Family life rather than any specific ambition led traditional musician Charlie Lennon, composer of the Famine suite Flight from the Hungry Land, to music. "My family was very musical and it was natural I'd start playing as well." His father was a traditional fiddler, not unusually talented but, as Lennon recalls, "good enough to carry a tune". His mother played the piano and, as he son says, "she played everything, including all the popular songs of the day" - the day being the 1940s and much of the music the standards sung by Bing Crosby and the like, as well as favourites made famous by John McCormack. "I learnt by listening," he says, "I just picked it up."
Home was the north Co Leitrim village of Kiltyclogher, bordering Co Fermanagh. Lennon senior had a shop and a small farm. Charlie Lennon, born in 1938, is the youngest of four sons. Of his birthplace he says: "It's probably most famous as the home of Sean MacDiarmada." There is nothing showbizzy or intense about Charlie Lennon. As expected, he refers to his instrument as a violin, not a fiddle. He is a calm, laconic character: he sounds exactly like the scientist and computer specialist he also happens to be.
Unlike many scientists, Lennon was not taken by science as a boy. School, in fact, was a complete non-event for him. "I didn't shine at school. I was a write-off. I wasn't interested. I was ill and became very switched off."
Before allowing his listener to decide that here is a modest man, the long-featured Lennon (his facial expression at times resembles that of John Updike - "John who?" he asks warily) outlines years of poor attendance. "I had been very ill when I was about one-and-a-half. I had double pneumonia and whooping cough. It meant I always had a bad chest for at least six weeks each winter from about three to 14. And I just got to dislike school."
Doing so badly in the classroom had one positive effect: "I threw myself into music. It was easy." Playing the violin by instinct, he was also taking piano lessons. And between the ages of 17 and 20, while most schoolboys were involved in sport and exams, the young Lennon was becoming an experienced performer, appearing with various bands. Then something happened. "I faced up to the fact I had no education."
One of Lennon's brothers was back from the US, where he was working. "He was six years older than me and was working as an engineer." The brothers began discussing Charlie's options. "He suggested a correspondence course. There were several available through English universities." So Lennon, at 20, set about acquiring his first qualifications, and discovered "I liked studying." His bedroom became his classroom. He took O-levels, then A-levels in three science subjects as well as German.
In 1961, at 23, he began a science degree at Liverpool University. There, those piano lessons proved useful as he made money playing jazz in local clubs. Meanwhile, he was doing very well at physics and maths.
On completing his degree, he was offered a fellowship PhD. There was a choice; astrophysics in Queen's University in Belfast, or nuclear physics at Liverpool. He choose Liverpool. "It was where I knew, my friends were there and it was the 1960s, nuclear physics was exciting - it was intellectually challenging, we weren't making atomic bombs or anything." It was also the era of space exploration but that never appealed to him. "I was interested in the structure of matter. Physics explains the universe around you. The enormity of it. Also, by explaining the physical world it also gives you a greater idea of the spiritual world."
The life of a research scientist suited him. "I was living, sleeping, eating and drinking physics. I was so engrossed in it," he says thoughtfully, describing the wonder of matter and "the bombardment of a chosen element". While working on his thesis he also lectured. He completed his PhD in 1968 - "I did it in three years instead of five". He was also married by then.
On returning to Ireland he worked for Aer Lingus, devising and testing business programmes through computers. Eventually, he moved into computer science and consulting and set up his own company, CHL Software in 1986. During the years of his business career, he and his family lived in Howth and all the while, he was playing music and composing. His solo album, The Emigrant Suite, was released and De Dannan adopted several of his compositions. Island Wedding was released in 1990. In October, 1997 the Brooklyn Philharmonic Orchestra and a traditional ensemble performed Lennon's three-part suite Flight From the Hungry Land at the Lincoln Centre to mark the 150th anniversary of the Famine.
Everything changed again last year when he "retired" and moved from Dublin to Spiddal, Co Galway, his wife's birthplace. "We know here very well and came every year. It's a wonderful place."
