Moving Hearts, a more rock-focused affair, and was even in a brief group with Ralph McTell. Then 1984’s Ride On became a solo breakthrough. The follow-up album, 1985’s Ordinary Man, contained ‘They Never Came Home’, a song about a fire at Dublin’s Stardust nightclub that left 48 dead and many more injured. The song and album were released while a court case about the fire was still in session, and the nightclub sued Moore for contempt, accusing its lyrics of affecting the outcome of the case. Though the judge did not find Moore guilty of obstructing justice, the song was banned and the album had to be re-released with a replacement track. Moore has since been careful to vet his lyrics, especially when discussing real-life incidents, but the need to protest social injustices, especially involving oppression, has remained a recurring theme of his work. Irish hunger strikes, racism in South Africa, the persecution of travellers – all have figured heavily.

On his latest album, A Terrible Beauty, Moore sings about Palestine, the tragic death of Ann Lovett and even online hate crimes in his cover of Martin Leahy’s ‘Snowflakes’: ‘Why when it comes to social media, they’re afraid to use their name.’ It’s also his first release on a revived Claddagh Records, once home to The Chieftains, among many, and hence continuing another Irish tradition. Reflecting on singing a Paul Doran song, Moore wrote in One Voice, his autobiography, ‘I sing these words in a thousand halls for a million people and the words wrap themselves around our own lives and we stand in harmony… in community and the unifying factor is Language of the Heart.’

In the following conversation, Moore talks about his new album and his career, while showing a knowing reticence to reveal too much. He has long been wary of the media. Explaining his motivations for an autobiography in the preface to One Voice, he wrote, ‘The prospect of [a biography] did not entice me… As I had already done interviews with most of these potential biographers, the prospect of having to spend endless months with any one of them sent me scurrying to my guitar for comfort. (Doubtlessly some of them were quite relieved, too).’

Could you tell us how you came into music and your mother’s role there?

My mother, Nancy Power, was a fine singer. In her native Navan, County Meath, she sang in choirs, musicals, but most of all, she liked traditional folk songs. She encouraged all six of us to sing and play music. Until her death in 1992, I valued her opinion with all new work… I learned so much from her.

Do you and your family carry on this tradition of music at home?

There were six of us. My brother Luka Bloom is a renowned singer/songwriter. He has been recording for over 40 years and enjoys success in many different countries. I have recorded five of his songs. We consult each other about our various projects. My sister Anne Rynne has recorded three albums, all released locally and independently in County Clare where she resides. My sister Eilish Moore recorded in her younger years. Many of the next generation are involved in music. My son [Andy Moore] sings on this album.

The album reflects the current political moment, covering Ukraine, Palestine, the death of Lyra McKee, homelessness in Dublin and more. Was this intentional?

I never set out with such intentions. Things evolve as my process develops. I see my albums more as reflections upon what I hear, learn, sing about, during the time it takes to assemble them.

You performed at a pro-Palestine march recently. Do you feel political song retains the power it’s once thought to have had?

The song [I sang at the march], ‘Palestine’, was sent to me by Jim Page from Seattle, a long-time collaborator. I first sang it at a concert in support of Médecins Sans Frontières towards their humanitarian work in Gaza. Since boyhood, I have been affected by songs. The course of my life has been steered by songs from Ewan MacColl, Woody Guthrie and a host of singers and songwriters who constantly catch my attention and influence my work. When my mother sang ‘Kevin Barry’ [about an 18-year-old IRA soldier and medical student executed by British military in 1920] to me, it became the first song I ever learned. It sowed a rebellious seed that still blossoms almost 80 years later.

It’s a gentle album and sparsely accompanied, with your voice to the fore…

It’s simply the way it evolved. The songs continue to evolve… Were I to record them today they might sound different.

‘Cumann na Mná’ is a brilliant account, sometimes tongue in cheek (‘I nearly choked on my Hobnob’), but serious in its chastisement of an ignorant news anchor. Could you tell us about the events that led up to it?

I have been very fortunate in my working life. I literally served my time on the English folk scene before returning in 1972 to form Planxty. I still have precious friends from those early times. Along the way, I have encountered many who took their knowledge of Ireland from The Mirror, Telegraph, etc… Bloody Sunday led to many difficult encounters when English friends believed that the British army were fired upon. When Rob Wotton uttered his condescending question [asking Irish soccer player Chloe Mustaki if she thought “education is needed” in the national team in response to them singing an IRA chant on qualifying for the World Cup in 2022], it spurred Mick Blake to write a response. He shared his song with me and gave me permission to develop it; his song is on YouTube.

‘Snowflakes’ confronts hateful people hiding behind false monikers on social media. What spurred this on?

Anonymous keyboard warriors spew forth their poison rhetoric… a plague upon their cowardly tropes. That said, I have never read any of them.

The album title, A Terrible Beauty, and the artwork, an unpopulated Irish road in the light of a sunset, are striking. How did you land on Martin Gale’s painting as the cover?

I saw Martin’s picture on a gallery wall and said to my wife Valerie, “there is the art and title for the current album.” I went to the auction and purchased the picture, then I contacted Martin who, thankfully, was very happy and gracious in giving me permission. We were in school together over 60 years ago. I’ve followed his work for decades and was delighted to learn that he was aware of my work… To me, it’s a stunning picture, a road in my native County Kildare.

You once wrote, ‘I’d learned a lesson in the early 70s. The first time I left Planxty I had no solo career to return to and I vowed never to become entirely immersed in a band again.’ But you’ve also written very fondly of playing in Planxty and Moving Hearts. Is playing with people something you still do? Do you miss it?

I also played with The Compañeros, The Trad Outfit, The Early Grave Band and a number of [my own] bands, always learning, listening and being inspired. Since COVID, I have reverted to playing solo. This time it’s different, I am very content with the current [way of] working. At almost 80, I feel it’s unlikely that I will have another band. But I have learned so much from each and every one. Unlikely, but I never say never!

You’ve had a fraught relationship with performing, at one point pushing yourself so hard that your health suffered, and you took a break from gigging. Do you feel you’ve found a balance now?

These nights I feel like I’m just starting. I’ve never had such large and responsive audiences. I simply love gigging.

You keep an eye on the new generation of Irish musicians, with much of this album coming from songs that you’ve discovered recently. Who are you enjoying and listeing to at the moment?

Rick Rubin, Matt McGinn, Arty McGlynn, John Spillane, Liam O’Flynn, Sean Keane, Lisa O’Neill, Maggie Barry, Gerry Diver, Kirsty MacColl. That’s it so far today, but I spend most music time practising.

This article originally appeared in the December 2024 issue of Songlines. Never miss an issue – subscribe today