Not given to grand statements or gestures, even the quiet Lennon can not conceal his excitement over his current venture. In just over a month, Cuan AV, the state-of-the-art recording studio and technology centre he planned in partnership with his daughter, Eilis Lennon, and Culann Mac Caba will be officially opened. The centre offers the most advanced facilities in digital sound recording, audio-visual mixing, CD mastering, music publishing and audio software design and development.
Connemara is ever-changing, particularly in the Spiddal direction. On the approach from Galway, the landscape has become an extended housing estate. But the sea views remain relatively unspoilt and the further one travels from Galway's suburbs, the more frequent become pockets of land which remain, for the moment, undeveloped. And, at least here, most of the development is linear rather than suburban sprawl. Spiddal in mid-January is quiet.
Lennon's Cuan, which literally means haven - "I see this as a haven" - is situated on a height, up behind a craft centre which itself is designed as a traditional clochan. The design is simple, yet striking, and the black and silver door cleverly suggests rather than depicts a musical note. The reception area is empty.
New wood, fresh paint, space and light are part of the concept. Inside the main studio, flautist Matt Molloy is running through the Winter sequence from Lennon's Ceide Fields piece. Lennon is playing as well, joining in, but is today concentrating on the technical aspects. Lennon's daughter Eilis, a classical violinist, arrives. Small, dynamic, very Dublin and very lively, she is quite a contrast to her slow-moving, soft-spoken father who appears to be a dreamer with a highly developed practicality. Delighted with the studio, Eilis mentions she also has moved to Spiddal. "No traffic jams, fresh air," she says.
From the darkness of the control room with its flashing lights and computer technology, the main studio looks very impressive. It is even more so when you are standing in it. Pale-pinkish, limestone walls counter the shining, hardwood floor. It is a wide, bright, curiously stage-like, single-level space guaranteeing a clear sound reverberating from the sloped, wood-panelled ceiling. The visual effect is of Scandinavian design married with Japanese simplicity. The sound, however, is Irish and characteristic of Lennon's habitual merging of classical structures and traditional idioms. Molloy's playing summons up images of the Ceide Fields. On being commissioned to write his Ceide piece, Lennon made his first visit to the haunting north Mayo coastal area with its layers of ancient settlement and was struck by "the sense of history" it evoked for him. "It is a peaceful place," he says.
Performance is important to Lennon but he is also fascinated by the possibilities technology offers for the recording of music. Several musicians have already played in the studio and availed of its range of facilities.
There is space for an orchestra. Admiring the space under the lights demanded by a winter evening, Lennon points out there is also good, natural light. To the left of the main studio is a booth for vocals. Every detail suggests deliberation, there are no random flourishes here. It is as visually pleasing as it is practical.
Lennon surveys the scene. A violin case rests on a platform-like table which spans the studio side of the sound room. Inside is his daughter's violin, made by Perry of Dublin. His own, a Flemish instrument of about 250 years of age, is on the table. Father and daughter play an impromptu piece. As is common to much of his music, there is a strong classical tone; his favourite composers include Vivaldi, Bach, Beethoven and Handel. It seems ironic now, considering the success of traditional Irish music, that this was not always so. "Traditional music went through a bad time in the 1950s," he says, comparing it to the blackest days of the Irish language. The essential structures of classical and traditional music, he says, are similar. "The structures are pre-Renaissance and Irish music demands a strong melody with lots of embellishments and ornamentation." The piano remains important to him but he agrees the violin "has more to say to me". When asked if his approach to music is intellectual or instinctive, Lennon's reply is immediate: "It's emotional."
Charlie Lennon is a contented man. He exchanged the sea views of Howth for those of Connemara. And if he winces slightly at the mention of the relentless urbanisation of Connemara, he recovers quickly to remark in his quiet, thoughtful way. "The sea, the air, all of this" - gesturing to the studio - "I have everything I could possibly want here."
